Author's Note: Hi, everyone! This chapter is finally up! Whoo-hoo! Sorry it took so long, but there are a lot of crucial parts in this chapter that I had to get just right. Yes, I know this chapter is a bit short, but a lot happens here so hopefully that makes up for it! On a better note, I'm finally on winter break, which means a lot more writing time. Hopefully chapter 4 should be posted in a week or so, if not less.

Personal Inscriptions:

mxnhpfreak: Yeah, really, what's up with the Lila haters? I'm sure she's not a bitch, but she's not perfect either. See, now are you starting to get the idea behind the title:) Really, you thought the last chapter was short? Hmm…I actually thought it was too long. Oh, well!

xo Just Another Suicide xo: Thanks! I'm glad you finally found this, and I hope you like this chapter.

apie: Thanks, I try to do as good of a job as possible keeping them in character. And cliffhanger, eh heh, yes, I am evil! But see, then you guys are more likely to read.

China-kouran: Here's your update. :)

I'm Not Perfect

Chapter Three

Focusing her eyes on the blonde boy next to her, Lila slowly began to recount the day's events that had caused her so much grief. "When I came home today from school, Daddy was alone in his bedroom and he was…" her eyes dropped and her voice became so low that Arnold had to lean forward to hear her…"snorting cocaine."

Arnold had to fight to keep himself from physically showing the shock he felt inside. He knew, as did many of his classmates, that Lila's home life wasn't the easiest. But he never suspected this degree of a problem. Though Arnold had shouldered many a problem from kids and adults alike, he had been kept relatively innocent within the walls of the boarding house. Never before had something like this been presented to him.

Taking a deep breath, Lila continued, "It wasn't the first time. He's been using on and off ever since-" She took a deep, shuddering breath, as if the words she were about to say were spiked with poison.

His hand was still on her shoulder. He moved it to her back and began stroking gently. She looked at him uncertainly. Her eyes were no longer tear-filled, but instead hard and flat, as if she were struggling to block out the pain. "Justin is the only one that knows about my dad. But he never wanted to hear the whole story. To be just perfectly honest, I've never told anyone…"

"It's okay," he said tenderly, hoping his voice didn't tremble. "If you want to talk, I want to listen."

With a small sigh, she stared down at her hands, which she had begun wringing in her lap. "Daddy's been using on and off ever since Mama died."

The bereavement of Lila's mother was something he'd always suspected, since Lila never mentioned her, but his suspicions were never confirmed. Until now. Involuntarily Arnold closed his eyes. He too knew the pain that came with the absence of a mother.

Lila continued, "Everything was ever so wonderful until then." Her voice lost some of its despondency at the reminiscence of happier times. "The three of us lived together in our little stone cottage in Pleasantville. The cottage was built by my great-grandfather and had an old fashioned charm to it that I loved ever so much. It was built way back in the fields, away from everything else. Mama planted flowers all around the cottage, and it was ever so beautiful. Back then, Daddy worked for Mr. Christen, who owned the biggest farm in town. He helped with the crops and the animals. Mama was the vice principal at the Pleasantville School." A small smile crossed her face. "I was ever so happy. I had so many friends, plus all of my cousins that lived there. We would play in the fields and climb trees just every single day until it was too dark to see." The smile left her face like a huffed out candle. "Then, when I was seven, Mama got sick. The doctors said she had a rare form of brain cancer. There was no kind of treatment for it."

"I'm sorry," Arnold said quietly.

Lila swallowed. "It happened so quickly. It only took a few months. Almost as if she was there one moment and gone the next." She paused, staring up at the moon. "Sometimes, at night, I think I hear her singing me a lullaby…."

"I know," he whispered.

Lila turned away from the sky and saw that his eyes were closed. He really did know, she realized, more so than anyone else. She knew her story was causing him pain. "Do you want me to stop?..."

"Go on," he said, his eyes still closed.

She sighed. "Daddy fell to pieces after Mama died. We tried to make it on our own, but it just wasn't the same without Mama. Daddy….he was in so much pain. I suppose he needed something to take away the pain. I don't know where he got the cocaine, or how. We never had any drugs in the house when Mama was alive, not even aspirin. She always made us some herbal tea when we were sick." Lila stared down at her boots. "One night, about two months after Mama died, I couldn't sleep, so I went downstairs, and I saw him…." She stopped.

Arnold opened his eyes. "Doing cocaine?" he probed gently.

The invisible shield that she had surrounded herself with broke, and the tears filled her eyes once again. "I asked him why he was lining up powdered sugar on Mama's mirror…" She let out a heartbreaking sigh. "It took me a long time to understand that he was sick. Not sick like Mama, but almost as bad. He tried ever so hard to stop. He went to programs, group therapy. He saw an addiction specialist. Each time, things would get better for a little while. Then, he would start up again. When he was high it was oh so awful. He wasn't Daddy anymore. He stayed in his room, sometimes for days at a time. When he did come out, he'd get ever so angry at me for little things, and he'd yell. Sometimes he'd even get violent."

Arnold's head swung toward her, his eyes wide and frantic. Quickly, she shook her head. "No! I don't mean…in that way. He'd be violent to objects, not people. He'd throw furniture around."

Arnold relaxed a little. "Is that why you had to move here in the fourth grade?" he asked. "Because of your Dad's…illness?"

Sadly, she nodded. "Daddy lost his job at the farm. He was missing too many days of work. We had no money. Mama had saved up a lot of money before she died, but Daddy spent almost all of it on cocaine. After he lost his job, things got really bad for us. We had bills that were months overdue. On the worst days we didn't even have enough money to eat." Her body shuddered a little at the memory. "Then, Daddy's old friend Elliot, who lived here in Hillwood, heard about the troubles we were having. Elliot knew about Daddy's problems and thought that we might be better off living here in the city, where there wouldn't be so many reminders of Mama and we could make a fresh start. Elliot worked at the Yahoo soda factory and thought that he might be able to talk his boss, Mr. Mitchell, into giving Daddy a job. Even though I knew it was for the best, it was really hard to leave Pleasantville. Most of our family was there, and we had to leave them behind. We also had to sell our stone cottage that had been in our family for three generations. Even that didn't bring in any money, because after we had paid off all our bills and the first month's rent for our new apartment in Hillwood, there was nothing left." She sighed. "We never went back. There were just too many bad memories. In these five years, we've never even visited."

Arnold pictured the smiling, vivacious, slightly shy nine year old girl that had stepped into Mr. Simmons's classroom on her first day of school. Soon after, she had become the most popular girl in the fourth grade with her jokes, politeness, and the sweet and kind manner she carried about herself. Who would've guessed the circumstances that had brought her to the city? "You seemed so happy…"

"I was, for awhile," Lila explained. "After we moved here, Daddy stopped using. It seemed like things were going to be good again, especially after Mr. Mitchell gave Daddy a job at the factory."

"But things got worse again?"

"The stress of the city was ever so hard on Daddy. He worked ten hours a day at the factory. And he was lonely. We both were. We had left all of our family and old friends behind. The cycle started again. On and off. He would use, then stop for awhile, then start again, then stop again." She met his eyes. "I still don't entirely understand it, Arnold. I know he's sick, but after all the promises he made me, I still don't know why he would go back to that lifestyle. It only makes both of us miserable." She paused, contemplating a thought. "Maybe it does make him happy, but he certainly doesn't seem happy when he's high."

Arnold shook his head. "I doubt it makes him happy to do that to you, Lila."

"Then why does he do it?" she whimpered, a frightened child desperately seeking answers.

He sighed. "There's no easy answer, but it sounds to me like maybe he does it because it makes him forget for awhile. It makes him forget about all the things that hurt so badly."

"I wonder…" her lip trembled. "I wonder if maybe I caused him to go back this time. Just maybe I didn't do enough…."

"Lila." He moved his hand back to her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "You know it wasn't your fault."

Slowly, she nodded. "I suppose so. I just…when I saw him today…I wanted to believe him last time when he said that he would never use again. I wanted to believe that just ever so much. But the cocaine was right there on his desk. I turned and ran all the way to Justin's house. I haven't gone home yet. I wonder…" her voice trailed off.

"Maybe this will be the turning point for your dad," Arnold said, looking on the bright side as usual. "Maybe now he'll finally realize the affect this is having on you…and him."

"Gosh, I hope so. I want that so much, just ever so much." She couldn't even begin to explain to him how deep her longing was that maybe, just maybe, her father could be free from his addiction.

They both fell silent. He looked carefully at her face. There were traces of past tears, but her eyes of now were dry.

She gave a small smile. "You're staring at me."

"I'm trying to read your emotions," he explained. "Are you okay? I mean, it must've been pretty rough to talk about that, after holding it in for five years."

"Actually, Arnold, I feel quite all right," she said, surprising herself as much as him. "I'm relieved that I could finally tell someone what I was going through, and they wouldn't be shocked or repulsed or…or…" She shrugged.

"I wouldn't," he said quietly. "Never. And I'm glad you could tell me."

She had such a kind, gentle smile. Even with bloodshot eyes and dried tears on her freckled cheeks, she was still beautiful. He realized that with everything that had been going at home, she still came to school every day, smiling and helpful and pleasant to everyone. Even those who weren't nice back. She had had to do this for the past five years, hiding her pain and pretending that everything was fine. It was amazing. She was so strong. He looked at his hand, which was still on her shoulder. Gently he moved his arm to her ribs and looped it around her, wanting so desperately to provide her with some scrap of comfort. Some bit of warmth. She blew out a sigh and laid her head down on his shoulder. The classic position of a friend comforting a friend.

"I'm ever so glad that you were the one I shared it with," said Lila. "We've been friends for so long…"

"Five years," he reminded her.

"Right. Just ever so long." She turned her head so she was looking up at him. She looked happier, now. More relaxed. "I don't know what to say, except…thank you. Thank you for listening."

He used his free hand to brush from her face a lock of hair that had fallen loose from her French Braid. Her hair was so soft. The color, a deep red with a tint of brown, intrigued him. He vaguely recalled seventh grade English, where he had sat two rows behind her the whole year, just staring at that hair.

He leaned toward her. Her eyes, her face, her whole body was soft and warm. His intention was just to give her a hug, but suddenly his face stopped inches from hers. A deep longing rose inside him. He had wanted her for so long, so, so long…

Her eyes were expectant. Waiting….hoping? She leaned up, just a fraction. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She touched her forehead to his…

His heart was pounding frantically in his chest, like a caged bird desperately wanting to fly. She closed her eyes and leaned closer to him. The moment he had dreamed of for years was finally here. Closer. He and Lila, together at last. Things had never felt so right….

And suddenly, in the next instant, for reasons he could not explain, things had never felt so wrong. Arnold quickly turned to the right, letting Lila's lips fall upon his cheek. She pulled back slowly and looked at him, confused…

"Arnold!" The two of them jumped apart as Phoebe ran toward them. "Have you seen Helga? I attempted to find her after my conversation with Gerald was finished, but ten minutes of searching has come up with null."

So Gerald had talked to Phoebe after all. "I'll help you look for her," Arnold volunteered quickly, jumping off the parapet. "Lila…" he hesitated, looking back at her. At the moment, he wanted to be as far away from her and their awkward situation as possible, but he didn't want to be rude…

"I'm ever so certain I should go find Justin anyway," she said, carefully climbing off the cement wall and brushing dirt off her jeans. "He's probably wondering what happened to me."

Arnold nodded, grateful for Phoebe's distraction as she led him back to the lighted portion of the roof. He didn't know why he had acted the way he did. Why did he turn away from the kiss he had wanted for so long? Was it guilt, because she had a boyfriend? No, there was some other reason. But he didn't want to think about it right now.

Arnold didn't think that he had been away from the party for that long, but when he saw that the roof was much less crowded then when he had left, he realized that he must've been gone at least a half hour. Many guests had already gone home. The band was still going strong, marching in a figure eight formation around the roof. The area was sparse enough that a careful glance confirmed that Helga was nowhere to be found. "Maybe she left already," he suggested.

Phoebe frowned. "Maybe, but I'm fairly certain that she wouldn't leave without me. My father was going to come pick us up at ten. Her house is all the way across town, so it's highly unlikely that she decided to walk home, especially without telling me first." She hesitated, and then walked over to the door leading downstairs. "Perhaps she went downstairs for something…"

Arnold shrugged and pulled open the door. "Couldn't hurt to look."

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"What do you mean, I'm not going anywhere?' Helga narrowed her eyes at the guy standing in front of her.

He didn't answer, but continued standing with his arms crossed, lips curled into a menacing smile. He was at least half a foot taller than her and at least fifty pounds heavier, but that didn't faze her. "Shove off, Mr. Smooth," she snapped, using both hands to heave him to the side. The smile disappeared from his face as he stumbled, trying to regain his balance. The speed and strength of the five foot five, one hundred and twenty pound girl had surprised him.

She smirked at him and took a few stomps toward the door, only getting a few feet before a hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly spun her around. Helga had no time to react as his fist slammed hard into her nose. She managed to jerk out of his grasp, gasping in shock as she held her nose, which was now gushing blood. Her annoyance escalated into pure rage. No one touched Helga G. Pataki like that and lived. She ducked out of the way as his fist came at her again. Who did this guy think he was? He tried to grab her by the wrist, but she dodged his attack again and used the opportunity to stomp hard on his foot. He was wearing flimsy cloth sneakers, she leather hiking boots, so she knew her attack would hurt.

"Son of a…" The guy sucked in a breath and bit his lip. Taking advantage of his moment of weakness, she swung her fist toward his face. He caught her fist in midair and twisted her arm around. She was just barely able to stifle a scream of pain. He slapped her open-handed across her cheek. She fell backwards, and would've fallen all the way to the ground had he not been holding onto her right arm. He caught her left arm as well, and twisted them both around so her back was to his face. She took in a breath and kicked her right foot backwards as hard as she could. With satisfaction she felt her boot connect with soft flesh. The guy let out an audible moan of pain as he released her arms. Helga spun around in time to see him stumble backwards, both arms clutching his stomach. In half a second he recovered and reached toward her with both hands. She tried to dodge, but wasn't quite fast enough. His hands grabbed her neck and squeezed. Wildly she swung her fists, but to no avail. Tiny gagging noises came out of her mouth as she desperately tried in vain to take in air. She shook her head back and forth, trying to squirm away, but he was too strong. He shoved his nose up to hers. "Now…bitch…you're not so high and mighty, are you? So bold…such a fighter…stupid butch. Someone needs to teach you how to be a real woman."

She began to feel weak, and not just from lack of air. Criminy! She understood his intentions now. Why hadn't she realized them earlier…maybe she would've been able to get away. Helga felt her knees give way. The guy let her fall, his hands still on her neck as he slowly guided her to the ground. She clawed at his hands, trying to release them from her throat. But she was too weak, and her arms had grown numb. Slowly she closed her eyes, succumbing to her inevitable fate….

Suddenly his fingers let go of her neck. She opened her mouth and took in big gulps of air, precious air. Her eyes opened to see him kneeling above her, with that creepy smile. He jabbed his finger toward the other side of the room. "Get on the couch."

She sprang up and ran, hoping as she neared the door that the element of pure surprise would give her enough time to get away…Her fingers were on the doorknob when suddenly she felt his hands grab her ribs from behind. He picked her up as if she were a paper doll and threw her onto the couch. She tried to scream, but all that came out of her swollen throat were high pitched gargles. In a last ditch attempt to try to defer him, she kicked up her legs as hard as she could. He dodged her attack easily and sprang on top of her. She winced as his whole weight came down on her already aching body. He dug his knees into her ribs and, using his hands, pinned both of her arms against the red couch. "Stupid bitch," his raspy voice gasped, fatigued from the fight. "I'll fix you up good." As if to prove his point, he punched her across the mouth, sending a stream of blood cascading down her chin.

She was exhausted. Her body was heaving, and she ached all over. Her throat was so swollen that she could barely breathe. And throughout her body surged an emotion little known to her.

Pure fear.

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Arnold flicked on the light to his grandparent's bedroom. "Helga?" He peered around the room. No one in here. He shrugged and walked back out in the hallway to a worried looking Phoebe.

"I checked the bathroom and every other room that wasn't locked, but Helga's nowhere to be found," she said.

Arnold frowned. "But where else could she be?'

"Well, maybe she went up to your room," Phoebe suggested.

"But why would she go there?"

Phoebe hesitated, knowing full well why. "I just have a feeling…'

Arnold shrugged. "Okay. Let's go look."

Phoebe nodded, and they made their way down the hall. As they neared his room, Phoebe's hypothesis seemed to be right. He could hear voices coming from the other side of his door. He started to make his way up the stairs. The voices got clearer as they approached the door. "Bitch," the voice was saying. "Dumb bitch. This'll teach you who's boss."

Phoebe and Arnold looked at each other, wide eyed, and bolted up the stairs. Arnold threw open the door to his room.

A guy with curly black hair was kneeling on his couch. Below him was Helga, her face covered in blood. Her pink vest lay next to the couch, and the guy was trying to pull off her white t-shirt. The guy jerked his head up at the sound of the door opening. Quickly he leaped off the couch.

Phoebe rushed over to Helga, who was moaning in pain. She gasped at the state her best friend was in. Blood was trickling from her nose and lip, and she was wheezing, as if breathing were very difficult for her. Phoebe gently touched the red marks on Helga's neck. She fought tears. "Her neck…"

"What did you do to her?" Arnold demanded, though it was a fruitless question because he already knew the answer. "Call the police," he barked at Phoebe, surprised at the force and anger in his voice. She immediately whipped her cell phone out of her pocket and began dialing.

The guy threw up his hands. "Hey, man, it's cool, it's cool. We were just..."

Arnold took a step toward him. Pure rage was rising inside him, an emotion virtually unknown to him.

The guy stepped backwards. "Chill out, okay? There's nothing…"

As a rule, Arnold didn't believe in using physical violence for any reason. But there were some times that even he caved in. He balled up his fist and used every bit of force he had to sock the guy in the face.

The guy blinked, looking at him and holding his cheek in surprise. Then, he turned and sprinted down the stairs like the coward he was.

Phoebe's voice broke through his wall of rage. "I know who that guy was. He was one of those seniors that Mandy and Christina invited. His name's Alex. The police can probably find him easily…"

His wall of rage shattered. He walked over to his couch and tenderly picked up the pink jacket. With trembling fingers, he handed it to Helga. She used it to wipe the blood off her face. The red, sticky substance had gotten all over her clothes, as well as his couch. The blood blended right in with the red fabric…

"Are you okay?" he asked her, dazed. Only a few seconds later did he realize what a stupid question that was.

Her clear blue eyes stared up at him. "Happy birthday, Football Head," she said, and then burst into tears.

He caught her as she fell into his arms. He was just barely able to hold back his own tears.