(A/N: Will follow this chapter with an epilogue. I want to wrap it up. I hate stories that go one forever and ever and around and around, so I'm bringing this to an end. Mostly. Also TRIGGER WARNING: domestic violence)
Helga stood holding her breath after knocking on the door. She hoped he was still here. Steven had gone off for business in the morning, but swore he'd be back in time to take her to visit the University. She meanwhile had found herself standing in front of the door of the room Arnold was staying at, nervously waiting for him to answer. When he did he was in a towel.
"Helga, you came?" he asked, surprised. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair was slicked back and wet. A puddle was forming at his feet as he stared there, stunned that she had actually shown up.
"Yeah, well, I had nothing else to do this morning, and I needed a walk," she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and trying not to look at Arnold.
"Come in," he said, suddenly realizing she was still standing in the hallway. When she walked in she looked around. It was small. But had it's own little ensuite. She peeked in to find a simple bath and shower, toilet and vanity. It was cozy. She watched as Arnold went over to his bed where he had some clothes laid out. "I'll just get changed and be with you in a minute."
'Don't worry about changing,' she thought silently, as he brushed past her. She shook her head, feeling embarrassed. What the heck was wrong with her? She sat down on the bed, then laid down on her back. It was surprisingly comfortable. She got up and laid down on the pillows, then sat up again. They smelled of him. It brought back the memory of that morning . . . she swallowed and looked down at her hands that had twisted themselves together. And that ring. That stupid ring. She started twisting it around and around, until eventually she took it off and put it in her pocket. It had left a red mark behind on her finger. She started feeling agitated, though she didn't know why. When the ensuite door opened she looked up to see him walking out in jeans and no shirt.
"I'm sure this was clean when I packed it," he was mumbling to himself. She watched as he leaned over and rummaged in his suitcase, finally pulling out a shirt and giving it a quick sniff. Unable to contain herself she burst out laughing. Arnold turned and looked at her. "What?"
She couldn't even answer him. Something about the whole scene just struck her as hilarious and when she tried to stop, she just laughed harder. It wasn't long before tears were streaming from her eyes and she was gasping for breath. Arnold caught the bug, and started to laugh too, though he had no idea what he was laughing about. Helga fell back against his pillows and slowly gained control of herself. Arnold on next to her.
"So what was so funny?" he asked.
"Steven would never do anything like that," she told him, smiling. "He's so damn organized."
Arnold stopped smiling and stared down at her. "Did you just critisize him?"
Helga sighed. "I've decided I don't want to go to University here, and he and I had a disagreement about it last night. He's blaming you. But . . . I just don't want to be here, with only him to rely on."
"But you'd make friends," Arnold told her, knowing very well that she wouldn't. Steven wouldn't let her. Or, he would choose her friends for her. One or the other. Man, she was making this easy. He laid down next to her, inhaling the scent of her perfume. It was intoxicating. He resisted the urge to touch her, kiss her . . .
"I don't think I would," she said, looking at him. "I mean, I would, but I don't think I'd keep them for long. I'd never get a chance to do anything with them. I'm thinking I might just give up the whole University thing."
"What?" he asked, genuinely shocked. "Why?"
"Because going to University, and having him pay for it, would leave me indebted to him," she told him. "I don't want that. I-"
"You?" Arnold asked, pushing this. Say it, Helga, say it! You don't see yourself being with him forever.
"It's so hot in here," she said, fanning herself with her hand. "Why don't you use the air conditioning?"
"I didn't want to forget to turn it off, so I turned everything off last night," he told her. "That's why I'm having a shower."
She just shook her head instead, turning to look at him. He leaned in, against his better judgement and kissed her, expecting her to pull away. But she didn't. She did the complete opposite. She kissed him back, running her fingers along the side of his bare torso, causing goosebumps. He manouvered himself so he was leaning over her, deepening their kiss, and slipping his hands under her shirt and up. No bra. She had no bra!
"Why does this always happen with us?" she asked breathlessly.
Arnold didn't answer. He just pushed her shirt up and latched onto her left nipple, while his thumb went to her right. Helga just let her head fall back, and herself enjoy it. All thoughts of her interview and tour at the university vanished, any thoughts of Steven, gone. All she could think about was the feelings Arnold could ignite in her, the intoxicating scent of his shampoo, his body damp from the shower, hair still wet. She sighed.
Between the heat of the room, and the heat developing between their bodies, it wasn't long til they were both naked, both sweating, both coming together. It always happened so fast between them. There was no slow build up the way there was with Steven, who liked to explore her body. Arnold knew all the spots, and went straight for them. Which is just what Helga wanted at this time. Feeling him move inside her, her climax, his, she realized that this was where she wanted to be. With Arnold. Under him, beside him . . . just with him. She always had. Habit? Comfort? Who knew, who cared? At that moment in time she didn't. Even when he was finished, she continued, teasing him, tormenting him, taking over as the leader, and before he knew what was happening they came together again. The best part of having been with an older, more experienced man, was all the tips and tricks her had taught her, that she used on Arnold.
When they both finished again they collapsed against each other, but still had to touch and kiss. Before falling asleep.
. . .
An alarm going off woke them both. Arnold reached over to grab his phone and saw the time.
"Shit, I have to go or I'll miss the plane!" he shouted, bolting upright, causing Helga's head to drop onto the pillow.
"What?" she asked, confused. "What's happening?"
"And you need to get ready and gone, too!" he shouted at her, throwing her her discarded clothing. "You've got an two hours, I have three, go, go, go!"
Helga quickly got up and got herself dressed, wincing as she felt sperm leak out of her. 'You're playing Russian roulette, Helga,' her brain warned her. 'You've been lucky so far . . .'
When they were both dressed they stood there looking at each other, before Arnold spoke.
"So am I going to see you when you get back, or are you just going to pretend I don't exist. Again?" he asked.
Helga felt her eyebrows raise at his attitude. Seriously? They'd just had sex. Raw, passionate - to her mind anyway - sex, and he was giving her attitude?
"Not with that attitude," she snapped. "I'll see what happens when i get home. I have to sort some things out."
"What things?" Arnold asked, curious. What was she planning?
"Just things," she said, turning and leaving without even saying good-bye. By the time Arnold got to the door she was gone, and he didn't have time to go looking for her. Instead he growled and slammed the door. How could they go from being so hot, to so cold so fast? Maybe Gerald was right. Maybe he should just leave her to it.
No. No he couldn't. He wouldn't. He hated it, but he wasn't going to give up on her either.
. . .
"Where the hell have you been?" a frantic Steven demanded as she slunk in the door. "You have an hour and a half, Helga, so get dressed!"
Helga watched as he stormed out and stood there a bit shocked. He hadn't even noticed her looking less than perfect. On one hand, she was thankful, as she made her way to the bathroom. She needed a shower. On the other hand, she was mad. She knew she looked messy and unkempt. She even knew she was going to have to use make up to hide a "love-bite" from Steven and, well, everyone else in the world. Damn Arnold! Did he want them to get caught? Stepping into the shower she quickly washed her hair, and everywhere else, and quickly shaving where she needed to, before getting out and looking at the clock. How had she just spent fifteen minutes in the shower? It didn't feel like that long! She hurried to dry herself off, and then went straight to her make-up and started her regime. She opened the eye liner, but then decided against it. She didn't have the time to spend getting it perfectly even. In the end she covered the hickey on her coller bone, moisturised, put on some colored lip gloss, then went to get dressed as quickly as she could. Steven was talking on the phone when she entered the bedroom, and he walked out into the living area when she did. Helga frowned, while getting dressed.
What was going on with him? He'd gone from being someone who never let her out of his sight, to practically leaving her every chance he got. Not that she was complaining, she just wondered why. Once she was done, she let him know, and he hurried her out to the car. They had half an hour.
"You're cutting it fine, Helga," he growled at her, obviously angry. "Where were you anyway?"
"I got lost," she lied.
"Lost?"
"Lost."
Silence fell between them. She could tell he didn't believe her, but what could he say? He could accuse her, but right before she went to view the University and do an interview? He wouldn't. He seemed terrified that she would stuff this up and end up not getting in.
Maybe she'd screw up on purpose. She'd done that before, she could do it again . . .
When they arrived, she swore he was more nervous than she was. They introduced themselves, five minutes late, but were told to wait anyway. After a while an older man came and took Helga to do an interview and look at her portfolio, then showed her around the University. There were lot's of little grass areas with statues, one with a small fountain . . . it was nice, and the building was obviously very old.
Helga did want to go here, but . . . at the same time, she didn't like the thought of being so far away from help should she need it. She hated the idea of relying on Steven alone. She was doing sums in her head. She still had her share of inheritance, and she understood that she was going to get Olga's, too, as per her parent's will. While politely listening to him talk about the University, the expectations, she was doing sums in her head.
If she used her and Olga's inheritance, she could most likely pay for a majority of University. If she sold some of that expensive jewellery her sister had, she could probably come up with covering it all. Fees wise, anyway. And she could get a job to cover other expenses . . . she could do it. She was sure she could, and it would be done by her, and she wouldn't ow Steven a thing. She could chooses to go where she wanted to go.
Just probably not here. And that made her heart sink a bit.
"So how do you feel, Miss Pataki?" he asked her.
"Fine, sorry, I was just thinking," she said, looking around with her heart in her eyes. Her dream was so close, and yet . . . to grab it, would mean living in a cage. Her wings clipped, playing a puppet to Steven. Doing what he says, when he said it, how he said it.
"Well, take your time," he told her gently. "It's a big decision. If you decide not to take up our offer of a place here, I have no doubt, looking at your work, that you will find success elsewhere."
She nodded, looking at Steven who was smiling and talking to the receptionist. When he saw them coming he smiled at Helga. A flashback came back to her of that night a few years ago now, of him in that room with that woman. And she knew he'd seen other women behind Olga's back. She smirked. 'A leopard never changes it's spots,' popped into her mind. 'Once a cheater, always a cheater,' also came to mind. No. She needed to go home. She neeed to just leave him to it. He may not have family, but he wouldn't have a problem finding someone else to make one with. But it wasn't going to be her. She didn't want a family with him. She didn't want to live with him. She wanted Arnold.
If he'd have her.
. . .
"So what do you think?" Steven asked her afterwards. She was looking out the window, quietly.
"It was beautiful," she said. "But I don't want to go there."
"What?" Steven asked. "Why not?"
She just shrugged.
"You can't just shrug, Helga," he said to her. "You have to give me a proper answer."
"I don't have a bloody answer," she snapped at him. "I just want to go home, go through my sisters shit, and sort everything out from there!"
Steven glared at her, but Helga turned away, tears beginning to fall. Her frustration and anger was rising. It was an old familiar feeling, and she stoked it, deliberately making herself feel angrier. She was going to need that anger.
"You don't have to be so rude," Steven snapped back. "What the hell is going on with you?"
Helga shook her head.
"Maybe that psychologist was right, maybe you do need help," he mumbled.
"Yeah, maybe I do," she said.
They drove the rest of the way back in silence. When they arrived, Helga went up to the apartment alone, and Steven walked off. Helga ended up on the bed crying, feeling so sad and so angry at the same time. Hearing a roaring sound, she looked out at the sky, then at the clock. Watching the plane fly overhead, she thought about Arnold. That probably wasn't his plane, but soon enough he would be on one, flying away from her, leaving her behind to fend for herself. Her heart suddenly felt heavy, and her tears flowed hot and large again. She laid back down and held a pillow to herself. What was wrong with her?
She woke when she felt someone shaking her shoulder and calling her name. She opened her eyes and turned to see who it was.
"What?" she asked, sitting up.
"Let's go out for dinner," Steven said, looking as immaculately dressed as usual. She though again to just that morning, watching Arnold sniff his shirt to see if it was clean. She could never imagine Steven sniffing his shirt. He'd probably have someone do that for him. The memory brought a smile to her lips. "Oh, dinner makes you happy, huh?"
"Food always makes me happy," sh told him. It wasn't a lie. She did love food, and she was lucky that she was able to enjoy it without too much consequence. But that wasn't what was making her smile.
. . .
Steven could sense that something had changed in Helga. She wouldn't look at him when he spoke to her, seemed to almost blow him off when he approached her, using the excuse of not wanting to risk it. She'd never worried about it before. Trying desperately to break her out of this funk she seemed to be in, he took her to Giverny, to see Monet's Garden. It was romantic, and she seemed to relax and the did kiss on the bridge, but even that seemed not right. They stayed at a bed and breakfast near the gardens, and had dinner out. Again. He couldn't wait to get back to home cooked meals. And that night, Helga turned away from him, making it clear she wasn't interested in being intimate. And he saw why while she was sleeping, though said nothing at the time. He waited til they were on their way back to Paris, before saying anything. He pulled the car over on a country road.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked, looking at him.
"Did you fuck him?" he asked.
Helga pursed her lips, and her eyes went into slits. "Excuse me?"
"Arnold, is that who gave you that mark on your collar bone?" he demanded, pulling her shirt aside. It wasn't there.
"It was a bruise," Helga stated. "I didn't fuck Arnold, as you so eloquently put it."
"Don't lie to me, Helga," he warned.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she demanded. "I'm not fucking lying, God!"
Steven watched her as she got out of the car and slammed the door, kicking the side of it, swearing and glaring his way, ranting about stupid, suspicious, jealous men, then turned it on him, shocking him into silence for a momnet.
"And what about you, huh?" she demanded. "Always going off on your own to a "meeting". Pshhhh, I'll bet it is."
"What are you accusing me of, Helga?" he asked, also getting out of the car. They glared at each other over the top of the car.
"The same thing your accusing me of!" she yelled at him, her face turning red. "Not so nice, is it? Being accused of cheating. Only you have a history of it, don't you? So I have good reason to think-"
He'd moved so fast towards her that she didn't see it coming and it was a huge shock when she found herself on the ground, the side of her face both stinging and throbbing. She looked up at him shocked. The look on his face was something she had never seen on any other person's face before. Not even her fathers. He'd get angry, he'd yell, but he never, ever struck her or her mother. He looked down on men who hit women. Not even worthy of the worst insults he used to say.
"You hit me," she finally said, in complete disbelief. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
The look on his face changed suddenly, and he looked as shocked as she felt. "I dont, I'm sorry."
When he reached out to her she moved away from him.
"Your lucky my father is dead," she spat at him, pulling herself up. "Don't touch me, don't come near me." She went to the car and got in, again slamming the door behind him. She looked at him from the corner her her eye. He was just standing there, still looking stunned. Ten minutes passed, and he finally got back in the car and in dead silence, they drove back to the apartment. Once there, he put some money on the table for her to get dinner and walked out.
He didn't come back that night, though Helga couldn't sleep and laid awake, tense and waiting. He did show up the next morning though, looking disturbed.
"I think we need to talk," he said, sitting at the table, but looking down at his hands.
"You think?" she asked.
"Please don't give me attitude right now, Helga," he said, shaking his head. She walked over and sat down at the table. "I hit you."
"Yah, I know, and you left a nice bruise to prove it," she said, pointing out the purply-yellow bruise under her eye. It wasn't large and dark, but it was tender to the touch.
"It's how it started with my parents," he said. "As a child, my father would hit my mother. I never hit your sister. She never made me mad enough, I guess. Until yesterday, I'd never hit a woman."
"Didn't your father kill your mother?" Helga asked, feeling scared.
"Yeah," he said. "He found out she was cheating on him. He chased her down those damn stairs, and out the door and shot her. Then shot himself."
"Shit," Helga said. Steven frowned.
"Don't swear, Helga, it's no becoming," he ordered. Helga rolled her eyes. "The point is, I don't want that to be us. I love you, Helga, I do, but yesterday . . . what if I don't stop next time? What if I do something worse? Turn into my father?"
For a second, Helga's heart started to go out to him, but then she stopped the sympathy train. Was he trying to manipulate her again? Make her feel sorry for him, so she'd stay with him?
"What if you kill me, you mean?" she asked. "Good luck getting away with it."
"I can't risk it," he told her, looking up at her. "When we go back to America, i will have your sisters stuff sent to you at the Boarding House. I'll have all her funds transferred to your account. I'll make sure your tuition fees a paid, but that's it."
Helga's jaw dropped. Was he serious? "Really?"
"At the risk of sounding corny, Corinthians four through five," he told her. "To feel what I felt, that can't be love. Not real love."
Helga sat there, trying to think about what he was talking about. She would have to look it up when she got a chance. She knew it must be from the Bible . . .
"The point is, I need to let you go," he said. "If I keep you like I have been, I might hurt you, and I don't want that."
They were both silent for a while, before Steven finally got up.
"I'm staying in another hotel," he told her. "I'll leave you a number to reach me on if you need to. I'll come get you on the morning of our flight back." Walking over to her he kissed the top of her head, and turned quickly to leave, but Helga felt the tear that dropped onto her shirt. She touched her eyes, then watched him as he closed the door behind him. Her eyes were dry.
The tear wasn't hers.
. . .
Arnold was tossing a small basketball into a mini net on his bedroom wall, while spinning on his office chair. He was starting to get dizzy, and it was immature, but he was bored. He hadn't heard from Helga yet, and admitted to himself anyway, that he was worried about her. He had informed everyone about her, but not what they did that last morning he was there. Looking at the time he figured he had better go down to see if Suzie needed any help. When he got down there he stopped, his mouth dropping open to see Helga sitting at the table with his grandpa, laughing.
"Helga?" he asked, stunned. She smiled at him.
"Hey, Football Head," she said, using his old nick-name. It was like music to his ears. "How's it going?"
He walked in, hardly believing what he was seeing.
"Well, that's no way to greet your girlfriend, Shortman," his grandpa said, smiling.
He walked n and went right up to her, touching her face. "Where's Steven though?"
"Stonefield, I guess," she told him shrugging. "We went our seperate ways at the Airport. He broke up with me, so to speak."
"Broke up with you?" he asked, then took a closer look. "Is that a bruise?"
"Can we talk about this later," she said, looking at his grandpa from the corner of her eye. "How about we go out for dinner, though for the love of sin, I am cooking tomorrow."
She and Arnold went to a burger joint.
"Mmmm, I forgot how good these things taste," she said, licking up sauce before it could dribble down her chin.
"So what happened?" he asked.
"We got into an argument, after he found your calling card on my collar bone, and threw accusations at me, and i threw them back, and he hit me," she told him, taking another bite of her burger. "Ohhh, so good."
"He hit you?" Arnold asked, enraged. Helga nodded.
"Then he disappeared for the night and came back the next morning to tell me he couldn't be with me anymore, because he was worried he would hurt me, the way his father hurt his mother," she told him. "Told me Corinthians four through five. Looked it up, and it's that poem you hear that people say about love not being jealous or boastful and all that. Turns out it's not part of a poem, but came out of the Bible."
"Huh, what do you know?" Arnold said, sitting back.
"Anyway, Olga's things should arrive in the next few days or so, and he will be transferring all her account funds into my account, and is still willing to pay my tuition to and university I choose," she told him. "So, I won't be destitute."
"So, what does that mean?" Arnold asked. Helga looked at him.
"You wanna give us a go? A proper go?" she asked him, smiling shyly. He could see she was scared he was going to reject her. Here was his chance.
"I suppose so," he said, trying to act casual. "It's not like there's any other girl I'm in love with at the moment."
Helga shook her head and threw a chip at him.
"I love you, Football Head," she told him, before taking a bite from her burger.
"I love you too, Grumpy-skirt."
. . .
Helga sat on the floor of the bathroom, leaning the back of her head against the wall, eyes closed, trying to get a hold of herself. She was hot and cold and sweaty and shaky, and felt gross all over. Getting onto all fours she pulled herself up, standing unsteadily. She'd only been back for four weeks. So she guessed she was five, six? She needed a doctor.
"Helga, are you okay?" Arnold called through the door. Helga shook her head, before remembering he couldn't see her.
"I got the bullet," she shouted out to him, lurching over to the door and opening it. "I lost."
"What are you talking about?" Arnold asked. She lifted up a stick and Arnold stood back, looking at it. "Is that a pregnancy test?"
"Yep, and it's positive," she said, using the wall to lean against as she struggled to make her way to her room.
"Wait, so you're pregnant?" he asked. Helga nodded. "Now?"
"No, Arnold, next year," she snapped. She needed to lie down, suddenly exhausted. Arnold helped her to their room and helped her lay down on the bed. The whole room was spinning and she still felt nauseous. "Ugh, must be a boy!"
"We need to get you to a doctor," he said. "Get you looked at."
There was an un-asked question floating in the air between them.
"It will be yours," Helga told him. "I didn't sleep with him the whole time we were there."
With that she drifted off to sleep, and Arnold let out the breath he was holding, before making his way to the phone to make a doctor appointment for her.