A/N: Apologies for the delay! I wrote this entire chapter once, hated every line, and deleted it all. I had to get it right. It's a Helga chapter, and she's the star of the show after all. Please bear with me as we explore Helga's past, present, and future together with the help of a mirror, Dr. Bliss, Rhonda and Lila. Please enjoy my private little interpretation of my favorite character, and R/R as always.
Keeping Arnold: Chapter 5, Meteor, Make Me Young
"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." - Walt Whitman
Within every crack and cranny of her heart, Helga knew a sort of life-defining love that most of us only ever experience second hand in passionate works of art. It suffused her very essence, pumping her heart with blood, gasping air into her lungs, willing her limbs to moving, giving speech to her thoughts, defining the very boundaries of who she was as an individual. Helga stumbled upon, to her hapless torment, the very thing that propelled Van Gogh to eat yellow paint and cut off his own ear in manic love sickness, the precise alchemical mixture of love that haunted sages of Persia seeking to transfigure gold from clay. She had within her a miracle, and it was sacred, and she kept it tended in secret ways, kept secret even from herself. Helga was helpless against it, a mote of yellow against a vast sea of crimson and fuscia, a galactic nebula of stellar light. She could do no more to shake the roots of it free from her foundation than she could swallow the moon. Even when she spent years denying it, hiding herself from it with terrifying experiences, cheap thrills, sad films, red wine and sleeping pills, it glowed within her, humming the precise harmonic frequency of her very bones. Its vibrations defined the rate at which her atoms shed electrons and spiraled into half-life decay. Her love was her.
Helga was currently in the sad state of full acceptance and awareness of how trapped and helpless she was, and the rawness and exhilaration of the sensation of loving had her bent over a toilet in Gerald's frat house at the big party, the wracking sounds of a stone-cold-sober nervous puke nearly drowning out the pounding rhythm of the house music Brainy was meticulously mixing.
Her legs shook under her. She rest her forehead on the toilet, hugging the bowl for purchase. Thank you for being cool on my head, toilet, she reverently thought. I'm sorry for filling you with puke. She held her eyes shut, feeling another wave of nausea hit, roll over her like a hot press, and pass on, leaving her shivering in the too-cold bathroom.
"Oh fuck how am I gonna do this," she pleaded with the empty room. Beneath her, her black leather pants shined taut against her legs. She followed the muscular swoop of her thigh, following the long limb to its terminal point in a pair of uncharacteristically feminine pink pumps with little black ribbon bows on the toe. She loved these shoes, they were the girliest thing she owned. She bought them in secret, and hid them in the back of her closet where her secret things habitually went. Now, she wore them shyly, feeling awkwardly tall and leggy with them hoisting her butt up in the tight black leather jeans she squirmed into. At least the pants were comfortable; a staple for her shows, decorated at the hips with DIY rivets and studs, they were seemingly painted on her athletic lower half.
She sat up from the toilet, flushing the stress she'd expelled and rising to sit on the edge of the garden tub next to her. For half a second, a wave of cold sickness wobbled her off balance, and she almost fell backwards fully into the tub, before her steady hand on the toilet saved her.
Take it easy, Helga, old girl. You've got a twelve song set list and ten heavenly, hellish minutes alone with him to get through.
Helga bit her lip, her light speed imagination immediately filling her thoughts with precisely calibrated scenes of everything that could possibly unfold in ten minutes. She tasted the hint of pomegranate and mint in her deep crimson lip stain for a brief moment, the thought I hope he likes pomegranate instantly sending a warm, splotchy flush of embarrassment across her neck and collarbones.
Helga regarded her flushed face with skepticism and concern. She had spent an unusual amount of time focusing on her appearance to get ready. Beyond selecting the pink babydoll tshirt with a glittery black Baphoment boldly emblazoned across the front, opting to go with her laciest, blackest bra, and carefully dividing her hair into two perfect ponytails, Helga had also spent time straightening her bangs, detailing her eyebrows into bold, powerful shapes, and carefully selecting the makeup she would wear. She normally didn't wear much; it wasn't her style to slather herself with makeup, and she usually only stuck to a simple concealer and dark eye shadow. She regarded her large, expressive blue eyes with awkward awareness, unsure if the little catlike lines of eyeliner and smoky-red eye shadow was overmuch, or if the little embellishments of gold glitter she lightly dusted under her eyebrows was a tasteful addition. She'd spent the better part of the afternoon watching YouTube makeup tutorials, struggling and snarling with her unpracticed hands when they were clumsy in applying the expert techniques she wished to emulate. Somehow, she'd gotten it done. She recalled Phoebe's audible gasp when she saw Helga, felt again the embarrassed eye of scrutiny from Phoebe as it washed over her.
"Is it too much?" Helga had asked, holding her arm awkwardly, the studded black wrist bangle digging slightly into her wrist.
"Helga, I posit that you have a hidden talent for makeup artistry," Phoebe rushed. "You have somehow managed to look both flashy and toned down simultaneously. I am envious of your restraint and attention to detail."
Helga smiled at herself in the mirror, somehow bolstered by the little memory of her best friend's comment. Maybe Phoebe was right; Helga had struggled to get where she was, but the effect was precisely what she intended. She had just enough color splashed on her face to excite the senses. She was silently thankful that her recent binge-eating junk food hadn't resulted in any breakouts in her skin. Helga had trouble with her skin, even now, and whatever conspiracy had resulted in her clear complexion for the part must have been divine influence. She felt that it surely had to be.
Maybe this won't be a total disaster. Helga sat on the rim of the tub, one leg bouncing nervously in cadence to the pulsing rhythm of the song Brainy was currently mixing outside. I wonder how he's doing, she thought, her concerns automatically going to her too-quiet friend and roommate. He never expressed anything but calm, quiet acceptance to Helga. She sometimes wondered what he was really thinking. She knew he was still in love with her - she'd have to be blind not to see it. But he had never made a move on her, and she'd never encouraged it. She was comfortable with the boundaries they'd set.
If this works, will Brainy still want to live with me? She couldn't imagine that he would be cool with her bringing Arnold home after she'd successfully seduced him. Yet that was her precise intention, and her desired end result. Going home with Arnold. The thought made her dizzy, made her stomach flop around within her guts and dredge up all her previously calmed nervousness and stressful worry.
She hadn't made the decision to seduce him lightly. In fact, it was only recently, thanks to Dr. Bliss, that she had gotten anything in her mind for those ten minutes other than a powerful, life-time delayed confession. Now she'd use every weapon of femininity available to her, aimed directly at Arnold's heart and loins without mercy. The mere concept sent her blood clicking through her veins. She felt high, she felt drugged by the sensations of anticipation and physical need for him. She had never allowed herself to feel these things for him this intensely. Sure, she'd had her silly teenage fantasies, and was well acquainted with her vibrator, Rusty, but the actual intentional design to commingle Arnold with herself had never been a fantasy she'd allowed herself the indulgence in.
And now she was going to toss the dice and see how they fell.
"Breathe, Helga, breathe. You can do this. He's just a boy." She repeated the mantra to herself, standing from the tub to pace the little bathroom she had trapped herself in at the party. It was six paces long, two paces wide. She'd counted them out, the repetitive action bringing her focus when her mind was such a chaotic mess.
"It'll be easy. He's just a stupid boy, and you're mega hot, and you'll knock his socks off." She reasoned with herself, imagining colliding with him like a comet, her body melding against his immediately. It made her stammer and stutter. "A-and you'll j-j-just take the rest off of him t-too." Whoa. Arnold naked. With me. She got dizzy at the thought, and had to lead on the bathroom counter for purchase, facing the mirror and unable to look at herself.
Do I deserve that? She had to ask herself the question. Helga wasn't sure she was worthy of such an experience. Was anyone worthy of touching the surface of the sun? It will dirty him. She frowned at the poisonous thought. She hadn't felt clean in years. She just regarded herself with a helpless acceptance. Helga G. Pataki was corrupted, fucked up, and a mess. Even if she could accept, with Dr. Bliss' help, that she loved Arnold and that it was okay, she still couldn't bring herself to accept that he would feel anything for her except the expected basic human male response to female stimuli.
It will dirty me. If she allowed Arnold to be with her, then, knowing that he would only be feeling her with his genitals, and not his heart (she wouldn't accept that as even a remote possibility), did that make her a slut? Was she cheap, by letting Arnold use her just for her own silly desires? The thought made her sick. This was a disaster already. Helga felt like the ground was going to swallow her up at any moment, a massive yawning chasm would suddenly sinkhole the entire bathroom and all of its occupants, erasing her forever. She begged for it to be true, she pleaded with the air with her eyes to make her disappear.
A knock at the door brought her back to the party, with the pulsing rhythm of music, the sounds of people shouting and cheering, the stale hot smell of beer and sweat and bodies.
"Hold on a second," Helga breathed. She wasn't ready to go out there yet. She needed more time to prepare. She needed another day, maybe, or a week. Give her another year, and she might be ready to face Arnold.
When did I get so cowardly? She suddenly thought. Helga G Pataki used to be a fearless force of nature. In High School. she was voted the prom queen just by the sheer force of her personality. She smiled, remembering with relish Rhonda's outrage when Helga smiled and waved at her from on stage, wearing her tiara and holding her flowers. People respected her, people feared her. Helga hadn't merely withered away when Arnold left. She'd receded within herself, found that she was missing pieces, and rebounded back outwards twice as sharp and hard as before. Why, then, was she feeling so brittle, so vulnerable now?
It's because he is the missing pieces you lost. He's back now, and you're afraid of not being able to find the missing pieces in time. You're afraid of losing him again. Helga took a shaking breath, forcing air through her lungs.
The knock came again, more aggressively.
"I said just a fucking second! Criminy, you must not be fond of that hand you keep pounding the door with, 'cause I'm half a moment from coming out there and tearing it off!" There was the old fury. It steadied her, somehow, to feel something other than panic, even if it was blind rage at an anonymous intruder.
She heard Phoebe's voice.
"Helga, it's Phoebe. I lost my purse. It's imperative that we recover it immediately. The purse contains my cell phone, which has the precise timetables and instructions for the night's events. Arnold's almost arrived; we need to find the purse before he gets here."
Helga sighed. Phoebe. Despite being the smartest person she'd ever met, Phoebe had always had a slightly sloppy, hapless side. It had been exposed when she broke her leg, and when she cheated.
"Just a minute, Pheebs. I'll be right out and we'll find it together." Together. Helga chewed the word, recognizing that she was not alone in this. Practically everyone at PS118 had jumped on board when Gerald sent out his instructions for the party. Everybody knew their role, everybody had their part to play. And she could rely on the fact that most of them would fuck it up, but Gerald and Phoebe had planned for that, too.
Really, they'd anticipated everything. Everything except for when you seduce Arnold. She blushed at the thought, but the micron of steel resolve she'd found kept her steady. But they don't have to know about that.
Helga reached into her pocket, pulling the soft, rolled-up fabric of her ribbon free and unfolding it in her hands. So much has happened since that day. He always liked her ribbon. He mentioned it specifically when he saw her again for the first time in ten years. She took a breath, and reached behind her head, tying it behind her bangs into a big, folded bow that rest between her pigtails. Taking one last look at herself, correcting her bangs and pushing her tits up for inspection, Helga wrapped up her private pep talk with herself.
"You're a fucking hurricane. You're a typhoon, a force of goddamned nature. Helga G. Pataki, your love is cosmic, and invincible, and you have unlimited strength. Fuck this party up. Fuck this party up. This is your night."
She sighed once, a long, heavy exhale carrying the last of her jitters away. "And you've been waiting ten years for this moment. It's time to tell Arnold how much you love him."
She was satisfied. Helga opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the press of the crowd with Phoebe to start hunting down her purse, her mind chewing through the details of the night ahead of her.
"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, doc," Helga slumped into the couch in Dr. Bliss' office, feeling physically and mentally drained. She'd practiced with Gerald and Brainy until their fingers blistered, and folded paper cranes and scanned letter after letter into her MacBook with Phoebe until the blisters bled and cracked. Every available second was devoted to the frightening anticipation of the party the next day, and her planned confrontation with Arnold. She was ramping up to a panic attack when she called her psychologist, desperate for help.
"Of course, Helga. It's been a long time since you called me needing immediate help outside of our monthly visits. Why don't you tell me what's going on?" Dr. Bliss sat in her chair passively, the lovely woman always a patient and friendly source of attention for Helga. She always looked forward to their appointments, and never missed a single one. Even when she had spiralled out of control when Arnold left, she'd made her appointments without fail. In fact, she made more of them, sometimes visiting daily. She just needed the kind of womanly care and attentiveness she got from Dr. Bliss that wasn't ever going to come from anywhere else.
"Well, doc, it's kind of like this. Arnold's come back to Hillwood." Helga put her palms on her eyes, squeezing until she saw colors light up against the black blanket of her eyelids.
Helga heard Dr. Bliss sputter as she sipped her coffee, setting the cup down hastily. Helga peeked at her with one eye, a little surprised her normally unflappable doctor would startle.
"Ya alright, doc? You really shouldn't be the one surprised by that, ya know."
"No, I'm sorry, I know. How sloppy of me. I was just happy for you for a moment." Dr. Bliss smiled at Helga. Helga loved that feeling. It made her shy, so she got surly.
"Happy for me? It's just about the worst possible thing that could have happened."
"Is that how you really feel, Helga?" Dr. Bliss sounded skeptical. It always bothered Helga how astute and insightful she could be, especially when it came to Arnold.
"No, it's not how I really feel. Of course it isn't. I'm beside myself, totally loopy gaga nuts! I can't believe he's back. It's been ten years, I had gotten so used to his absence that I just took it for granted. I'm just a tiny bit overwhelmed, to be honest."
Dr. Bliss nodded while she listened. She never took notes with Helga. Helga appreciated that, because it gave her the illusion that her doctor never wrote anything she said down. She knew that somewhere there were observational reports and whatnot for insurance purposes, but Helga liked feeling that her sessions with Dr. Bliss were too intimate to write down.
"I think that is perfectly normal and natural. After all, a young man you have cared deeply about and who left at a critical point in your childhood has suddenly returned to your life. It must feel quite nostalgic."
Helga sat up quickly, alert and excited. "Yes! That's exactly it, nostalgic. It's like everything is all sepia toned and idyllic now. I see the town in an almost new light, except it's the old light. Like from before he left. Hell, I even felt like calling Miriam."
Dr. Bliss raised her eyebrows, folding her hands in her lap. "The desire to contact wrinkles in our past is especially strong when we are allowed an opportunity to revisit it. Did you make contact?"
Helga chewed her lip. She didn't want to talk about Miriam today, she just wanted to talk about Arnold. "I did. It was weird."
"How did it make you feel to contact your mother? If I recall, you haven't spoken to her since last year. Christmas, wasn't it?"
Helga frowned at the memory. Brainy had convinced her to call Miriam on Christmas Day. He'd patiently looked at her the way he did, and set her phone in front of her, just saying "Miriam." Helga had stared at her phone, holding onto her chair for stability and purchase. Finally, she had called. Miriam had been drunk, and a sad mess. She was so excited that Helga called she sloppily slurred about every incident in her sad, mundane life until she had started to uncontrollably cry. Helga had been sick to her stomach, and made excuses, and ended the call. She didn't make contact again, until last night.
"Yes, and it felt weird. She's doing better, I just..." Helga gathered the air in front of her into a sigh, remembering last night's call. "She's still drinking. She wasn't as sloppy as Christmas but how could she be. But she is still making her damn smoothies and forgetting things. She thought I called because it was my birthday. I tried talking to her about things, but I just got off the phone as fast as possible when the waterworks started."
"It was very brave to challenge your comfort zone like that, especially when you feel so overwhelmed by Arnold."
Helga wasn't so sure. "You think so, doc? It felt like a little kid running home to mommy because the boy she liked scared her."
"Mm, that might play a small part in it. But remember, Arnold is resurfacing a lot of emotions and memories. The desire to tie up loose ends will be especially strong right now."
"Yeah well there's one frayed goddamn knot I'd like to tie off, and beaucoups fast. This Arnold problem is making me fucking loco."
"I can tell. You're usually less colorful with your language in our visits."
Helga blushed genuinely embarrassed that the woman she liked and respected so much caught a glimpse of her foul mouth.
"Ah, shit, sorry doc. I, uh, cuss like a sailor. When I'm not here, I mean. I'm stressed out, it's going to bleed into our conversation. Apologies in advance,"
"It doesn't offend me, Helga. In fact, it's a useful indicator of your current psychological state. You must be very stressed and strained to let your standard street behavior inform our session. You are usually restrained."
There was that sharp insight Helga loathed and relied upon so much. Helga pondered something for half a beat, and then loaded her ammo.
"Hey doc, how come you never got married?" Helga had been saving that one for a special occasion. She felt that Arnold merited the moment.
"Well," Dr. Bliss began hesitantly. "That's a big question. I suppose it's because the opportunity never arose, and because I am usually very busy with my work."
"Yeah but I know you've had a guy or two since we started." Helga kept her snooping a secret, but the fact was that Helga was as resourceful as Gerald could be. Sometimes more so, when people she loved were the subject of her subterfuges.
"Yes, I suppose I did date a man or two. But none of them seemed ready for the commitment at the time. Or I wasn't ready. Once, both. The stars never aligned there for me. Maybe they still will."
"Yeah but how did you know they weren't ready? Or that you weren't for that matter?"
Dr. Bliss smiled at Helga, canting her head slightly to regard her patient with curiosity. "These are rather inexperienced and youthful questions for a patient I usually find to be far more mature and insightful. Are you feeling confused?"
Dammit, Helga thought. She's reading my moves again.
"Arnold's just got me all mixed up, okay? How did you know you weren't ready for something major and dramatic?" For such a furious, powerful soul, Helga always felt weak and insecure and childlike when it came to love and commitment. She'd spent her whole life in a one sided love, that everything else seemed like a fake she wasn't interested in or a fairy tale she could never have.
"I suppose that experience has taught me that I will be ready when my heart and my brain are aligned. When I can logically agree to what my passions irrationally want, well then I have nothing to lose."
Helga blinked at the explanation. She had never once felt like her heart and brain were aligned. The concept felt utterly alien to her. She had no concept of what that would look like. From her vantage point, she would always be forced to pick sides between her heart and her brain, and let one fall to the wayside in total favor of the other.
"Well right now, my heart wants him and my brain says I'm no good for him, so he shouldn't waste his time on me." Helga found it difficult to say out loud. She felt a throb of emotion chunk up in her throat, threatening to bring tears with it.
"I think that is a totally normal insecurity to attach to a boy you think so highly of. We have a hard time seeing our own self worth as it is. It's one of those timeless struggles poets and philosophers have been puzzling over since antiquity. And that just becomes doubly difficult when the heroic ideal of what we aspire to is held up in comparison. I don't think your assessment is accurate, but no amount of logic will convince your brain that your heart is in the right."
Helga rolled onto her side, watching Dr. Bliss carefully. She was about to get to the point, the dramatic pivot that Helga would use to navigate these troubled seas, and the storm named Arnold.
"I think you have displayed remarkable maturity and depth to listen to your brain's ideas at the expense of ten years of heart's desire. The restraint is admirable, but ultimately I don't think it's the right move for you right now."
Helga's thick eyebrows arched high. She didn't know what to say. "You're saying...what, that I should...what are you saying."
Dr. Bliss adopted the look she wore when she gave Helga an Official Suggestion. These were serious, and Helga had learned to listen to them all or she would inevitably regret it.
"I am saying that after ten years of listening to your brain, it's time to let the heart drive the Helgamobile for a little while. We talked about your letters many times, and you always came to the very mature conclusion that your letters would merely be hurtful and painful to read. I felt that working through those thought processes and emotions was excellent therapy for your self-confidence and self-image issues, and you came out of a very dark place stronger and more psychologically sound than I would have ever expected.
"However," she pivoted her tone, gently articulating her point to Helga. Her patient listened with wide eyed intensity, hanging on her every word. "That stage of your psychological development is completed and it has served its purpose. And now Arnold is back. We have a golden opportunity for you to finish putting the last piece of the Helga puzzle in place, but first you have to give in."
"G-give in? What do you mean, doc?"
"You need to surrender your brain to your heart now, and confront Arnold. It's time you told him how you feel."
Helga sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch. She stared at her shoes, trembling slightly. Dr. Bliss was almost never wrong. If her heart wanted Arnold no matter the cost, but her brain was doubtful and trying to look after his best interests, wouldn't it be selfish to pick her own feelings over his?
"Doc, isn't that a bit selfish?"
"You bet." Dr. Bliss responded without hesitation. Helga had no idea how she managed to seem so sure of herself. It must be those decades of experience and training.
Helga chewed her lip just as she chewed the morsel Dr. Bliss had just fed her. She hadn't been selfish about Arnold in years. She'd stopped the scheming and the tricks when he left. Of course, she used to get up to plenty. She practically lived to harass him, keep him away from other girls, and ruin his day whenever he stopped paying attention to her. It had been fun. It had been how she expressed her love to him, secretly forcing him to be around her and pay attention to her and think about her. She liked when he thought about her. She felt herself smiling involuntarily, and felt very aware of Dr. Bliss's smile aimed right at her.
"Doc, I know you're all Cheshire over there, but you're gonna need to sell me on this one. It feels-"
"Frightening. I know. But I just remember the sad little girl that sat on my couch, her heart broken, speaking to me as if every year she'd lived had been worth three of anyone else's. Giving Arnold up. Letting him be. Helga, it was remarkable. I've been working with you for a very long time, and that moment is still one of the most powerful we've ever had. You should be proud of that. But you should also be ready to undo all of it. It's time.
"Arnold is back now, and there's no reason to keep yourself from being Helga with him anymore. He's a grown person, and he's lived his childhood without any disruption from you, just like you wanted. I think it was good for you to give him that, and I think he probably appreciates it more than he even realizes. You've done your good deed; time to cash in on the reward."
Helga wasn't so sure. What would she even do? So far, her plan was to have a big dramatic goodbye with Arnold in a private room somewhere after the equally dramatic show. The party was how she intended to close the door on Arnold, and now her psychologist, maybe the person whose insights she respected and trusted the most in the world, was suggesting that she not only keep the door open, that she rip it off the hinges.
"What if he rejects me?" She couldn't imagine Arnold would accept her. Not after her icy rejection at the coffee shop, and not after ten years of no responses from her.
"Oh, Helga, if you finally pour your heart out to him, and finally use all that creative energy you've been building and building over the years to express to him every feeling you've been wanting to tell him but never could, I couldn't imagine he would be anything but deeply and sincerely touched. We've talked about Arnold for years. Arnold is a major focal point in your life, and while I've always felt that he was good for you, he's also been in your way every step of the way. He's both your beacon and your albatross."
"So, say I agree, and I just decide to spill my guts all over him tomorrow night. What if the literally impossible happens and he reciprocates my feelings but still wants to leave? I couldn't handle that, doc. I can't handle hearing him say that he l-l-loves me again, and then leave." Helga stared at her hands helplessly. That was it. She'd finally said it. Her real fear.
Because Helga remembered with vivid, perfect clarity the moment that Arnold confessed to her. It was the single happiest moment of her life. She'd never forget it, as long as she lived.
She and Arnold were alone, separated from the rest of the group. Arnold had been trying to tell Helga something the whole trip, but Helga had been avoiding him and unusually surly. Truthfully, she was afraid, afraid of what Arnold kept trying to tell her. He'd been acting unusually towards her ever since the TPI thing, and then the whole April Fool's Day thing. Arnold had been paying a lot of attention to her, asking her things, spending time around her when she was used to being the one hanging around.
Finally, he had cornered her. She was tired, and sweaty, and she looked terrible. Helga recalled the thrill in her arm when Arnold had taken her hand when he finally got her alone, and the screaming pounding terror she felt when he drew in close and locked eyes.
"Helga," he had said. She remembered trying to swallow with a dry throat. She smelled his sweat, he was so close. "You've been avoiding me this whole trip now, and I've just been trying to talk to you. I just wanted to thank you," he stepped closer to her.
"Th-thank me? What for, Football Head. And back off, you're getting t-too close to me," her voice had none of the typical venom it usually could muster. She sounded as nervous as she felt.
"I won't back off. I don't think you think I'm too close. In fact, I know you like when I'm close because you told me." Arnold held eye contact, and Helga was pinned in place by his stare. "I didn't forget what you said, and I don't think you said it in the heat of the moment. You really do love me, don't you?"
Helga remembered the immediate dizziness, then the anger that he cornered her and demanded her feelings from her. Like some sort of brute. She shoved herself free of him, pushing Arnold over onto his butt. She towered over him, clenching a fist. "Yeah, what of it? So I love you, you little shrimp. Don't think that lets you grab me and make demands of me, Football Head. In fact, don't go assuming I want you around all the time either. You've been following me around and making a lot of trouble for me since this stupid trip started."
Helga recalled with sadness the way he looked up at her. Genuine hurt. Then anger. She sighed while Dr. Bliss watched her think, remembering the lesson she had learned hard that day: little boys are not the best at processing their feelings into constructive forms of expression.
"Fine! You know what Helga, I really thought I could finally get you to open up to me, but even when you admit that you care about me, you literally push me away. I'm sick of it! It's so confusing!" Arnold stood back up, getting right back in her face, but this time with an accusing finger in her chest. "You don't get to string me along and tell me you love me and then act like nothing's changed and push me around. It's selfish. Stop and think about someone else for half a second - think about how it might be hurting my feelings."
"H-Hurting you? Hurting you? Hah! What do you know of pain, Football Head? I've been pining over you, unrequited I might add, for seven years! How's that for pain? And just about every time I tried to be nice to you for a change, you get all in my face and act like a total jerk. Like the stupid egg assignment!"
Arnold ignored her accusation and went right to the heart of it. "Who says it's unrequited?"
Helga had frozen in place. She can recall, with absolute precision, the sounds of the jungle then, the constant noise of life everywhere around her, the smell of wet plants and decaying matter and her sweat, the constant dull heat that hovered over everything like a blanket. She remembers the look on Arnold's face, how cute he looked all sweaty with his shirt opened extra buttons. She can remember, without error, how Arnold looked, sounded, and smelled when he said it.
"I love you, Helga. I have for a long time, I just didn't know what it was I felt, or how to say it. You've always been there, if not for me, with me. I don't just like you like you. I love you."
Helga put her face in her hands. The rest of the memory was kissing. She felt herself grow flush at the ghostly sensation of his clumsy lips finding hers, and the frightening passion his ten year old heart could express in a kiss. It had been intense. And then, too soon, Gerald found them, and the moment was over.
And not long after all of that, he chose to leave her.
That was what she was afraid of. She was afraid of being given a moment of happiness and then immediately punished for it with another ten years or a lifetime of sorrow. She couldn't handle that happening twice. She wouldn't. Given the choice, she'd rather cut it all off at the pass, and say goodbye. But her doctor recommended that she give it another shot.
"Doc, I trust you." She finally spoke.
"Good. I've worked hard to earn that trust."
"I'm just not convinced you're right here." Helga looked up at Dr. Bliss from her hands. She was really afraid. She hoped her doctor could see it.
"Well the choice is of course yours. I can only offer my professional opinion - and if I am honest, my personal opinion. Relationship advice is usually outside the scope of what a psychologist offers, but you're important to me as a patient and as a friend. I want you to be happy, and I think you have a good shot at it."
Helga took a shuddering breath, rubbing her eyes with her palms once more. Finally, she stood up, her decision made.
"Alright. I'll do it. Arnold has no idea what he's in store for, but, I'll tell him everything. I'll do everything. All of this...this frustration, and anticipation and want is coming out, tomorrow night."
Dr. Bliss smiled and stood with Helga, extending her hand for a professional shake. Helga lunged and hugged her instead, squeezing her favorite doctor with all the affection she could muster.
"Thank you Dr. Bliss. I'll make you proud."
"As I live and breathe Helga Pataki you look divine," Rhonda Wellington Lloyd gasped. In the party's press of people, Helga had not seen that she was headed directly for the precise individual she had no interest in seeing.
"Hello Rhonda," she spat, her voice acid and bitter.
"Love the shoes. Tres cute. Love the party, too, what a genius little plan. It's positively devious. Don't worry, I remember the words."
Helga scowled at her, deciding to close the distance a little and assert herself. "Good. Don't fuck this up for me, Lloyd, or you'll end up a cautionary tale to frighten little rich girls at bedtime."
"Oh, Helga, you always were a kidder. So tell me true, have you seen him yet? Arnold? Isn't he divine? It's like he's stepped out of a classical painting, all bronzed and strong looking. And oh, that hair."
Helga was working her way around the crowd, but Rhonda was following her. She and Phoebe had split up to find the purse ten minutes ago, and Helga was headed to the rooms upstairs. She suddenly couldn't shed her parasitic hop-along, despite all the scowls and threats.
"Yeah, I saw him a few days ago. What of it?"
"Don't tell me you didn't try to tap that." Rhonda laughed her wanton laugh, lifting her cocktail glass to her delicately stained red lips which had curved into a wicked little smile. Helga turned to her, squaring off her shoulders. Rhonda should have recognized it as a warning sign.
"Tell me, after the little show and tell are you planning on getting him alone? If I were you, I'd be itching to jump his bones. All that adolescent longing you know? My god, the years surely must have added exponentially to his passion. Mmh, and those arms. Why, I'd like to-" Rhonda was interrupted by Helga's hand snatching her glass from her hands right as it was poised at her pursed lips. Rhonda watched in horror when Helga belted the glass back, shooting the entire contents in a single gulp. She hurled the glass to the side, smashing it uselessly against a wall, and locked a savage look with Rhonda's very surprised one.
"Look here, princess, what happens between me and Arnold after the show is going to be fucking legendary. You'll be hearing about it in sorrowful news reports for years. There's gonna be a fucking candle light vigil in memory of the tragic loss of life in the collateral damage. I'm sure your tiny, limited imagination has all kinds of boring fantasies of six minutes of missionary queued up for you to titter over your bubblegum vodka cocktails-that tasted like fucking garbage by the way-but just recognize that before you stands a nightmare wreathed in sex and gunsmoke. You just play your part, look pretty, and keep your fucking mouth as shut as you're genetically capable of."
Rhonda's mouth hung agape, raw shock painted over every millimeter of her face. Helga snorted triumphantly, stalking up the stairs freshly clear of the annoying satellite intent on intruding into her evening. Somehow, she felt remarkably like her old self, half-cocked and ready to tumble, but grounded to a sweet and tender foundation of affection for someone greater than herself.
"Goddamn I feel great! It's like the cork on my personality has been mysteriously popped off by some unknowable cosmic force. It's like Helga Pataki can breathe again, I can extend my arms and walk with confidence! Criminy, I'm even threatening Rhonda again-OUTTA the way, you slack-jawed mouth breather-" Helga savagely shoved someone out of her way, nearly sending them toppling down the stairs. "Shit, a girl can't even walk around anymore without having to assert her personal space. You people need to be aware," she snarled to the crowd around her, "Helga G. Pataki is coming through. Dawdle at your fucking peril, lumps. I got a purse to find, a show to kill, and a boy's heart to claim."
Helga smiled at herself with satisfaction when the crowd parted for her. She marched into the first bedroom in her path, barrelling through the door.
Two people, mostly exposed skin, leapt up from the bed in the room in surprise. Helga growled and rolled her eyes. "Oh brother, seriously? The party's barely even started and you're already taking clothes off? Show some restraint, for Pete's sake. Now hurry up and get out. Get the fuck out!"
The couple, grabbing for their clothes while Helga lectured them, threw on what clothes they could and ducked out of the room in embarrassment. Helga rolled her eyes skyward when she heard the libidinous jeering from the crowd outside immediately upon their exit.
"Jesus Christ, it's like the whole house is hopped up on human growth hormone. Bunch of wild dogs, all of them eager for the pathetic, pawing ministrations of one another in some desperate attempt to know the tender, sincere affections of another. How little they know. How they disgust me. How trite and trivial they all seem, laid to measure against the giant of my love. Ah, Arnold! How I anticipate your surprise. How exciting it will be, my love, to see your features when the truest expression of my tender affections is finally unveiled before you! How little you know of the juggernaut within me, laid low by years of restraint as chivalrous and heroic as any Red Crosse Knight. Ah, Arnold, my Isolde, let me be your Tristram and embrace you in love's most purest expression! Ah, Arnold, sweetest desire, most painful of needs, how the minutes seem to-" a savage buzzing somewhere in the room interrupted her sudden onset monologue. Helga scowled, picking up where she left of. "How the minutes seem to-" Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. "Oh for fuck's sake!" She snarled, stalking off to the corner where the insidious note repeatedly harshed her mellow.
Helga snickered to herself victoriously, stepping into the corner to see Phoebe's purse.
"Well all right. Not bad, Pataki. Now we can finally end this stupid goose chase."
The buzzing in the purse ceased. Helga snorted at the minor victory-she counted the annoyance ending as a victory somehow-and started to leave the room.
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.
The buzzing returned. Phoebe's phone was being dialed off the hook. Helga's left eyebrow twitched, and she opened the purse impatiently, snatching the phone free.
Her eyes gawked at the caller ID.
"Lila Sawyer? What the fuck is miss perfect doing calling Phoebe?" Helga didn't even hesitate. She swiped the screen, accepting the call and bringing it to her ear.
Lila started talking immediately, hearing the line pick up on her end.
"Phoebe! Phoebe, I'm ever so glad I finally was able to catch you. I hope it's not too late, oh, I'm ever so hopeful it's not too late! I want you to call it off. I was wrong, I was ever so wrong. I can't bear it, I can't bear to imagine my Arnold being tricked all for my silly insecurities-and I'm terrified you'll be successful. I can't lose him, I'm ever so scared that he'll change his mind after all! You have to call it off, please, I'm begging you! Don't let Helga play for him tonight!"
Helga's mind was a maelstrom, a swirling collection of confused eddies of thought, coalescing around a central point. Phoebe had been talking to Lila for some reason, about Arnold, and about the party, and about her. Something was going on between Lila and Arnold - the fact that Lila called him "my Arnold" wasn't lost on her in the slightest - and even more so, Phoebe knew what it was and intentionally hid it from her. She felt mad. She felt scared. She felt sickeningly betrayed. But, more than anything, she felt powerful.
Because she had picked up the phone. Not Phoebe.
"I'm real sorry to tell ya, toots," Helga began, and she heard Lila squeak in surprise to hear her voice. "But Phoebe's not here. It's just old Helga. So tell me, Lila, what's the story here?"
"H-H-Helga? Wh-what are you-" Lila stammered, clearly taken by surprise.
"Never you mind, Sawyer. Doesn't matter how I got the call. Just matters that I did. So why don't you do me the honor of filling me in, for old time's sake." Helga's voice carried a dangerous note, a promise of something terrible to come.
"N-no, Helga, you don't understand. There's circumstances - I can explain, but you need to listen to me."
"Listen to you? Hon, you're all mixed up. I don't gotta listen to you, not unless you've got something worthwhile to say. Why don't you start with Arnold. Fill me in on what this "my Arnold" business is all about. What, you got the hots for Football Head now?"
"I'm, well, yes, I'm in love with him, and-"
"Ohohoho, of course you are. Why wouldn't you be? Well that's just peachy. Everybody loves Arnold! Everybody can be in love with Arnold now. It'll be one big huge clusterfuck. I'll love Arnold, you'll love Arnold, we'll all just be in love with Arnold!"
Lila started to say something, but Helga cut her off sharply. "Except that's not even close to how this is gonna go, Sawyer. I don't know what the fuck is going on between you and Phoebe. I'll find out, mind you, but it's fucking moot at this exact juncture. 'Cause guess what? The show's on, sister. That's right, the show is on. Twelve songs, one big fucking glorious finish, and then ten sweet minutes alone with our sweet, innocent little Football Head. He won't be too innocent for much longer, Lila. So say your goodbyes to whatever virtue you thought he had - Arnold's mine. And I'm going to take him from you. I'll take him from anyone that gets in my way. I don't care how many bodies I have to step over, I don't care who I have to betray, what oaths I must break, or what friendships I must forsake. Arnold belongs to Helga Geraldine Pataki as of tonight. You'd do well to settle that out with whatever gods you believe in, 'cause it's a fucking fact."
Helga turned the phone off to the sound of Lila's shocked, devastated pleading. She felt numb to her rival's pain, and felt triumphantly powerful. She felt invincible, like she had discovered the enemy's secret weakness and exploited it flawlessly.
Calmly, she hummed one of her songs to herself as she deleted all of Lila's texts and incoming calls, and blocked her number on Phoebe's phone. Smiling diabolically to herself, she dropped the phone in Phoebe's purse, and sweetly called out.
"Oh Phoebe! I found your purse~!"
Grimly imagining the ways in which she might extract the truthful details of Phoebe's betrayal, Helga stepped out into the party, more than prepared for the night before her, armed to the teeth with weapons of femininity and guile.
Oh yes, Arnold will be mine, or I'm not Helga Geraldine motherfucking Pataki. She smiled to herself. Time for the show to begin.