The leverage Helga's journal lent him didn't make it any lighter as he held it in his hands.

A tomb of secret thoughts that he wasn't allowed to know, or touch—much less open. If anything, the burden of its weight sank his body deeper into the mattress, leaning over his crossed legs while feeling its leather covers. Surfaces her hands had touched; now pliable and warmed by his.

And wrapped shut.

And it'd stay that way, of course.

He wasn't that kind of guy.

So why is it in bed with you? Came the thought, followed by a brief pause.

Shut up.

Still, his guilt trailed behind the trembling rush he felt regardless; this advantage he had over a girl who tormented him more than she even knew. A power that was rich and tantalizingly dark; and still would've been, if he'd merely taken the journal on accident. But Arnold hadn't.

He'd stolen it.

When he closed his eyes it was like he was back in the darkness of her closet, on the forbidden edge of an intoxicating world of deep, personal privacy that tempted violation.

Not that he needed to in order for this to work.

And not that he ever could do something like that, anyway, he assured himself.

Hypocrite.

Arnold scowled and stuck the journal onto his shelf. He'd stuff it back in his school bag later.

Leaning back and smoothing his hand down his stomach in yet another moment of shameful indulgence, he unzipped and freed himself.

God. His hard-on when he finally found himself alone in his room with her journal was no surprise, but he was already wet, just from holding it. Jesus…

He closed his eyes and cringed into his pillow from the observation, focusing on the movement from his hand instead. When he reopened his eyes he found himself staring at the pink spine of her journal, anyway. He bit his lip, pumping faster.

Then let out a breathy gust of derision. Come on. How could he jerk off to a book?

…Don't answer that.

Grabbing her journal and rolling off his bed with an aggravated scoff, Arnold kicked his jeans off and walked toward his desk, tugged the top drawer open, spotted his sketchbook, and paused.

Staring absently at its cover, he remembered the look he caught of her from behind during their last swim unit, when she was stepping out of the pool. Thankfully a stack of towels was right by its edge by the time he finally came out of the water. His cock twitched.

That image morphed to the flustered expression on her face when she made their first, accidental eye contact in months. His memory then curved down the length of her silhouetted figure, as her towel fell open in her hallway…

Arnold recoiled when he realized his free hand hadn't returned to his shaft, but had inched toward his neglected sketchbook instead.

No.

You're not drawing her.

Nope.

He slapped her journal over it and snapped the drawer shut. But, despite the tug he felt to get away and return to his bed, he stalled.

Breath pitched and uneven, he slowly pressed a hand against the surface of his desk—above where her journal would be inside, and jerked off his cock with the other as he fought the temptation to tear the drawer back open and read it.

And, despite himself, came to his memories of her, and to the fact that he just could.

… … …

'I don't think we're a match.'

His ex's words when she broke up with him months ago repeated in his head as he waited for his moment in the cafeteria.

Feeling the leather of Helga's hidden journal as he palmed it inside his bag, he'd tuned everyone out while he watched her. Except Candace, that was, when she approached, hand to her hip. He sensed her stare at him on his periphery, then at Helga after following his line of sight, and then back to him again.

She crossed her arms.

"You figure it out yet?"

Arnold frowned at his ex with perplexed annoyance as she eyerolled and turned on her heel, not even waiting for a reply.

The hell did that mean?

He scoffed, shaking his head—then started, catching Helga's gaze flickering back between him and Candace as she walked away. Flinching at the realization she'd been caught, she sulked and looked away.

…Odd. After avoiding him for months, he didn't know why she'd be looking his way in the first place.

Nevertheless, he knew an opening when he saw it.

Swallowing his nerves back, Arnold dumped his lunch tray and tread across the cafeteria. He ignored the scattered glances and pointed looks from the twins as he approached her table.

Though good at putting on a detached front when she wanted, he couldn't miss the signs that said otherwise; Helga was unmistakably troubled and frayed around the edges. He dismissed the pang in his sternum at the sight, and waited.

The moment dragged until she finally lifted her thinning, dark-ringed eyes to his; they blew wide as he pulled the edge of her pink-trimmed journal out of his bag.

Arnold stuffed it back in, indicating with a light head-tilt for Helga to follow him.

Knowing her, even with her recent frostiness toward him, she might've caused a scene if he'd taken anything else. Instead, face pallid and frozen, she rose stiffly from her seat and followed him wordlessly as he slowly led them to an empty corner across the cafeteria. He didn't even have to say a thing.

Out of the mix of his clashing feelings, he let a kind of ugly self-satisfaction take precedence.

How was this for an approach?

And he'd covered his bases, so to speak. Loose jeans, long shirt and flannel; his shoulder-strapped bag hovering casually over his front. And he'd even drained himself at the start of lunch before heading to the cafeteria. He'd considered also using an ice pack, but found they were really better when he was sitting down.

That said, looking back at her, he didn't think he'd have needed one anyway.

Of course, it wasn't that he didn't find her stunning. He even liked the way she wore exhaustion; the extra-dark circles lending a kind of smokiness to her smoldering baby blues; a spent look that made him stir below the belt. And the prospect of confronting her with the upper hand, despite his inner conflict, had been hot.

…But.

The look on her face, her poorly concealed, anxious dread as she waited, the tremble in her hands as she crossed her arms low, over her stomach—trying to hold it together but nearly hugging herself…

Whatever he'd lost by stealing her journal and using it against her like this, witnessing her fear stole it right back. It even stole his anger along with it, his sense of grounding.

And, shit, that didn't make this easier.

He clenched his core, his legs to steady himself as he wavered. And, sweating under his flannel like he'd stepped under a spotlight, he took out the journal again, but kept a firm grip on it as he met her stare head on.

Helga's eyes flickered from his to the journal, back and forth, looking stony and nauseous. Shit. He couldn't believe himself, that there were moments he'd felt good about his position over her.

Swallowing warily, Arnold gathered himself and sterned his focus, questioning distantly why she hadn't made a move to try and grab it.

"You want this back?" he asked, tapping the air with her journal, out of reach. "Then you're gonna need to hear me out, first."

Her shuddered breath reminded him to steady his own, bracing himself through the sight. Jeez. He'd never seen her like this…

"I know you don't care if I say it," he started, "but I mean it—I am sorry. I'm sorry, and not just for—the stuff I said back at the cabin..."

And, he meant it.

He cringed at the memory of him and Gerald dismissing how bad it was as her expression faltered between utter nervousness and confused incredulity…God. When did he start thinking what he said hadn't been a big deal? He'd felt like an asshole for months, even before he came like a creep in her closet…

"I'm sorry you were stuck with us after, and that I apologized to you in front of everyone…that…should've been private…"

He stalled as her face went eerily guarded and still, despite the practical screaming of her body language. Feeling suddenly directionless, he heaved a sigh, and let his words conjure on the spot.

"I…I've been realizing lately that, honestly, there's a lot of… stuff between us that really goes back, that I…thought I'd let go of, but I guess I've still been mad about…?"

It wasn't untrue. He did believe the twins, and she'd, well. She had always bugged him… He didn't know when he started glaring at her without even realizing it, or over what, exactly, but he could only imagine what it was like to get looked at that way all the time, and from someone who claimed to be apologetic…

But, dammit, he'd rehearsed this. Why was he saying this stuff?

Nevertheless, whatever was going on with her, she was just letting him talk. And, damn.

It had been a while.

"And it wasn't fair for me to say I was sorry then, when I've had this chip on my shoulder while acting like I was taking the high road…"

The longer he spoke the more her stare focused with watchful intent; wary, but penetrative. Unnerving. It made him feel ever-more on the spot, and he didn't know what to make of it.

"Anyway, I—I hope you can accept my apology. And, even if you can't, that you'd reconsider working with me on our history project—"

Her unibrow rose incrementally, eyes widening as she shifted.

"—College is right around the corner, and even if your grades can take a hit, mine really can't, if I'm gonna be able to get into a good school nearby, so I can stay here for my grandparents…"

Arnold trailed off.

For the first time since he revealed he had her journal, Helga looked away.

Biting her lip as she stared through the wall, she nodded her head subtly, eyes thinned to slivers.

He pushed through the sensations folding up his gut as he watched her regardless.

"So, I was thinking there's a way we could still do the project but keep apart for most of it—I can even take on more than my share, if that'd make it easier. It's due in a little over a week now, and—"

"You didn't read my journal at all, did you?" she said, more like a statement than a question, and cast him a cutting look.

He paused.

"Of course not," he replied, truthfully. "I'm not that kinda guy." Barely. "I saw you drop it at lunch yesterday."

"So, you took your opportunity, huh?"

His stomach dropped as Helga shook her head and scoffed.

"And it took you months to say all that? Good timing to be laying it on so thick, ain't it?" she countered with bitter cynicism, recrossing her arms as she averted her gaze, voice lowering. "You'd really say anything for a grade."

He felt his face grow hot in a tangled rush.

"That's not—"

"You don't mean a goddamn word."

"Helga, that's—"

"Why do you still have my journal? I heard your little spiel—now give it the fuck back."

Arnold exhaled deliberately, jaw set.

"Not yet."

Helga rolled her eyes with disdain, but still wouldn't look at him.

"Wow. Nothing like a little blackmail to really sell your sorries."

"You didn't give me a choice!" he snapped despite himself, and lowered his volume to a harsh whisper-yell to draw less attention. "You think this is blackmail? You're the one practically forcing me to beg!"

He hadn't even meant to raise his voice, but—God, she had no idea what she did to him, without even trying! And when she did try…Jesus.

The soft feelings that encroached earlier were quickly displaced with an ire that flustered all the way to his face.

And of course she didn't care, ignoring him completely as she took a long, dawn breath with narrowing self-control.

"Give. My journal. Back."

"Not. Yet."

Arnold met her glare with his own, and didn't give an inch.

"God," he shook his head. "Dammit, what's it gonna take, Helga? You want me to do your homework? Chores? My money?"

She let out a derisive snort.

"You couldn't buy me, Shortman."

…She was right. Hell, he knew that. And, he figured, no one could; it was something that had been true about her for a long time. It didn't matter how many years it'd been—underneath it all, there was always something about a person who would betray their parents and turn down a chance to get rich, just for the sake of others. And, honestly, that backdrop of good character heartened as much as it frustrated and confused him. How could someone who's like that deep down be so fucking—

"So, you're just pushing me into a corner for no reason, huh? You don't want anything at all?"

"I want my fucking journal back, asshole."

Arnold pulled a face. Being called that sounded so vile coming from her, and he couldn't believe how much he missed her old nicknames that used to irritate him instead.

"Look, what I said—I crossed a line, alright?" he gestured his point, "I did. But, God, Helga, come on. You're hardly a saint, and you said some pretty awful things to me and Candace, too—and unprovoked!"

"Unprovoked, huh? That's rich."

Arnold slowly shook his head. God, she was just impossible. Typical Helga, never looking at her side in things...

He preferred de-escalating conflict and trying to get along, even with her.

But right now, dammit, he didn't want to.

"So punishing me is its own reward, huh? That is so…God, that's so fucking selfish of you, Helga!" he let loose, throwing his hands out. "It's petty, and vindictive, and unfair! Who else does this? Even you didn't used to pull this shit!"

She scoffed and averted her gaze with a look that was frustratingly harder to parse.

"Oh, you'd know if I was trying to punish you."

Arnold's shoulders rose with the death of his patience as he flushed with mounting scorn, eyes glowering wide.

"Then what the hell is the point, Helga?!"

He gestured from how maddening she was, impossible—

"What're you getting out of this? I mean, Christ—you can still be mad, but you're acting like I killed your fucking lizard or something! Why can't we just get past this? At least enough to do an assignment together?"

She kept the hardness in her face but her eyes went distant, unreadable, and it only fueled his frustration.

"I mean—this is crazy! And it's not like that was the first time we'd ever fought, and this sure isn't the first time you've hated me—but we'd always managed to work something out, right? Why cut off your nose to spite your face?"

Arnold shook his head with disdain and brandished her journal.

"So, am I an asshole for taking your journal to make you talk? Yeah, but I'm running out of rope here, Helga. So, no, you aren't giving me a choice. And unlike you, I actually need to keep my grades up. Not everyone has a dad that owns a company to fall back on—"

"Excuse me?" she hissed back, hackles raised.

Helga broke her impassive front as she advanced in a combative stance. His brow furrowed as he stood his ground, a sneer on his lip when she jabbed him in the chest.

"You have no idea what my plans are once I'm outta this prison, bucko," she spat, snapping a gesture at their school surroundings, "or how I'm gonna pull them off. So you can miss me with that silver spoon in your mouth shit. I'm not Rhonda, for Chrissakes."

Arnold returned her snarling heat with a keen, emphatic scowl.

"Well, then. Maybe you'd be better off putting your differences aside, and—"

"Oh, here comes the advice!" Helga threw out her hands, taking a step back. "And you just love giving it to me, don't you? And why, 'cause you think I need it so much?"

The end of her delivery darkened in such a way that he went quiet.

All traces of aloof iciness or nervousness gone, Helga gesticulated her rant with a caustic, animated sarcasm that burned. And Arnold, despite his anger and no shortage of words earlier, stood down and let it.

He had no defense.

"Sure! Hit it, doc, I'd love for you to diagnose what's wrong with me again, and explain to me just how much of a 'personality adjustment' I need in order to stop sabotaging myself, and not be such a torture to be around."

I'm sorry, he thought, for the truth in that, an area he should never have shone a light on. And particularly in the way he had; a devil in the details that was so much harder to own when she reframed their last argument like this.

I said I was sorry.

But goddammit, Helga, even I have limits.

You drove me up the fucking wall—

"Or better yet, why don't you throw in some more examples of how intolerable other people find me? We can even drag in our best friends to make a crowd! After all, you knocked it right outta the park last time—what's another home run?"

He stared, breath shallow in his tightened chest.

…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.

But, God. Why can't you listen to me?

Why won't you?

"But, like I've said before, I already know what you think."

…After all this time, you actually, seriously think that?

You have no goddamn clue what I really think of you...!

"And I know, that all you really want from me? Is a load off your conscience, and a fucking grade."

Arnold's chest swelled with a furious indignation that scorched an unthinking reply he'd actually shout if he wasn't rendered so speechless.

I want so much more than that!

His lungs sputtered.

…

What—

She grabbed for the journal. Arnold's hand held an unmeant vice grip on its spine when she tried jerking it away—he hadn't tried to resist; his head spun.

A gasp jumped from his throat as she shoved the journal into his chest—and him into the wall behind him.

Pinned to the corner, he looked up but her eyes were downcast, refusing to look at him, even with the few added inches to her height. But her voice—her voice was direct, and only for him. Quiet, intense, and shaken, he assumed, from anger.

"I don't have to justify shit," she declared in the shadow she cast over him. "I am never working with you. And there is not a single thing you can do, or offer, or threaten that's gonna change that. And don't you ever—" she growled and shoved him again so hard it knocked the air from his chest, "touch my stuff again."

Helga tore the journal from his weakened grip.

Her face ducked away in a foul grimace as she stormed off, leaving Arnold breathless and sagging in the corner.

… … …

Author's Note: So, did this go how you expected? LOL ;) Looking forward to writing the next chapter...don't you worry, this fic is going places…really appreciate all your feedback, guys! You keep me going