A/N: Hey there, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals! This is my first fanfiction that I've posted in quite a few years. I used to go by the pen name SquirrelandNight123, where I shared a joint account with my ex. Since we split up, writing fanfiction has fallen out of my life quite a bit. But now I'm back and ready to write again. I hope you enjoy this, please leave comments and suggestions, and feel free to give me a watch if you enjoy this chapter!

First, a bit about this story: This story is a bit personal to me because of my own experiences that are reflected in it. Growing up, Helga was always a comfort character of mine. I took solace in our shared experiences: the neglectful parents and their bought love, the 'perfect' sibling to live up to; most importantly, I found that Helga and I both struggled with our femininity and fitting in with our gender. While I don't explicitly head-cannon Helga as a transgender individual, many of her experiences throughout the show reflect in my experience as a transman. I was always too masculine to fit in with the girls, always too feminine to be friends with the boys, struggled with liking feminine things and masculine things, and struggled with not wanting to look like the rest of the girls my age but still wanting to fit in. I relate to her in a lot of ways, so I'm using this story to branch off her character with a story similar to my own.

That being said, if you don't like or support trans people, this story isn't for you. If you do, I hope you enjoy this read! Thank you.

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of self-harm/dysphoria/suicidal thoughts/transphobia

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold. Doy.

EDIT: I've made this just a little bit longer and cut a few parts because I wasn't too happy with it. Hope y'all like it!

Prologue:

Helga stood in front of the mirror, staring intently at her reflection with tired and sore eyes, blotched red from crying. She surveyed her appearance with a look of disgust, her nose scrunching up with disdain. She ran her fingers through her hair before trailing her eyes along her figure. She felt her stomach wrench in unease at the curve of her hips and waist, the outline of her chest, and the feminine curve of her jawline. She choked on a sob rising in her throat and wrapped her arms tight around her torso to cover herself. Her lip quivered as she felt frantic, hot tears begin to well up in the corners of her eyes again. Why did her reflection look so wrong?

She quickly scanned the countertop of the sink before pulling open each of the drawers. "Where is it?" she thought frantically, her hands urgently riffling through the contents of the cabinets.

"There it is…"

Helga felt her heart beating faster as she picked up the ace bandage wrap. She studied it a moment before hesitantly unraveled it. Was it guilt that swarmed her mind as she quickly pulled off her shirt and began to wrap the ace bandage around her chest? Maybe it was euphoria that melted over her as she secured the end of the wrap in its place and slid her shirt back on. Euphoria. Flat chest. Relief.

Her mind raced as she stared at herself again in the mirror. Her lips cracked a wavering smile as she admired the altercation to her frame. Why it made her happy, she wasn't exactly sure. But this—this was much better. Figuring out why had been her struggle as of late. She had been binding her chest like this for the past few weeks as the discomfort with her body grew steadily more persistent. She was 14 now, and puberty had been toiling on her body for a few years, much to her despair.

"Most girls would be happy for a chest like mine. Most would be happy for my hips and thighs. Why am I not?"

Her eyes trailed over to the alarm clock reflected in the mirror. It read 7:30. A few more minutes and she would miss the bus. She scrambled out of the bathroom and dashed to her closet, pulling out her baggy jeans and oversized hoodie and tee. She slipped them on quickly before pulling a beanie over her head, tucking her blonde hair into the hat. She gave herself a discontented look in the mirror and untucked her hair before slipping out of her room.

She tiptoed down the stairs tentatively as to not disturb her drunken mother, asleep on the couch. She opened the door carefully and slipped out of her home.

The young blonde made her way to the bus stop and sat on the bench, scuffling her boots in the snow. The delicate snow fell gently against her skin as the cool air nipped at her face, sending a shiver up her spine. Her clothes were old and thrifted and thin, barely protecting her from the cold. It had been years since Bob had gotten her a new coat to fit her, so she had to make do with what she could find from the local Goodwill. She pulled her hood over her head to shield her from the cold and turned her attention to her hands in her lap. They were calloused and rough, but she couldn't help the grimace that crossed her face as she took in the dainty size of her hands.

Her labored breath, strained from the binding around her chest, fogged in the cool air. The bus finally rolled up to stop in front of her; its doors creaked open with a shrill noise and a hiss. She hoisted her bag over her back before climbing on the bus and taking her usual seat near the back. She pressed her face against the cool window and wrapped her arms around herself. Her mood picked up when she saw her flaxen-haired boyfriend fast approaching through the window.

Arnold made his way haphazardly across the ice-clad pavement and onto the bus, a smile etching across his face as his eyes met hers. He happily plopped down on the seat next to her and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. She smiled softly at this and leaned into him, "Hey, Arnold."

"Hey, Helga," he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and rested his chin on top of her head. He entangled the fingers of his free hand with hers, "You excited it's the last day of school before break?"

She gave a small nod and gave a mumble of agreement. Lately Helga had taken to speaking much more quietly, and much less, in the past year or so. The sound of her voice bothered her, and Arnold knew this, so he didn't try to make her speak any louder. He took notice of her insecurities carefully but dared not press her too hard about what was bothering her. Still, it hurt to see her pained like this. He rubbed small circles on her hand with his thumb and pulled her closer to him. She sighed happily and pecked his cheek.

The two rode in content silence to school, not hardly a word passing between them. Helga felt bad for not being able to spur a conversation, but she couldn't bring herself to speak and listen to her voice. Why, she didn't know. It was just one more part of her that had begun to bother her.

The day at school was slow, as minutes passed by that felt like hours, and the hours felt like days to complete. Helga and Arnold, accompanied by their long-time best friends, Phoebe and Gerald, sat chatting at their lunch table, excitement evident in their voices as they spoke about their plans for winter break.

"Gerald and I plan to go on a date to the ice-skating rink next week, if you two would like to accompany us," Phoebe offered, casting a glance at Helga. The blonde shrugged her shoulders before turning her attention to Arnold, giving him a look that read "Please answer for me."

Arnold took the hint and nodded, "We would be happy to join you. It'll be fun!"

Helga groaned inwardly. That wasn't the response she'd hoped he would give but mulled over their plans anyway. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It might help cheer her up, especially to see Arnold slip on his skates. She chuckled inwardly at the thought and gave a small smile to the group, a small sign of approval that she hoped would suffice for her answer.

The rest of lunch passed by quickly, as did her afternoon classes. Her last period, English, was always solace at the end of the day for her. It was the class she looked forward to most, so she found herself walking with a bit more happiness in her step as the last bell rang signifying it was time to make way for the last period. She took her seat eagerly, slinging her bag over her chair and getting her things ready for the class. The teacher gave the class instructions to settle down, and to continue that week's assignment before it was due at the end of the period. That week's assignment had been to write a poem about wintertime, in any format the student preferred. She had turned hers in a day earlier, so she wouldn't have anything to do that period. Happily, she pulled out her little pink book to begin writing her own poems without a teacher's prompt.

Before her pen touched the page, her teacher interrupted the small chatter of the room, "Before you all begin to really get into your poems, I'd like to read one that was turned in early. I found it very interesting, and quiet moving. It was an unusual piece, but a wonderful example of a sonnet to share with the class nonetheless."

"Oh, crimeny," Helga whispered under her breath.

The teacher began to read aloud, and just as she thought, it was Helga's. A knot formed in her stomach as she remembered what she had written about.

"Winter, the season of heart break and ice

Is instead my comfort despite the cold.

You cover my faults, the things I despise,

The things that I think that shall not be told,

With facades made out of the warmest fleece

And chilly air that no skin can withstand.

In the snow, I hide myself piece by piece.

I bury my corpse no longer self-manned.

O', let me in the frost hide myself true,

And, then believe me, I can then escape

And find a new body in the Spring dew.

In a new body, my soul I can drape.

But, for now, the snow and ice can hide me

While body freezes to let my soul free."

"Maybe it's not too blatant," she mumbled, but Helga could still hear her despair and insecurities and hatred for her body trickle through each line of her poem. The students gave a short-lived applause at the poem, and Helga joined in as to not draw attention to herself or arouse suspicion that it was her who authored it. Arnold, however, felt his stomach churn with worry, and gave a small glance in his girlfriend's direction.

He knew it was hers. No one else wrote the way that she did. He could hear the sadness in her writing. The young boy watched her slide down in her chair in mortification and tried to get her to meet his eyes. When she finally looked at him, he mouthed an "I love you," which she happily returned.

Minutes ticked past as he stared at the blank page in front of him. Tapping his pen in rhythm to the ticking of the clock, his head swarmed with worry for the blonde-headed girl he loved so dearly. He looked across the room to try and catch her eyes; after a moment, she pulled her attention away from her little pink book and met his gaze. The two looked at each other a moment; it was evident that each of them was filled with their own worrisome thoughts. Arnold just wished he understood what hers were. She cast him a half-hearted smile before returning her focus to her poetry. The boy sighed briefly, bringing his pen to his lips in a thoughtful motion.

After a moment of pondering, he decided he could write his assignment about Helga, as she was the only thing Arnold could get himself to focus on. As he vented his thoughts and frustrations on to the page, he found that he made quick work of his poem. Black ink bled onto the page, line after line, woe after woe, pain after pain. Finally, his hand came to a halt, and he found himself once again tapping his pen to the rhythm of the clock. His brow furrowed as he read that there were still twenty more minutes until the bell rang.

He spent the rest of class staring out the window worrying about Helga. Likewise, Helga spent the rest of class worrying about herself.

The end of school bell rang loudly throughout the school, met with the sounds of junior high laughter and teenage chatter as students shoved their books into lockers and bags, scrambling to get through the front door to the bus. Helga slowly put her things away in her locker, trailing her fingers across the Polaroids of her and Arnold she had taped into a collage on her locker door. Pictures of their first date back when they were ten, photos from their first to third anniversary, along with little pictures of other fond memories between the two plastered the surface. She smiled at the little Arnolds that grinned brightly at the camera but couldn't help the flinch that came about from staring at herself.

Helga closed her door and turned to leave but jumped back with a startled yelp when she saw Arnold grinning at her as leaned against the locker over. "Crimeny, Football Head! Must you insist on sneaking up on me like that?"

He let out a chuckle and entangled his hand with hers, "I don't mean to scare you, Helga. You're the one that's so jumpy!"

She leaned her head against his shoulder, glancing upward at him. "When did he get so much taller than me?" Helga cast him a sideways smile as they walked out the door and made their way to the bus. They took their usual seats next to each other, snuggled up close. She really loved this boy, and she felt guilty for making him worry like he did. She hated how she must look standing next to him. He was a proper, well dressed and well-mannered boy. And she was a trashy, boyish individual with a short fuse and scathing tongue. The thought made her uneasy. Did she make him look bad?

Arnold interrupted her train of thought, "Hey, Helga? Would you like to hang out at my place for a few hours. We haven't hung out alone in a while. Plus, my parents say they miss you."

She nodded eagerly, "Yes, please."

She pushed her negative thoughts away but couldn't shake their presence from the back of her mind. She gave his hand a small squeeze, which he returned. The rest of the ride home was quiet, and Arnold and Helga got off the bus together at Sunset Arms. A flood of animals raced through the entrance as Arnold opened the door for Helga. He followed her inside, and they each greeted the boarders that they passed. After saying hello to Miles and Stella, they made their way up to Arnold's room.

Helga took in the sight of it as Arnold closed the door behind them. Not much had changed since they were younger, except for the occasional technology upgrade to his radio and computer. He sat down on his bed and opened his arms in a 'come here' gesture. She sat down next to him, and leaned into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. He kissed her forehead gently.

"Now, I know you don't like me prying too much, but I can tell something has been wrong for a while, especially these past few weeks. Do you wanna talk about what's bugging you, Helga?"

She let out a heavy sigh, "I wish I knew, love. It feels like something's... wrong with me. Like I'm trapped in my body, and I feel out of place when I look at myself."

He gave a hum in response, hoping that not saying much would get her to keep talking. They sat in silence a moment before she began to speak again, "I feel like I'm not who I'm supposed to be.''

"But I love who you are, Helga. You're witty and smart and funny and-"

She cut him off with a peck to his lips before standing. She paced along the floor as she spoke, "It's not that, Arnold. It's... It's more my body. I don't feel like I look like I'm supposed to."

He frowned, "You're beautiful, Helga. Perfect."

She scrunched up her nose at that word, "I don't think I'm ugly or anything. I'm decent looking, I think. It's just...when I look at myself in the mirror, something feels wrong. Something feels broken. I feel so disconnected from parts of myself."

She paused for a moment, growing more painfully aware of the presence of those parts she loathed. Helga let out a frustrated sigh and looked towards the flaxen-haired boy with a pained look, "I feel broken, Arnold."

He took a moment to look at her. Her eyes were sunken in and dark from lack of sleep and nights of tears. They were glossy and tired and pained. Her skin was paler than usual, and she looked just as disheveled as her clothes. He felt his heart sink when he looked at her, it hurt so terribly to see her so depressed. He held out his arms again for her, to which she happily obliged to fall into his embrace.

She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and snuggled close to him. He rubbed her back slowly and hummed softly under his breath. They stayed like that for a while, as Arnold dared not move. He knew he couldn't do much to help her other than let her know he was there for her. Doing this was the best way he knew how. Helga lifted her head after a moment and placed a hand on his cheek. Her sad eyes contrasted the smile that she gave him before placing a kiss to his lips. He kissed her back softly before the two of them got up from the bed.

The two spent the rest of the afternoon together watching movies, eating dinner, and watching the sunset from the roof. As much as Arnold loved spending the rest of the day with her, he couldn't get rid of the anxiety that plagued him. As he watched her stare ahead at the golden sun sinking over the city, cascading the buildings in its last few moments of light, he felt a twinge in his heart. A moment of paranoia swept over him as he studied her. Behind those beautiful blue eyes held a fractured person, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was soon to come of her, that his love was on the cusp of finally breaking.

That night, Helga found herself standing over her sink once more, unraveling the bandage that she had wrapped around her chest. She winced at the sight of the bruises slowly forming along her ribs and gave a shaky inhale. She laid the ace bandage down and looked herself over in the mirrors. She felt the familiar heat of hot, salty tears well up in her eyes as she stared on in disgust. The curves of her body, the feminine shapes, oh, how they made her stomach churn! A sob clung to the back of her throat, much like a rock hung sturdily inside it.

She twisted a razorblade between her fingers, the tips dancing dangerously with the sharp edge of the blade. Little white lines traced the undersides of her arms and the curves of her shoulders. Some fresh and some old scattered along her hips and chest as well. She made the worst incisions on the places she hated the most. Her chest. Her hips. Her thighs.

A burning hot feeling of rage and confusion washed over her. Why, oh God why, why did she hate her body so much? Why could she not bear to look at it? She drew red lines across her skin, hissing at the familiar feeling of blade on skin. She watched as the blood bubbled up in little red dots up to the surface. With a shaky breath she set the blade on the counter and took a moment longer to just stare. To admonish. To hate. To let the feeling of disconnect swarm her brain. Her ragged breathing matched the fast-paced rate of her thoughts as they bounced around frantically in her head.

"God, I wish hadn't been born a girl-"

She closed her mouth quickly, a realization dawning on her. It had been a thought she had had before, but the heavy weight of it had finally set in. She let out an exasperated chuckle and ran a shaky hand through her hair. She covered her quivering lips with her hand, mulling over the words that had just escaped them. Tears fell freely down her face as she sunk slowly to the bathroom floor.

"Oh..."

She sat on the cool tile a moment, holding herself and crying. She couldn't tell if they were tears of sadness or relief now. Perhaps they were both. After a few long minutes, Helga steadied her breath and wiped her eyes before collecting herself and rising to her feet. She ran her hands under the water from the sink in a feeble attempt to wash away the blood from her arms, and tentatively washed her other cuts off as well. After drying herself off, she slipped her shirt back on carefully and made her way to her computer.

She sat down at her desk, chewing her lip nervously. She didn't really know where she wanted to begin, but she had to figure out what her realization meant. She opened her search bar and quickly typed in the words "discomfort with female body." She groaned when the page filled with search results for weight loss programs and breast augmentation doctors. She tried again, "What does it mean when I don't want to be a girl?"

The search results came up scattered, so she cleared the search bar again. Helga rubbed her neck before typing one last time.

"I'm a girl that wants to be a boy."

She swallowed thickly and hit enter on the keyboard. A new page of results filled the screen, most with titles including the words "Dysphoria" or "Transgender." Helga found herself scrolling through each result, reading and scouring each article in a frenzy. Stories and articles explained what she was feeling about herself- the uncomfortableness with her feminine parts, her name, wanting to look and present more masculine all matched her experience. Most of these articles described the discomfort with her body as "gender dysphoria," and the actions of doing things to affirm her gender and the way she wanted to present and the happiness that comes with those actions as "gender euphoria."

Helga sat reading the articles and watching videos from transgender people for well into the night. Her tired eyes pulled at her to go to bed, so she trudged away from her computer, leaving it open to continue her search the next day. A strange sort of relief settled over her as her inner conflict had resolved. She understood what was happening with her now, but a new sort of worry started to settle into her mind.

"How will my family react, and more importantly, how will Arnold?"

Helga had spent the majority of her first week of break glued to her computer screen. Video after video, article after article, she scoured for more information about her newfound realization. She had come to enjoy a few of the transgender men who posted videos about their similar experience and made mental note between the similarities and differences in their transition journeys. She found herself aching to try things that they had spoken about, like cutting her hair short and going by a new name, just to see if it brought her any relief.

As she sat with her chin rested in her palm, she found her eyes drifting across her dresser's tabletop. The glint of metal scissors caught her eye, and for a brief moment, she found herself reaching for them. Helga recoiled when she realized the thought she'd had.

"I can't just cut my hair!" she muttered to herself. The scissors were so close, "Could I?"

Tentatively, she grabbed the scissors and threw herself up from her chair. Quietly, she made her way to the bathroom, where she came to stand in front of an all-too familiar reflection. With a sense of unease, she untangled her hair from their usual sloppy ponytails and let her long, blonde hair fall past her shoulders. Helga inwardly cringed as she ran the fingers of her free hand through it. It felt soft to the touch, but the further down her hand trailed, the deeper her heart plummeted in her chest. She brought the sharp blade of the scissors up to her hair as she met her own eyes in the mirror. As she reflected, she mulled over a million explanations she could give to those who asked where her hair had gone if she were to close the gap between the blade and her hair.

It would grow back if she wanted it to, she reminded herself.

It won't be ugly, hopefully, she repeated in her mind.

With a final sigh of self-reassurance, her eyes flew shut as the scissors followed suit. A harsh snip pierced the otherwise quiet room; hesitantly, Helga opened her eyes to see the damage she had caused. Hot tears prickled her eyes as a wicked smile pierced her face. A breathy chuckle escaped her lips as she grasped onto what remained of the now cut lock of hair. More frantically, and with an air of new determination and excitement, she began to chop away at what remained until a mop of shaggy hair remained on her head.

She looked up at herself in the mirror and, for the first time in a very long time, smiled at what she saw. Shaky hands ran frantically through the mess of blonde hair she had left on her head as warm, salty tears ran uncontrollably down her cheeks.

Finally, she thought, her reflection was right. And, oh, how wonderful it felt.

Quickly, she scooped up the hair she had cut away and disposed of it, knowing full well that neither of her parents would notice it in the trashcan. She washed the tears away from her face with cool water in hopes to soothe the redness of her face and placate the fast beating of her heart against her ribcage. Shoving the scissors into her hoodie pocket, Helga walked back to her room feeling much lighter than before.

Helga woke up the next morning, well before daylight broke, to the sound of Big Bob yelling and the sound of pots and pans crashing. She roused herself from her bed and made her way downstairs. She was greeted by the sight of her mother hunched over one of her smoothies, mostly asleep, and her father rattling away about some nonsense involving his beeper store as he attempted to put dishes away. He moved frantically and sporactically, an almost comical contrast to the drowsy, sloth-like movements of her mother as she struggled to keep her sobriety.

"Real classy, Miriam. Drunk at 9 A.M. on a Saturday? I'd never expect that from such a upstanding woman such as yourself," she said sarcastically, her voice filled with a venom that would go unnoticed by her intoxicated mother.

Helga grabbed a piece of fruit from the kitchen before sitting down at the table. She winced at the overripe state of the apple in her hand but swallowed her disgust knowing full well neither of her parents had bought anything else to eat grocery-wise. Most of their paychecks were spent on booze and Bob's date-nights with his secretary. His attempts to cover up his workplace affair were subpar at best, and only drove Miriam further into her addiction.

Helga glanced over her father. His hair was slicked back in all too much grease and his white button up was stained with hot pink lipstick from his Friday night sexual excursion. Rolling her eyes, Helga looked back at the fruit in her calloused hands. Before she could take a bite of the apple, however, Bob interrupted her, "Do you think you could finish putting this stuff away, Olga? I've got stuff I need to do upstairs to get ready for work."

She sighed, but not in the mood to protest, "Sure, Bob."

He set the dishes he had been working on haphazardly into the sink before making his way upstairs. She huffed and started to work at finishing his chore and attempted to zone out the sound of Miriam snoring into her cup. The sight of her mother drunkenly sinking into her glass of bourbon and fruit smoothie cocktail as she scrubbed away at the other glasses her mother had filled that week with the same concoction made Helga's vision go red. She found herself scrubbing faster, her anger bubbling over into the sudsy workload.

Just as she had picked up the last bowl, an angry yowl from upstairs pierced the sound of clattering dishes and flowing sink, "What the hell is this shit? Helga!"

The young teen felt her heart plummet in her chest and her throat tighten. She hurriedly put the bowl away and raced upstairs to find Bob. She found her door wide open, with her father inside. He stood looming over her computer, supposedly scrolling through her searches from the prior few days. She felt her stomach sink as a wave of anxiety washed over her. The longer he scrolled, the redder his face grew and the deeper his brow furrowed.

"I'm not gonna have some transvestite living in my goddamn house," he lifted the computer and roughly threw it to the ground; it shattered against her floor. He loomed over her, his hand curled into fists, "Are you a queer or something? Don't you fuckin lie to me either."

Helga found that, in that moment, no words could escape her lips. She stood, frozen solid, as her eyes raced back and forth from the busted computer to the man who bellowed above her. Bob let out an angry yell at her lack of response. He grabbed her tightly by the arm and roughly pushed her onto the bed. He growled, "What the fuck are you looking this stuff up for? You some kinda tranny?"

Still unmoving and unspeaking, she watched as her father angrily paced the bedroom floor. He stopped suddenly and pivoted to face her once again. Angrily, he ripped the beanie off of her head to reveal what she had done to it the night before. Helga thought that Bob's eyes were about to pop out of his head. In any other moment, she would have laughed at the obvious visual comparison to a bullfrog that could have been made. Now was not that moment.

He threw her hat onto the floor and grabbed her by the hair, throwing her onto the floor. He growled, "You fucking are, aren't you? You're some tranny or dyke or something!"

The brute resumed his pacing with a much more intense fervor, knocking things in her room around as he went. With ever crash, she flinched, and with every curse, she shrunk deeper back into her hoodie. Helga didn't know how long he yelled at her for, it could have been minutes or hours. It didn't matter, really. All she knew was the fear that made her blood run cold and the breath lost from her lungs as she stared up at his unyielding anger. The handprint around her arm throbbed as it threatened a bruise, but she paid no mind to the pain. Her heart pounded in tandem to the pace of her mind; her thoughts raced in a flurry as the anxiety that bubbled in her gut threatened to erupt from her lips.

Finally, Bob stopped in his tracks as if an idea had come to him. Just as quickly, he began ripping the clothes from her closet and throwing them onto the floor beside her. He pulled her suitcase from off her shelf and tossed it next to her clothes, "I'm calling your aunt. She'll come take you in, and if she doesn't want you, you can find someplace else to stay."

He stormed past her, paying no mind to the foot that crushed her hand as he stomped, "You have until tomorrow to pack your shit and get out of the house. I refuse to have something like you living here and ruining my reputation."

"And while you're at it, make sure it looks like you were never here," with that he left, leaving Helga sobbing in her room with her arms wrapped tightly around her. She moved herself across the floor to the base of her bed, her labored breath and sobs drowned out the sounds of Bob yelling over the phone, presumably to her aunt. Her mind raced in a panic as she coddled the arm that had become victim to her father's anger.

"What about school? What am I supposed to tell Phoebe? What am I supposed to tell Arnold?"

Arnold. She had to let him know something, but what? She scrambled to her desk and found her little pink book. Hastily, she ripped a page from it and began writing in it. She spilled her thoughts as best she could onto the little page before folding it up and putting it in her pocket.

It was a sleepless night in the Pataki household. She presumed Bob had snuck off to his secretary to blow off steam, and her mother had made her way to her favorite bar downtown. The floor remained a mess with clothes and shattered parts of her computer. Taking a look around the room told her she would have to work hastily to be done packing before either of her parents returned if she wanted any sleep at all.

She spent an hour or so filling her bag with clothes that she cared for and boxing up the rest. She made room in her suitcase for old photographs and journals filled with love letters and poems of her making. It was almost cathartic, she thought, to pack away the clothes that she felt no longer suited her identity. When she decided she was finished, she noted that the night had passed relatively quickly, so she wouldn't have much time to rest. Her eyes ached from crying, and they pleaded for sleep.

As Helga found herself once again propped on the floor at the foot of her bed, she succumbed to the grieved ache of her eyes. She was stirred from her brief moment of slumber by the sound of her door violently swinging open and clambering against the door. Her father had wordlessly thrown it open; she assumed it was his way of telling her to get out. Groggily, she rose and began to bring the boxes of unwanted things downstairs. She hoped that her aunt would let her donate them rather than throw them away. Finally, she grabbed her bag and made her way to the door, stopping to give her room one last look over. She closed the door behind her before making her way down the stairs for the final time.

Her father stood next to the couch where her mother sat, his face still furrowed with anger and her mother still mostly asleep. Only a hint of concern and disgust dusted her glazed over features. Bob's booming voice broke the silence, "Your aunt is picking you up in a minute; she said she'd take you to live with her. Sounded pissed that'd I'd kick you out for this, but there's no way in hell I'm letting you stay here."

She nodded, sinking into herself at the bitterness in his voice.

"Why the hell are you still here? Get out!"

She flinched and made her way out of the house. She sat on the stoop, waiting for her aunt to drive up. She tapped her foot nervously, feeling the corners of her eyes prickle with tears. The sun slowly began to rise, illuminating the slow clad ground in a soft light. After a few minutes, a vibrantly red car pulled up in front of her and rolled its window down, revealing the face of a blonde 30-something-year-old woman.

"Helga? Is that you, hun?"

She stood up and approached the car. The woman smiled softly at her, "Bob told me what happened. He's always been such a bigot. I drove over here as fast as I could to come get you, sweetheart. Come on, get in the car."

Helga complied and set her bag in the floorboard while her aunt loaded the trunk with the remaining boxes. After they piled into the vintage Lincoln, her aunt pulled away from the house and began happily chatting away. She couldn't focus much on what her aunt was saying, and instead focused on the buildings zooming past. She shoved her hands into her pockets and noticed the little piece of paper she had written on earlier. She interrupted her aunt's rambling, "Do you think we could stop by the Sunset Arms boarding house before we leave? I need to drop something off..."

Arnold woke excitedly that Saturday morning to the sound of his little potato clock. He pulled himself out of bed and got dressed quickly, grabbing his ice skates before hurriedly heading down the stairs. Before he could make his way out the door, he bumped into his mother, Stella. She looked at him with a small, sad frown, to which he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"What's the matter, mom?"

"It's Helga, sweetheart. I... I think you should call Gerald and Phoebe over instead of going to the ice rink. She gave me this to give to you.''

She handed her son a little pink piece of paper; he recognized it as a page from one of Helga's poetry books. He took it hesitantly.

"I think you should wait to read it until your friends get here."

Gerald and Phoebe arrived within the next hour after he had sent them each an urgent text. They sat in Arnold's room, looking at the little pink piece of paper Arnold held in his hands.

"C'mon, man. Read what it says!" Gerald exclaimed impatiently. Phoebe made a noise of agreement.

Arnold let out a shaky breath before unfolding it, "The note says:

"To my friends,

My father found something out about me last night that I had been keeping a secret. It's a secret I refuse to reveal to you all now, because I'm afraid you'll react similarly to Bob. I wouldn't be able to stand having you hate me like he does for this. Just know that I'm safe with my aunt, now that Bob has kicked me out. I love you all so much, and maybe we'll be able to meet again soon.

To Arnold,

I'm so, so sorry, my love. I didn't ever intend for this to happen. I didn't want what I had with you to end, and I still don't. I love you so much, and I'll never stop loving you. Please don't forget me while I'm gone. Hopefully I'm going somewhere to find my euphoria.

I love you.

-H.G.P."

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this little prologue to Euphoria! I'll be working on getting the first real chapter out soon. The characters will all be aged up to around seventeen for the rest of the story so I can make the themes a bit more mature. Please leave comments on your thoughts and give this story a watch if you enjoyed!