Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence for the man.
ICYMI: Arnold's parents are back home for their send-off as Rhonda is made aware of how dangerous assumptions can be.
With all that said, welcome to the new chapter!
23. A Circle Is A Flawless Shape (Part 4)
Full Revolution
The last week of summer vacation was upon Hillwood. Many within academia could still remember when the final school bell signaled its start. The wave of joy that resulted was seismic in effect as it coursed through all the boroughs of Hillwood. Since then, students far and wide partook in many fun and stimulating activities that didn't necessarily involve schoolwork.
Games were played, indoors and outdoors. Curfews were curtailed as sleepovers became more common over weekdays. There were a few who preferred to complete their summer reading lists, but at least they had the luxury of doing so at their leisure. Even those exiled to summer camps and remedial schools would have a change in scenery awaiting them. For the well-off socialites, it was a time of lavish soirees, first-class travel and five-star accommodation. Yes indeed, there was much to enjoy. And yet…despite there still being a week of summer left, the fun was over for one boy.
Arnold lay in bed late one evening during what should have been a period of impatient anticipation of what the next day would bring. But while his peers were mapping out how best to enjoy the last days of freedom, he was fretting over how he would endure it.
Tomorrow he'd be saying goodbye to Helga Pataki.
The days since the memorial tended toward a new normal. To no one's surprise, including that of the occupants, the mood at The Sunset Arms became more downbeat in the immediate aftermath.
Gertie took the loss of her son particularly badly, though she gave scant evidence of her mourning. Her underlying melancholy was clear to all, though. Her zaniness and eccentricity were dialed down to 7 at best. To those who knew and loved her, this was a long way from when those quirks would overload any device that dared to measure them. Any display of eccentricity seemed less a genuine expression of her free spirit and more a coping mechanism to get her through the day.
But then a lifeline arrived, another gesture of Sammy Redman's gratitude for Arnold's intervention in his family matters. The venture capitalist had placed a psychologist on an indefinite retainer for the Shortmans' use.
As products of an era that valued stoicism over admissions of vulnerability, Phil and Gertie were reluctant to accept the helping hand. Arnold did his best to convince them otherwise, but it was an uphill battle. Ultimately, it was Helga who convinced the elders to accept the offer. She cited her own sessions with Dr. Bliss and how they made her come to terms with herself and her feelings for Arnold and life in general. Granted, those were events she remembered from her original universe, but Grandpa Phil and Grandma Gertie didn't need to know that…
"Besides," she would add almost tearfully, "you two have done more for me than you realize, and it hurts me to see you this way."
Even so, the first sessions were difficult with Phil stonewalling the specialist and Gertie obfuscating with her flights of fancy instead of answering the questions. It became up to Arnold to lead by example. He readily confided his thoughts and feelings about the recent events, though he was extremely careful to omit the more intimate details about his relationship with Helga. He did admit how weird it felt to be as emotionally distraught as he was over the loss of parents of whom he'd only been aware – barely even known – for one year out of his eleven (almost twelve). He would in subsequent sessions reveal further nuances of how he felt about his circumstances past and present. Most surprising to all was when he admitted – amid gasps of shock from his grandparents – to harboring a deep, dark envy toward his peers who all had at least one flesh-and-blood parent to whom they meant the world. Not that he didn't appreciate his grandparents' efforts!
This proved the turning point for Phil and Gertie, who saw the benefits of talking frankly about their situation and realized they had nothing to lose. Their hostility might have been strong, but the doctor's patience was stronger. When the elders also started opening up about their son – something they hadn't done in over ten years – his calm demeanor suggested that he had been anticipating that moment as if it was inevitable.
After three weeks of therapy, the mood at the Sunset Arms started improving significantly. The smiles and the laughter, even the dialogue, became more spontaneous and more heartfelt. Gertie was returning to her random and outspoken self, sincerely this time. This became most apparent when she organized a Natalicio de Benito Juárez party for the 4th of July.
Phil in turn was ready to tackle any given day instead of letting it overcome him. His personal breakthrough came on a day in which Oskar Kokoshka fucked up more royally than usual in an incident involving siphoned gasoline and a lit candle, causing Phil to snap into character and chide Oskar Kokoshka mercilessly. Even Oskar would later confess to the relief he felt for being called "a lazy, reckless, sack of Slavic monkey shit" because it signaled the return of the old man whom everyone knew and loved.
It was a good sign, they all were. Finally, the path to healing had been found by the Shortmans and the journey there had begun.
xxXXXxx
The dynamic at P.S. 118 also changed, however temporarily, as a result of Arnold's tragedy. He was given a wide berth by most of his friends. It wasn't just because they wanted to give him room to mourn; in reality, they didn't know how to approach him over so affecting a matter and were grateful for any delay in confronting their friend.
Yet there was someone who benefited from the situation: Wolfgang. With the Fifth Graders in no mood for any team sports, the weekly football games against Team Wolfgang were forfeited to the Sixth Graders. Credit to Wolfgang for not being a complete dick about the good news; at least he had the decency not to gloat over a victory he hadn't earned.
It fell on Phoebe and Gerald to establish when it was safe and appropriate for the class to interact properly with Arnold and also Helga, who was constantly by his side. Understandably, Master Gerald Johanssen and Miss Phoebe Heyerdahl had become decidedly less amorous in the tragic wake. Their top priority remained to be moral support for their emotionally more vulnerable best friends.
Progress was initially slow because Arnold was much more distant than most had feared. No less civil but definitely less affable, seemingly willing to interact only with Helga. But as his therapy sessions progressed, the warmth in his voice and his heart gradually returned. Interactions with him started comprising fewer forced niceties and more sincere acknowledgments. Before long, the central quartet was having conversations sprinkled with honesty and genuine emotion.
When that started happening, Phoebe didn't need to make any proclamation. P.S. 118 knew that their Arnold was back. Few were happier than Rhonda, who was eager to highlight her new side to him and Helga. Oh, she would remain the go-to gossipmonger, only now with actual scruples.
With Curly and Nadine as witnesses, the New, Improved Rhonda vowed henceforth to verify any and all gossip coming her way from at least two independent sources to draw more informed conclusions and spread only true gossip. Not that she'd magically grown a sense of altruism or morality; this change was more in the interest of self-preservation. She desired no further altercations like the one with Helga all those weeks ago. Worst case scenario: she could really screw the pooch and be on the wrong side of someone who would rather take numbers than prisoners.
And as an act of good-faith contrition, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, being of sound mind and body, decreed that neither she nor any of her associates would ever – repeat, EVER – disseminate any news concerning Arnold Shortman and especially Helga G. Pataki.
She began regretting that decision not five seconds later when Helga's lip curled into the most mischievous smirk anyone present could recall seeing. She started fearing the worst when the girl in pink leaned in and asked: "Ever? As in…never ever?"
Rhonda unwittingly sealed her fate by nervously nodding her answer. Then, in a bid to sound more resolute and less intimidated, she added in a nonetheless shaky voice: "My word is my bond, Helga! No one will hear anything involving you! Even if it kills me!"
Helga's smirk widened, to the consternation of Rhonda and her crew. Not Arnold: he knew what was coming. He had an idea of what his lover was about to blab but reckoned that pretty soon it wouldn't matter much anyway. So…he watched as Helga said, "In that case, Princess…", before leaning in and whispering into Rhonda's ear.
The socialite's eyes-wide-open, mouth-agape reaction was glorious, as was the look of torment with which she began her vacation.
Not even the Patakis were immune to the aftermath of Miles and Stella Shortman's passing. Whether they were aware of it or not, seeing Arnold's response to his loss did indeed help spur the Pataki elders toward self-improvement. It's not to say that Bob magically found instant redemption (he didn't) but he did start spending more quality time with Miriam, plus he was around a little more often for family meals.
Miriam began working at the Beeper Emporium as the account manager. Her effect on the business was felt almost immediately in the way she implemented new systems for bookkeeping and money management, to bring it in line with acceptable accounting standards. Bob may not always have agreed with the new policies, but at least she's been keeping the IRS at bay.
The fact is this: Robert Pataki found a whole new appreciation for his wife and family. For all his bluster, he always loved Miriam from the moment they met in high school. He loved his daughter. God help him, he loved his granddaughter too. The memorial reminded him of these realities. He gradually came to realize just how misguided he'd been in what it meant to support his loved ones. The process is ongoing, marked by a series of little victories.
Of course, some were harder won than others. One of those involved dealing with the trophy room. It took no small amount of persuasion from Miriam and – most surprisingly – Helga, for Bob Pataki to move on from the destruction of his shrine to Olga.
"Come on, Bob!" Helga argued. "We're all on a journey of rediscovery here! Finding our inner core or some other BS like that! Think of getting rid of the trophies as part of the process!"
And when the esoteric arguments failed, she resorted to: "Clear it up, Bob, or I'll start calling you 'Grandpa' in public!"
The Olga Pataki Museum was converted into a recreation wing within three days.
No one was more pleasantly surprised by the changes than Olga when she arrived during the vacation for a protracted visit. Her visit revolved around her summer job. She was a pianist performing gigs as part of a chamber orchestra in the local classical circuit. She was also booked as a solo performer at many a swanky party or equally opulent high tea. Her time between gigs and rehearsals would, she promised, be devoted to her daughter.
To Helga's amazement, Olga made good on her word. At the very least, Helga would wake up every morning to a delicious breakfast made especially for her by her mother. And on Olga's days off, she'd treat Helga to some (budget-friendly) activities.
Naturally, some concessions and compromises had to be made.
Olga, for example, was quite aghast to accompany her daughter to a local pro wrestling show, though barely twenty minutes in, she was frantically engrossed alongside Helga in the kayfabe action. Heels were booed while faces were cheered. Olga inadvertently let her Pataki roots show with a few choice swear words for the blundering refs and the underhanded managers. If nothing else, Helga was impressed by how her mother could string together insults, the tamest of which included calling one ref "HELEN KELLER'S BASTARD CHILD!" or yelling how a particularly odious heel's mother "SHOULD HAVE KEPT HER FUCKING LEGS TOGETHER!". Mother and daughter walked out of the town hall having had a rollicking good time despite themselves.
Conversely, Olga was to be surprised by Helga's insights when she took her daughter to a few classical recitals and stage plays. The mother would be surprised by how her offspring could point out the nuances in an open-air performance of Romeo and Juliet or immerse herself in an operatic rendition of Bizet's Carmen.
Even Arnold was allowed to join in on the fun and the subsequent trio enjoyed trips to Dinoland and the Zoological Garden, as well as a picnic at City Park in which the older Ms Pataki showed off her pitching arm.
Then there was a trip to the beach for which Phoebe and Gerald joined the trio. This one proved to be an exercise in restraint for the boys when Olga shed her green summer dress at their destination to reveal a fuchsia bikini. The two-piece ensemble proved no small distraction for the boys while evoking feelings of inadequacy in the girls that neither realized they were capable of. Phoebe had a particular problem with Gerald's glances toward Olga's assets – glances which he thought were furtive. And though the resulting tension between them didn't dampen the fun had at the seaside by too much, it did take the entire bus trip home for the couple to reconcile.
xxXXXxx
These moments provided great bonding opportunities for Helga and Olga, but the process was truly galvanized one Sunday afternoon at the Pataki residence.
Helga arrived that fateful day from another (mis)adventure with her friends which she was convinced would make the evening news. She entered the house to the sound of Olga practising Claude Debussy's "The Girl With Flaxen Hair" on the piano in the new recreation wing. The delicate, lilting notes drew Helga to where they were coming from. But as beautiful as the music sounded to Helga, Olga didn't seem to share that sentiment.
Play and replay.
Play and replay.
A different key here, a different flow there.
Constant frustration. Ultimately...approval.
Helga said nothing; she was mesmerized by the display. This wasn't the Olga who would play the piano as an act of superiority. This was an artist in relentless pursuit of perfecting her craft. And though all she could see was Olga's back, the musician's frustration at missing a note or not putting enough emphasis on a particular chord was clear through her body language.
That moment, Olga was no longer a vapid automaton, but a flesh-and-blood human who acknowledged her flaws and worked hard to rise above them.
Helga continued watching in silence as Olga repeatedly played through passages until she was satisfied that she'd put just the right amount of weight where she wanted to. Minutes passed as she kept repeating the pattern of identifying and remedying the bits she deemed problematic.
Play. Identify. Remedy.
Play. Identify. Remedy.
Wow, thought Helga in unexpected amazement. She's serious about her music!
These weren't the actions of someone who had everything handed to her. They were those of one constantly seeking self-improvement.
Maybe, just maybe…is she just as serious about being a mom?
Once she had made up her mind, Helga approached Olga. Olga was still preoccupied with perfecting her musical piece, unaware of her surroundings. It was thus easy for Helga to sneak up to her and gently kiss her on her cheek.
Her action stopped Olga from her practice, though she didn't turn around to see who had kissed her. She probably knew already, for she kept staring forward into the beyond. All the while, she remained silent. Words were failing Helga too; she had no glib remarks, no eloquent explanation. All she could do was turn around and walk away. When Olga resumed practising, her tears and her happiness were apparent in every note.
With nary a word spoken, a mother and a daughter had achieved a bond in a way neither could have expected. There was more to do, but this was the promising start that neither knew they needed.
The trip to Alaska and the impending goodbyes didn't seem so harsh anymore. Still, there were some last-minute plans to execute before any of that could happen…
"Surprise, surprise. You can't sleep."
Helga's voice wafted into the room from behind the couch. At least, that's the way Arnold perceived it. He turned toward the item of furniture, staring at it as if doing so would make it confirm or deny his suspicions.
"Well? Are you going to stare or are you going to let me in?"
There was greater urgency in her voice. Not anger. Not annoyance. Only urgency. Arnold obliged by retrieving the universal remote and clicking toward the couch. The couch appeared, bringing with it Helga. Helga rode the couch in its short roll, then when it was fully in place, continued riding on the built-up momentum into a tuck and a forward roll on the floor toward Arnold's bed. She wound up on her feet in front of him, striking a triumphant 'TADA!' pose complete with a lithe, arched back and outstretched arms.
Arnold was so taken in by her sense of theatre that he spontaneously applauded her for her stunt as she held her pose.
"So what brings you here?" he asked, knowing how late it was and not caring in the slightest. In fact, he was already on his feet and approaching her.
"Oh, you know…" Helga replied in a kittenish voice as she just as playfully backed away slowly from his advance.
"Let me guess," continued Arnold as he maintained his advance. "You also couldn't sleep and thought you'd rather be somewhere else?"
"Mm…maybe…" a coy-sounding Helga answered while still backpedaling from him. By then, the pursuit had reached the far wall. She pretended to be trapped against the wall as he closed in, only to sidestep and slink away from him at the last moment as he reached out to caress her cheek. Thus did the pursuit resume.
"And let me guess," speculated Arnold as he watched her slowly backpedal from him. "You tried crashing over by Phoebe, but she was asleep and told you to go away?"
Oh, we want to play games now, mused Helga. OK, we'll play games.
"Oh, you know how much more assertive she's become now that she's turned in her V-card."
"V-card?" Arnold asked, halted by his unfamiliarity with that term. Oh yeah, Helga realized. As adept as he was becoming in performing the acts, Arnold was not nearly as au fait with the associated carnal colloquialisms as the one from the original universe.
"Never mind what it means," she curtly closed off that avenue of discussion. "You're too late for it to matter anyway."
"In a good way?" Arnold kept prying, happy to resume the slow pursuit.
"In a way that doesn't kill the mood," Helga kept dodging before course-correcting back to the moment at hand. "Anyhoo…I believe 'Oh fuck off, Helga!' would be more the style of the new Phoebe when she's tired and cranky and sleep deprived."
"Aha!" Arnold mirthfully proclaimed while still on his slow forward trajectory. "So now you've got no choice but to visit me, right?"
Helga kept backing up toward the desk as he followed up. "Only here because you've got nothing better to do?"
Helga reached the desk and decided that the pursuit had come to its conclusion. She lifted herself to be seated on its edge. "Oh yeah," she confirmed – all smiles – as she parted her legs slightly for him to get closer, "that's my lot. Alas, what's a poor, innocent girl to do…?"
Arnold moved in front of her, positioning himself between her legs and placing his hands on her quads. "Well, I'm sure we'll think of something…" he replied as he kissed her gently and lovingly on her lips.
He pulled away and shifted his hands to her outer thighs.
"Well…you always had some good ideas," commented Helga, her playful voice now tinged with a soupcon of sultriness. He then slid his hands up her thighs as he kissed her again, this time with a light nibble on her lip and a hint of tongue which she was ready to accept if not for him pulling away from her. Instead, he chose to focus on his hands which by then had reached her waist. Her breathing became heavier with every square inch his hands explored.
Her waist.
Her thighs.
Her hips.
Her buttocks.
"Say," Helga caught herself long enough to interrupt. "Wouldn't this be the part where you lecture me about how wrong it is that I'm here?"
"Yes…it would," Arnold replied plainly, not a whit abashed. As a display of how unaffected he was by her question, He moved to kiss her once more on her mouth. He received no opposition. Their kiss was as glorious as those that had come before it, though he could have sworn that her taste was that much sweeter and that her lips felt so much more luscious this time. Maybe it was the faint scent of her lip balm (Since when did she start using lip balm?). Maybe the sheer joy of kissing her was starting to play tricks on his senses.
Under her spell, he was back in a world where up was down and left was right and none of that mattered. Only she mattered.
Arnold pulled away to gaze into her eyes. The longing they were projecting was a mirror of his own. A longing tinged with the sadness that this stood to be a moment that would never again be. No, 'moment' was too weak a word; this needed to be a memory, an everlasting memory.
"I suppose…," he began elaborating while planting kisses on her neck and collarbone. Her sensual moans threatened to drown him out and overwhelm his already overflowing senses. "…I must mention…how upset…your mother would get…if she knew…that you snuck away…"
He returned to her mouth, this time with a slip of tongue that was eagerly met. Next, it was Helga who pulled away to address his "concerns", though her speech was distracted by her efforts to remove Arnold's T-shirt. Having accomplished that deed, she began sprinkling kisses all over his face, his neck, his shoulders, and his chest. All the while, she encountered his freshly showered scent, a potent aroma that only spurred on her lubriciousness. The blast of pheromones was enough for her to start feeling moist down below
"Probably…but…what is she…mmm…gonna do…? Tear us…" – she paused to gasp as Arnold's aroma overloaded her senses – "…tear us…apart?"
Arnold was forced to stifle a chuckle despite – or maybe because of – the melancholy subtext. He added while receiving her affections: "Yeah…or move you to…to…another state."
Arnold returned the favor by undoing the zipper on the back of Helga's dress. He then helped her relieve herself of the garment, leaving her in a white shirt that struggled to conceal her pink panties with strawberry prints. Its struggle against her chest was even more futile. Helga's excitement was causing enough perspiration for the fabric to cling to her waist, flank and chest. Arnold got a teaser of the pink training bra lurking beneath the shirt. The sight threatened to send a boy who already was in danger of boiling over with excitement, further over the edge. It did him no further favors that her breathing was hot and heavy, slow and eager.
Arnold's gaze was food for Helga's soul, and she thought to have some more fun with it.
"Ease off a bit, Kimba," she ordered while prodding him away from her with a strict yet still dainty finger. He was helpless against her command, backing away and giving her the requested space. She used the space to stand up again. He then watched her slide her hands under the shirt and rummage for a short while that nevertheless seemed way too long. His patience was rewarded when her hands reappeared clasping the bra.
He wanted to return to her but was denied once more with a waving finger and a naughty tut-tut-tut. Firstly, Helga flung the bra to wherever. Next, she made a show of doing a slow pirouette before holding for his approval. Her spin revealed how her shirt and underwear clung to her in a way that appeared both relaxed and flattering. Add to that her now-protruding nipples pressing against the white cotton fabric, desperate for attention…
Arnold had words to describe what he was seeing. Honestly, he did. The problem was getting them out of his mouth. He could only admire the way Helga could appear more attractive, more alluring, with each of their dalliances.
Helga was instantly amused by his impression of a beached guppy and opted to milk it a bit more.
"Like what you see?" she queried with a knowing wink.
Her question snapped Arnold back to coherence. His answer was swift and decisive. Before Helga could react, he'd closed the gap to her and had enveloped her within his arms. He returned to kissing her, this time with vigor that not even he thought himself capable of. As ever, Helga reciprocated and soon their tongues were coiled around each other, swirling and twirling in a gloriously unending dance.
Arnold let a hand slip under his femme fatale's shirt and felt her surprised gasp in his mouth. Spurred on by her reaction, he moved to her chest and was spurred on even more by anticipation conveyed by her stiffened nipples. The urge was too much. Before he could think, his fingers were twiddling and stimulating a nipple. And stimulate he did, as he felt the projection stiffen even more while feeling how she moaned her excitement into his mouth.
"Oh, Arnold!" he heard her whimper to his continued motions. How intoxicating her words and her hitched breathing were. Wanting more, he let his other hand drift down to her crotch, against the soft fabric of her panties. He wasted no time in stroking and tickling the area.
Her response was instantaneous. Helga clasped her arms around his back and her grip only tightened with each rub and each poke. Eventually, she could no longer contain herself. She couldn't scream, but she had to express her joy somehow. That is why Arnold felt her teeth sinking into his collar as he felt his fingers moisten down below against her panties. As painful as her bite had to be, he felt nothing.
Only she mattered.
He pulled away again to ask: "Helga, you good?"
Now it was Helga's turn for a non-verbal affirmation. She made an urgent beeline for his shorts where her hands made short work of unfurling his throbbing member.
"Too much talk, Footballhead!" she admonished before leaning back on the desk with her legs parted a bit wider. Her expression was one of lust and impatience, as though she was expecting him to follow a predetermined cue.
Know of the cue, he did. Follow it he did; in no time Helga's panties were on the floor and Arnold was inside her. She remained seated on the edge of the desk with her legs tightly wound around him. Arnold was relentless in his rhythm with thrust after thrust stirring the insides of the beautiful blonde in front of him. Helga was doing all she could not to alert the neighborhood about how good she felt. When her teeth weren't tightly grit, her breathing was labored with the occasional suppressed squeak. Arnold's efforts were expressed through low-pitched grunts as he kept thrusting toward critical mass.
He knew Helga had reached hers when her body tensed up and he felt her fingernails digging into his back. She couldn't scream her rapturous joy to all the world, but the message still had to be conveyed. Arnold felt the message with every slow inch of the tracks that Helga's claws were gouging into the skin of his back. Never had he felt pleasure and pain in such equal quantities and in such great magnitudes. The sensation was delirious, even if he reckoned it would be a long while before he could go swimming in public again without attracting any curious glances.
Arnold's discharge followed not long afterward. Only then could he take the time to behold the girl before him. Her expression was the best kind of spent and weary. Her breathing was ragged but settling back to a normal rhythm. Her exposed skin was glistening with sweat. Her shirt was straddling a fine line between opaque and translucent as it accentuated her toned physique while offering tantalizing hints of what lay beneath the fabric.
He was, simply put, inside and looking at the most beautiful girl he'd had the pleasure of ever knowing.
What followed was marked by mutual starry-eyed gazes and – despite having performed acts like this many times before – timid, awkward tittering.
"Never gets old, does it, Footballhead?" Helga eventually broke the silence.
Arnold wasted no time with: "Not in a million years, Helga." He closed in for his umpteenth kiss, this one a lingering peck on her lips. "Not in a million years."
"Well in that case…" Helga responded, the boldness returning to her voice. "…you up for another round?"
"Only if you are," he smirked back.
"Oh my, you are a demon tonight!" Helga jibed.
"I have to be to keep up with you," Arnold jibed back.
Their titters became light chuckles as they took in the levity of the moment. Then Arnold spoke again, unsure at first, but with gradually increasing gumption.
"Um…Helga? Do you think we can move to the bed this time?"
"Why?" she asked back with a smirk and mischievously narrow eyes. "You got something new you want to try?"
As it happened, he did. That's why they were now on the bed. Helga was on her arms and knees; Arnold was thrusting into her from behind. It was a position he picked up from Gerald's tapes and found most intriguing. Bolstered by his past performances, and for the sake of expanding his repertoire, he thought to give it a go.
Luckily for him, his more experienced partner was game. More luckily, his chosen position was not unfamiliar to Helga. Luckily still. she recalled her sex life in her original universe and how this experimental position for this Arnold was among that footballhead's favored positions.
Not that it mattered while they were in the act, not when Arnold's efforts were prolonging her pleasure. His unyielding rhythmic ramming from behind ensured that the only sounds issuing from her were her rapid paroxysmal breaths,
She could feel the earnestness in Arnold's actions. It was in the way he kept pushing himself to his breaking point for her bliss as much as his. It was in the sparks of electricity causing tingles all over her skin. It was the ripples from Arnold's ceaseless exertion racing at light speed up her spine into her brain to be converted into hazy euphoria. It was the way Arnold varied his tempo to allow one of his hands to explore her hip and waist and slip under the shirt to fondle an admittedly still-in-development breast. It was in his labored breathing and imminent fatigue that he was more than willing to suffer…
All for her, she realized. Only for her.
As a result of his singular focus, she was struggling to hold it together. It helped that she had a pillow to grip for channeling her borderline crippling joy. When gripping it felt insufficient, she resorted to burying her face in it, lest the entire block – let alone one building – would hear her broadcast her immense satisfaction and repeated calls to the boy who was providing it.
Helga's second coming arrived as dramatically as the first. Every muscle in her body contracted and spasmed to a rock-solid state, Electric nerve impulses were sent everywhere and nowhere all over her trim frame as she felt she could rend the pillow asunder from the orgasm she was experiencing. She felt her eyes glazing over as she entered a delirious stupor. This was it: she felt she could die happy now.
Arnold was not yet done as he laid her on her side and spooned with her while still inside her. His motion quickened into a final short-stroke, high-frequency flourish with which he ended his ministrations. The "Helga!" he weakly whimpered as his second load spurted into her, told her that she had received his all. Despite his exhaustion, he didn't want her away from him. He held her tightly in their spooning position, kissing and nuzzling every square inch of her that became available. Desperately doing so as if she was a drug and he couldn't get enough of her.
Then came the tears. Then came the weeping.
She knew why. Her hands found his as she too mourned: "I know. I'm just as sad."
"I mean…it's the right thing…but why must it feel so unfair?"
"Don't sweat it," consoled Helga, her hold on his hands tightening into a loving clutch. "It is what it is. No one said we had to like it."
"I kept telling myself it was what's best for you. That you're getting a chance I'll never get."
She remained silent.
He continued. "But that didn't make it any less painful."
She remained silent.
He continued. "But I was fooling myself. You were unhappy when you came to this universe. Unhappy in a way that you, me and the sex could never make right. I'd rather you were happy away from here than miserable over here."
She remained silent.
He continued. "But I'll never forget this, Helga. I'll never forget what we shared. I'll never forget you!"
Through his tight grasp on her, he felt her heartbeat quicken.
"And you may find happiness without me," he conceded. "You might find someone better for you than I am…"
Helga found herself tearing up while considering those possibilities. She remembered jesting about the other potential suitors she had dubbed Drake Sanchez and Rodrigo Castillo. Oh god, what if they were waiting in Alaska? What if they did turn out better than Arnold...? She clutched Arnold's hands more tightly than ever and was beginning to exhale her response, only to be cut off.
"But let me promise you this," he solemnly declared. "If we meet again after tomorrow…and if there's a chance that I can win you back…" – he paused to gather his courage – "then you better believe I'm gonna give it my best shot!"
Helga went silent again. Then she too started weeping, though not completely out of sadness. Moreover, as she wept, she also started laughing softly. "And to think all I wanted was some goodbye sex."
Arnold didn't interject, he knew she was building up to something more profound. Indeed: "Be careful of the promises you make after blowing your load, Bucko. I just might hold you to it."
Arnold heard that and joined in on the sad laughter. "You wanna hear something else that's crazy to say after sex?" he teased.
He felt her head tilt in his direction, a motion stating her eagerness to hear his answer. "You mean crazier than saying you'll hold a torch for me?"
"Even crazier," he confirmed. "Helga Pataki, I love you."
He felt how Helga Geraldine Pataki's heartbeat skyrocketed. Next, a response: "Arnold, can we stay like this a little longer?"
Helga's departure was as emotional as expected.
Arnold's bid to say goodbye did not get off to a good start. All through the morning, everyone was quick to point out how drained and anemic he looked. The comments began at the breakfast table and continued with Phoebe and Gerald with their sly nods when they were picked up by the Shortmans in the Packard. Even when they arrived at the airport, Miriam was quick to ask him if he was alright, citing concern for his paler complexion and general lack of energy. When he insisted that he was fine, it provoked a harsh, barely audible mutter from Bob: "Kids these days! Zero energy for what's important!"
And if Olga was suspicious about why someone as full of life as Arnold would suddenly have 'zero energy' so early in the morning, she kept it to herself. She did, however, shoot a glance towards her daughter hinting at a serious upcoming talk.
Thankfully, this minor detail was quickly foregone in favor of the nitty-gritty of the gathering. The reality remained that Helga Geraldine Pataki was leaving, and her friends were in various stages of grief.
Gertie made no secret of how sad she was to see Eleanor leave ("Seriously, who the hell is Eleanor?" quoth Bob.) Bob's question went unanswered as Gertie offered some last-minute advice. "Be brave, Eleanor! Don't be afraid to be happy!"
Phil proved a man of few words – for a change – but his message was no less sincere. "Alaska won't know what hit it! Now go out there and give 'em hell!"
Gerald tried his best to remain composed, barely succeeding. Phoebe allowed the waterworks to flow as she glomped her best friend and bade her a bawling farewell while wishing her "nothing but happiness, prosperity and fulfillment".
"And try not to piss off everyone on your first day, OK?" added Gerald. Normally such a remark would at best earn him a thermonuclear glare from Helga, but the blonde girl could only smile back wryly and answer with a chuckle: "Hey, no promises…"
Gerald too got a hug from Helga as he realized how much he was going to miss her.
Arnold's sendoff might have seemed tame by comparison. He and Helga spent a few awkward moments staring at each other, before settling into an equally awkward hug. Which happened to be the best course of action. Those who knew or who had surmised that some intimate activity recently took place between the two, reckoned that everything important had already been said. Those that didn't – read: Bob – saw two childhood friends not yet used to dealing with such life changes…and who'd do damn well to get used to them.
Finally, Helga promised to remain in contact with her friends and that they hadn't seen the last of her. She'd visit Hillwood during summer vacations and Christmases, so they could always look forward to that. The resulting group hug was a sight to behold, even in an airport terminal filled with jaded travelers.
And that was that.
The passengers were checked in.
The plane was boarded.
The plane took off.
It was approaching midday when Arnold was seated in the back of Phil's Packard, flanked by Gerald on his left and Phoebe on his right. Phil was driving them home from the airport, with Gertie in the front passenger seat. Silence loomed over the occupants. Phil seemed more occupied with the surrounding traffic, and Gertie seemed more than content to let the children process their sudden sense of loss.
"So what are we going to tell our friends when they notice Helga isn't here anymore?" Gerald asked, breaking the silence and addressing the pink-bowed elephant still lingering in the room. "We know she didn't want to share this messed up situation with everyone, but they're gonna start asking questions sooner or later."
"Not to worry, Gerald," Phoebe reassured from her side. "I've accounted for that eventuality and have prepared an explanation that preserves most of the salient facts while being vague enough to conceal their controversial underpinnings."
Her statement elicited a whistle from Gerald. "And that's why we're so lucky that you're on our side, Babe!"
"What's this?" Gertie joined the conversation, her tone perking up. "Are we on a mission to misinform the KGB?"
At this, Phoebe – who was not fully familiar with Gertie's whimsical side – glanced quizzically at Arnold, who glanced back with a look of 'just go along with it'. So she did. "We're merely strategizing over how best to honor our fallen comrade's final wishes, Dame Shortman," Phoebe replied in character.
"Yeah," Gerald piped in. "But the guys we're dealing with make the KGB look like Buddhist monks!"
Gertie didn't skip a beat as she followed up with, "Two rules on dealing with that ruthless bunch! Rule Number One: Feed them just enough info for them to chase their tails!"
"And Rule Number Two?" queried Agent 33, happy for anything that could lighten the mood.
"Never let them see you bleed!" boomed a cackling Gertie to a mixed response from the backseat. One part silent surprise to two parts nervous chuckling.
"Oh, I'm almost certain that there'll be no need for the second rule, Dame Shortman," Phoebe havered.
"Gotcha!" Gertie shot back. "Counterespionage only! No liquidations!"
"Oh, come on guys!" spoke Arnold as he broke his silence. "It's not that bad," he continued in an optimistic tone that didn't seem forced. "She'll be back for Christmas. She promised! And we'll be there to greet her when she does!"
What happened immediately afterward was so subtle that only Phoebe picked it up. She felt the Packard deviate ever so slightly off-course before just as quickly course-correcting.
It was the type of movement that could easily be attributed to a wheel hitting a rut in the road, causing the vehicle to veer from its linear trajectory. But the expressway on which they were traveling had a relatively smooth surface, so that explanation was rendered reductio ad absurdum. The true cause became apparent to the half-pint genius when she peered over at Phil and noticed how his grip on the steering wheel had tightened significantly.
He was also about to contribute to the conversation, and she feared that it wouldn't be well received.
Indeed…
"Yeah, Short Man…about that…"
And so we come to the end of what I hope to be the penultimate chapter. Well, yeah...it does fulfil the mandate of the penultimate chapter by leaving the protagonists in a royally untenable situation, doesn't it? But with that said, thank you, one and all, for your continued support of this story. You're legends in your own right, every single one of you. Even the Irish reader. Yes, I'm still sore over our RWC pool game, but the Springboks will have their vengeance when your team tours our country!
Anyhow, time to address the previous chapter's review, courtesy of The JAM.
I am heartened by your reaction to the phone call with Olga. I had to show her development since we last saw her. I reckoned the best way was for her not to be overbearing during this exchange. She is willing to give Helga her space instead of overcompensating for past mistakes and ruining any potential progress. Conversely, for this conversation to work, I felt Helga had to initiate it. Seeing Arnold's grief firsthand would have provided the perfect impetus. In a way, the canon Hey Arnold script has been flipped. Now it's Helga who finds her parent(s) but has to leave Hillwood, while Arnold must make do without his.
And as much as you may have wanted me to visit harm upon Rhonda, I didn't feel she deserved it. So I chose rehabilitation over retribution, plus a little comeuppance as you no doubt read in this chapter. What do you mean you jumped straight to her? Get back in there and continue reading! Anyway, I believe Rhonda has enough self-awareness to realize when she's slipped up and to feel terrible about it, hence her reaction.
As for this chapter...
I don't always write a chapter linearly. Oftentimes I write scenes as the ideas come to me, then rearrange them into a coherent narrative. With that known, the last scene I wrote was Helga's scene with Olga at the Pataki residence. I realized that their shared activities wouldn't necessarily be enough to cement their relationship. I needed a gesture from Helga to show that she had accepted Olga as her mother. While I was there, I realized I could offer some insight into how Olga maintains her musical proficiency. Raw talent isn't enough; mastery comes through constant practice. Not gonna lie to you, this was my favorite scene in this chapter.
Let me know your thoughts on this or any other chapter. I would love to read your opinions. While you're considering dropping a review, have a gander at this chapter's Tidal List:
One And Only – Adele
Tonight, Tonight, Tonight – Genesis
Do It To Me – Lionel Richie
Why I Try – Loving Caliber
Time After Time – Mark Williams, Tara Morice
We Let The Stars Go – Prefab Sprout
Sara – Starship
Tomorrow Doesn't Matter Tonight – Starship
And that concludes this chapter. See you next time. And remember: stay safe and take nothing for granted.