Chapter 08

Authoress' Note: What in blue blazes took me so long to get this chapter out? Simple. I dreaded writing it.

There was a bounce of freedom in his step as Arnold walked up the stoop stairs. He had successfully done what he set out to do! He was able to keep his promise to Candace and take her to Phoebe's party, but also he was able to not wimp out and broke up with the younger girl. It was the first time he'd broken up with her, therefore he'd hope she knew how serious he was about the finality of the relationship.

He opened the door, not having to worry about the various pets running out; it was too cold for them to move from the warm den. As he opened his mouth to announce his return, a bundle of blonde and worry barreled into him.

"Arnold!" Stella exclaimed, "You have to find Helga now."

Blinking back the shock, he didn't bother to try to take off his coat as he flicked his gaze to the staircase that led up to the second story.

"She's not here! She left!" His mother was near tears as she grabbed fistfuls of his thick coat. "You have to find her!"

"I—I don't know where she might have gone!" Arnold explained, trying to keep the worry from seeping into his bones. Why would she just up and leave?

"She went to the emergency vet's off of MacArthur and Hefner," Miles' less theatrical, but still tense voice offered from the den.

"I know it." Arnold confirmed before he turned, opened the door, and jumped down the stoop to the sidewalk. Jogging to the back of the building, he climbed in the still warm cab and revved up his truck. The ride took less than ten minutes but his disused impatience started to coat his nerves. Why did she have to go to the vet's? Why didn't she call him? She was the one who preached on the saint-like qualities of cell phones!

When he finally made it to the veterinarian's office, he didn't care that he double parked and slammed his truck into drive. Muttering as he opened his door and all but face planted into the wet street before he remembered to unclick his seat belt. Throwing the door closed, he took two steps toward the clinic's door when a familiar black and pink beanie caught his eye and changed his destination.

"Helga!" he announced, running up to the bench the same time as the old city bus pulled up. "Helga, what's going on? What's wrong?"

The girl stood, and ever so slowly, turned to him. When she lifted her blood shot blue eyes, he was stunned into silence. So much was his surprise he never even seen her hand move. Arnold could do nothing but stand in shock, his hand rising to cover his slowly reddening cheek from where she'd slapped him.

"I hate you, Arnold."

Helga's angry, hurt-filled blue eyes glared up at him. She swallowed hard and shook her head, disappointment and heartbreak flaring from her like fireworks. Without anything else to say or do, she turned on her heel and climbed onto the waiting bus.

Still, all he could do was breathe, while under his fingers the abused skin grew warmer from the sharp assault. The driver gave a flat look at the boy before shifting the doors closed and drove off into the night. Arnold watched, his heart clenching painfully in his chest, as he spotted Helga sitting toward the back with her head back and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Shoving the door open and numbly kicking it shut with the heel of his shoe, Arnold only became aware of another presence in the foyer when she spoke.

"Did you find her?" Stella asked anxiously as her son shrugged off his coat, his mind still in a stunned state and refusing to process anything from the past hour. He glanced up at his mother, confused and clouded eyes meeting the concerned and hopeful pair.

With blind movements, he hung up his coat and answered her with one abrupt nod before edging around her and to the stairs.

"Arnold?" She questioned softly. Stella watched, feeling rather helpless, as her only child made his slow assent up the stairs and disappeared on the second floor landing.

He numbly dropped down on his mattress, the heel of his left hand pressed against his forehead as he rested his elbow on his bent knee. Arnold didn't dare look up, didn't check on the quiet kittens, and tried to fight back the onslaught of pain. Swallowing thickly, his eyes betrayed him first as they became to become overly wet. Gripping a tuff of his bangs with his fingers, he pulled at his hair, trying to avert his mind but it was no use.

After Helga's dramatic departure, he had gone to the clinic to learn why she had been there. Perhaps she'd run out of formula? He'd hoped it was something as simple as that but no, it was with condolences that the front-desk clerk answered his questions.

One tear beaded up and rolled partially down his face before dropping off his cheek, then another, and another in a slow steady pace. When the first sob racked his body, whatever strength he had fled along with his illusion of the night being a nightmare and allowed the tears to flow freely.

Helga shut the door to her house, threw the locks into place and dragged her feet over to the small table that held the phone and growing pile of mail for her parents. Shoulders slumping, her purse fell to the hardwood floor with a dull thump, followed by her coat. The small red light that indicated a phone message blinked cheerfully at her. Normally, the girl would glare at it and not bother about whatever it was that whoever it was had to say. If it was truly important, they would have texted or called her cell, right?

She looked down the darkened hallway that led back to the laundry room and kitchen, then back at the winking red light. Sighing, she lifted her hand and pressed on the 'play' button.

"You have five new messages."

Helga turned and leaned against the wall, arms hanging uselessly at her sides.

"First message," the automated voice informed and then stated the time and date on which the message was left.

"Hey, Helga," It was Bob. He almost sounded—hesitant. Normally, she would have rolled her eyes and just deleted the message, but she lacked the motivation to do anything other than stare at the baseboard across the hall from where she stood.

"I heard that the midnight madness was a hit," again there was an uneasy pause; "I checked the system and the profits were almost double what I figured. So, I just wanted to say—you know, good job, girl."

There was a soft click of the phone being hung up. Helga made a half-hearted, humorless noise in the back of her throat. She should be smug, doing back flips (mentally only of course) because of Bob's reluctant praise of her.

Instead, all she could think of was her failure. Tears burned against her already sore eyes as the moisture started to form. She failed. She failed at something that she'd been so sure she'd been doing right. It was precious and fulfilling and—she failed.

She did her best though, a small, weak voice protested in her mind.

And yet, it wasn't enough. She wasn't enough to keep-

The machine's voice announced the second message's information.

"Hello, Miss Helga Pataki, this is Donald Drinsta from –" Helga blocked out the rest of that recording.

The third was from a wayward aunt wishing the family a safe and fun holiday, the fourth was a telemarketer, and by the time fifth finally rolled around, the teen's tears were dried again.

"Merry Christmas, baby sister!" Helga flinched at her sister's cheerful voice. "And because I know you might not be home for the week, a Happy New Year, too! Mommy and Daddy told me about what you are doing, and I wanted to let you know that I think it is great that you are taking care of motherless kittens!"

A painful stab of guilt and shame hit her straight in the heart as she clenched her jaw.

"I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you! I always knew that you were a tender hearted girl underneath it all. The kittens are truly lucky to have someone as strong and sweet as you watching over and loving them. "

Helga had to bite her lower lip to keep a sob from breaking free from her throat, but nothing kept her eyes from watering up. She blinked her eyes and two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I have to go, but could you tell Arnold that he is just a wonderful person for everything he is doing for you and your litter—"

The rest of the message was lost to Helga as the sob finally busted out of her mouth, and her eyes over flowed with tears. Sliding down the wall, when her bottom hit the floor, she drew her knees up to her chest, buried her face into the palms of her hands and cried what was left of her heart out.

How did Olga, no matter how innocently, always seem to know what to say to wreck havoc on her little sister's world? Couldn't she have stopped with the well wishes for the holidays? Oh, no, Olga just had to go and remark on the two sorest, most achingly tender subjects of Helga's hellish night.

The kittens—some mother she turned out to be.

Then there was Arnold.

Her sorrow faded into anger at the thought of the boy who she had spent her adolescence adoring had shown a side of him she would have staked her life on didn't exist. But it did. Did it ever. He had been so—cruel. So cold. It wasn't like him, but it had been him. It had to be. He'd barely given his phone number had anyone outside his family, besides Gerald and her, and always kept the cell in his pocket, close to him.

Why? Why did he have to disappoint her tonight? Why couldn't he have showed his nasty side on any other night but this night? Even if he did hate her, she was so sure that he loved—

Another pain filled sob escaped. Helga was already a weeping mess on the floor, blessedly alone, as she felt the pieces of her heart break at the thought that she had lost two of the most precious things in her life within a few hours.

"Hey, sport," Miles addressed, as Arnold staggered into the kitchen. The teen made a noise of reply before dropping down into one of the empty seats at the table. The professor eyed his son, noting that he was pale and a deep sadness in his down cast eyes.

"Would you like some late breakfast?" Stella questioned softly, not even bothering to see the state Arnold was in. Truth be told, she had known he hadn't slept much and on the couch. Because of where Miles' and her bedroom was located, directly above the living room, she had heard the television most of the night.

Dropping his face to the table until his forehead gently bumped on the surface, Arnold gave a deep sigh.

"No, thanks, mom."

At his defeated reply, Stella turned, worry creasing her forehead. She had so many questions that were itching on the tip of her tongue, but with one quick look at her husband, who gave a discreet shake of his head, she turned back to the skillet. Miles wanted to handle this.

He had told her she had done enough for Arnold, Helga, and the kittens—not all of it good. She had to bite back her reply but some small (very small) voice in her head made her keep it in. Helga had messaged Arnold the night prior, right before running from the house, and Stella was not happy about being left in the dark.

Oh, her husband could handle the situation, but he would fill her in on all the details later. If he thought he'd get out of telling her, then she would prove him wrong—she had her ways. A woman had her ways.

As Stella began to laugh quietly to herself, the elder Short male sighed. Miles, the ever level headed, had promised to handle everything—or at least as much as he could since the particulars were still out of his understanding.

Thump.

Quirking an eyebrow, Miles watched as his son lifted his head slightly off the table only to plunk it back down again.

Thump.

Folding the newspaper and putting it to the side, the professor propped his elbow on the table and tucked his fist under his chin as he watched Arnold repeat his masochistic exercise.

Thump.

"So," his father began, "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Thump.

"Not really, dad."

Miles was going to shrug it off, let the boy come to him but when he caught his wife narrow eyed glare; he quickly rethought his strategy of retreat. Working over his wording the man cleared his throat.

Thump.

"What's on your mind, Arnold?"

The younger male's head stopped mid drop and after a breath, Arnold turned his green eyes to his father.

"Helga. Last night. The kittens. Olivia." he sighed, and buried his fingers into his blonde hair and rested his head in his palm. "Everything just exploded and I don't know why." Arnold felt his eyes burn with unshed tears as he tried to go through the past few days objectively to find out just when he had messed up.

"Have you talked to her today?"

The teenager tightened his jaw to keep his emotions from bubbling over as it did the night before. He hadn't been able to get any sleep while lying on his bed. Helga's shampoo had infused into his pillowcase and it only served to bring back the fact she was gone—angry and more hurt than he could ever recall her being.

She was normally reserved when it came to her softer emotions, but last night her walls had been broken down and the raw pain had taken his breath away. That's when she had slapped him. In the heartbeat of hesitation, she struck. Knowing her, well, her fists, as well as he did over the years; she had put a lot into that hit, but not everything.

"No," Arnold finally answered with a sigh, "I don't think she really wants to hear from me right now."

"So you are just going to wait?" Miles hmmed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms against his chest. "Take it from me, son, the longer you wait, the longer a woman will marinate in whatever it is bothering her. Unlike meat, time does not make them tender—ow!"

Rubbing the side of his head, he picked up the plastic stirring spoon that had hit him and gave a stern look to Stella who lifted an eyebrow in challenge while placing a hand on her hip daring him to say something.

Arnold, accustomed to his parents' odd way of arguing, didn't even flinch as his dad muttered something under his breath and dropped the spoon on the table but instead sagged back in his seat. As much as he didn't want to have his hand (or any part of his body really) re-injured, he knew he couldn't just let this situation sit and wait. The kittens needed Helga.

Upon thinking of the kittens, Arnold winced as his heart constricted. He had to talk to Helga. While his mother was urging his dad to 'bring it', he quietly went into the living room to get his phone. Ever since Helga gave it to him, he'd had a habit of connecting the charger before he went to sleep. After a few minutes of rummaging around the pile of stuff he kept in the front room, he rolled his eyes. He had been in such a haze last night that he had gone straight to his room.

Shaking his blonde head, he trooped upstairs, checked on the sleeping babies, and then flipped the sheets back and forth and tossed his pillows off the bed.

The phone wasn't there.

It was strange he wouldn't have had it with him. Pressing the heel of his healthy hand against his forehead, he forced his brain to call up the previous night and the last time he'd seen his cell.

At the party, Arnold remembered. He had just finished checking to see if he had any messages from Helga since she had been acting strange before he left and seemed concerned over one of the kittens. After that, he had—

"Shoved it into my coat pocket," he huffed and hit himself on the side of his head as if in mock punishment. Once on the first floor again, he could hear his father yelp before his mother gave an eep of surprise as he pulled open the coat closet door.

The cell phone wasn't in his coat.

Putting his coat on, Arnold ventured outdoor with his truck keys in hand. It took him ten minutes to be completely satisfied that the phone wasn't stuck between the seat belt and the seat, underneath the bench, or even stuck in the ashtray.

Throwing himself back in the seat, he wrinkled his forehead in concentration. It wasn't in the house, the clothes he wore yesterday, or in his truck. Did it grow legs and run away? He clearly remembered having it at Celebrations because he had been stalling in the break up with Candace by checking his mailbox every few minutes. Perhaps it fell out at the party?

He could always try calling it, right?

Huffing, he made his way back into the house only to hear his mother shriek a heartbeat after suspicious splash could be heard from the kitchen. Arnold didn't want to go into the war zone but he needed to borrow his dad's cell phone to call and see if anyone answered his cell phone.

"Hey, dad," he started as he stepped into the kitchen. His mom was drenched while his father had various splatters of pancake batter dripping off of him. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Slopping off a glob from his hand, Miles dug in his back pocket and fished out the device. Handing it to his son, he snatched up a mostly clean drying towel and mopped his face.

"Where's yours?" Stella questioned, wringing out her hair over the sink.

"Dunno, about to call it." Arnold punched in his number and frowned when it went straight to his voice mail. "Weird."

The cell phone's makers were using its long battery life as one of its main selling points and he had made sure it was fully charged before he went to Phoebe's party. There would be no reason, unless it was utterly destroyed, that it would be off. If someone found it, they would have left it on incase the owner called, wouldn't they?

Something wasn't adding up.

"I can't find my phone, last time I remember seeing it was at the party—around eight."

"Huh, did you ever get it back from Candace?" Stella questioned, confused.

"Candace?" Arnold's eyebrows rose before crashing down together in deep thought. "She doesn't even know I have a phone."

"Really? Then why did she answer it last night when I called to tell you Helga was going to the vet's?"

At his mother's words, Arnold's already baffled mind cluttered with questions. When did Candace learn he had a cell? He never told her and he certainly would have heard about it when she found out. How would she have gotten his phone? When had she? Why wouldn't she have told him about the call?

Unless—

A wicked, sly concept worked its way into his forethought. It was beyond Arnold's natural, honest nature to even consider scheming but he had been alive for umpteen years and lived with those who were unscrupulous. He learned, sadly, to think like some of those people. Not to act or even seek deviousness, but he could understand their logic to a certain point.

No! No, there was simply no way that she would do that to him. They had been together (hit and miss) for almost two years! Why would she back stab him like that? And, really, his kind side defended, the question still remained: when would she have gotten his phone?

So back to the drawing board, as it were, and at least he knew that Candace had had his phone at some point and might still have it.

"Mom, what did you say to her when she answered?"

"Nothing really." Stella crossed her arms against her chest and frowned a little as a few drops of water dripped to the floor. "Couldn't get more than her name out before she hung up on me."

Numbly, Arnold nodded.

He said he was going out, and quietly left the kitchen as his Grandpa entered. There was a string of his grandkid-friendly curses and a chorus of muttered apologies and promises to clean up their mess from his parents.

Helga wanted to spend her day buried in a carton of Rum Raisin ice cream, camped out on the couch, and watching whatever sappy movie that cable was re-running. However, her day wasn't to be one of peace. She knew she should have just tried to flush her cell phone down the toilet, jam it down the garbage disposal, or simply have left it off.

Ten in the morning Gabe had called, pleaded for her to come in (on her vacation!) and to wrangle the computer program that was buckling under all the stress of returns and clearance crazy shoppers. She was punching in keys with a fury she knew she should have been feeling at being a sap and catching the bus down to Bob's but she lacked the fire.

It was actually a mutated brother of a blessing that Gabe phoned; at least it got her out of the house and away from being alone with her thoughts. Being alone with her thoughts and the haunting failure was too much, but she used her years of emotional blockage and pushed all the sorrow into her stomach. The last thing she needed to do was to start bawling in the back stock room with the employees around.

The other thing, the Arnold thing, she couldn't ignore but she couldn't deal with presently. There was only so much shock and heartbrokenness that one girl could take before she shut down and shut out the world around her.

What she could focus on was the numbers that were supposed to be in one of five columns, colored in black or red font—how the heck did purple end up in the book keeping system? And what was this 'whoops' column that had popped up between the 'credit' and 'cash' columns?

This was why she could laugh in the face of all her math teachers. This was also the reason why she would be stopping off at the corner store for an industrial sized bottle of aspirin. Things could be worse; she could be up in the front of the store.

"I'm sorry, sir," Candace ground out through clenched teeth and a smile, "but without the receipt, a store credit is all I am allowed to give you."

It wasn't all she wanted to give the irritating man who had been fighting with her for the past ten minutes. Apparently concept of 'store policy' was something the costumer just did not grasp. As tempting as it was to 'pass the buck' to a supervisor or manager, but they were all currently battling it out with different returns and customers who had been passed their way.

She was stuck.

When Gabe, the manager on duty, slunk by, probably hoping to make it to the office before being caught, she called out to him. The man's shoulders went into a rigid line of tension before he turned with a pressed smile on his face.

"What seems to be the problem?" He could probably already accurately guess the problem, but he had to ask for the sake of the customer.

"This girl here says I can't get a refund," the irate man bristled. "I hope that you are more reasonable."

Gabe's face twitched and Candace saw and seized her opportunity.

"Since you've got this, I'm going to take my break." Without waiting for the affirmative from her boss, Candace pulled her employee ID badge from the computer bank and briskly walked away from the registers. She breezed past the main entry doors when someone stopped her.

"Candace." The girl turned to see a disheveled Arnold standing in front of her; green eyes narrowed slightly—the kind of look someone wore when they were hoping that they were wrong about something—and a small frown on his face.

"Arnold," she returned icily, praying that someone would call her over to assist a customer. Anything would have been better than to be face-to-face with her newly broken up boyfriend.

"We need to talk."

"I'm working."

"You just said you were on break." Arnold countered, nodding toward the registers.

Letting out a frustrated noise, she stomped her foot, and tightly crossed her arms against her stomach. Knowing that she wasn't going to wiggle or giggle her way out of this confrontation, the girl huffed and turned on her heel, and marched to the stock room with Arnold following directly behind her. Perhaps if she proved to be unwilling to talk, he wouldn't insist on it. She shoved the beat up double doors open, and took a few brisk steps in, twisted around and allowed the doors to swoosh back in place before she gave a rather snotty eye to her ex.

"Well?"

"Give me my phone back," Arnold instructed, not aspiring to a drawn out conversation with the younger teen.

Candace blinked rapidly in response before she narrowed her eyes on him. "You don't have a phone."

"Not currently because you have it," he responded, "don't bother denying it, my mom called, or tried to call me last night and you answered." His height and the uncharacteristic icy edge to his voice had the girl huffing and marching to her locker on the back wall, next to the fire exit.

Taking it from her purse, the girl turned and slapped it into his open palm. "There, choke on it."

Arnold rolled his eyes and let out a long breath as he pressed the power button. Thankfully, the battery was still half full. There were a few missed calls from his parents, one from Gerald, and one application that had an update. Ignoring those, he pressed the spot above the smiling conversation bubble on the screen that opened his text mailbox.

What he read had his entire world knocked off kilter. There were messages received and returned for hours. Almost the entire time after he had broken up with Candace, there were pleading, worried texts from Helga. She wrote about her concern that Olivia wasn't eating, she wasn't playing, and her breathing was labored. There were several messages begging for him to come back so they could go to the vet.

"…I don't want to do this alone…" was in one message, near the very end of the conversation. Helga never admitted a weakness. Not even when he would catch her crying or hurt, she would call him stupid or crazy and write off the tears as something being in her eyes. For her to reach out to him—and for that outstretched hand to be so viciously slapped—

All the replies that Candace had sent were beyond heartless; they were, to Arnold, flat out evil. The younger girl told Helga to grow a spine, to leave 'him' alone, and that he was busy having a life. What his ex-girlfriend had responded with to Helga's plea of not having to take Olivia to the vet alone was the merciless thing he ever read.

"…good time to grow-up, big baby."

"Why?" He breathed out, his green eyes burning as the barbed, hateful words that Candace had messaged to Helga the night before made his heart twist into a new kind of hurt.

"Why?" The girl asked tartly, "You dumped me, Arnold. You dumped me under some stupid 'because it isn't working out' reason. I knew you were hitting it up with Helga but you couldn't man up and say that, oh no, always have to be the nicey-nice, spineless guy."

"Why did you drag Helga into this? This was between us." He demanded, bypassing her insults as his anger slowly ate away the sorrow. "It had nothing to do with her."

"It had everything to do with her!" Candace stomped her foot and shot her arms straight to her side. "Ever since she started hanging out with you, you've been totally done with me and it's because of her. She told you to break up with me, didn't she? Didn't she!"

"No," Arnold said firmly, shoving the phone deep into his jeans' pocket. "She's the reason I didn't break with you on Christmas. She told me that to do so would be too mean, and I listened to her. I wish I hadn't. If I had just broken up with you and gotten over with, I wouldn't have given you the opportunity to hurt her and Olivia like this!"

"Who the heck is Olivia?" Candace questioned, before sarcastically adding. "Is that your pet name for —" He slammed his good hand into the lockers by Candace's head, causing the girl to yelp and jump in surprise.

"Olivia," Arnold said in a low, too calm voice as he leaned in marginally over the stunned female "was one of mine and Helga's kittens that died last night." He kept his tone deep, to make sure his throat didn't tighten with the betrayal he felt from his ex, and knowing it was probably that bitter emotion of deceitfulness and so much more that Helga was harboring toward him at that very moment.

"Your kitten? It died?" Candace's slowly looked down, her brain scrambling to make his words a lie.

"Yes," he answered icily. "And Helga was alone when it happened." He pushed off the wall and jerked his face away, clamping his eyes shut, willing the tears to hold off a little bit longer. The pain of losing Olivia, and then Helga was still an open and very raw wound.

"I—I didn't know—"

"Thanks to you; neither did I." Arnold had to find Helga. Now that he knew what really happened, what she thought he had said to her (and if it had been true, he would have completely deserved the stinging slap she'd given him the night before) and who was to blame, he had to set it right.

"Don't talk to me," the boy instructed, a sliver of the affliction he was suffering slipping into his voice. "I don't want you to even acknowledge me at school, on the street, or anywhere. I won't hate someone, but I can't forgive you right now."

With that said, Arnold turned and stormed out of the stock room. Candace stood there, one hand rubbing the opposite upper arm to chase off the chill she suddenly felt.

"So that's what really happened," Came a smooth, wintry voice from her right.

Turning her attention to the voice, what was left of her scattered thoughts burned away under the empty gaze Helga was giving her. Fear struck at the younger teen's core, but a voice from within stated in a small, but clear voice: you deserve to be punished. The terror turned into regret and with a hollow laugh the girl spoke.

"Go ahead," the brunette permitted. "Punch me if you want. There'll be no witnesses here."

The blonde canted her head to the side, studying the employee, as if to size her up. Helga could easy snap the girl in half, chew her up, and spit her out. It would be easy to bully the girl into keeping quiet afterwards. However, there was one thing the blonde had learned over the years. No matter how much pain she made someone else experience, hers never transferred to the other person. She would still be aching and just as angry.

"I'm not going to hit you," Helga stated flatly, pushing off the wall she had leaned against.

Candace rolled her eyes, "Why not, I deserve it, don't I?"

"Maybe, but you don't deserve to feel better," the blonde waited until she was sure that her employee gave her eye contact again, made sure that the silent and somber unspoken threat and promise was understood before Helga turned away, heading out the back door exit of the store.