My Angel

A Hey Arnold FanFic

Authors note: Special thanks to AdventureGirl6. I do not own Hey Arnold and make no attempt to profit from it.

Chapter One: Ghostly Remains

The clinking and clanking of the train annoyed Helga's patience and concentration as she tried to jot down her ideas to the music blaring in her headphones. Every now and then someone would pause to look at her or listen with interest to her music before moving on. For all the attention she could be receiving, she brushed it off with the same bravado and care that had kept her heart guarded during most of her life. Creaking fingers formed Old Betsy hastily, moving in the direction of an old man smelling strongly of whisky, his flirting eyes sickening her greatly. A glare from Helga, colder than the air conditioning in the carriage, caused the man to retreat to the seats further away.

Sighing, Helga adjusted her dull pink beanie with a white stripe around the bottom and continued her work. Blistering ache; crystal tears; rainbow skies; none of these words made much sense to Helga, but she needed something to get her by for the next class. The light in the carriage flickered for an instant before the thought struck her; the same song had been on repeat for her entire trip so far. Biting the inside of her mouth in annoyance, she flicked through the songs before her. The stench of the train had begun to take their toll on her senses no doubt, and it was only growing worse; stale air, mixed with the sweat of people, alcohol and smoked cigarettes was nauseating to say the least. But as the song clicked over, Helga sighed at the lighting, its flickering ceasing and returning to normality.

Warm afternoon rays fell onto her arms, streaming in through the hazy and partially misty windows. Dressed in a pink long-sleeved shirt with a single white stripe around her waist, Helga felt that she stood out more than she may have done back during her primary schooling days and even into high school days. Sneakers and dark blue jeans completed her outfit, her hair still golden blonde but hidden by the beanie she cherished so dearly. Why she struggled to remember the significance and importance of it was beyond her. Closing the notepad in her hand, she adjusted the ear plugs and moved her finger on the circular pad, increasing the noise of her music. Her whole day had gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours. Having missed the early departure to college, she had found herself standing alone on the platform for half an hour in the rain, waiting for the next arrival.

Helga smirked at the thought. The rain. It was always the rain. Cold blistering rain had pelted down upon her small fragile face all those years ago, the shivering she had felt being unbearable. Why she was meant to walk alone to pre-school had been beyond her understanding, even today. But even as she had walked along the hard and unforgiving concrete, the rain above her head eased. Curious, she had dared a glance and saw a crimson red above her head, its shape that of an umbrella. Her eyes had traced the pole to the face of a smiling blonde-haired boy, sporting a small cap on his head she would in time come to know all too well. It was the first day Arnold had come into her life.

But he wasn't there today; no one was. Few people even knew that Helga Pataki existed nowadays. She had cut her ties with her friends when she had finished high school, in turn leaving her amongst strangers when she had begun college. She told herself it was for the best as she picked up her novel and resumed her spot from earlier that day. Aside from the rain in the morning, turning up late to her lecture annoyed her to no end as the lecturer insisted on making her lateness known before launching into the basics of English literature. If it wasn't for the lunchtime break where she could attend an optional art group, Helga would have stormed off from the college grounds in disgust.

Turning the page, Helga felt the train come to a halt, allowing people around her to interchange in their destinations. Being one of the last stops, she didn't expect much of a crowd; there never was late in the afternoon. She scanned the content profusely, the eagerness in her eyes causing the words to blur together. As if she were at the heart of the story, Helga felt her heart sink as the protagonist re-joined her loving parents. The book felt like deadweight in her fingers, her mind so unfocused that she barely recognised the train continuing its long journey. Her own parent wouldn't care if she came back home alive, let alone before the supposed imposed curfew. The realities of Bob's lack of worry or care for her felt like another stab into her heart; he wouldn't care. The business man would expect dinner to be prepared and cooked; she shivered to think what he might do to her apart from yelling at her.

Shutting the book, Helga looked away and cast her gaze on the world outside. It wasn't long before Helga heard the familiar dong of the bell alerting passengers of the next stop. Watching as the sun hid behind the darkened clouds, Helga felt her body jolt at the sudden stop, causing her books to fall off her lap. Hearing the door open, she hastily tried to gather her belongings.

"Why does this always happen to me?" she mumbled.

Checking around as she gathered the books to her, Helga saw her notebook had gone the farthest, resting happily upon the door entrance. Placing her other books back into her sling backpack, Helga made to grab it. Turning around, the notebook was gone from its resting place. Instead of being opened to the world around her, stretched out before her worried face was a hand, holding the notebook tightly. Her eyes travelled up the arm of the young man and rested on his blonde hair.

"I think you dropped this," he said gently, the kindness radiating in his voice, acting like a drug on her.

"Thank you," she mumbled incoherently, taking the book from his hand.

The young man looked at her for the briefest of moments, long enough for Helga to remember days long since gone, and realise he was being whisked away by a rather haughty looking girl. Helga's returning glare was enough to ensure the animosity shared between the two women was indeed mutual. Her now pleasant thoughts soured, Helga began to wonder how someone so nice could have ever dated a woman like that. Perhaps the girl knew she was indeed lucky and simply wished not to lose him to another woman.

Ignoring the initial urge to openly insult her on the train, Helga instead found herself skimming her way through the poetry book she'd picked up earlier that day. Bound beautifully, Helga could not help but admire the craftsmanship that would have gone into creating a piece of art such as this. Gold embossing, soft yet firm leather and poems, each one more thought provoking than the last was truly Helga's idea of a good read. And it had been a bargain too.

However, thoughts of an enjoyable session of reading was cut short. An elderly voice, one more belonging in a retirement home and certainly not on an afternoon commute, droned out the words that the train had finally reached her stop. Another sly shot of venom towards the now pre-occupied girl left Helga feeling decidedly better about her afternoon ahead, her bag clutched tightly to her side as she made her way through the almost vacant station.

Hillwood's old station sign greeted her, but she barely acknowledged its existence in passing, instead turning her attention to the path before her. Time was quickly getting away from her now, the quick glance to her watch confirming her beginning dread. She had three hours until he would return home, normally more than enough time to enjoy herself before the forced solitary confinement. Yet today, for reasons she could not comprehend, Helga felt as though she was running behind.

The first drops of rain had begun to descend upon her ascent up the front steps. A fumble into her pocket found the keys eventually, the rain now pounding down upon the steps as she flung herself into the house. Silence and darkness greeted her like an old friend, her body trembling from the rain as she strode up to her room. Why she was still living here was beyond her; every fibre of her body wanted to leave this forsaken and loveless home, but she had nowhere else to go. She could run away, but to where? Dropping her bag on her bedroom floor, Helga sought out her clothes, hoping to change before Bob got home.

Gathering something that she thought resembled comfortable clothing, Helga made her way gingerly to the bathroom. A soft click brought relief to her body, releasing the strain of the day it had held tightly. Her damp clothes chucked into the corner near the door, Helga removed her beanie and ruffled her hair. There were so many styles she could choose for her hair, but as she turned the shower on she felt a stab of guilt hit her: you will never be pretty. A constant beep echoed loudly; checking her watch Helga sighed and removed it, placing it carefully on the sink. She had two hours till he got home.

Streams of hot embracing water flowed over her cold frame, breaking off and splitting into smaller fountains that filled her with a warmth she'd not experienced for a long time. But numbness, that singular feeling she knew too well, once again began to overwhelm her senses as heat, her pleasure and pain, began to become unbearable. Perhaps this wasn't the best remedy for her, but as she touched the sensitive bruises on her back, Helga wanted nothing more in the world than to cry.

Her mind felt like a dam, containing itself with only the smallest of Band-Aids holding together the continuing leaks threatening to overwhelm her completely. With each massage of the bruises she gritted her teeth, her desire to faint held at bay through the memory of the bruise she had given Bob in their last encounter. Bringing a brief smile to her lips, she wondered how her mother had ever put up with him.

Perhaps her mother had been right to leave her when she did; bitterly spitting into the drain, she knew it was all Big Bob's fault. They had argued like so many times before. But even as she had watched from the shadows of the stairs as a twelve-year-old on that storming night, she knew by the increased level of noise and sustained arguing this was not a normal argument for her parents. Miriam had been drinking heavily again; the empty bottles and stench of red wine was all the evidence Helga needed to confirm her theory while huddling behind the shadow of the stairs. Unfortunately for Miriam, that was all Big Bob needed too.

"Drinking again huh? That's all you ever do," Bob grumbled, flinging one of the empty bottles away.

"What did you say Bob? I couldn't hear you," slurred Miriam.

"You do nothing but drink around here; why do I even put up with you?" Bob shouted, his echoing voice bouncing dangerously off the walls.

"How dare you?" she mumbled, tears forming in her eyes once more.

"Face it Miriam; the only thing you ever produced that was worth being mentioned or praised was Olga; I'm just glad she's still at college and doesn't have to see the mess you have become."

In unison, Miriam and Helga both became incredibly pale, Helga's fragile heart falling to the pits of her stomach and shattering once more. She'd only just gotten over the last insult. Both though had tears flowing down their faces as Miriam stuttered, "What about Helga?"

"Who is Helga? Don't you mean Olga? Who…oh, her. She is about as likely to succeed in this world as you are to quit drinking; we both know that will never happen," he smirked as he turned away.

Helga held her breath. No one stirred. A small, wry smile formed on Miriam's lips, quickly consuming the remainder of the wine in her glass. "You're wrong Bob."

Miriam ran at him. Lunging at him with outstretched arms aiming to kill, Helga saw the two bodies fall to the ground as they began to fight once more. Helga covered her eyes and blocked her ears; below her, her parents fought, wrestling angrily, each trying to better the other. She couldn't stand this; she wanted to move out from the shadows and shout at them, but fear held her tightly. There was nothing she could do to stop them. Surely someone else heard them, no doubt everyone in the neighbourhood would have heard them by now. Crashes and smashes continued while Helga held her breath.

And then it stopped.

Silence echoed for a moment, enough to draw her hands away from her senses. Daring herself to open her eyes, Helga tried to make out what had happened, find out what had caused the sudden peace. A soft sob. Her eyes darted to the source and forever etched the dreaded the sight before her into her memories. Helga wished she'd never opened her eyes. Lying still on the floor, Miriam's eyes looked up at the ceiling blankly at a tearful Bob was trying frantically to check for a pulse.

Something inside Helga snapped; in one swift motion, she retreated to her bedroom, grabbing the phone that had only an hour ago had been used to call Phoebe and discuss…dialling the number, everything else became a blur. She remembered hearing what had happened; a fatal overdose of alcohol had damaged her system so severely she had passed out during the fight. There was nothing the doctors or medics had been able to do for Miriam when they found her…nothing Bob had done could have prevented it, even if they hadn't fought…there was nothing she could do to bring her back… a beeping noise from the sink brought Helga to her senses; curled up in a ball, much like she had been when she was twelve, Helga shook her head and turned the running water off.

Drying herself hurriedly, Helga dressed and headed for the kitchen. Her rush down the stairs nearly became another tragic accident as she lost her footing on the stairs before landing clumsily on the bottom step. It was deathly quiet in the kitchen as she opened the fridge door, the creaking sending her heart into a flutter of panic; any moment he would be home. Spying something nice, Helga quickly made her meal and returned to her room, closing her bedroom door just in time to hear the lock on the front door click open.

Hours passed her by after she had finished her meal and yet nothing was coming to mind about her English work. With a weary glare at the book, she tossed it near her bag and lay back on her bed, enjoying the comforting embrace of the soft blanket beneath her. How she longed to be far away from here, held by someone who cared for her…someone with flowing blonde hair, warm loving embrace, soft gentle calming eyes…someone like Arnold.

Bolting upright, Helga shook her head. It was the first time in years she had thought about him absentmindedly, and now all impossible possibilities began to unfold in her mind, playing like a movie on repeat. The stray look to her closet made her wince; she had not written poetry since her mother's death. It was not for her not wanting to; everything had become a roadblock since she left.

But something about seeing the blonde-haired boy once more triggered her body into motion. Before she could stop herself, Helga had opened the closet door and underneath her rather extensive collection of t-shirts she found what her heart sought after. A black book, no bigger than her hands, was framed in a fading gold frame. Bound together with a single golden lock on the side, Helga's trembling hands nearly let go of the delicate book. It had been given to her by her mother at their last Christmas together as a family.

Taking a deep breath, Helga opened it with trembling hands. Pages as white as snow glistened before her, inviting her to touch and reveal her thoughts once more like a long-lost lover. It was stupid. But as she sat down on the bed, she couldn't help but think about him again: the curve of his face, the softness of his blowing hair in the morning breeze and the warmth of his body holding hers tightly. Taking a pen from her side table, Helga took a deep breath before she began…