By: 1000th Ghost
*This story is dedicated to my best friend because she gave me a Panic! At The Disco CD, and that night (4-20-09), I had this dream, which had a certain song playing in the background the entire time. This story is also dedicated to my subconscious for writing this for me…this is probably the easiest story I've ever written: I didn't even have to think it up.*
"Is it still me that makes you sweat?
Am I who you think about in bed?"
-Panic! At The Disco (Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off)
It hadn't exactly been the best day of her life.
Forgot her homework, got detention, walked home in the dark, got drenched in frigid rain, only to discover a house full of nothing. Apparently her parents had gone out somewhere; they could have at least left their helpless daughter a note.
Helga grudgingly climbed the stairs, her shoes making a disgusting squishing sound with each step.
This day sucked.
She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and start over tomorrow.
Her motions were robotic and stiff.
Hand on doorknob.
Flick on light.
It was pretty much the only intelligent thing she could utter.
There, on her bed, lay her beloved football head, clad in nothing but his signature blue hat. He turned on his side to face her, resting his head in his right hand.
Her shocked eyes irrepressibly leapt to his raised manhood, and she hesitantly wondered if, oh, my gosh, certainly not because of her, but what else could that mean?
She ignored this impossible train of thought and brought her eyes to the top of his hair, then dragged them down, over his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his lips-
He spoke before she had even reached his chest.
"Do you still want me?"
Her eyes snapped up to his, and she blinked. "What?"
He got off the bed, and all mental thought processes came to a screeching halt.
"On the top of the FTI building. You remember. You wanted to, but there wasn't time."
He took a step towards her. Another. Another.
"Do you still want me?"
There was that question again. What did it mean? Unintelligible sounds and nonsensical phrases. All that mattered was his footsteps, one after another, coming slowly but surely in her direction.
He grabbed her arms.
She was numb.
It was like watching a movie from inside one of the characters. It was happening to her, but somehow, it wasn't real. Things like this didn't happen to her. Never her.
He turned her around and began to lead her backwards towards the bed.
Her stare was blank.
He seemed amused at her stupefied state.
The back of her legs hit the side of her bed, and he smirked as he helped her onto the mattress. Conscious movement was much too complicated.
She watched in slow motion as he brought his right hand to her left shoulder. He pushed her back.
Then, somehow, he was on top of her, and his breath mingled with hers, leaving a humid mist hanging in the space between them.
He narrowed his eyes into a half-lidded stare and, just once, slowly grounded his hips into her.
And the fog was gone.
He was Arnold, and she was Helga, and there was a reason the FTI incident was taboo. They were supposed to hate each other, and neither was prepared to change the way things had always been.
Because lies were the only thing that kept their world sane.
Do you still want me?
This was much more fun than lying.