windsnocturne: (Helga/Arnold)
[personal profile] windsnocturne
Title: Miss (im)Perfect
Fandom: Hey Arnold!
Characters/Pairings: Olga
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: It's easier to smile sweetly and do what she's told than to deal with her own feelings.

any, any, lie to anyone except yourself

"Mommy, Daddy! I'm so happy to see you again! And my sweet baby sister, Helga." She's smothered by her parents' hugs, Helga storming off to sulk in her room as always. Daddy scolds her, but Olga doesn't care.

I don't blame you for hating me, sister.

They go out to dinner that night, at the fanciest restaurant in town to celebrate yet another semester of straight A's. Helga slurps her soda and makes rude noises while she eats, Olga takes tiny bites and smiles sweetly.

Just once, I wish I could stuff my face so freely.

She plays the piano for them, Helga flopped onto the couch reading a comic and chewing away at a wad of bubblegum. Their parents completely ignore the younger girl, only having eyes for Olga and her melodies, and Olga thanks them politely for their loving praise.

Why do I always have to play the piano? Why can't we just play cards for once, or watch a movie on TV?

Her fingers hurt when she goes to bed that night, but she pretends they don't.

Helga gobbles her breakfast and rushes off to play with her friends, not bothering to say goodbye. Olga pretends to study while she looks out the window, watching her sister laughing and slapping a boy on the back as they talk about something or other.

She may not always speak kindly of her friends or get along with them, but they always end up having fun together.

She can't remember the last time she had even one friend like that. The other children admired her, but never asked her to play or sit with them. Untouchable Olga, too perfect for this world.

Olga closes her book and goes to the kitchen. Helga will probably be hungry when she comes in, and she'll probably bring her friends.

Such a good girl, we can always count on you. So obedient, so thoughtful, so smart.

She picks up the knife and begins to chop up the lettuce, tiny frustrated noises escaping her throat now and then.

Straight A's, angelic singing voice, so good with children. She'll make a fine wife someday, a true breadwinner.

As she's slicing the tomatoes, she feels a sting of pain across her hand. She looks down, and for the briefest moment she's fascinated by the line of blood beginning to trickle down her skin.

I bleed and feel pain just like anyone else. They'll never know because they'll never care, they only want their perfect wind-up doll, not a living breathing person. Why do I ever come home? Why do I try to reach out to people, why bother when no one wants to know if there's more to me than grades and music?

Because it's still easier to pretend than it would be to lose their love. And that scares her.

This is all I know.

She washes her hand, wraps a bandage around it and gets back to work. Helga comes racing through the door with her friends, Olga sets out a platter of sandwiches and smiles sweetly.

No one asks what happened to her hand. Olga doesn't care.
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