When Helga Heard Me Crying: A fantasy harem story
by MissFitt
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She must have followed the sounds of my sobbing to my bedchamber in the harem. I can get pretty loud sometimes. Usually, the other girls in the Harem know to keep their distance when I am that depressed. I tend to lash out at others when I'm in pain, like a wounded animal. Helga didn't seem to care. She was just as stubborn as I was, and had this bad habit of loving me. I heard the door creak open, the sound of her boots on the tile floor was unmistakable. I stayed hidden under the pile of blankets on the queen-sized bed. Nothing she could say would help me, I just needed to disappear. No one would care after a while. I was nothing but a joke, a verbal punching bag for my father in his drunken rages, a prime target for people in school to pick on, a lesbian, very tall, ugly, basically a lost cause, as my counselors had called me. Now I was hiding out in the harem. It was a safe haven for me, as well as the other girls. We are here to find a place where we are accepted, free to explore who we are without persecution. It is a world of fantasy, an underground railroad in a sense. Very zen, very metaphysical, but that doesn't matter.
Helga unabashedly lifted the covers from my head, assailing my eyes with light. I must have looked a fright, my hair a mess, my face red and swollen, tear-streaked. "So, it was you making all that noise,"she said dryly, staring down at me.
I was suddenly angry at her, for intruding on my misery. "What do you want!?" I hurled out at her, never lifting my head from the pillow. My heart stung from the argument I had with my father earlier, and I just wanted to sink lower into my depression. I wasn't ready for anyone to try and help me yet. But Helga doesn't give up on anything very easily, that's normally why I love her so much, but now it irritated me beyond belief.
"I thought you were dying in here, I wanted to be sure I didn't have to call an ambulance."
I grunted to her, my face pushed into the pillow, "The ambulance would never get here. We're inside my head, this is a fantasy world, remember?"
"Then how can I help you?" she sounded genuinely concerned, like I actually mattered to someone. What a crock!
"You can leave me the Hell alone!" I shot at her, lifting my head and reaching out to push her away. I was so weakened from my crying, and the sense of utter hopelessness, that I couldn't even reach her. My hand fell limply onto the bed. It looked so pale against the forest green sheets, a benign sack of bones.
I gave up then. Helga took my hand in hers. As much as I love her, it sometimes hurts me to even look at her. She is so beautiful, I feel I am cheating her out of something by being her lover. I am ugly, too tall, fat and not even half of what she deserved. That rotten self-image contributed to my depression. She wordlessly climbed into the bed with me, wrapping her arms and legs around me. Her warmth contrasted with the coolness of the bedsheets. It was like a virtual reality game, my body wasn't attached to my mind, but rather controled by it from far away. Sensations were extreme or nothing. Her breasts, heavy and solid, pressed against mine. She felt real, not ink, but skin, smooth and unrelenting. After I get to know a character, they take a new form in my mind, and while their essence and personality is the same as when they were created for media, they are no longer just that. They are my confidants. The voices and images in my mind that are all too real.
She stroked my cheek, brushing away stray strands of my fiery red hair, dampening her hand with my tears. "Mercenaries don't cry when they fail. They should, though. I never did."
I didn't know what she meant. I didn't feel like she failed. She had messed up, yes. But her redemption came, at least in my eyes, when she fired the flair gun, and brought down Rourke. She didn't fade away in that volcano. She came to me, we found love. "Why didn't you cry? Who would have seen you?"
Her breath fanned my face. "No one. I thought if I cried when I was alone, I never would have stopped. You are the only human I've ever known who didn't write me off as a drawing. We, humans, cartoons, all know what being hated is." Helga's voice tensed. She drew in a ragged breath and began to cry, silvery tears that scared me.
We were silent for some minutes. I never saw her cry before, and while I was scared, I was strangely relieved. I saw in her eyes a spark of myself, a shared pain and misunderstanding. It suddenly dawned on me, this strange epiphany. I was trapped in my flesh. I was debased, written off as something to not be taken seriously, my heart was invalid, my feelings nothing but filler, all I was, two dimentional....a drawing. I knew now. In a sense, I am animated! A cartoon that is seen as only that, with no deeper meaning. "I love you, Helga," the words glued me to her, established a melding.
Our faces wet with the tears we cried, she lowered her head and kissed me. I kissed her back. I wanted more, wanted to make love to her, but she pulled away. "I'm sorry, Missy." she used the nickname I go by in the harem for the first time. It had always been Katrina, my astoundingly appropriate given name that came out of her mouth. "I shouldn't have done that, take advantage of you. You were vulnerable. And I guess I didn't help much, bursting into tears myself."
But she had! I had connected with her deeper than ever before, and it lead to my realization. I wasn't mad at her for kissing me. I probably would have kissed her first if given the chance. My sadness began to fade away. It will come back again soon, when I forget who sees me as real, and when I forget that those who see me that way are the only ones that matter. But at that time I saw it, and from the clearest vantage point, in my fantasy world, in bed with my dream lover.