Woo! Another chapter! You know, this is probably the longest-running story I have, other than my mini drabbles for Skulduggery Pleasant. Hopefully, this goes on well. HAPPY READING!

"Jink?"

I refused to open my eyes. No, no, no, no, no, no. HELL no, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut tighter. I am NOT here.

"Jink?" whoever was speaking reached out for my hand. "Are you awake? Please? Please be awake!"

"Jink, if you don't wake up, I'm stealing your iPod." God, I knew THAT voice.

"Benjamin Daimio, if you so much as even TOUCH my iPod," I threatened quietly, "I swear to whatever god or goddess you believe in that I'll whip your ass so hard you'll be sleeping standing up for a month."

"Yep, she's awake," he assured whoever else was in the room.

Asshole.

"Jink?" I heard Liz ask. "You need to get up. We know you're awake. We want to talk to you."

I snapped my eyes open and glared. "Screw talking," I snarled. "Leave me alone."

"No," Liz snapped, glaring back. "We're gonna talk. Why the hell would you try something as stupid as that?!?!?"

I said nothing.

"Don't you have anything you want to say about this?" Abe asked, looking worried (oh, wow - I got Abe worried. Will wonders ever cease?).

"'All I learned was I'm/ No good at suicide*'," I quoted quietly.

"Where'd that come from?" Liz snapped.

"Poem," I said staring down the hospital-white bed sheets. I switched my gaze to my hands. Gauze was wrapped around both my wrists, one having an IV needle poking just below the edge of it. I began to unwrap it, careful of the IV, but hands stopped me

"You don't wanna see," Daimio said softly.

HOLY CRAP - BEN DAIMIO IS BEING NICE TO ME? I'm dead - that's that only way that could happen.

"But I do," I replied softly, continuing to unwrap the gauze. One, two slices, with three stitches in each one. The edges looked ragged and oozed pus. Gross.

I unwrapped the other one - I cut BOTH my wrists? Man, was I out of it! Two cuts, seven stitches between the two.

Thirteen in all.

"Man, I suck at life, I suck at dying . . . what the hell am I supposed to do?" I scoffed.

I looked up at all the people in my room - Liz and Abe, who were clearly upset with me, Daimio, whom I really didn't know what to think about . . . and Greg.

"Are you gonna yell at me for doing this too?" I asked him.

He wrote on one of his note cards, "No, I'm not. I know how you feel."

I recalled his story from earlier: Anelisa. "But you never actually went through it, did you?" I asked.

Another scribble: "No, but I thought about it. I was never one for dealing with pain."

"What'd you do?" I asked.

This one almost made me laugh and get angry at the same time: "I swallowed my pride and talked about it."

"No offense," I said, "But I don't really feel like talking about it."

"Then what do you wanna do?" Liz all but shouted at me.

"You know what I wanna do?" I growled. "I wanna get out of this damn bed, find a doughnut, and watch a movie." I ripped the IV tube out of my wrist with my teeth, wincing as it came out. "Cause, seriously, it's creepy and uncomfortable to see you all standing around what was supposed to be my death bed."

I carefully climbed out of the bed and got halfway to the door when I felt an, erm, uncomfortable breeze. I looked down at myself and turned beet red.

I had been put in a hospital gown - you know the ones, all white and open in the back and rediculously short.

And no pants.

I shrieked and tried to make the gown longer, and stared in horror at the people in the room.

"Who the hell took my pants?" I said in horror.

Ah, pants. Never underestimate the ability for pants to heal. Seriously. Once I was back in my own clothes, I felt worlds better. Nice clean black pants can make everyone better. Add in a nice band shirt, and life can't get much better. I swear to God if I ever find out who stuck me in that damn thing . . . .

I had made my way to the kitchen. Clean clothes, no hat or shoes, stitches out for all to see - I ignored the looks of pity and distaste as I opened the fridge. Mmmm . . . doughnuts sounded good, chips sounded better, but double chocolate chip muffins won out. Add in a can of Dr. Pepper, and we had a perfect movie snack. Num yummy.

But what was getting me was the fudge. Someone made a WHOLE PAN of fudge. Grinning like the evil munchkin I was, I pulled out the pan and grabbed a knife to cut it. But just as I was about to, someone took the knife from my hands.

I glared at the agent who had DARED to deprive me of my fudge. He had taken the pan from me, too, and was cutting a generously sized hunk of fudge. He put it on a paper plate, and pushed it towards me.

"What the . . . ?" I asked.

"Sorry, ma'am, but the Directer put you on suicide watch," the agent explained. "No sharp objects for you."

"So I can't even make a BLT anymore?" I snapped.

"Sorry, ma'am, but it's the Directer's orders," the agent looked nervous. He should be - most days, I hurt people for less. But now, I was too tired, and too hungry, to fight it.

I growled and snatched the paper plate containing the fudge, my muffin, and my pop, leaving the agent blinking in disbelief.

My room was possibly the BEST fort by the time someone came to knock on my door. I used couch cushion and my mattress to make the walls, and blankets for the top, and pillows for the floor. I made it in the corner so I had a good view of the TV and the door.

I had popped in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret Of The Ooze and settled down for the movie marathon I was planning to have. Just as the BEST part came on (the fight in the toy store right in the beginning), there was a knock on the door.

"It's open!" I called, eyes focused on the screen.

Just as the door opened, the knocker called out, "It's me, kid."

Captain Daimio peeked through the door.

"Wassup?" I asked, more focused on the movie than before.

"I was just comin' to see how you were doin'," he said, sitting down next to my fort. I scrunched so I was closer to the back.

"As you can see," I replied, "I'm hiding, watching the best movie ever, eating fudge and muffins. I'm fine, thanks."

"The best movie ever?" he asked. "I thought you'd be all over some horror movie or something like that."

"Nah, I like the older movies better," I shrugged. "Besides, this is probably the greatest ninja fight scene in the world."

"Nothing better than a guy getting beat up by a ninja turtle wielding a yo-yo," he agreed.

There was another knock, and this time it was Gregory, bearing a card reading, "Can I join in?"

"Sure, dude, just pull up some floor and chill," I crawled out of my fort and motioned to the other side of my fort. "Hope you like guys in bad turtle suits."

By the time Hellboy showed up, we had expanded the fort to fit everyone and were watching Dracula: Dead and Loving It, laughing as Dracula fell down flights of stairs.

Okay, to note a few things:

*i took this from a poem I wrote after Wilson died. Call it my Blue Period.

TMNT II: SotO is probably the best turtle movie out there, WAY better than the new ones. My favorite part IS the fight in the stores in the very beginning, and I get mad if I miss it. My second favorite part is where they crash the club and 'Ninja Rap' is born. ROFLMAO.

Yes, I know that Daimio seems a little OOC here, but seriously, but that's all part of the whole 'suicide' process. He knows more of Jink's past, and he feels bad that she tried to commit suicide, so this is kinda his own 'suicide watch'.

So, happy reading, expect another chapter (or two) by the end of the day - I'm snowed in. But I have history, so probably only one. HAPPY DAYS.

~Izzy of the Pants

------

/ /\ \

/__ / \__ \ see? Pants!