Thanks to everyone who reviewed my story! I appriciate the nice comments! I decided things were boring as hell in my story so we're going to make some insanity. I love you guys!

Tuesday: Hair hair hair.

Punched some guy in the face today. Got punched back. Sat for an hour today with cotton balls up my nose to stop the bleeding and Nny laughing at me cruelly. Jerk.

I punched him because…I don't wanna talk about it. He just hurt my feelings so I reared up and next thing I knew, I was on the ground with a pulsing nose and a vicious headache. Fuck you, faceless tormentor. I'll KILL you.

Anyway, I got myself home bleeding, and no one even stopped to ask me how I was doing. Like I was fuckin invisible or something. My nose feels like there's some giant splinter in it, and I have to look down to write so…I'm going to go away and lay down for a while.

Friday: Better. No more pain. Nny's been stacking ice on my face for a while. If its not broken, then I'm suffering from frostbite. But I'm alive and able to recall and laugh over my not-so-valiant murder attempt. I don't know who it was. I don't even remember why. I just wanted to slaughter him though. Johnny's a HORRIBLE influence on me.

Watching some horrible cop show, and people are all dying, and there was a car crash, and children screaming and if I see a kittens so much as limp away from this thing, I'm going to cry.

Sunday: Nose sore. Especially because I got elbowed in the face just now and am squirting out fresh blood. But not just from there. I was writing an entry about something or other, and stabbed myself through the hand with my pencil. I just…did it. Just to see if I had the stupidity. Turns out, I do. So I wrapped gauze around it and walked around the house for a few hours, leaving droplets of blood behind me like a trail of breadcrumbs. Only, bloody. Johnny didn't notice at first because blood around isn't exactly something out of the ordinary around him, but he's usually good about keeping it out of the living room. Eventually though, I saw him scrutinize a small puddle of it near the tv where I had sat for half an hour trying to find a movie from the old VHS movie bin that's he keeps around (VHS's? wtf?). It didn't take long for him to notice that the blood was from me, and that it was leaking through my bandage.

I don't know why I did it. It certainly wasn't the worst thing that happened to me. Except this time, I didn't cry. I just sat around waiting for him to notice me. Once he did though, he dragged me into the shitty (haha) bathroom to remove my covering and carefully look it over. It was pretty damn ugly; blood just falling out it, half formed scabs tearing open, tissue all torn up…I didn't make it all the way through but I went far enough that the pencil was bloody from the tip to the part where the sharpener didn't reach.

"What the fuck?" He asked me simply, running a blast of cold water on my hand. My fingers were purple.

I shrugged and didn't make noise as he deliberately handled it roughly. Only when he pressed two gloved fingers on it and squeezed did I scream, and then he seemed satisfied.

"Good," he said, holding my hand down as I tried to squirm away, "you know you're alive when you're in pain."

"Fuck you!" I said, beating his shoulder with the fist my good hand could make, "I fucking KNOW I'm alive, now fuckin let go!"

"Quit cussin'" he said, shrugging off my beatings as though I was just tapping him, "and hold still. How long ago did you do this?"

"The fuck do you care?"

"Hailey..."

"Batgirl."

He turned to look at me, his eyes narrowed at me dangerously. He had one hand holding down my injured hand under water, and the other was just beginning to come up to hit me. I saw it happening, so I slapped his hand away and slipped my bloody one from his fingers. This is why you do not wear shiny gloves; no friction, man.

Tired now.

Monday: Continuing on.

So, there I was, holding my hand with he had hurt even more when he didn't let go when I asked, and here HE was, staring at me and he goes into pounce stance. You know it, when someone bends their knees slightly, opens their arms, and get this look on their face like "I kill you now."

And he was blocking the fuckin door.

"Okay," he said, advancing in that shark-ish way of his (da-dum…da-dum…da-dum da-dum…), "you're bleeding all over the floor, remember how you cleaned and scrubbed it?" he asked me in a tone of voice I would use on a three year old. Reverse psychology will never work on me, asshole.

"My hand began throbbing BADLY, and I did start to cry, thought I was dead-set on not letting him see it. I swallowed my tears.

"Come on," he said three feet away from me, "just come here and we can fix your hand and clean all this up…"

"Don't…touch….me."

"Why not?" he asked. He held his hands up to his face, in that sign of "I'm not armed", and curled his fingers mockingly. "You've been wanting me to for such a long time…"

I gripped the towel rack I was using to keep my balance harder. I was getting woozy from lack of blood, but his words made my cheeks warm and flaming. I started breathing hard, and my hand went numb.

"That's right," he whispered, close enough to touch me, "you're tired aren't you?"

Suddenly, I was deathly afraid of what would happen if I blacked out. But it was coming I knew it. My vision was getting blurry around the edges, and my ears began to static louder than ever before. Like someone tuned into white noise in my head on full volume.

I tried hard to stay above the blackness. But then my knees buckled and before I knew it, I felt myself go under, and heard his quiet chuckle seconds before I slipped away.