If You Think I'm Gonna Come Up With A Title For This, You're Dead Wrong

Chapter 4

"Why, pray tell, don't you trust me?"

"Because you're being paranoid." Mikey gets into position at the top of the ramp as you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, watching your friends back home sincerely mourning your death. "I am an ex-peer-ee-onsed skateboarder and ninja. This is gonna be epic."

"As someone who saw that episode," you reassure him, sighing at your mother's inactivity online confirming your suspicions for the umpteenth time, "you are absolutely going to get in trouble." The lair is a mess, the ramp more so, and the entire situation is so obviously the inciting incident that you're half convinced that the universe itself is pranking you. You slid the phone into your pocket, not really in the mood to start crying again. "In fact, this is directly related to the theme of the episode. In other words, don't do it."

"Relax, dude." He sets himself up. "I am totally gonna make this jump and it is going to be sweet."

"Theme?" Donatello pipes up from his place on the ground in front of the ramp.  "The first major constituent of a clause?"

You blink. "No, the new Subway footlong. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's the definition of theme."

"Who uses that definition? Grammar teachers?"

"The dictionary."

You are dumbfounded. "Why would I— do you know how people usually use that word?"

"People usually use that word at all?"

You look over at Raphael and Leonardo, who are on the floor next to him, and who seem completely disinterested. "Do you guys—"

"No. Who uses the word 'theme'?" Raphael rolls his eyes. "Mikey, do you plan on jumping today?"

"Wait, so none of you have ever used that word in a literary sense?"

"There's a literary sense?"

You sigh. "In hindsight, I guess that makes sense, since— Mikey, you're gonna get grounded for it."

"Will not."

"Will too. Donnie, when you inevitably get grounded for this, after your grounding is over, come to my apartment. I'm teaching you literary analysis because that is ridiculous." You get to your feet. "Oh," you say, "before I go, when he grounds you, don't go out. If you get into trouble while you're out, get me, and if he asks why you're tired, say it was a movie marathon, and if he asks which movies, Lord of The Rings. See ya." You run out as you hear the shouts of their father telling them to stop.

You walk back up to the surface via the empty subway tunnel. You had quickly realized that it was infinitely less gross than going through the sewers, and your apartment already smelled enough like raw sewage from the amount of time you had started spending down there. You have considered buying new clothes with your quickly appreciating bank account, but you could not bring yourself to look, even with your new freedom. Maybe it was a lack of motivation? You do not exactly know. More likely is your complete lack of inspiration and faith in your own choices, but what do I know?

You start down the street to your building. You would not go so far as to say it felt like home, but you had become more accustomed to it. You had learned the bellboy's name, nodded to neighbors. It is not a stunning amount of progress, but it is progress. You spend most of your days now, if not re-watching whatever episode is relevant next, for the first time, cyberstalking people you knew from back home. How courteous of that organization to give you an up-to-date feed of life moving on without you; at least you get to see your cousins.

You do not remember the actual walk. You remember getting to your apartment, walking right by your refrigerator, and collapsing onto the bed.
You feel like shit.