Lips pushed out and then a smile came to Artie's face. He was actually singing 'doo beee doo bee doooo', not that anyone would ever really know what he was doing. Luckily, he was alone in his room his face could contrort any way he wanted it to. He stripped off his shirt, scratching absently at his chest. Being presented with a mirror, Artie struck a pose. Several, actually, frowning at the end. He'd probably never have the physique of Bobby, and while Artie wasn't envious, he just wished that he could grow some muscles. He figured that with all the pot he smoked and how much he ate, he'd at least have something to turn to muscle. That's what he got for ot eating any animal growth hormone.
He was just about to stretch out on his bed when he noticed some bubbles from the bathroom. They were sudsy, for sure, but...who would be taking a bubble bath? Artie himself was prone to quick showers in the morning. That meant...but why would she...?
Suddenly fearful, Artie opened the door, rushing in, afraid that Betsy had killed herself for some kind of crazy notion that her life wasn't worth living. With the suds on the floor, his foot got no traction and down he fell, hard. The air had been pushed from his lungs and finally when he could breathe again, Artie grabbed the corner of the tub and hoisted himself up. Wow. Betsy looked about as depressed as an emo kid in a room full of razor blades. A frown creased the corner of his mouth and after he hoisted himself yo on his elbows, he began to sign. Don't do it! You're wonderful and pretty and smart and pretty and don't kill yourself!