She walked through the rain, anger, betrayal, intense hurt pounding against her skull. Neon signs across the street flashed at her mockingly, laughing at her pain.
She knew the place from those times in her childhood, those times when her mother had not been home and her father was too intoxicated to care. She had walked her and talked with the patrons, becoming a friendly and warm presence in the lives of the people there. A regular, the manager called her, ruffling her short hair and smiling kindly at her.
Here she was again, years later. Her head throbbed dully with the beginnings of a headache, one that she knew would only be worse in the morning.
In a danker corner of the darkened bar, an equally broken man sat, nursing in his hands a glass filled with nothing but ice. Disguised, as to be expected, he wore the face of a dark haired, dark eyed youth, and he glared at each patron that dared pass within three feet of him.
When he saw her walk in, his mood crashed beneath the rickety floorboards. Still dressed in blue, her hair a mess from the rain, with her makeup making unfriendly circles and lines beneath her un-shining eyes. How perfect.
She was the mirror that reflected back at him his pain.
He stared at her blatantly, bringing the glass slowly to his lips as he watched her do the same.
"I'm nearly envious of the glass."
She heard him. She heard that voice echoing through the room, through her head. Closing her eyes she blocked out all noise, until she heard his voice again.
"Envious of a glass. See what you have made of me?"
She refused to open her eyes, to look around and see who it was, who he had disguised himself as or if he was really, truly there. She prayed madly that it was just the drink; that it was just the frustration and sickness in her stomach that made her hear him.
He saw her quivering in her seat, shaking, and his sadness deepened. He could not hurt her, even after she had spurned him. When he saw the single tear trickle down her little nose, he had to turn away to hide his own storm.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you cry." She heard him again, quieter, gentler. More like the man—like the man she thought she had grown to love.
"If it is truly your freedom that you wish, I have no choice but to grant it. I never could pray for a creature such as you, a ray of sunlight into the darkness I call my world. Your wish is my command. Do you see what you have done?"
He paused.
"I, the greatest villain of all time, the champion of Metroman and the scum on the shoes of the public, have been reduced to nothing more than a dog at your feet. Do you see, can you comprehend what you have done to my spirit? I cannot create those inventions of evil, I have no will. I cannot steal from the poor and innocent, now that I've seen how you care for them. I cannot rule with tyranny, because I know you are amongst those I will rule over."
"Will you ever comprehend what you have done to me?"
"Will you ever forgive me?"
Tears poured down her face as she listened to him. He stared into the empty space between them, aching to run away, aching to run to her and take her in his arms, keep her safe from the world and the pain. With supreme effort he stood from his chair, leaving payment behind.
He did not look at her as he passed.
His heart ached all the more for it, because she did not look at him.