Dick didn't like feeling this way. All those emotions messing with his head, his councious. Telling him silly things that he chose to ignore. He really hated feeling like it. He knows now he shouldn't have told Wally anything. Not one word. He feels worse now. And because of this he is hitting extra hard.
So hard the pain sensors in his skin are screaming at him to stop. Stop hurting himself like this.
But it feels good. It feels right. He feels.. normal again.
As he sends another direct punch into the punching bag; it swings up violently then crashes back down into his fist again. And endless routine of pain and then more pain.
Through the pain he is learning. Learning to keep his mouth shut. Learning that, sometimes, talking makes it worse.
He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. Each beat is a plead to cease punching. He ignores it. He ignores the pain. The sweat dripping from his forehead sometimes clouds his vision but he ignores it.
It's been a total of four hours. He purposely missed out his patrol with The Dark Knight. Sure, beating bad guys to a pulp with his bare hands sounded like a good thing to do but he wasn't alone.
He would be questioned.
No, he stays down in the famous Batcave. He ignores the calls on his Comm. link and cell phone.
The blood and sweat drips off his skin and onto the floor.
He slips in his liquid and falls onto his face. He doesn't get up. He achknowledges the crack his knee made but he ignores it.
He ignores the tears trailing down his face. He ignores the fact he's losing his bestfriend to some other girl and the love of his life, who doesn't love him back, to a different girl.
He feels lost.
Replaced.
Heart broken.
Ignored.