I awake suddenly, no sleepy haze to muddle through. Just dark and then light. Or, slightly less dark. The dim light bulb hanging low over my head flickers almost on a beat: one, two, three, dark, one, two, three, light. I lay there, counting it out, before the feeling of the scratchy, wet with sweat blanket beneath me forces me to sit up. Gross. The walls are a dark ugly stone, the door a thick metal. The room is so small I can kick it from my position on the bed, and I do, feel the force of it reverberate up my leg. My left cheek is slightly damp, and there's a sharp ache behind that ear. I touch it gently and then pop my finger into my mouth. Copper. My own blood probably, maybe someone else's. My head is pounding. I take stock- head feels terrible, arms are sore, ribs sore, legs are okay, feet okay. Par for the course.
Checking my pockets and bra yields two lighters, a metal pointed nail file, and two joints (bent). I light one and suck, the pressure lifting almost immediately. The ceiling is low, too low for someone my height to feel comfortable. I count the beats again. I wanted this. It's the only option. I did not, however, want to be knocked unconscious while surrendering. That was extremely uncalled for, and frankly, just plain rude.
I'm halfway through the second joint and in the middle of a coughing fit when the door swings open, a looming figure framed by swirling smoke.
Damn, I swear mentally, I never knew he was this big. Then another thought: how many times have I thought that. I snicker, probably out of nervousness.
He pauses in the doorway, then ducks inside. I can just see the muscles moving under the shearling coat, metal apparatus covering his face. If I had any sense at all I would be scared, but the weed is making me sleepy and slightly giddy. He motions for me to scoot to the end of the bed. When I hesitate, he speaks.
"I'm not going to hurt you." There's an unspoken "yet" at the end of that sentence. I won't hurt you, but you better do as I say. I reluctantly inch closer to him. He carefully tilts my head to look at what has been bleeding this whole time. It stings like hell when he even slightly touches it. I keep my eyes on his, not daring to show any discomfort, which becomes harder when I feel the sharp prick of the needle.
Okay, this is okay. Just breathe. I'm not even here right now, eyes watering. There can't be that many stitches to do. This isn't the first wound I've had stitched up, and at least this isn't fishing line like some...most of the others. Focus on something far away. Nothing is real, not even this pain, and I'm not here right now. I'm somewhere far away, and I'm definitely not hyper aware of his proximity to me, how easy it would be to just snap my neck...the snip of the scissors brings me out of my spiral. Am I supposed to say thank you?
"So." I don't answer, keep my gaze straight on the doorway. Maybe I could bolt and admit that this was a dumbass plan from the start.
"This is who has been wreaking havoc on all my men." His voice is harsh, metal, calculated. I can tell he finds this all so amusing. He folds his arms and looks me over again. I nod and grin, all I can manage in this state.
"I apologize for the actions of my men. They went against my orders and will be dealt with accordingly."
I'm not sure how to respond to that either. I light up the joint again, hands shaking. He pinches the ember out of existence instantly. Annoying. We stare at each other. I'm about to finally speak to break the silence of us sizing each other up, yet again, when he beats me to it.
"Follow me." He turns and leaves. I wait for a second. What is he playing at? I cautiously stand and immediately fall back onto the bed, head spinning. Through the fuzzy black at the edges of my vision I see Bane return and start to shut the door. I launch myself off the bed as fast as I can manage, surprising both of us by managing to slip through the crack in time. I'm panting from the effort, bent over with my hands on my knees as the dry, sour spit threatens to bring up whatever I ate last. The hallway is small, made smaller by the both of us. I slump against the wall more to avoid falling into him, his hand still on the handle.
"Are you ready?" He cocks one eyebrow so slightly I would miss it if I wasn't using his face as the focal point to distract from vomit. Bastard. He's enjoying this. Before I can answer, he is already well on his way down the hall, leaving me to jog to catch up. Dick. How many more bad names could I call him in my head before I accidentally say it out loud?
The hallway is a maze, overhead fluorescent lights becoming more frequent as we get closer to...somewhere. I've never been down here before, just heard the whispers in the street. An army of men coming out of the sewers, and none the wiser. I silently hope that I won't be kept underground for much longer. I knew people who had attempted this. Key word: knew. The farther we go, the louder it becomes, muffled sounds of metal on metal and harsh voices.
He stops outside of a large anteroom, partially in shadows. In the center are three men, kneeling, faces covered by black bags. Three men also stand behind them. I want to laugh at the dramatics of it all, the big reveal and the flourish with which they pull off the bags, but the brutality inflected on their faces stops me. I know these must be the men who attacked me, even though their faces are unrecognizable. Knocked me unconscious while I was surrendering. I wonder how serious this offense is to Bane's code.
He steps into the center of the room. He pulls the gun from his coat and aims. I feel the temperature drop and the air feels thick, heavy, a dull ringing in my ear. I swear lightly under my breath. Shit.
"Which one hit you first?" I shake my head. I have no clue. I don't want to be here for this.
"Doesn't matter." He aims at the first one, farthest from me, shoots. Turns back to me to make sure I'm watching. I am. I know he's toying with me, wants to see me break. I lift my chin, stare directly into his eyes. Try to ignore the shivering after the second shot.
I lose whatever is in my stomach after the third shot. Bane lets me vomit until my throat is raw, before taking one of the bags and placing it over my head, making sure to be gentle with the wound. The inside still smells of blood and sweat. I know this is a test too. He puts my hand on his shoulder and begins to walk.
"I'm leaving your hands free for balance. Don't try to run. You won't make it far on your own."
I'm still reeling, trying to keep it together. My breath is trapped, forcing me to inhale hotter and hotter air filled with the other man's misery, and who knows what else. I'm chanting in my head: don't pass out, don't pass out, don't pass out, don't pass out. Air whooshes on both sides of me and I tighten my grip. I hate heights.
I lose track of time as we wind through what are probably tunnels, taking so many turns that at times I feel like we're going in circles just for to torture me. My legs are jelly, betraying me as I stumble more and more the further we go. I have no extra energy to think of those men or their fate. I'm sure I'll have trauma ridden nightmares about it later.
He finally stops, then turns around and guides both of my hands upwards to touch cold metal. The ladder starts just above my head, and I start climbing before he even says anything, hungry for sun. I barely get past three rungs when I hit my head squarely on a ceiling. I wince in pain, aware of the deep rumble that is his chuckle.
The sound infuriates me. He climbs behind me to unlock and push open the manhole cover. I'm slightly smaller, and quicker than him as I push off of his forearms and scramble out before he can catch me. I trip on the edge and land in the snow, rip the bag off and roll onto my back, the wind knocked out of me. The air is so cold it hurts my lungs, the sky a brighter blue than I ever remembered. My elation at being in the sun is short lived. Bane is half a second behind me, but he just stands over me. Watching.
I squint and shield my eyes.
"Do you mind? You're blocking my tan."
It's clear he feels no threat from me. He wordlessly pulls me to my feet and leads me half a block before stopping to tie a blindfold around my eyes. The air slowly gets more acrid as we get closer to our destination. Fire. Or fires? Sometimes the whole city smelled like it was burning. I doubted even that would stop Bane.
There's a rush of warm air as we step inside, our heels echoing on a hard floor. He leads me up stairs, slowly. By the third floor I am panting. I can't remember when I last ate, woken up the past three days gnawing on empty air.
Six flights of stairs and my knees are trembling. All I can hear is my wheezing and his mask. That fucking mask. I saw it in my nightmares, sometimes. It angered me, but now, standing so close, all I feel is calm. A stillness now that I have a purpose of destroying it and him. Oh yes. An inner zen. Beautiful. Channel my inner calm through this whole process. Ripping it off with my bare hands or setting him on fire or shooting it with a crossbow maybe. Breathe. Feel this moment consciously or something. No passing out. He turns and gives a strange stare. Did I say any of that aloud?
We've reached the end of a dark hallway. The apartment he unlocks is spacious, bare. A mattress in the middle of the living room, blood splatters on the carpet in the entryway. How quaint. He points to the mattress and I collapse onto it.
"Rest. Tomorrow you will speak to me." I wave my hand dismissively and sink into sleep. Tomorrow's problem.
*hi wow sorry I keep editing it I think I actually like it now here ya go I'll update regularly now thanks for reading anyways*