Those who appear to be strong are sometimes the most sensitive. Those who spend their time protecting others, often need to be protected themselves. The three hardest things to say in life are 'I love you', 'I'm sorry' and 'Help me'.
In a dim room, only illuminated by a few glowing candles, sat a tired looking woman in a black catsuit. Whimpering softly, she ran a trembling hand through her short, matted hair, sighing shakily as she did so. Her other hand found the zip of her leather suit, pulling it down to just below her breast, revealing a faint scar stretching across her chest. Running a finger along it's path, her lips curved into a frown of discomfort, not from any physical pain, but from emotional torment and anguish.
A harsh banging at the door brought her to her senses as she staggered to her feet, zipping her cat suit back up to her throat. Legs weak, she found it hard to stand without clinging to the wall for support, clawing at it to try and take her mind of the agonising pain racing throughout her limp frame. This woman was of course, Selina Kyle.
For a long time now, Selina had lived a difficult life, and it only seemed to be getting worse as time went by. The past few years has been the hardest to deal with, there seemed to be no lapse in the tragedy she called her life, but some, a small, spiteful group, would say she deserved it. That small group of people were mainly the ones responsible for the misery in her life, but then again, she played a part in it herself. Over the years, she'd had her heart ripped out both metaphorically, as well as physically, and if it wasn't for the doctors, she'd have been convinced it stopped beating long ago. She was still recovering from the malicious attack by the maniac known as Hush when things started to go wrong once again.
The banging on the door stopped momentarily, and as Selina listened intently, she felt her stomach drop as she heard a number of footsteps, followed by a loud crash as a shoulder slammed into the wooden door.