My addiction to Jon/Selina is consuming me, I swear. I've planned about ten chapters for this fic - and they'll follow the years that Jonathan and Selina inevitably fall in love/hate - or whatever happens to these two. It starts off quite tense, so be warned.
Sophomore Year - To Wake a Monster
She hates him with every single synapse in her body. As she storms through long empty alleys with tears burning in her eyes with the promise of nightmares and demons to come with sleep, Selina hates Jonathan Crane. The mantle of darkness that cloaks the city embraces her as she flees into the night, tears sparkling under the sparse light of Gotham's streetlamps. There's a rankling hatred born out of fear and rage burgeoning in her chest - a ball of ugly scars and memories that she'd rather not come to the surface again. She can yearn all she wants to steel her heart against any further altercations - but alas, Selina is only human.
So this ugly monster curled in her chest is only a human reaction, right? This demon called hate and broken pride that digs its little claws into her heart. Hate is a word that she will associate with cool blue eyes and overly scruffy hair from this night on. Hate is the way he used her as a fucking guinea pig for his newest experiment. Hate is the knowledge that although Jonathan's experimentation on her is a violation of every right she has, she can't report him for tearing into the fabric of her fears. This is Gotham.
A city made from the filthiest sins on this earth and the hatred that blossoms from the blackest of hearts. No one cares if you're hurting or if you're under attack. Screaming is practically the city's soundtrack. The sound of unadulterated terror. She's sure that Jonathan probably revels in it, maybe even gets off on it. Honestly, she wouldn't be surprised if he did - she wouldn't put anything below the twisted bastard. Her nose wrinkles with disgust. That's definitely an image she doesn't need in her mind as she walks along a desolate street, kicking shards of broken glass underfoot.
Selina wanders pavements with flickering lamplight in sketchy neighbourhoods until she can't keep her eyes open anymore. Her welcome home once she's through the battered door of her father's house is of iron fists and half lidded eyes beating upon her bruised body with no relent. She sleeps on a hard mattress smelling like alcohol and disappointment that night.
The next day that she sees him, they're in the school cafeteria, and all she spares him is the full brunt of her hatred from her eyes. She can feel hot glances raking down the exposed skin of her arms where angry gouges mar her flesh. And she can feel Jonathan's eyes coming to rest on those cuts that she ripped into herself in the throes of a toxin-induced terror. She is not proud to bear these marks - in her eyes they make her look weak, and weakness has always been something to be exploited and turned against you.
Her father was a monster of a man who beat her mother, beat her - taught her that if you weren't strong enough to live in the darkness, then you might as well not live at all. You molded yourself from the darkness, born from its depths. No one in Gotham was innocent. Not the bright eyed, bushy tailed girls on the streets with their innocuously preppy clothes. Not the men and women in the GCPD who claimed to uphold the law.
Gotham was hell on earth - a shadow of blight and an empty canvas for the lunatics and psychopaths to paint red with blood and chaos. The citizens were no different. Selina had been born into a city of blood and fear - and she had learned to adapt. The lesson beaten into her bones since her infancy was to ensure her survival by any means, at whatever consequence and cost. Blend in, adapt to the circumstances - and survival wouldn't be a problem ever again. Listen to the monster humming in your blood and hide your bruises and cuts until you are titanium. Show no weakness. Survive by the skin of your teeth. Selina has learned this lesson well. Her father certainly never lets her forget it.
The monster in her chest laughs at how she sees a semblance of apology in Jonathan's eyes when she passes him in the halls, so she bears her cuts with a twisted pride. Let him see her strength. She may be shaken in her mind, but she won't let him see her picking up the pieces of her psyche. He's seen enough of her weaknesses to use them against her. He doesn't need any more incentive.
It's another hour before she hears the whispers. Her searing eyes and aggressive body language have thrown off any quizzical glances and questions that have come her way. She's expecting rumours to arise, and she's not disappointed. She listens to them without lifting a finger against the outrageous talk that swirls like caustic smoke in the school. Let them talk. It only fuels her bitterness. She can wait. Minutes, hours, days. Until she gets the chance to mercilessly shoot him down with her spite.
She's sitting in the library that afternoon when an unnatural presence stirs in the library. The smell of nervousness itches against her nose, and the monster in her chest hisses a message of caution.
Jonathan's approach to her table is regarded with whispers and trepidation from all around. She examines his shifty eyes and twitching fingers with derision. Show no weakness. "Look," Jonathan doesn't look remorseful, despite the apology in his words. He pauses, forcing the sour words out. "I'm sorry." The silence around them is heavy. It is Selina who breaks the resulting pause in the air as her eyes crinkle with bitter laughter.
"I don't need your fucking sympathy." And that is all. The coldness as Jonathan leaves makes something ugly curl in the dip of Selina's chest. She takes a moment of ruthless pleasure in the act of casting him aside. She doesn't see the resulting ice that frosts over in Jonathan's eyes, nor the clenching of his hands.
He has shown mercy to her only to be rebuffed. Stubborn, spiteful, prideful woman. Jonathan scoffs as he leaves Selina's earshot. It will be a challenge to break this girl. The monster in his chest smiles. The seeds of hatred have been sown. Selina sees it when they cross paths the next day. He is disgusted by her at the same time his monster is drawn to hers. To touch each other is to bathe in acid, to breathe the same air is sandpaper. A welcome agony between two ugly, shattered people.
She hates him with every synapse in her body. And so he reciprocates.
Not really sure about the ending. I would love a review or two of concrit before I upload the next chapter, if anyone would like to oblige me.
Many thanks to my friend August who beta'd this for me.