*Memory thought*

Miss Croc

You'd think, being eighteen, that I could leave home and nothing would trouble me on the way out. But you'd be wrong. I'm slammed against the wall and punched in the gut. When I fall to the floor, he kicks me in the soft side for good measure. "Stupid whore, get a better fucking job!" I pant and wheeze on the floor, watching his shadow fade as I stand up and walk wobbly and broken toward my room. I sit on the bed and pick up my sketchbook, drawing him again. I always drew the strongest and smartest and most influential people, mostly because I imagined them taking me away and saving me. I don't know why they would care or how they would know because I certainly wasn't going to tell them.

The newspaper sits on my bed as well, and I stop my drawing of the senator shaking hands with Batman. I see a picture of Batman grappling with someone new to the city. Killer Croc. The more I looked at him, the more I had the urge to draw. It's funny, I didn't usually draw villains or criminals... I flip to a new page and start scribbling furiously. I don't know what pose he'll be in or what he'll be doing in the picture until it's finished and I've erased every errant scribble. I've realized over time that the drawings I sketch this way, with this urge to draw like the wind... it means I'm about to draw something true. Something... something that has happened, or will happen... or maybe even is happening right now.

I brush the flecks of eraser off the page and look at the whole thing. He's curled up on a large mattress, his arms draped over his chest and stomach, his right leg straight and his left bent at the knee. His tail dangled over the end of the bed, with motion lines around it as if it were flicking. His eyes were closed, his lips just slightly parted... I found myself grabbing my colored pencils and coloring in the whole picture. I know what color everything is. The mattress is stained with something akin to coffee or tea. The wall behind him is brick and mortar. I don't know why I've drawn and colored this all of a sudden, but...

I look into the paper and skim over the article. He's been sent to Arkham asylum. Not because he's insane, but because they have an underground area that they can lock him in without him escaping or interacting with any other inmates. So that's where I assigned the envelope. That's right, I sent it to him. I don't know why, I don't even know what the hell I was thinking at the moment I put it into the mailbox, I just know that the next day it was gone, and there was no taking it back.

Though what happened next might have made me regret it just a teeny bit.

I was in school when the bulletin went out.
Killer Croc has escaped Arkham! You are advised to lock yourselves inside and not go out unless absolutely necessary.
I wasn't worried about anything, really. He probably hadn't even opened my letter, right? That made me feel strangely sad. I don't know why, yet again. I don't know a lot of things lately. My ribs were bruised from the beating my dad had given me the other day and my fingers were still a little sore from being broken a few months ago. Dad thought it was funny that I couldn't draw with broken fingers. I just finger painted. It was sort of like a 'fuck you' without him knowing about it but it made me feel better. At least I was in control of some things.

Arkham was pretty far away, he probably wouldn't be anywhere near my neighborhood, he usually started his thefts and kills in the middle of gotham. I was on the other side. So when I got home that night, I yawned, dropped my book bag and walked into my room. I was seized by the need to draw again, so I picked up my sketchbook, and once I'd started drawing, I knew it was a self-portrait. I have no idea why I decided to draw myself as I was when I got beaten up, but I did. My shirt was rumpled, my face was bruised and puffy... and my eye was swollen closed. It was like the worst beating of my life, and... when I heard the door open, I knew it was coming.

Sometimes my artistic urge warned me about things like this. I'd learned to not ignore it. So I got up and locked my door, walked to the window and crawled outside. I took my sketchbook with me and ran to the tree outside my room. I climbed up into a forked branch and sat, waiting for it to start. The screaming came after the crashing, the crashing after the yelling, the yelling after the insulting... I just sort of curled up with my sketchbook and an image came to my mind. It wasn't really a premonition, it was just a wish. So I drew it. My father was slumped against a wall, and a dark shadow was standing off to the side, glaring down at him.

It wasn't long before I was hearing things in the dark. It was sort of a panting, groaning, rumbling in the throat sound... like you hear on the nature channel when the crocodile hunter is... I look down when the body heaves itself around the corner of a nearby tree and crawls toward my house. I gape at the muscular visage of Killer Croc and gasp at the sound of hissing and crackling coming from his neck. He's being electrocuted. I don't think about anything but the smell of burning flesh and the pained groans caught in his throat. I drop my sketchpad and climb down, running to the shed and when it doesn't open, cursing at the lock on the door. I look down and see my dad left the axe out. So I chop around the handle with it, as hard as I can, until the door swings open.

I'm running inside and back out with something akin to the jaws of life and stopping beside him as he claws the earth and tries to keep moving forward. I drop them in front of him and when his head jerks up I back away. His amber eyes flick to the pair of jaws and grab them up, putting them against his scales and flinching in pain when they slide against blistering skin. He squeezes and in one smooth movement and a quick, snikt, it was off and he was panting for breath.

I stood there for a long time, watching him breathe and his throat throbbing in time with his heart, which was galloping by the way. He looks up at me as I stand there, trembling. Oh great idea, Nik. Just give him something to cut off his shock collar so he can recover and eat you. Why not just butter and salt yourself and hop into his jaws? Funny though, he seems a lot less monstrous while he's on his hands and knees, panting for air and staring up at me with his eyes cloudy and half-lidded, like he was exhausted and beaten down. Like a person who'd been getting shocked for the past day and couldn't attack me if his life depended on it. He fell on his face, his eyes still rolling up to look at me. I got a feeling that he was waiting for something. Maybe for me to scream, maybe for me to use those jaws on his neck... maybe a lot of things. But when his eyes closed and he shuddered... all I could see was his pain. I saw him for what he was. A criminal who'd just broken out of prison, okay, that was a given... but... he was a person. He wasn't a monster, or a mutant, or anything like that... he was just... a person.

So I fell to my hands and knees and crawled toward him on the grass. I picked up his head and lay it on my lap, checking his neck and trying to figure out how bad it was hurting him. He growled deep in his chest. I stroke his face, I don't know why, but I do. I stroke his cheek with my knuckles and speak soothing words. "It's okay..." I whispered to him, "I won't let anyone hurt you... you're safe." His breathing evened out and I sighed in relief. Well at least I wouldn't have to worry about him eating me quite yet. Hopefully he'd wake up tomorrow and go on the run again. He rolled on his back and then onto his other side, his head still in my lap. He sighs in his sleep and curls into a ball. I stroke his face, then his shoulder, and his arm. I whisper soothing, low words in his ear. His tail twitched every now and then, as if flicking away invisible enemies.

I start singing after a while, I guess I just figure that's what you should do when someone is hurting. I sing softly, lowly, you wouldn't be able to hear me in the house, which is good because my father is still having a tantrum. He's not been able to get in my room apparently because the light is still on and I can see into it. I swallow hard and sing another line, getting louder just a little bit when he twitched and writhed a bit. I think, in response to my father's screaming.

"Shhh." I hushed him and sang into his ear, leaning over his head and blocking out my fathers' screaming. I sang 'crocodile rock' and 'Don't smile at a crocodile.' He stilled and seemed to settle back into deep sleep. I knew I'd have to do something about his neck, after all it was blistered and burned and... I just didn't know what to do. When I heard my fathers' truck race out of the driveway, I put his head on the grass and whispered that I'd be right back, and I'd take care of him. "Don't move, okay?" I doubted he could actually hear me, but whatever, right?

I ran to my window, climbed inside and picked up my laptop. I opened it up and typed in a search for how to treat electrical burns.

Debridement: Caregivers remove damaged tissue from your body to prevent infection, decrease inflammation, and improve your healing

Wound care: Your burn will be covered with a bandage to keep it moist and clean. You may clean your burn with soap and water. Ask how often you should change your bandage.

Oh hell. I'd have to remove the damaged skin and bandage it? And it said he should get a tetanus shot too! Fucking hell! I sighed and got up, grabbing a pair of tweezers I use for splinters when I'm working with wooden canvases and the first aid kit in the bathroom. I run outside with a flashlight on my wrist and kneel down next to him where he's still lying, unconscious.

I point the light at his neck and turn it on. Oh god it was even worse in the light. But there were little pieces of skin sticking up and hanging off and I figured that's what should be cut off. If it wasn't... god help him. So I opened the first aid kit and pulled out the scissors. They're really sharp, so I'm super careful. I hold a piece of flesh in the tweezers and he grunts in his sleep. I snip it and he doesn't even twitch. So I do it again, and again. Then I push on his shoulder until he rolls over on his other side and I do it there too.

I finally can't find anything more to cut so I put the scissors back and pull out the alcohol. Okay now this might sting. So I put his head down on the grass again and unscrew the top of the alcohol bottle. I spill it and jump back. He hisses and his body goes rigid. He doesn't wake up or claw at me though. So I nudge him on his back and then over to the other side to do it again. I pull out the gauze and smear antiseptic on it, then place it against his skin gingerly. He barely twitches. I keep doing it and taping it down until his whole neck is wreathed in gauze.

What was I even doing this for? Why was I even helping this guy? Just because he was weak and hurt? Just because I had seen him at his most vulnerable? It's not like he isn't eating me on purpose. He's unconscious. Oh god, what happens when he wakes up? I mean just because I was nice to him doesn't mean he'd be nice to me. I was practically pulling my hair out when he rolled over onto his front and pushed himself up on his arms. I backed away like he was on fire and a hand caught my ankle. I choked on a scream as he pulled me back and underneath him. His hand was on my throat now, holding me down but not really choking me.

"You..." He coughed and choked a bit. "Who?" He's trying hard not to hurt his throat, and when he reaches up to touch it and feels the gauze, he pauses. "Why?" He's staring down at me with narrowed eyes and his fingers clench and unclench around my throat.
"I... don't know?" I swallow hard and he stares at me for a while.
"Who?" He grimaced at the pain asking that caused him.
"N... Nikki."
"Picture." He coughed and curled his arm around his throat.
"Wh- oh. The picture, yeah, I... that was me." He leaned down close to my face and I tried to keep my breathing even as his nostrils flared.
"Afraid." I lick my lips and his eyes dart to them.
"Yeah... a little. I mean... you're on the news a lot... I mean... you're a criminal... and you don't have a gun but you don't really need one, huh?" I was babbling. "I mean you've got sharp teeth and claws and stuff, and you don't really get hurt by bullets, I mean I'd heard-" His hand covered my mouth.
"Quiet." He rumbled as I nodded and pulled his large hand away from my lips. I lick them again and can suddenly taste the metallic tang of his scales. It's not unpleasant, but it is different than anything I've ever tasted before. I blink and his face is suddenly too close to mine. I take a deep breath and try not to panic. Then he's groaning and collapsing on top of me, his head beside mine. His breathing is deep and even and I couldn't move him if I tried for ten years.

"God, why me?" I speak to the sky as I lie there under a hulking crocodile man. "Why the hell, I mean... you tell me what to do and I'll do it. But damn. Couldn't you have made him fall to the side of me?" I actually started laughing a little. Then I pulled my arms out from under him and wrapped them around his shoulders. I guess you'd call it petting. What I did next. I just sort of patted and stroked his back and tried to keep him calm in his sleep. Who knows what he'd do to me if he had a nightmare?

I don't remember falling asleep when I wake up, but what really surprises me, is that I'm sitting up, on something warm, lying against a moving chest. I look up to see a sleeping crocodile man sitting against a tree with me in his arms. We're nowhere near where we were before. The house is still right there, but now we're outside my room. I pull away from him and his arms grip me so tightly that I gasp for air. He relaxes when I lie back against him. I groan. "God..." His head nuzzled my shoulder and rested in the crook of my neck.

Is it weird that I'm okay with this? That I want to fall asleep again and stay asleep for a long time? That I want to wake up in the same spot and fall asleep, over and over again? Forever? Yeah, it's weird. I'm terrified, but I can't move. I have no motivation to move. His hand starts to move over my back, stroking lightly and softly, his claws dragging slightly against my skin. "Um..." His hand stilled, his head lifting from my neck and his eyes blinking open. His eyes darted to me and I swallowed hard as the trembling started up again. I licked my lips again, slowly this time, trying not to freak out and focusing entirely too much on his mouth, filled with razor sharp teeth.
"Um. That's the first thing out of your mouth?" He sounded mildly amused as he stared down at me, but there was no amusement in his gaze. I bite my lip.
"Um... yes?" My voice was high and squeaky. His lips twitched. His face was mostly human, now that I could see him clearly in the light of- Oh my god! I gasp and dart to my feet, looking around for my sketchbook. "Oh my god, it's daytime, and it's sooo past seven o'clock. I'm late for school. Shit-Fuck!" I heard a rumble and turned to see him laughing at me.
"There's a convict in your backyard, and you're worried about missing school? What if I decided to eat you?" I pause and blink.
"Nope, I'm still freaking out." And then I climb in through my window and grab a change of clothes. "God, I'm covered in dirt and leaves and grass-!" I hear a small thump and turn to see him standing against my window. He's leaning back on his hands as he looks around and I almost gape at his pose. It's like a GQ model is standing in my room. Sure his pants are tattered and stained with blood and dirt, but they fit so well. and his pose is so... relaxed. He glances at me, his head moving to look at me.
"Weren't you in a hurry?" I blink and go back to running around my room, stuffing things into my backpack and grabbing my clothes, running into the bathroom and starting up the shower.

I got into the shower and scrubbed at my hair until the water ran clean, then suds'd up my entire body and rinsed myself clean. It took about ten minutes. I jumped out, dried off, put on my clothes and ran into my room to get my backpack. I stop when I open the door. Why? Oh it's nothing big, he's just lying on my bed! He's in a very GQ pose again. His right leg bent at the knee and his left leg lying on the bed only slightly bent, his hand on his knee and the other resting on his stomach. His head thrown back on the top of the pillows. He looked up when I stood there for a minute.
"Something the matter?" I blink and shake my head and mutter,
"God this is bizarre..." His lips definitely twitched this time.

I pick up my backpack and sigh. "God the bus... what time is it..." I mutter to myself and look at the clock. God it's almost noon. I pick up the schedule and look over it. There's a sudden warmth at the base of my neck and when I reach up to grab it and frown, a hand is covering mine and pulling it down to point out a Twelve-thirty bus. I swallow as the breath fans across my throat and then is suddenly gone, along with the hand. I shrug on my backpack and walk out of my room without looking back.

Do I call the police? Do I send up a smoke signal for Batman, or something? I just kept thinking over and over that when I get home he won't be there, or he'll eat me... either way I should tell someone, right?

*"It's okay..." I whispered to him, "I won't let anyone hurt you... you're safe."*

Fuck, I had said that, hadn't I? I smack my head against the window of the bus. Should it matter what I promised him? Should it matter that I sang to him and whispered sweet words and told him he was safe?

*I put his head on the grass and whispered that I'd be right back, and I'd take care of him.*

God...

*Is it weird that I'm okay with this? That I want to fall asleep again and stay asleep for a long time? That I want to wake up in the same spot and fall asleep, over and over again? Forever?*

Hell... "Miss?" I jerk and someone beside me is pointing outside at my school. The bus is stopped right down the street. I jump to my feet and thank him before running outside and sprinting toward my school.