He almost believed the words uttered and yelled at him that time. Key word being exactly that one, almost, after all, he couldn't let himself get down. It was as it was. His life might be a variety of things...and after his admittedly not as smart as he liked to imagine mind finished searching for words and it finished that search, he settled for one...uncomfortable. Yes, his life might be uncomfortable. And there was no way people like Mcginnis or even his (secret object of late night desire, and hot afro american beauty) Gibson knew about it...he wouldn't allow it. They wouldn't know about how much it was hurting, as he would not permit that from happening.
A not so loud noise when compared to the sounds of the highways of the future that towered over his house could be heard and a sort of sixth sense warned him to dodge sideways. And therefore the secret of where he had become so good at sports was revealed. He was used to the abused...something that was sad to admit (and so he didn't dare admit it), and as soon as he had become fast enough to, he had trained himself to be able to dodge the objects that were thrown his way. From glass bottles, that thankfully even when in a lucky (in his opinion not so lucky) shot hit, didn't fragment, to cans, to the old relics of a past life his father had had, he managed to dodge most of it. And they barely hurt.
Sometimes Nelson, Nash being the subtitle pretended that he would leave, and run, and enter one of the many decrepit buildings in the city and live from there….he didn't want to steal, who wanted to do that? Even in Gotham, where crime permeated everywhere...heck specially in Gotham, you'd have to be crazy...with the tales of the new Batman surfacing everywhere. But it was like he had no choice.
But then, he never did, he abandoned the house, running away from his massive gut, can and object hurling dad, he was faster after all, key in hand, and came back after he was asleep. Though he had plenty of bravado the truth was, even then he was plenty scared, the few hours he walked through the streets. Plenty of dark corners, in the dark unlit corners of the city revealing some danger or another, at least to his imagination. He'd put the keys in between his fists, as a makeshift shiv.
In his school he was known as Nelson Nash, the sports jock, the hero, he was venerated by some, idolised by other, and he was the abuser. He had to admit, what came around, went around. And it felt good to push others. It was an hypocrite thing to do, after all, if he thought well and good, he'd see how much pain he was causing others, and how maybe he was the nightmare that he himself suffered, in others. Others couldn't stand him. He told himself that it was out of envy. But it was probably not.
As he walked the streets, at night, being spooked by every noise, and being frightened by every shadow he couldn't help but feel like a true arse. After all...if only they knew. But Batman didn't seem to care for his situation. Even someone as big and who seemed to care for as many as him didn't seem to reach his talons or claws or whatever the heck bats had (Nelson didn't know...and he wouldn't take his communication device in this street, certainly not, not even to find that out), to him. Who knew why or, if he would ever do it, when that would be…
In other occasions Chelsea had provided him a place to stay, the moments where her parents weren't home. His father seemed to actually compliment him on his "stud" ways, by pushing a heavy hand into his back (he'd cringe as if fearing the inevitable contact) and tell him to go and "get her". Much like Mcginnis, his father seemed to think he only liked Chelsea for her female parts.
Then again wasn't he using her anyway? For an entirely different set of things but using her all the same? Nelson felt sick at himself, and a part of him swore to himself he would never require her services, or ask for them again, yet he always ended up asking her when her parents were out of town, seeming overly eager. Making Gibson and every other female look at him with repulse.
If only they knew. A heavy sigh was heard, coming from his lips. He'd like to believe that he was so heavily built that there was no way any bunch of clowns (pun totally intended) would dare mess with him. But people stronger had been messed with. And he knew better. He wondered if his father had fallen asleep yet. Chelsea had her parents in her house. And he didn't dare sneak. Though he knew that she understood her situation he didn't dare push his luck.
It was...and his mind automatically searched for another word as he searched his surroundings, being very careful, noticing the chill winds of Gotham. Unfortunate. Yes. Unfortunate. There there was yet another word he could use.
It seemed safe...but was anything truly safe? Nelson Nash never cried, not really, but he did feel his shoulders shaging, his load heavy, from a burden that not even contact with Chelsea seemed to alleviate. Not even punching a helpless kid could alleviate. Not even telling himself he was Nelson freaking Nash could alleviate.
Because once all that was through he'd have to return home and hear back the words his father threw his way, words like "Useless", "Moron", "Meathead"...and lately Mcginnis had started hitting right back in some of the same spots, questioning his use, his attitude, his intelligence. What did Mcginnis do that was of such use to the world anyway?
He was Nelson Nash, he told himself.
Yet somehow, despite all that, knowing that he'd have to sneak back home, a few hours from then, and wake up to his father yelling at him, prevented him from feeling any better about himself by uttering his name.