The knocking is back, a rude, but familiar, feeling to wake up to. I roll over to see a gorgeous amber bottle; her curves are more than inviting to my throbbing skull.
"C'mere, beautiful." I mumble to it like it's an old lover of mine and tilt it over my lips. I'm praying for something to drip out of it, anything to make this morning a little easier. I groan and slam it back onto the table by my bed after discovering that it's dry. That means I was sober last night, now that I think about it I'm pretty sure a buddy of mine cleaned out my supply last week but I can't remember who. So, somehow I've ended up passed out on my bed, uniform strewn across the floor from my doorway, on my own volition. I prop myself up on my elbows and see bare, aching morning wood in front of me. What I would give for a decent lay, or at least some kind of release. I can't even remember the last time I was with a girl; I've been alone for years now. I fall back onto my bed, realizing the knocking isn't actually inside of my head, its coming from the front door. Fantastic. I run my hand through my hair, why couldn't they just wait for me to shower?
A few minutes later the noise still hasn't subsided, I should probably go answer the door and see what they want. When I swing my legs over my bed and stand up I realize why I must have just gone straight to sleep, the Red Hood took a serious beating last night and my aching muscles and bruises are reminding me of that quickly. I bend over to pick up a pair of boxers and put them on, the nerves in my back screaming with every bit of movement. The pain is not worth it, I decide, whoever's at the door will just have to deal with me in my current state.
Every step takes more effort than I think they're worth, whoever wanted to wake me up at this time today better have a good reason for doing so. When I reach the door I rest my head on the wood, squinting at the peephole to see a pair of eyes that tell me the person at the door is a mix of desperate and angry.
"Jeez, Trish, why are you bothering me now? Isn't your shift supposed to start later?" I ask a very frustrated girl after swinging the door open. Her blonde hair is up in tangles, and its obvious she hasn't refreshed herself from her last shift. Her over done eye shadow and bright red lipstick smeared, and the skin-tight blue dress she has on is pushed in all sorts of unnatural directions.
"Cut the crap, Jay, I actually came here for some help." My eyes follow her as she crosses over to the couch, pushing away an empty pizza box to clear a place for her to sit. She hugs herself like she's afraid she might fall apart and looks up at me. "Can I get a cigarette or somethin'?"
I walk over to the kitchen counter where I know my last box is and open it. There are only three left and they look worse than Trish and I; if that's possible right now, the paper is definitely soggy from a run-in with a spilled beer bottle. The place never looks like this; but I haven't been actually living here as much as I've been using it as a base to crash after a hard night in months. I try to delicately release two of the cigarettes from the box, making sure they don't fall apart when I put one between my lips and hand the other to Trish. Her hand is shaking for the duration of it and the cigarette's journey to her mouth. I snatch my Zippo from the coffee table in front of her, quick to light her cigarette before my own. The tension of anticipation mixed with worry fills the room as we both take a silent drag. I feel like the tension is suffocating me, filling up my lungs instead of the smoke, and release every bit of air in a frantic attempt to feel better.
"I know you didn't wake me up like this to bum a cigarette off of me. What's got you so shaken?"
She re-crosses her legs before answering me, "I'm being transferred." The smoke leaves her lips in erratic puffs.
"Transferred? I thought you got to choose what street you work, you know, since you chose the life?"
That last comment is rewarded with a glare from the petrified woman in front of me, "Transferred's the nice way of saying I've been sold off to some scum-bag in Gotham. Jimmy doesn't exactly believe in us having rights. "
I have half a mind to throw down my cigarette right then and there, to give this guy a piece of my mind after all the stories I'd heard about him; after the way I'd seen how he runs things. Another deep drag and a sigh bring me back from compulsion; he may deserve some kind of punishment, but right now this girl needs some reassurance that something will be done.
"Do you have an idea who the 'scum-bag' is?" I draw my brows together. I doubt she's good for any information at all, but I figure its worth a shot.
"All I know is this whole thing is about supply and demand. There's a demand in Gotham and a supply here. I don't know who's in charge, all I know is what they're sellin' and its worse than just girls like me." She taps the ashes off of the tip of her cigarette onto the table, I should really think about having more than the one ashtray I keep in my room. There's something strange about the way she's holding herself now; she's rigid, almost as if she feels the need to be defensive.
"What else are these sickos trying to sell? Heroine? Cocaine? The usual?"
"Kids."
My stomach suddenly feels empty, nauseous, as if it's dropped out of my body. I'll never understand why people think they can control a kid's future; control their entire reason for existing. It would take half of a carton to calm me now, but I don't have that luxury at the moment. My mind is set into overdrive and I momentarily forget there's someone in the apartment with me. I make a beeline to my room, picking up every piece of my uniform along the way. It isn't until I'm completely clothed and checking my guns that I notice Trish in the doorway, finishing off the last drag she can pull from the cigarette.
"Jeez, Jay, I've never seen you move this fast. Where are you off to?" She throws the butt on the ground, crushing it beneath one of her black pumps.
"I," I stick my mask over my eyes, "am going to pay Jimmy a long overdue visit." I begin to load up my utility belt with every knife and gun I think I'll need; it's the one thing that Bruce taught me to always have, I guess old habits die hard.
"Don't go botherin' him, now. It'll be nothin' but trouble for me and the rest of the girls." I snap on my helmet and turn to see she's moved closer to me, eyes wide.
"Trust me; he'll be in more trouble with me than you could ever be in with him. Stay here until I get back, there's no need for you to be there to see this go down."
She should be used to this by now, whenever I do things my way I'm bound to do it alone. I can't stand the thought of having someone around that I'd constantly have to take care of; there's always the chance they'll get hurt if they're involve in this line of work, there's always a chance they might not live.
Locking the apartment is much easier than unlocking it, each component to the system can be triggered after a simple scan of my eye in the peephole. Some might call it paranoid, I call it smart. The walk from the second story to my bike is short, with good reason. Soon I'm sitting on the leather seat, driven by the hum and vibration of the machine beneath me. I usually try to keep emotion separate from the job, but when the streets of this town become a blur of browns, greys, and greens I can't help but to feel a twinge of excitement.
The only respectable thing Jimmy has ever done when it comes to the girls is give them a place to stay if they have nowhere to go. Even so, the place is anything but a five star kind of joint. The structure of the building and even the décor is akin to a brothel left over from the 1920's. It's painfully obvious why the girls always insist on going to the client's home instead of bringing them back here. The stench of cigarettes, liquor, and something rotting is overwhelming; I can't imagine how nauseating it would be without my helmet.
A girl with brown hair cut up to a bob is lazily making her way towards me. Her half lidded, easy-going expression makes me wonder if she's on something today. She's garnished with her usual fixings; a red top that's just a little too low cut and a black skirt that's just a little too short. I feel a little guilty watching her practically trip over her pumps and give her a half smile; even though I know she won't see it.
"Hey there, Red," her pouty, red lips curl up in a grin, emphasizing the penciled imitation of a famous movie star's beauty mark, "what brings you here so early? We've hardly had time to make ourselves presentable."
"Don't worry about it Roxy, you and the girls don't have to worry about your appearances around me."
There's something sad about her, somewhere in her eyes. She's older than most of the other girls, wrinkles are forming in the corners of her eyes and her laugh lines are permanently carved into her expression. The oldest she can be is somewhere in her late 30's, but she's been here so long that time's stolen her youth early.
"Enough with the flattery Red, answer my question."
"I need to talk to Jimmy."
She visibly stiffens and something tells me she already knows why I'm here. Miraculously she remembers how to walk again and silently signals for me to follow her. The condition of the girls worsens the closer we get to Jimmy. Most of them are either curled up sleeping or sprawled out in a drug-induce haze, and then there are the "luckier" ones. These girls are tending to themselves or others, patching up wounds and icing bruises they either got from an angry client or Jimmy himself.
"Alright," she sighs, "the boss man's right through those doors. Good luck there, Red."
"Thanks, Roxy." there's a beat before I turn to her, "You know, its okay for you to call me Jason at this point."
She grins, the faux mark on her cheek becoming evident again, "Nah, I respect you too much, kid."
I hear the clacking of her heels fade amongst the noises the injured girls are making. I withdraw a gun from my belt, grasping the rusted knob of the door with intent as I enter the room. I knew coming into this that this guy was worthless, but this is a new low for even the bottom feeders that walked the earth.
My eyes meet immediately with the eyes of a young girl, and the first thing I sense is fear. Taking a better look, its obvious that she's just reached the age of legality. Her eyes and nose show signs of tears that may have just stopped, but are likely to start again. She is seated on a man's lap, and the blood trickling down her legs isn't coming from the spot that would be expected. Desperately, she tries to wrench her arms from the man's grip in an attempt to cover herself, only to be rewarded with a healthy dose of spit on her cheek. The man turns to face me, his greasy black hair clinging to a sweaty forehead. His beady eyes gleam in the light when he smiles at me.
"She's new, had to break her in myself, figured I'd be the best to show her how to use every part of herself. Wanna join?"
A pang of something between a mix of disgust and rage flood through me, and before I have a moment to think clearly I've pried the girl from his grasp and slammed him against the nearest wall, careful to ensure his head and the concrete properly greet one another. After my breathing returns to normal, I calmly lift the gun up to his head, positioning it between his eyes. I chuckle at the sight of his cocky expression turning into one that might mirror the one I saw moments ago.
"I'd heard you were pretty messed up, but I don't even think Freud would want to be around a basket case like you."
My attention to the thing called a man is disrupted by the sound of quiet sobbing. Its then that I realize the girl is still in the room with us. She's been through enough trauma for one day, there's no need for her to watch this too. I shove my knee with as much force as I can muster into Jimmy's balls. The girl is already trying to gather her clothes; I spot a blanket and wrap it around her. She looks beyond broken, long blond hair covering her face. I try to keep my gun away from her and sweep some of the hair away so that I can look her in the eye. It may not do much with the helmet on, but I want her to know she's still a human being.
"Get yourself dressed and go find Roxy, she'll take care of you."
She nods frantically and rushes from the room, allowing me to turn back to Jimmy. I walk over to him, stopping by his head. I lift my foot up, using my boot to turn his face towards me and squishing his cheek with force that might be considered unnecessary. I lean down to look at him, resting my arm on the leg that's currently Captain Morgan-ing on his face and loosely holding the barrel of my gun directed at his forehead.
"Alright Jamie, who are you shipping your supply to?"
His face scrunches, "None of your business, Hood." he lets out a yelp when the butt of my gun comes into contact with the back of his skull.
"I'm going to ask you again, and next time I won't be so kind." I cock the gun, "Who are you supplying?"
"Suck my dick."
There's a bang and I can tell he's trying to decide if he should move or not. The smoking hole in the wooden floor next to his ever precious, ever exposed jewels are definitely making him think twice. He should be thanking me for having such good aim.
"Do you wanna see what happens when you don't answer me for a third time?" Before my thumb even touches the hammer I hear his voice.
"Look, man, I-I really don't know. I get the phone calls and send over the girls, that's it. I've never seen the guy's face; I don't even know his name."
I've seen many a man lie using a similar confession, but its clear to me now that he's telling the honest truth. I stand up and release his head from beneath my boot and I can see him freeze as if he's waiting for permission to get up.
I'm happy to oblige, "C'mon Jimmy, up and at 'em." He lets out a sigh, standing up and begins to pull his pants up from their current location around his ankles. "Uh-uh-ah! None of that, we wouldn't want to ruin the best part." I hold the barrel against the back of his head, walking him to the door. "Get on with it, your public awaits!" He looks back at me in desperation and I increase the pressure on his skull.
The doors are finally pushed open and a wave of voices burst through the air as we walk through the throng of girls.
"Well, look what the Hood dragged in!"
"What I wouldn't give for that thing to have something shoved up his ass."
"How do you think he keeps that tic-tac between his legs?"
"Please tell me that gunshot caused some kind of damage."
"Ladies, ladies; he'll get what's coming to him, don't worry. I can promise you his face won't be seen around here again." I can't help but be proud of the mess I've made out of this guy. Roxy catches my eye, that curious grin on her face.
"Red, will you stop hamming it up and take out the trash?"
"With pleasure, Roxy, just promise me you'll run this joint the way it ought to be run."
The whoops and laughter coming from inside the building can still be heard as the door shuts. After leading Jimmy over to a dumpster two buildings away and I kick him in the groin, buying enough time for me to tie him up with the cord of one of my grappling gun. It takes a bit of effort, but eventually I'm able to shove his body into a particularly potent dumpster.
"This town's grown on me a bit, I kinda consider myself its protector. That means I will be here every day, every night, and if I ever see your face here again it'll be more than a bullet hole in the ground that you'll be worrying about." I fire a warning shot into the ground next to the metal bin. "Do I make myself clear?"
After hearing a confirmation that he understands in the form of muffled words I slam the lid down on him. I'm hoping this is the worst thing I'll have to deal with today. If not, I don't think I'll be quite as patient with the next low life.
Before I enter my apartment I'm sure to blink a few times, the flash of light from the scanner is something I don't think I'll ever get used to. After locking the door behind me I see that Trish has chosen to remain on the couch, my last cigarette between her lips. She's playing with something in her hands, walking closer I see it's a batarang.
"How did you get that?" I'm trying not to let her know how invaded and upset I feel.
She takes the cigarette from her mouth, still twirling the batarang in her fingers, "I was lookin' for some extra cigarettes and saw this on a shelf."
I walk closer to her, "Did you ever think maybe there was a reason it was on the shelf?
"So, what'd you go toe to toe with the Batman or somethin'?"
"No." I attempt to snatch the batarang from her, she jerks her hand back.
"Then why do you have it?"
I sigh, walking into the kitchen and attempt to change the subject. "So . . . you'll never have to deal with Jimmy again."
She sits up, placing the batarang on the coffee table, suddenly interested. "What do ya mean?"
"Well, after his balls had a close call with a bullet and his sorry ass was shoved into a dumpster I think he finally realizes who's boss around here." I lean down, opening the refrigerator. There's a half gallon of milk and something Roxy had made for me last week, my throat feels a little dry so I go for the milk. When I look up from the fridge she's leaning on the counter next to me. "Of course, it's probably not a good idea for you to go back there just yet. He might try to test me; you'd be safer if you stayed here."
"Are you . . . inviting me to live with you?" she's making her way around the counter now, sliding a finger along the edge of it."
"Yeah . . ."
"I like a man who's not afraid to say what he wants."
It takes a moment for me to realize that she's grasping my groin, and her face is way too close. My body's working against me and I can feel the pressure in my pants increasing. Though I don't want the relationship between Trish and I to become this, my first reaction isn't to take her hand away. No, why would I do something that actually makes sense? Instead I try to distract my mind by chugging down as much milk as I can.
It's not the taste that makes me suddenly feel queasy, and at first I think it's a reaction to having Trish this close to me, rather it's the feeling of something between the consistency of cottage cheese and bad Jell-O. Finally I gain enough will power to shove her hand away from me and run over to the sink, a putrid version of Mulligan stew empties itself from my stomach rapidly into it.
"Oh, I'm sorry Jay. Are you a virgin? I didn't mean to offend you." her hand is resting on my back as she says this.
Somewhere in between waves of vomit I'm able to inform her, "No, I just-" another stream of half-digested food cuts me off and I shove the jug of milk underneath her nose. She reels back with a barely audible "Oh." and waits for me to finish. I turn on the faucet to rinse out the sink and my mouth before I turn back to her to continue the conversation.
"So . . . are you not against the idea of being together?"
Every bit of testosterone in my body is telling me to take up the offer, but my mind is scratching away and bringing my attention back to it; my mind is telling me I don't deserve pleasure right now. It's that scratching in the back of my skull that's kept me on this dry spell for so many years. Sure I can take care of myself, but it never makes the itch go away. The last girl I was with I left half naked on a rooftop, I guess my conscience won't let me forget that.
I realize she's invading my bubble again, "Look I'm offering you a place to live for free, I don't expect anything in return." I take a step back.
"And I'm not offering this to pay off a debt. I don't expect anything in return." She's practically purring as she takes two steps closer to me.
"Trish . . ." I take another step back, coming into contact with the counter behind me.
"Jason . . ." she sings my name as if she's mocking me, there's no doubt in my mind she knows exactly what she's doing; this is how she makes a living after all.
Another step forward and her leg is between mine, grinding up against me. I look up at the ceiling and can feel her breathing on my skin, who knew I could feel so much through my uniform. She moves against me again and I remember I didn't bother putting on my cup before I'd gone to take care of Jimmy.
I finally come to my senses and push her off of me. "I-I need to go take a shower, Trish."
I curse myself for having so much self-control; I don't know where it came from. Whenever the opportunity arises to get laid I feel nothing but guilt, but I can't come up with good reasoning for feeling that way.
After shedding my uniform onto my bed I step into the bathroom connected to my bedroom. Of all the rooms in the apartment these two are the cleanest, probably because they're the only parts I live in. When I turn on the shower at first the water is freezing so I kick the temperature up a few notches. Sure, a cold shower is something I should probably consider given my current state but I've found it's better to not suppress it. I step into the behind the curtain and the water falls over my body. I'm trying to relax, usually all it takes is the steam, but my mind seems fixated on one track. In an attempt to divert it I pour some shampoo onto my palm and begin to scrub my hair. It's soothing, but the ache is begging for my attention.
With almost too much eagerness I grasp my shaft and the ignored nerves tingle with gratitude. I keep my mind off of Trish, she's never the subject of these fantasies anyways, and try to remember the last girl I gave in to. Small pink lips, plump after a good kissing. A stroke. Delicate fingers rubbing the tip, hitting that sensitive spot. I imitate the memory, a few muscles twitch. Nails scratching down my back. Another stroke and my breathing quickens. The wetness of her folds on my finger. A stroke and a groan. Her breasts, soft and salty. Another stroke and my legs twitch. The moist tightness I felt inside of her. The strokes are more sporadic and I feel everything from my balls to the lowest part of my abdomen tighten. I lean on the tile of the wall and my head falls back, every part of me is devoting itself to this final goal. I imagine her voice, so quiet, every word she's ever said is probably carefully chosen. All it takes is the thought of her saying my name and cum is spurting over my hand and onto the floor of the shower. Each wave causes me to slide further and further down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, watching the translucent white fluid flow down the drain.
I sigh, the release was only temporarily satisfying and I feel a bit nauseous. My throat tightens and I realize it's the guilt. I'm never able to get away from it and I don't understand why. After recuperating I wash the filth of the day away, the suds dripping off of my body and down the drain with the rest of my energy.
I twist the knob to the "off" position and step outside of the shower. The cold of the air inside my bedroom hits me like a train and I wrap myself in a towel quickly, trying to dry my body. I wonder how long I've been awake, how much time I've wasted, when I see the sun nearing closer to the horizon outside my window. My muscles and bruises send stings of pain throughout my body as I remember my day has barely begun. I still have the night shift.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The night's been relatively quiet, so I decide to make my rounds on the usual corners that the girls work. I smirk beneath my helmet, Jimmy's nowhere to be seen tonight; at least I've kept him at bay. I'm celebrating, thinking about how nice it will be to turn in early when I pick up some serious anger from the street below me.
"I done told you to stop botherin' me"
"Awe, c'mon, what makes me different from the rest of the guys you squirm under?"
I see its one of the girls who's been around for a while, though she's pretty young. The others call her Rosie, she got the name when she started wearing a bright red lipstick that stuck out against the ebony background of her skin. The man I recognize, Eddie, he's harassed the girls before and doesn't seem to grasp the concept of "no means no."
He reaches out and grabs one of her breasts aggressively and she struggles to unlatch his hand from her body, "Git offa me!"
He shoves her against the building I'm perched on, a split second later my boots hit the ground and I hold the barrel of my gun to the back of his head.
"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie . . . the lady said no."
He releases her and turns to face me slightly, "There's no need to be like that, Hood, I'll cooperate with ya." He smiles and all I can see for a moment are his crooked, yellowing teeth. He's a big man, but not very muscular, with a face like a rat and a hairline that's receding far too early on in his life. "'Sides, I don't see what the big deal is here. They're all just trash cluttering the streets, might as well put 'em to good use."
I can see Rosie's trying to figure out if she should stay or go, the decision was just put on hold with Eddie's comment. She looks a little bit hurt now, more insulted than anything, and I wish she'd just go; there's no reason for her to stick around and listen to this louse.
"I'd watch your mouth, Eddie; I've had a pretty long day."
"Oh, that's right; you took in one of these for yourself, didn't you? Nice pick, too. That little blond knows what she's doing. Of course, you could have your pick couldn't you? I wouldn't be surprised if you rode a new one every day."
"Sorry to disappoint, Ed, but whatever sick fantasy you've got going on in your head about me and these girls doesn't exist in real life. Let me remind you that these are people not play things."
"Awe, c'mon Hood. You and I both know once a girl signs up for this life she becomes property. Just think of me as maintenance, checking to see if everything's still working."
I've had enough of listening to him so I bring down the gun quickly and shoot the ground next to his feet. Rosie finally decides to take off and I shove him face first into the spot she had been standing.
"What's it gonna take for you to get the message, Ed?" I throw him to the ground, "Congratulations, you finally got to me, now I'll give you what you want." A kick to the ribs, "It's not just the girls, you couldn't stand me messing with your game." I kneel down, looking into his eyes, "Tell you what, Ed, I'm in a pretty good mood, how about we finally have one out. You win and I'll let you be," I stand up, putting my gun in its holster, and hold out a hand, "deal?"
He grins again, the sick bastard, and nods. I help him up and he throws the first punch. I let him have it, it's a weak hit to the gut and I'm sure it hurt him more than it hurt me. He thinks he's knocked the air out of me and pauses for a moment, I decide to get fancy and bring my leg up to kick his grin. He stumbles back, eyes widening at the sudden escalation in fighting strategies. He fights like any guy with his stature, nothing crazy and tries to use his fists and weight to his advantage. I decide to mess with him, jumping to avoid everything he throws at me like I would have in my days as Robin. His fist hits the brick wall a few times, but it isn't long until he tries to use his full weight to tackle me onto the ground. I laugh, this catches him off guard and I applaud myself for remembering to use simple psychology against him. If I hadn't, he wouldn't have let up on me and I couldn't flip him over and grab his neck. I apply a small amount of pressure, not enough to cause damage only enough to cause panic. It would be easy to waste energy and let off steam by breaking a few bones, but he hasn't done anything to make him deserve that, yet. I lean down so that there's about an inch between his face and mine.
"Now, I need you to listen to me Eddie. Can you do that?" He struggles, trying to pry my hand away, "I don't want you in my town anymore. You've had too many chances, but this was the last straw. You're going to leave tonight, got it?" He's still struggling and I squeeze a little tighter, "Got it?" He nods as best he can and I release my grip.
He gasps for air and scrambles away from me, trying to catch his breath. It will never cease to amaze me, how the weakest people do the cruelest things. How they can think they're right for doing so. Then I think, wonder what if that's how my old "family" sees me? I shake my head and start to walk away. I'd promised a stranger a long time ago I'd fix all this, that I'd do things for the right reasons, figure out who I am and what I'm doing. All this time I thought that's what I'd been doing, maybe I was wrong.
It never fails; the minute I stop abusing my body my mind recognizes the pain ricocheting through my nerves. I drag my feet across the kitchen floor, the amount of energy it takes is surprisingly overwhelming, and I'm bitterly wishing I could just teleport over to the fridge. Just when I think my efforts will be rewarded, I pull on the handle only to find that the door is stuck. This only happens every once in a while, and for some reason it's always at the worst time possible.
"If I had some freaking meta genes this wouldn't be an issue." I grumble to myself.
"What're you griping about over there, Jay?"
Her voice feels like its piercing my eardrums and I can feel a headache coming on. Finally I'm able to pry open the door to . . . an empty space.
"Hey, Trish, what happened to my-" I turn to see her devouring the last bits of some beef stew, the last bit of food in my apartment.
"To your what?" she picks up the bowl from the coffee table, lapping up whatever she can.
"The only edible thing in this place, the thing you're currently scarfing down."
She puts the bowl back down, licking her lips before speaking again, "I figured you could just go out and get something to eat, you must be sick of Roxy's cookin' anyways."
I sigh; taking my wallet out from one of my jacket pockets and open it, turning it upside down to ensure she gets the message.
"What, don't you make any money doing what you do?"
I blink, trying to figure out if she's serious, "What makes you think what I do is a paying job?"
"I dunno," she kicks off her heels and swings her legs around so that she's lying upside down on the couch, "I thought maybe you give yourself a special cut or somethin'."
"Well yeah I do, but not any amount that'd be missed." I throw down my wallet, crossing my arms.
"Humph, I thought you were ballsier than that."
"Excuse me," I walk over to her, lifting her legs off the back of the couch and tossing them onto the cushions, "last I remember I was letting you stay here out of the goodness of my heart. Not to hear you criticize the way I do things."
"Well," she props herself up on her elbows, creating unnecessary cleavage, "if you'd just taken care of the problem permanently I wouldn't even be here right now."
"The hell do you mean, 'permanently'?"
She scoffs, "Oh, please, everyone around here knows about the Red Hood's run in Gotham. How he was ruthless, how he wasn't afraid of a little blood, of taking a man's life."
I cross my arms, "Yeah, well, I'm trying to leave that guy behind."
"I guess what they say must be true then," she's starting to play with the edge of her dress now, exposing more leg and I'm fighting to keep my mind from giving in to her, "you're all washed up, and so young too."
I have half a mind to mention she's more washed up than I'd ever be, but I bite it back. She didn't have a choice like a lot of girls in this town at the age of eighteen, and two years into the job I feel like she's lost herself already. "I'm not trying to change because I can't take it; I'm trying to change because I can."
"What kinda philosophical mumbo-jumbo is that?"
I chuckle, "Let me explain. About five years ago, I made a promise to someone. I told them I'd try to figure out why I did things, I told them I'd try to change."
"So you just promised some stranger that you'd change your whole game plan?"
"No, they weren't entirely a stranger to me." Flashes of pink lips and brown eyes appear in my mind.
"Did you ever even know their name?"
I pause from reality for a moment when I realize she's right. I never did learn the girl's name. Just another reason for me to feel guilty I suppose. "Why does that matter? A promise can still mean something regardless of a person's name."
"Yeah, whatever, I just can't believe you're basing my fate on some promise you made to someone you don't know years ago."
"Look you signed up for this life, I didn't. I don't even have to be here right now, but because of that dumb promise I'm taking care of you and others like you. So, you might want to think twice before you complain about the way I do things."
Her mouth shuts abruptly, trapping whatever she was going to say next. I decide I'm done with her tonight, done with this entire mess I'd gotten myself into in this town. I make my way back into my bedroom and strip down before I fall face down onto the mattress. It's almost pathetic how much relief I get from a few hours of unconsciousness, but with this life and the way it's going there's not much else too look forward to