Changes
Life really has changed in a year. Not in the typical 'your boyfriend moves in and your old life moves out' sense, although I do buy my groceries more than I take them now. No, life has changed much more dramatically than that.
It's been a whole year since The Batman hung up his cape and mask and went back out to re-join the real world with me by his side. It's been a year since his trusted surrogate father Alfred nodded swiftly to us in a café in Florence that Bruce had insisted we visit, not days after his 'death'. Now I know why. Of course, I couldn't just sit there and let him watch Alfred walk away without a single word spoken between the two, so I did what I do best and disappeared for an hour or two before meeting a much happier Bruce back at our hotel. Happier, but not happy.
It's been eight months since we moved from the sunny streets of Florence to the dismal streets of Ontario, Canada. Bruce consistently reminded me that we couldn't stay in one place too long to avoid being seen. All my life I had shifted home as easily as taking a breath, but a small part of me longed to be stationary. To build a home and a life off a solid ground was a dream of mine, but I'd never tell Bruce that. He'd try his damndest to make my dreams a reality and I couldn't have him sacrificing any more than he already had for me. I had really begun to consider him a partner.
It's been six months since we moved to Paris, France and for a good reason: Bruce did find out about my dream, and boy, it was everything I imagined and more. It's wasn't always a fairy tale, though. Bruce cried in his sleep, moaning and calling out for another chance. At what? He saved his city and managed to score himself a girl, albeit a screwed up one. What more could he have wanted? Secretly I feared that he was craving another, anyone else to spare him from just my company. My fears weren't put to rest when the one night I decided to comfort him, he jumped up and stalked out of the room faster than I could reach out a hand to stop him. He never came back to bed and it left me with an empty feeling in my core that I could only describe as loss. I wondered then what he'd done to me, and just how far I'd truly fallen.
It's was 4 months that he didn't touch me. Sure, he'd place a hand on my back in front of his new work friends or kiss me chastely on the cheek to keep up appearances, but that was all. From the outside, everything looked normal, but I could read deeper into him. I knew that his kisses and touches were apologies- he knew what he was doing, pushing me away, and the scrapes along my skin with his hand were a means of forgiveness seeking. I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes when he did touch me, and he and I both wondered why. I had everything from him, I didn't need any more. I spent days hauled up in my room searching through myself to find what might be causing my dilemma, when it hit me like a freight train. I had everything from him, but I didn't have him. What scared me the most was that I would give up everything to see him return to me.
It was two months later that we finally kissed again. It was sudden, and over much too fast but like the others, it was an inferno. My senses were alive with the feel of him and when he wrapped his arm around my waist and threaded his fingers through my hair, I knew that I'd found home. For the first time in months, the passion I'd found in this man threatened to consume me and for just one moment, I let it. Of course, we both broke away soon after we begun as the need for oxygen became overwhelmingly prominent. I can still remember his expression as he looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since the bomb threat eight months prior. All of my pretences were dropped as I let him stare into my soul, not feeling vulnerable, but feeling alive! And I knew what he saw; a woman with a broken spirit, a heavy heart but a full smile blooming as she sought solace and comfort from the man she loved in a twisted way. I could never fully comprehend until then that I did love him, twisted as it may be. And I also never knew until then that he felt the same. So we did what new lovers do best: made love. It was tricky; his hands were shaking and I couldn't find my voice. Some sexual prowess I had! Even after all of these years, I never knew until then that sleeping with someone and making love were two completely different acts. It's a lesson I've never appreciated more, and one I doubt I shall ever forget. We lay together afterwards, just staring at the ceiling and contemplating all and nothing. The entire time, his body was so close I could taste it, and his hands never left my waist as he held me so gently, as if he was afraid I would break. That's another lesson; the toughest of things smash hardest, and we really hit the wall after that night. After that, we started afresh.
It's been two months since that night and officially a year since we jumped on this bandwagon. We still live in a two bedroom apartment in the heart of Paris, and we still make love like it's our first time, but some things will never change. Like how we will never agree on the correct amount of chilli to put in a curry, or how he'll never see me as anything other than beautiful, even though I'm tainted. I guess he is too. Even as I write this, out on my balcony, looking out to the Eifel Tower, Bruce will wrap his arms around my waist and look out with me. We never turn to look at each other, though, and I've always wondered-
Yes, life changes every day, but some things will never change, and I don't think I'll ever get used to the look of pure love and happiness I see in Bruce's eyes every time he stares at me. I wonder if he'll ever get used to my matching expression that I wear only when I see him.