Bruce was sitting in front of the fireplace in his study staring out the window at the darkness, wondering what "He" was doing at that moment, he feels a clenching sensation in his chest and hasn't a clue why, because Bruce hates "him" and anything that may be connected to him in any way.
Although lately Bruce hasn't felt the same hatred he had become accustomed to, instead there was something different, "I'm just getting old" he would say to himself, but in the back of his mind, he knew that was far from the real reason.
He sighed and picked up the newspaper Alfred had left for him, 'great' he thought to himself and mumbled under his breath.
On the front page there was a large picture of Superman pulling a little girl out from under the rubble of a building; he read the article, at the end there was a smirk covering his face, he wiped that from his face and through the paper in the waste bin.
"I don't care" he said out loud.
"About what?" came Alfred's voice from the door.
Bruce thought for a moment and laughed to cover it up "nothing important, nothing at all" he said with such sureness that he almost believed it himself.
Alfred walked to the middle of the room, and stood directly behind Bruce then asked "Are you all right, sir?"
Bruce got up and looked at Alfred he was exploding from nervousness inside but on the outside he looked completely calm, he put on a surprised look and say "I'm ok, why do you ask?"
"Because you haven't been acting normal, if I can call your usual self normal…, Do you need someone to talk to, master Bruce?" Alfred curved his eyebrows and gave Bruce "The look" .The one that always gets Bruce crying and pouring out his heart to him in a moment.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
Bruce felt bad about lying to Alfred but he just couldn't or maybe just didn't want to talk about it "yes, I'm sure" he finaly answered
"Whatever you say, sir" said Alfred. He walked over to the coffee table and put the cups and biscuits on a tray, and a few moments later he was gone.
'Why don't I want to talk about it?' Bruce thought to himself, 'Does talking about something make it more real?' he decided that this conversation he's having with himself is going nowhere fast.
He made up his mind that sleep is probably the best thing for him at the moment. That is if he can sleep without dreams, dreams where there is a strong arm around him, holding him; giving him reassurance and making him feel safe. He sighs and heads off to bed.
I thought it was about time I edited this chapter.
It looked really bad without paragraphs.