It's pitch black outside as I gingerly step through my open window, into my shitty apartment. I've been out kicking asses all night as usual, and now I get my reward - three hours of sleep. Sometimes I wonder why the fuck I do this crimefighting thing, why I spend my life battered and sleep-deprived. Do I really make that much of a difference? I let out a chuckle at that. If you think about it, really think about it, I probably would have made more of a difference by never creating this leather devil. Seriously, I should give that some thought.
Pieces of my costume are discarded to the floor as I head towards my bedroom and by the time I get there I'm stripped down to my gaudy Spider-Man boxers. Instead of heading for the bed, I make a stop at the desk in the corner of the room.
"Why, hello there." I mutter as I pull the false bottom from the desk drawer, revealing a bag of white powder. Like any other night, I pull the bag out and cut myself a line. When I'm done, I finally lay myself down on my lumpy piece-of-shit mattress. Then I wait. For the quiet.
Turns out that cocaine dampers my senses. I dunno about anything else that's out there, coke happened to be my first choice. It worked. Wasn't even aiming for that outcome, but it was better than what I was expecting. Silence is golden, don't you forget it. And when you're fucking Matt Murdock, silence doesn't exist.
Unless you know the trick.
It just so happens that I do know the trick. Eventually all my senses dull to that of a normal human's and as I'm laying in bed, savouring that feeling before I get my beauty rest, I start thinking about the consequences of creating Daredevil.
And when I do finally fall into a deep sleep, I have nightmares.
A/N: Short beginning, I know.
Yes, this was up before, I'm using a new account now.