Hiiii! Oh my god i haven't written in ages! But i suddenly have a massive urge to post fics i hadn't posted before but written. I have so many places for this one to go so i really hope you enjoy it. I'll post the prologue (this) and then chapter one.
Oh and please review, i really won't post another chapter inless i get reviews. It really hits your confidence when people read and don't comment. sooo pleeeeease review even bad things are always helpful. (not mean though =/)
xAmeliax
Prologue
Meredith Opalton pretty, smart and successful. That's what they write about me in all the Gotham magazines, although I don't find myself particularly attractive that's not say I haven't had boyfriends but personally I don't believe I'm anything special then again what girl does?
I went to oxford university but I am in no way smart, half the things I speak of I barely understand, for the very few times I was called into court, I don't think I understood a word I said and just for the record; Oxford? Its so overrated its full of spoilt brats who can barely string three words together they just happened to be born into money and their incredibly wealthy fathers coincidently happen to be donating a large sum of it each year.
You probably think I'm conceited or arrogant. I am. When it comes to wealth. I despise it.
Successful? Yes I am. But it was hard work. I've been through a hell of a lot and this is my story.
My father worked at the local primary school where we lived in Cornwall in England whilst my mother was a nurse at the local hospital, they both had good wages, but that's not to say that I got the new Ipod every time one came out. Although we didn't have enough money to put me through Oxford, I gained a scholarship there one of the very few who did too. Lucky me? Not quite, in my second year of Law my father died, it was quite unexpected, some young thug in need of drug money and my father refused to hand over his wallet gaining him a bullet wound to the chest causing him to die three hours later.
I resented him very much for not handing over his wallet, maybe if he had he'd still be here and I'd still be working my way through university with two loving parents supporting me. Anyway, due to my resentment toward him I almost missed his funeral, but I realised that I can't blame someone who isn't even around to justify his actions? So I went. I didn't cry and I feel slightly bad that I didn't but everybody grieves in their own personal way, mine was to block out my own pain and focus on my mothers, helping her through it for, at my fathers funeral, I noticed the headmistress of Oxford stood at the back of the crowd now it was my understanding that the headmistress gives her condolences and then forgets about you completely after all there must be a number of students who lose their parents every year I highly doubt she attends their funerals, but there she was, crying as though she knew my father. Well it was naive of me to think she was there as a shoulder to cry on, oh no. As it turned out dear old dad had been having it away with my headmistress, at the time I really was to naive to see that my 'well earned scholarship' was the result of a secret sordid affair. I know my father loved me and my mother, but how could I forgive him for humouring me, letting me think I was intelligent enough to gain a scholarship at one of the most sort after universities in England?
So I left.
I never returned to Oxford I never reported the headmistress either there would be no point in starting anything like that. I would not drag my mother through so much torment. That year I stayed with my mother for a while, helping her come to terms with the events that had come to light. Of course she wanted me to forget her, go back to uni and carry on with my life but finding out that my smarts which, lets be honest, was the only thing I had going for me was crashing down around me I didn't really believe I had much of a life anymore, instead I attended counselling sessions with my mother, we met other victims of violence and I realised that in a way we were better off than these people. One man, Jason, couldn't leave his house after 3pm for fear his attacker will attempt to kill him at the same time he did before, not only that half these people had not and more than likely will not, see justice for the crimes against them. I wanted to help these people obviously I wasn't able to go out and lock these criminals up but I could help them emotionally, of course I had no qualifications as a psychiatrist and the local council were rather reluctant to hire me as an assistant to their current psychiatrist, but one mention of Oxford was enough for them to think me able. I worked with Jason mostly, helping him overcome his fear of attacks. We managed to help him extend his curfew to 4pm, then 5 till eventually he could easily walk out of his house without any obvious worry, of course there was still that niggling feeling in the back of his mind which he often described as a evil presence, but with our help, and his friends help he overcame it and made a full recovery. Things like that helped me cope with my own grief, knowing that something good came out of my fathers death, it consoled me. Of course his murderer was never found and nobody was charged that was the hardest thing to deal with, his murderer was out there ready to ruin the next family he feels like.
Like most things I became bored with what I was doing, it wasn't enough I needed to do more my passion for helping people became an obsession and after reading in the paper about a criminal infested Gotham City I found my calling, my life was no longer in England. I made some calls and booked a flight, 24 hours later I was in Gotham airport trying to book myself into a Hotel but as it turns out an English accent isn't that easy to understand.