"I'm 21." She winked at the usher.
"No, you're not, hun." He shut her down and asked her to leave before he'd have to call her parents. That egged her. She wanted to punch him right then and there but decided not to. It was a hole in the wall but the music could be heard from her house two blocks away and deafening music is exactly what she needed.
"Fine." She said coldly and snatched her fake ID from his fingers. She started walking home when she saw an open window. What was the saying, she thought, when one door closes another one opens?
The window would lead her into the club—the music escaping from it proved that. She dragged a garbage bin beneath the window and climbed on. She attempted to jump up to grab the sill but she was too short and the bin gave in beneath her. She picked herself up, brushed the rotten apples, bummed cigarettes and lunchmeat off her and eyed the window with an intense fire. She took a deep breath, picked up the garbage bin, and put her long auburn hair in a ponytail. She stared at the window for a long minute, took a few steps back, not quite out of the alley, and ran towards the aluminum bin, jumped off it, projecting herself to the opposite wall, and from there jumped to the window. Her sweaty hands held onto the windowsill. She released a breath she didn't realize she had held in and let a light chuckle slip between her grin. She managed to pull herself up into the window and rolled onto the carpet of a dark room that smelled of weed, cigarettes, and something else she couldn't put her finger on. She stood up cautiously and used her hands to search for the wall and felt it up until she found a light switch or a door. She found a cold doorknob.
The light in the hallway blinded her. She wasn't sure where she was and quite frankly, she didn't care. She needed a drink. She followed the short hallway to a staircase that led to the back of the nightclub. She passed groups of people doing questionable things until she reached the dance floor.
"Finally!" She sighed. Through the strobe lights, grinders, and DJ, she searched for the bar. Eureka!
"I'll have a shot of Jäger." She called out over the music to one of the bartenders.
The rest of the night was a blur. There were a few moments that she remembered. Like letting some guy drink vodka out of her belly button, dancing with another guy in plaid, and being thrown over the shoulder of another guy in a red hoodie.
She woke up in her bed with a pounding headache. The moment she opened her eyes, the guy in the hoodie stuck a glass of water and a bottle of Advil in her face.
"Drink and swallow." He ordered her.
She sat straight up, "how the hell-" she closed her mouth and searched her room for a plastic bag. But the hooded man was a step ahead and placed a garbage pale in her lap. She heaved into it. She puked as much as her body would let out and more. She closed her eyes and let her stomach settle. She wiped the puke from her mouth and looked up at the mysterious figure, "Tim?"
"Drink and swallow." He ordered again and replaced the pale with the Advil and water.
She did as he said.
She laid her head back on the pillow, closed her eyes, and took deep breaths.
"What the hell were you thinking?" He snapped at her, his eyebrows furrowing. But she could sense concern in his tone.
"It's none of your business." She snapped back.
"Dammit, Myriam!" He whispered through gritted teeth and rubbed his temples.
She let out a loud sigh, "Before I get a lecture, let me brush my teeth, first. Okay?" She opened an eye and looked at him waiting for a response.
She could see his nostrils flaring, "Mind brewing a pot of coffee?" she added.
He removed his hood and nodded.
"How'd you find me?" She asked curiously, walking down the stairs to the kitchen.
"Remember my brother, Dick?"
Myriam nodded.
"He recognized you at the club and heard you yelling at the bartender." Tim poured coffee into two mugs, "1 cream, 1 sugar, right?"
Myriam nodded. "Damn." She massaged her temples, "Wait, what was Dick doing at a hole-in-the-wall club?"
Tim shrugged. He couldn't tell her the truth, "Sometimes he gets bored at the 20/20 Club, I guess."
"How long have you been back?" She took a sip of her coffee and sat at the kitchen table.
"About a week,"
"Where'd you go?" She stared at him as he sat on the red barstool by the kitchen island. "You were gone for over a year, Tim. No one knew where you went. Ives was worried, Zoanne was torn between worrying about you and trying to forget about you… where'd you go?" she shrugged her shoulders. Tim remembered it's what she did when she was nervous for an answer, like when she asked Tim for a dance in the 8th grade.
"It's…" he tried searching for the right word, "complicated" was the word he settled on.
Myriam looked at him and waited for more. When he said nothing else, she shook her head furiously. "Are you serious? 'It's complicated' is all I get?"
"I know. Typical Tim: shitty explanations for everything. I—"
"Tim, that was not a fucking explanation. That was a slogan. That was a Facebook relationship status. That was not an explanation."
"Listen, Myr, I promise. When the time's right, I'll explain everything. But right now, I need you to accept complicated." He smiled. It was a nervous smile and Myriam recognized it as a typical Tim-smile. The same one he wore when he had to leave two hours early from her birthday party in the 9th grade.
She took another sip from her coffee and took a deep breath, "fine."
"And since when do you drink?" He asked her trying not to sound judgmental.
"I don't want to talk about it." she replied quietly.
"I had lunch with Ives yesterday. He told me what happened," Myriam looked down at the table, "I am so sorry, Myr." He said warmly, "I wish I were here for the funeral."
That was a lie. Not the funeral part or about being sorry. Tim had known since the night it happened. He heard the dispatcher call for a shooting outside of a shopping mall. He didn't go. It was during the day, and Tim had the graveyard shift. Dick went to the scene and told Tim later of the names. Tim recognized Myriam's brother, Adam, on the list. Tim knew that the GCPD had still not caught the thugs who killed two innocent bystanders. It took every muscle to retrain himself from telling her that tonight he's approaching the thugs who killed her brother.
They sat in the kitchen for a few minutes in silence. Myriam scratched at the fresh scar on her wrist, probably from the garbage bin or windowsill from the night before. Tim stared at his mug of coffee.
Tim finally broke the silence, "Wanna go grab a late breakfast?"
Myr nodded slowly and wiped the tears from her eyes.
They walked a few blocks to the diner they spent their friendship at. It was tradition in their group of friends that Sundays they ate at Mel's Diner. The diner had a 60s feel to it, with classic rock playing in the background, black and white checkered floors, with red vinyl booths, and the light blue walls were decorated with old movie posters and vinyl albums. The diner still smelled the same as Tim remembered it. A mix of perfectly scrambled eggs and buttermilk pancakes overwhelmed his senses.
"I miss this place," he smelt deeply.
They sat at the booth farthest from the door and any windows.
"Hey, you're Tim Wayne!" Said the young waitress in the red and white vertical striped dress—she looked like she came right out of the diner in Pulp Fiction.
Tim smiled shyly, "Yes, I am." He nodded awkwardly.
"What can I do for you on this fine Friday morning?" The waitress asked with a warm smile that made even Myriam let out a smirk.
They memorized the menu so they were able to choose their meal right away. The moment the waitress walked away, Myriam whispered, "They're wrong."
"Huh?" he tilted his head and let his black hair fall over his eyes.
Myriam wiped the tear the slipped from her eye, "You know how they say 'deafening silence,'" Tim nodded unsure of where the conversation was headed, "Deafening isn't the right word," Myr stated, "It's more like numbing."
Tim knew exactly what she was talking about. He had buried family before too.
"Visitors stopped coming by unannounced to offer their condolences on Wednesday night, so it was only me and my dad. But he had to head back yesterday,"
"They only gave him a week?"
Myriam nodded, "He's a Captain and he was in the middle of some big man-hunt… He said I'd hear about it on the news later on in the year. The Army needed him back for the mission." Myriam put her long, auburn hair in a messy bun with the hair elastic she keeps around her wrist, "I drove him to the airport yesterday afternoon. When I got home… I was all alone. My brother was gone; there was no one else. It was just me in a house of ghosts." She felt a weight lift off her chest, "I couldn't take it. All I could hear was the tick-tock of that clock in the kitchen, you know the one with Arabic numerals?" Tim nodded, remembering the black faced, white numbered clock, "My heartbeat felt like it was echoing," She said quietly, "I went up to Adam's room and I just, froze. I lay on his bed for a while, still unmade from the week before. I walked around the house for I don't know how long and finally, I just sat on the couch in the family room."
Tim grabbed Myr's hand that was resting on the table and held it tight; he nodded. He understood.
"The silence was numbing," she admitted, "then," she continued, "I heard the music coming from a block or two away… and I don't know what went through my head. It was loud and there were people and I just," Myriam choked on the words, "Tim," she looked up and her eyes filled with tears that Tim could barely even see the hazel in them. Her shoulders trembled and she raised her free hand to quickly wipe the tears away.
Myriam felt an arm around her shoulders, Tim had come to her side of the booth and she rest her head in the crook of his neck, "How'd you deal with it?" She asked him.
Tim and Myriam, in their five years of friendship, had never spoken about Tim's misfortunes. They never talked about his mom's death, and other then at the funerals, Myriam never mentioned Tim's father or his girlfriend, and Tim never brought it up. She remembered when his dad died; it was right after the Gotham gang war a few years ago. Tim left Gotham after the funeral. He said he needed to be with his stepmom in Bludhaven. Adam drove Myriam down to visit him once.
"How did you deal with the silence?" she repeated.
Tim tightened his grip around her shoulders and pulled her in closer, "I—honestly, Myriam, I don't know."
The waitress, who's name appeared to be Bethany on her nametag, came by with the food. "Here you go, she placed the hot food in front of Tim and Myriam." I'm brewing you two a fresh pot of coffee so it'll be a few more minutes." She smiled so hard that the crow's feet around her eyes nearly reached her hairline.
"Thank you, Bethany." Tim smiled at her and she walked away, noticing the trembling girl in Tim's arms. Bethany gave Tim a "you're a good guy" wink or a "I won't say anything" wink. Tim has trouble telling the difference.
Tim walked Myriam home, "Let's watch a movie. Or better yet," he smiled and
a flash of memories soared through Myr's mind, "I haven't had a chance to watch Game of Thrones, let's have a marathon?"
Myriam removed her scarf and looked up at Tim. He grew a few inches, she noticed, since he now stood a head taller than her.
"You really need a haircut," she accidentally said out loud.
Tim smiled, "You know what, you're not the first one to say that." He replied.
Myriam's cheeks turned red, "The first three seasons are on Netflix," she tried to save herself.
"I didn't even think you could blush," Tim remarked and somehow, Myriam's cheeks became redder, "I mean, the olive skin tone…" he stopped talking and let out a sigh, "Let's watch this show. Ives couldn't stop talking about how amazing it is and about a 'Khaleesi'" Tim explained, unsure of what a Khaleesi was.
They walked up to Myriam's house. Tim couldn't help but notice how much smaller it was from the Manor. There were no wings, no stables-turned-apartments attached, and there was definitely no cave beneath the structure.
As Tim set up the Netflix on the TV in the family room, Myriam made popcorn in the kitchen.
"All set!" Tim announced in excitement.
Myriam walked into the room with a bowl of popcorn and sat beside Tim on the couch. It was nearly 6 o'clock and Myriam could see the sun start to set in the reflection of the TV screen. As the first episode began to unravel the world of Westeros, Myriam found herself laying her head on Tim's chest, and Tim found his arm bringing Myr closer. It was as if their friendship paused while he was away and resumed at where it stopped.
The episode ended and as they were about to start the next one, Tim's phone rang.
"Yeah?" He said into the phone.
"Drake!" Myriam could hear someone yell on the other end.
"What do you want, Damian?" Tim sighed and got up from his seat on the couch. He walked to the window behind the couch. Myriam could hear more yelling coming from Damian. Tim calmly replied, "Damian, just shut up for a second. It's your dog. Deal with it." and shut the phone.
Myriam turned around to face Tim, "Who is Damian?"
Tim's furrowed eyebrows relaxed, "Oh, I didn't tell you? Turns out Bruce had a son he didn't know about." Tim said begrudgingly.
"Sounds like a brat," Myriam said sympathetically.
"You have no idea," Tim said typing into his phone. He sat back on the couch, "Listen, I 'm really sorry but I have to go." He did the same nervous smile; "I got a few emails from work about some investors coming into Wayne Enterprises over the weekend."
"Since when do you deal with Wayne Enterprises stuff?" Myriam questioned him.
"I guess you haven't seen the Wall Street Journal this week," he smile wryly, "Wayne Enterprises has a new Sheriff. Bruce handed the company to me."
"I had breakfast with a millionaire?" She laughed.
"I'm a billionaire, actually." He laughed with her, "Listen, I'm really sorry. I've only been CEO for like three days and these investors need to assured I can handle it, and…"
"Tim," Myriam cut him off, "It's okay. Go." She said genuinely, "I'll be okay. I'm still a little hung-over to be honest and could use some sleep," She tried to make him feel better.
He nodded and stood up, "Once they leave, I'll call you." He promised.
She stood up too, "Yeah, I know." She smiled and gave him a hug, "Thank you, Tim. For everything." She kissed his cheek and walked him to the door. As he walked down the driveway she yelled, "and you better not watch an episode without me!"
He turned and flashed a big smile, "Never." He winked.
….
"You can't outrun someone on a motorcycle, you know." Red Robin yelled at the thug and stopped the runner with a flying clothesline while driving his motorcycle. The thug fell to the ground trying to catch his breath. Red Robin turned the motorcycle around and circled the thug. "Why'd you kill Adam Farawi and Julius Cuntas?"
"I didn't kill anyone, yo!" The thug stuttered.
"You sure?" Red Robin lifted the man up by his collar, "Because I've got witnesses placing you in front of the Gotham Galleria with a gun in your hand." The man's feet dangled from the ground.
"Yo, man. I was there. I was there," he panicked, "But I didn't shoot nobody."
Red Robin pushed the man against the brick wall nearby, "Explain." He ordered through gritted teeth.
"Listen, I—" the man grabbed his face. "Man, it wasn't supposed to end that way." Red Robin lifted the man higher, "Julius was selling on our turf, man. We were told he was at the Galleria, so Markus and I, you know, we were sent after him. No one else was supposed to get hurt. Just him."
Red Robin threw the killer to the ground in disgust, "Since when did the Street Demonz start dealing?"
The thug crawled to the lay his back against the wall, "Dallas' dead. We got a new boss."
Red Robin picked the thug up again, "Who?" He barked.
"I ain't telling you nothin'!" The thug spat nervously.
Red Robin threw him to the ground again and took out a grapple gun from his belt. He aimed at the roof of the building above them and flew up.
"Yeah! That's right!" The thug cheered, "—better run!" As he started walking away, he felt something grab at his leg and he fell forward. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again he found himself staring at the street below him.
Red Robin grabbed at his collar, again, "Who's the new boss?" He hissed.
"Oh man, Imma puke, yo."
"Who is it?"
"Man, he gon' kill me if I tell you."
"This fall will kill you too," Red Robin sneered.
"Nah, man. Batman's crew doesn't kill." The thug tried to reason.
"Who said I work for Batman," Red Robin smirked and released the tension on the grapple until the thug screamed to the bottom of the street, then caught the grapple again and tied it to the fire escape. Red Robin dropped down to the ground and grabbed the thugs collar again, "Who is the new boss?"
"His name's Gumbol. Okay? He was Dallas' second." The thug panted while sweat dripped down his face.
"Where's Markus?"
"He left town. Said he had family in Metropolis."
Red Robin walked away.
"Yo! Where you goin'? Ain't you gon' let me down?" The thug begged.
"GCPD will come get you," Red Robin instructed.
….