A/N
Hello! Thank you so much for clicking on my story :) I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think! I hope to upload the next chapter soon!
I only own what I own.
...You've put a fever inside me and I've been cold since you've left...
...I'm begging you to keep on haunting me...
...Cause I've done some things that I can't speak...
...I know you're gonna keep on haunting me...
Chapter One: Haunting
Whenever she sticks the needle into her arm (or shoves the pills down her throat) and closes her eyes, she sees him and she's happy.
He's younger than her now – he has been for a couple of years – but she doesn't mind. Seeing him this way, in perpetual youth, comforts her.
At least in her mind, he's safe. He's alive.
When she opens her eyes, he's still there. His dark hair is tousled, brushing against his forehead, and his bright eyes are serious but she can see the mischievous twinkle in them. He always tried to look and act tough, like the world has scorned him – and it has, but she knew better. She knew that deep down he cared. He cared about her, about people. He was loyal, selfless.
Tonight, he wasn't smiling. She hoped that he would be, it was a rare sight to see, but she guessed that she just wasn't lucky right now. Every time she saw him, he wore a different expression on his face. Sometimes his mouth is quirked upwards in a smirk while other times (the rare occasions she treasures) the smirk is soft around the corners of his mouth – a smile. Those two are her favorite, she thinks that they fit him well, but most of the time all she gets from him is a scowl.
It was like he was disappointed in her.
She's not surprised. If he were with her right now, actually with her, he wouldn't be happy. She had succumbed to the bad habits that they swore they wouldn't turn to. They didn't want to be like their parents. They had promised themselves that no matter how hard life got, and life got really hard, they wouldn't run away from their problems the same way they did.
But he was gone and so the promise was forfeited and she ran.
The vision of him was always the same height as her. She had thought that he'd always be taller than her. She imagined that he would always be big enough to shield her, protect her, but the boy she saw in front of her was, well, a boy. They could gaze into each other's eyes without inclining their heads.
Whenever they looked each other, really looked at each other, she saw that he always looked disappointed, sad even. The corners of his lips didn't need to turn down for her to see that.
It's been so long.
She can't remember that last time she didn't see him. She had become dependent, lost in her own mind. Sometimes she would wake up in places she's never been before, in rooms and beds she doesn't recognize with people she's never seen and never saw again.
She used to wake up confused, scared, but now it had become routine for her. It was an easy routine to follow. It only had two steps:
1. Wake up and take the drug
2. Repeat step 1
After the effects kick in, the events that happen after are a blur to her, nothing but a dream that fades within the first few minutes of being awake. All she can focus on is him. Everything else around her, the people and the places, are nothing but passing images. Minor details. Nothing relevant.
She knows she's been taken advantage off. She's woken up several times in the middle of their acts but all they need to do is drug her again and she's no longer fighting to keep them off of her. If they're nice, they leave a couple of bills for her before they leave. She doesn't know what she does with them.
It takes a while for her to realize that she's awake. Like really awake. She already feels her hands reach out to look for her bag. She can't not see him. She sits up from the bed she's lying on and feels the blanket on her chest fall. She looks down.
She's naked.
She takes the sheet and pulls it back up to cover herself as she scans the room for both her purse and the man who has taken her. She hopes that he's nice and would take her back to where he found her. She was never really good with directions.
She doesn't find her bag but she finds two men in the room.
She's a little bit surprised but can't say that it hasn't happened before.
A few seconds pass before she realizes that the men are not in the bed with her and one of them is unconscious, not the good kind, and on the floor. His eyes are rolled back and his mouth his agape, saliva dripping out of it. If she squints, she can see blood on his face as well.
The second man is fully dressed from head to toe. In the dark she can see that he's wearing a black top that hugs his body nicely, showing of his hard muscles, and dark pants and boots. He's wearing a brown leather jacket as well.
If he were wearing just that, she wouldn't think twice about him but this man was strange. On his black shirt he had a red symbol painted on it, it sort of looked like a bat, and on his head he wore a red helmet. Okay, maybe he wasn't that strange. Maybe he had driven a motorcycle here and just didn't remove his helmet but – wait – were those guns hanging on his hips? How did she not notice those first?
Now she was scared.
"Are you okay?" the man asked, startling her. She grips the sheet closer to her body.
"Where's my bag?" She finds herself asking because after processing her surroundings, she finds that she still doesn't know where her bag is and she needs it. It's been too long since she's seen him. He might be lost forever if she doesn't act quickly.
The man steps closer to her. "I asked you a question."
She knows that. She heard him but frankly she had her own priorities.
"I'll be okay when I have my bag," she tells him because it's true.
She doesn't know what to feel in a situation like this. Was she supposed to be okay? She only knew how to feel when she couldn't feel anything at all. Her eyes aren't adjusting to the darkness of the room so looking around from her place in the bed was not helping her one bit. She makes a move to stand up and the moment her feet touch the ground, she falls.
It seems like she's forgotten how to walk. Her legs feel numb and it hurts to move them. She almost feels like crying.
She can't bear to look up at the man in the room. Although she (literally) can't see his face, she can feel his stare. He's judging her. She's embarrassing.
From down here, she can't see her bag anywhere but she does find her shoes. She reaches for them and somehow finds a way to put them on her feet without the blanket sliding off of her. She thinks about what she was wearing. Did she wear pants or shorts? A skirt or a dress? Would she have to walk out of here in nothing but a sheet and sneakers?
The piece of fabric lands in front of her and she looks up to see the man's back facing her. He seems to be looking around the room as well and she's thankful. She sees that she had worn shorts and looking inside she's grateful that her underwear is there as well.
Quickly, she slips it on, accidentally banging her head on the bedside table when she leans back as she lifts up her bum. She ignores the man's question of whether or not she's okay and she tries to stand up again. She wobbles but stays on her feet. The blanket hangs over her shoulders now and she holds it together with her hands.
She moves around the room and sees that her purse is neither on the study desk nor the vanity desk. She does see ripped fabric hanging over a chair and frowns when she finds out it's her shirt. She finds her bra soon after and is glad that it's mostly in one piece.
"Here," the man says handing her his jacket. He's looking elsewhere and she takes this as her chance to drop the blanket and slip on his jacket. It's warm and heavy and smells faintly of cigarettes.
"Do you really need your bag?" He asks. "What does it even look like?"
"I think it's a backpack," she offers quietly. She doesn't actually remember. "Maybe a sling bag?"
"You don't remember?" He snaps, annoyed.
"I don't remember a lot of things," she fires back, tense because it's been too long and he's fading away. "I'm sorry." She doesn't want him mad at her. He has guns.
The man doesn't say anything and moves to the opposite side of the room. She feels guilty. She tries to look inside the cabinet but sees nothing but suits, tailored pants, and ties. She also sees white shirts and thinks about stealing one but decides against it. The cabinet and everything in it smells like detergent and she prefers the scent of cigarettes.
"Hey, is this it?" The man asks, holding up a bright yellow backpack upside down. The flap opens and everything inside it spills out. He swears loudly and bends down to pick up the fallen objects. He finds a mirror, a toothbrush, mascara, a tampon (he tosses that into the bag quickly), and her drugs. The needle and the pills. He doesn't put them back in her bag.
"You won't be needing these," he says coldly, crushing them in the palm of his hands before dropping them to the floor and promptly stomping on them with his heavy foot.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" She screams, running and dropping to her knees in front of him. They're useless now – crushed and shattered and broken. She looks back at the man and she has tears running down her cheeks. "You asshole! Do you have any idea what you've done?!"
"I saved your life," he answers, grabbing hold of her harm and dragging her out of the room. She can't do anything but follow him. He's much stronger than her.
"You've killed him!" She can't keep her voice down and frankly she doesn't want to. Who knows what he can hear through his helmet?
"Killed who?" The man asks, his voice rose as well. Anger radiated from him but she was no longer scared of him. Right now she had nothing to lose.
"Him!"
"Him? Him who?"
"Jason!" She sobbed because when she tried to think of his face, she couldn't. "Jason Todd!"