Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans
Three years is a long time when you think about it. A lot can happen within that kind of time frame. For example, a life can go from moderately well to immensely successful, or in Raven's case it could go from decent to a spiraling coaster of new lows. The Titans had disbanded for three long years and Raven, who now went as Rachelle Roth could not be any more different. She lived a life she never thought possible even for her.
She lived in one of the worst parts of Gotham and worked at a sleazy bar as a bartender. She worked all night and slept during the day. Rachelle had a boyfriend of sorts. He was the kind who enjoyed beating the crap out of his girlfriend. Raven could have taken Zach and made him wish he was never born. However, Raven had died with the Teen Titans and Rachelle was no hero. Rachelle put up with the abuse because she had no one else and the loneliness was unbearable. Besides, a demon child like herself deserved what ever she got. So, Rachelle covered up the bruises and smiled to the world like she wasn't dying inside.
Rachelle thought back to three years ago and tried to pin down the exact moment the Titans stated to drift apart. It probably was her fault actually. Robin had confessed to having feelings for her. Raven had rejected him, but not because she did not feel the same. No, she pushed him away to protect him. She could never give him the life he deserved and being with him was dangerous because of her powers. Robin had soon after started dating Star, which had torn Raven up inside. From that point on there was tension in the tower that slowly built until there was an explosion.
Rachelle kept in contact with Victor and Garfield with the occasional phone call, but Richard and Kory she had no contact with. It was just too painful to see them together because as much as Rachelle hated to admit it she was still in love with Richard. She imagined that they were happy though, and that brought her comfort. As long as he was alright she could go on with her miserable life.
Rachelle searched her crummy two room apartment for her work shoes. She had changed a significantly from her teen years. Now at twenty one she was as many men pointed out sexy. She had legs for days that got men drooling and an hourglass shaped torso. Her long purple hair seemed irresistible for men to run their fingers through it. Rachelle always dressed . . . in an immense lack of material for work. That was the dress code for women, less is more. Currently, she had donned on a tight tank top that looked like it had been painted on and an incredibly short dark jean shirt. She even had knee high stiletto leather boots that could only be described as hooker boots. Her left arm was in a cast, which would probably make work difficult.
Zach had gone too far the night before. He had come into her apartment drunk out his mind. At first he was content on merely groping her. However, he soon got board of that and began randomly beating on her. He had thrown her on top of her poor coffee table, which had broken her arm. Her neighbor had called the cops and Zach ran out of the room. Her sixty year old neighbor, Mr. Bradshall had been nice enough to drive her to the emergency room where the doctor set her arm in the cast and told her she had nearly fractured one of her ribs. Mr. Bradshall had even convinced her to file a police report and a restraining order. Rachelle was done getting beaten.