Her curls were scattered all over the pillow.
Beautiful curls, but not "her".
It was nearly morning of too much alcohol, too much dancing, too much kissing. He couldn't remember the face of this girl. She was pretty. Probably. Right now she was facing the other side of the bed so the only thing that was not covered with the blanket was these curls. Curls…
They looked lovely. In the dim light of nightstand they looked priceless.
Bruce's head almost didn't ache, his shirt was ruined. Like too many things in his life… His calling, his relationship with Alfred, the memory of his parents… But this was not the first. He ruined something earlier than that.
"How good am I in trashing things lately?", he thought to himself grimly.
Was it easier like this? It definitely was. Sleep during the days, live during nights. Spend your time with booze and girls, with dumb golden children of Gotham and astonishingly devastating playboy attitude.
No clarity, no responsibility. Just a stream of days, nights, seasons, desires and emptiness.
So why did these curls bother him?
Why did he want to wake this girl up and ask her to leave as soon as possible?
Why did he want to apologize to her and ask her to get back to how they were before?
"This is not "her".", he reminded himself.
These are not her shoulders rising and falling under the blanket, not her lips letting soft murmuring, not her curls painted with gold in the soft light.
Not "her".
Would he trade everything to have "her" here instead? To let her tease him and laugh at him? To get angry with him and then try to steal something? To empty his fridge and fill in his thoughts?
She wasn't here. Only these curls so similar to the curls of the stray cat.
He moved to the other side of the bed looking away. Gradually he fell asleep. His dreams were heavy, troublesome, they were covering his forehead with sweat, his mind with images.
Images…Desires…
There were so many things about what he missed, what he cared, there were so much about "her".
A green-eyed girl was looking at him, she was shielding the sun and her hair was glowing. He felt her palms on his cheeks and it was soothing, calming, reviving. He felt that he could breathe again, as if he remembered how to use his lungs, how to get air into his chest.
- Stay …, he murmured, getting closer to her, breathing in the scent of her curls.
- I've never gone away, she whispered back, pressing her forehead to his.
- Then let me stay here.
Her lips were so close, so distant and yet so close. Her hands glided further into his hair, letting her check touch his.
- You can't, kid. You need to wake up…,she whispered in his ear gently kissing his temple.
The taxi was coming to the house. Unnamed girl was talking about something. He didn't listen.. almost, except that last thing she said:
- You know you speak when you sleep.
- Hmm? - he looked at her puzzled.
- Yeah… who is Selina?