Vicki Vale sat in front of her window, nestled comfortably on her sofa, propped on two pillows. She sighed and shifted again, restlessly gazing out of the window, thinking of a man who was her whole world.
He was the reason she woke up with a smile everyday, sang in the shower, and hummed at work. She was hopelessly in love.
And she was fine with it.
"Oh, where is he?" she exclaimed abruptly, shattering the peaceful silence. Her cat, Muffins, meowed in the corner in protest. She stood up and glared at the clock. He's late. An hour late, to be exact.
Did I give him the wrong time? She thought to herself wondrously, mind searching for an explanation, anything. Anything but the truth. He couldn't have stood her up, could he?
Would he do that?
No, she thought sternly to herself. Don't think like that, Vicki. He'll be here. He loves you. Vicki nodded in deep thought. He did, after all, love her.
He said so.
Thunder clashed outside, making her windows rattle. "Goodness!" she cried out, jumping and spinning around in alarm. It was pouring, masses of rain pelting down aggressively; the sky a solemn and bleak dark grey.
She placed a pale hand on her heart, trying to calm the rapid heart beat. "I'm just getting riled up by the thunder," she reasoned aloud. She turned towards her kitten. "He's just held up by the storm—isn't that right, Muffins?"
Muffins let out an unconvinced meow and settled back in her stylish cat bed that was snuggled comfortably in the corner. Vicki nodded once, convinced. "Yes, that's it." She smoothed her silk purple dress that fit her body like a glove.
"He'll be here soon. He loves me." Her voice wavered at the word love. He promised that he would take her out for a nice dinner at Carlo's, a high-class Italian restaurant that was also her favorite at six-fifty. Why so late, she wasn't sure. It was now seven-fifty.
Vicki had never been stood up before, and she clung to the belief that that would continue to be so. She didn't want to be stood up by her love.
He wouldn't do that to her, would he?
Her voice trembling, she said, "I–I suppose he could be caught up in the storm." The storm only began ten minutes ago, he was supposed to be there thirty minutes ago. He couldn't have stood me up. He couldn't have.
Vicki settled back in her couch and closed her green eyes—eyes that he said were clearer that the ocean and every bit as beautiful—and breathed deep, even breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Vicki desperately hung on to the belief that he would show up.
But as the storm got progressively worse, she felt her hopes slowly diminishing. The clock hung neatly on the wall above Muffin's cat bed ticked away, and she felt each tick resounding in her, only ten times louder.
*
For a week she didn't hear from him, until he left a short text message, that sounded nothing like him.
I apologize for the inconvenience I caused you. The time lost me. If it would please you, I can schedule another outing for us that would suit your preferences at your favourite restaurant.
~Bruce Wayne
"Favourite" restaurant indeed.