"Dream catch me,
Yeah,
Dream catch me when I fall,
Or else I won't come back at all," Newton Faulkner "Dream Catch Me"
..ooOoo..
The next morning found Selina standing very still on a small platform and looking at her wane form in the mirror as Miriam brought in the seam of her new dress.
Idly, she ran her hands down her front, enjoying the silken feel of the emerald, floor length sheath.
Miriam made an unpleased sound in the back of her throat, three shiny pins dangling from her maple-sugar lipstick coated lips.
"Sorry," Selina sighed and once again became still.
As she tried to focus on her schedule for the day-manicure, pedicure, facial, hair trim and style, then the gala-her thoughts wandered to memories she had long buried. A past she wanted to forget.
Oblivious to Miriam's worried glances, Selina's eyes became glassy and her mind drifted.
..ooOoo..
Some would call it a crime, a just result of taking the law into your own hands. Others still would name it a murder-suicide, an unnecessary tragedy, a shameful thing. Selina called it her thoroughly fucked up life.
Edward and Helena Kyle had in fact once loved each other very much, their daughter liked to imagine. But honestly, she didn't know.
They had been childhood sweethearts, married young and became pregnant not long after. The birth of their new baby girl only added to the stress of their impoverished lives.
Their once innocent, carefree world was now rearing its ugly head, showering them in heating and water bills, electricity, the ever increasing rent, higher taxes, and rising until they were choking on the late notices. It didn't help that Edward couldn't hold a job, at first because of the economy, but then because of the bottle that he had turned to for comfort.
While Edward devoted himself to providing for his family (at first), Helena devoted herself heart and soul to her baby girl and she adored the jewel eyed child. As the young woman began to visibly show signs of the stress of her life she would often look into the eyes of her child and remember looking into a mirror once upon a time, recalling the days when her eyes had won over her Edward, when he was still a nice man. When there was no alcohol in their naïve lives.
Things quickly went downhill in the Kyle household; Edward's drinking not only affected his ability to hold a job, but it also increased his anger at the world. Where once he would sit at their big, square television and praise the work of Thomas Wayne in his philanthropist efforts, now he spat and cursed at the wealthy man's visage on the screen.
Where was his high life? Where was his piece of the pie?
Bottles would be thrown, and the sounds of glass breaking against the yellowed walls of the apartment became like hearing chimes ringing in the wind to Selina's little ears.
Edward's wrath was quick in its escalation, from the TV to the walls, from the walls to the dishes, from the dishes to his wife. When he would make his first moves towards the remnants of their wedding china Helena would usher Selina to her tiny closet in her little room.
Until of course one day when the sound of someone hitting the floor reached Selina's ears and her mother did not rise. But Edward's torrent of anger was not yet appeased, so he sought out his nine year old daughter, tearing into her room, ranting about his whore of a wife who had birthed another whore.
When the enraged man finally slammed open the door of the tiny closet, his yellow and bloodshot eyes found his daughter; dressed in a white dress (Sunday's best) and her black Mary-Janes, pressing herself as far into the corner as she could.
Where were the neighbors? Selina wondered, watching her father's jaw clench, his hands tremble with adrenaline.
Surely his shouts could be heard through the paper thin walls of their apartment?
But no one ever came.
Whose business is it to interfere with what happens behind closed doors?
So Selina closed her eyes, wrapped her thin arms around her knobby knees and waited for death.
"Don't you touch her Eddie!" came Helena's shrill cry followed by a metallic click. Edward laughed heartily, whirling around to face his trembling wife, a pistol in her hands.
"Didja grow a backbone Lena? Or did I finally beat all sense outta you? Give that here, cow!" he snarled, reaching.
As her father staggered towards her slowly retreating mother, Selina caught glimpses of the pistol her father had kept in his bedside drawer, in case of robbers.
Her mother's tiny hands were wrapped around the butt in a white knuckled grip; one eye was an angry red, already swelling and beginning to bruise, the white of the eye the color of the reddest rose. Helena pursed her cut lips, twitching at the numbing throb of her jaw.
"Give it here, woman!" the drunk screeched, spit flying.
The deafening boom that followed left Selina's ears ringing, bones rattling and for a moment her heart forgot how to beat.
Watching her father teeter then fall forward, Selina felt like her stomach had become a heavy lead weight, her bladder threatened to burst any moment and her hands were clammy.
He hit the floor in a boneless heap and after a few moments of silence blood began to ooze out from underneath him. It flowed in a fast river straight towards Selina's hiding place in the closet and fearfully she brought her knees closer to her chest, watching with huge eyes.
"Don't let it get me!" the young girl thought deliriously.
A broken cry had Selina looking up in fright to her gray faced mother, who now looked down at the body of her husband in shock.
"Oh God, Eddie," she croaked and fell to her knees.
Helena Kyle shook her husband's shoulders, "Eddie?" she cried.
Selina broke the answering silence, "Mama?" she squeaked. Her mother jerked, vacant eyes swinging to her daughter's face, emerging from the shadows of the closet, as white as her dress.
"Baby," she whispered her face distraught. Looking down at her husband, her bleeding lips pursed again, "Go get help, Selina."
"Mama?" Selina inquired, standing on unsteady feet.
"Go get help, Selina! Run!" Helena urged angrily.
Selina scrambled into motion, clutching at her dress and pausing for moment before stepping over her father's lank, outstretched arm.
"Go Selina," her mother repeated tiredly, a small hand running through her husband's dark hair.
Selina nodded soundlessly and walked fearfully forward, "It'll be okay, Mama."
"I love you Selina," Helena whispered and Selina paused outside of her doorway, "I love you too Mama," and then she ran.
She ran and ran, shouting for help at the top of her lungs.
Then a boom, and an equally familiar thump.
Mama…oh Mama.
Her head…Oh God her head…
The walls…she would have given anything for them to be dirty yellow again.
…
In the end, she had no family; no aunts, no uncles and grandparents she had never met.
Selina Kyle had no one, so she ran.
Run Selina, run.
..ooOoo..
"Miss Kyle? Miss Kyle?"
Selina jerked back into herself and blinked her eyes slowly, "Hm?"
"Are you alright?" Miriam asked lines of worry around her hazel eyes, striking from the shadow of her cinnamon hair.
"Yes, yes I'm fine," she said distractedly.
"I've finished hemming your dress. If you'd like to go the dressing room I can take it from you and put it into a garment bag."
"Okay," Selina agreed and with the great care Miriam helped her from the platform.
Passing by a mirror, she concluded that she would have to have a side part French twist to sweep across her forehead inorder to hide the still present bruise and reveal more of her neck.
But even as her day carried on, Selina's mind finished the story it had started.
..ooOoo..
Selina hadn't liked the religious orphanage, too much praying and kneeling, not enough love. All gloom and doom, and the looks the priests gave some of the smaller children made her skin crawl.
People with authority, Selina learned, often let it get to their heads and abused the power given them.
So because of equal dislike on both sides (the good Sisters never thought she was truly sorry, and to be honest, she wasn't) Selina Kyle left the "Hell Hole" with nothing but the clothes on her back.
She was fifteen when her life changed again.
Selina had developed into an eye catching young lady, despite her homeless garb. At first, she was unwilling to pick pockets and usually got by on charitable donations and scraps from garbage cans.
She would lick the oil and salt from brown paper bags and watch television sets through the windows of stores. Every now and then the face of the young Bruce Wayne would pop up, already being offered scholarships to any Ivy League college of his choosing.
She wondered how happy he was, with his parents as dead as her own; and it made her smile, that she had somethingin common with the rich boy, even something as morbid as dead parents.
She would eat half eaten apples that had been thrown onto grimy streets and hide in trash bins from policemen who would return her to the Hell Hole.
Scraps became less and less with more and more homeless roaming the streets, what happened to Thomas Wayne's plans? Selina wondered. And not only was she sharing her meager amount of food with other people, but also with random stray cats that accompanied her jaunts through Gotham.
This one was Cleo, that one was Barney, this one was Martha Wayne and that one was Thomas Wayne. They looked so painfully thin that the young girl's heart couldn't help but break for them, so she split what little she had with them, sometimes all she had. And in return they rubbed their furry heads against her legs, let her hold and cuddle them and though no food filled her belly for countless nights, her heart was full with love as it had not been since her mother had gone.
Then she did the unthinkable; desperate for food, not even enough to feed her little furry darlings, she offered up herself for food, money to buy it, anything that would put something edible in her stomach.
A drunk man in his late thirties took her on an alley floor and she recited the Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss through the whole thing, struggling to not dry heave and wail for help, she needed food.
When he was finished he threw crumpled bills onto the cobblestone next to her face and as soon as she could no longer hear his footsteps she wept silent tears of agony. Her quiet weeping drew the mangy cats to her side and they licked away all of her tears and curled around her thin frame, offering her silent comfort that she desperately needed.
Later, as she collected the bills from the wet pavement, ignoring the ache in her lower abdomen, she swore to herself that she would never sell herself again; not for food, not for money, nothing. If she had to steal, by God, she would steal.
And that was how she met Jean Pierre, picking his pocket clumsily at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
His grip on her hand was at first so painful she yelped, but he quickly relented his harsh hold and instead held her firm.
Blonde haired, thin and of average height, he looked down at her with smiling blue eyes.
"Ma petite cherie, did you just try to steal from me?" His voice was musical.
"I need to eat sir," Selina responded, not at all sorry and looking him straight in the eye.
Jean Pierre studied her skeletal frame, her lank and stringy raven hair, ah but her eyes, they shone like freshly cut and polished emeralds in her protruding skull. They were full of defiance and unrepentance; it made him smile.
"Well have you gotten much from your fumbling?" he inquired.
A faint blush dusted her pale cheeks, "No," she snapped, "But I'm getting better."
"Oui? How so?" he was genuinely interested.
"I'm not so good with pockets," she admitted," But I snagged this from a guy up the street!" And held up a shining gold watch that had Jean immediately running numbers through his head; that watch would fetch a good price. "And it was on his wrist!" she emphasized proudly.
He smiled at her and patted her oily head briefly, "Well ma petite, it just so happens that I too am a thief," he confided quietly and ushered her to the back of the crowd. Bending low, he reached into his pocket and revealed three money clips, overflowing with cash.
Her bejeweled eyes were huge with wonder and awe; it made the professional thief puff out his chest with pride, if she thought that was amazing she would be down right knocked off her feet if he told her of his greater exploits.
"This one," he said quickly shaking a shiny silver clip full of Franklins, "I got from that monsieur right there," Jean pointed.
A cat like grin curled the malnourished girl's lips, "Cool,"
"Ah ma petite cherie, I think you and I will get along quite well," Jean Pierre laughed and they did. He whisked her off to Paris, cleaned her up, and taught her the ropes. When she could out-steal even the most elusive burglars in Jean's hometown, they began a whirlwind journey across the world, learning the finer arts of their trade.
To Jean Pierre, Selina Kyle owed her life, and he would forever hold a special place within her heart.
When she finally did return to Gotham, the old Selina had been pronounced dead, seven years missing. And she really was, the naïve, fumbling Selina was long dead and buried beneath the cobblestones of the alleyway at the corner of Fourth and Adams. The only thing that remained was the love for felines, the ones who had given her a purpose and had faith in her.
So Selina gave herself a welcoming home party, re-introducing herself to her old hometown once again as Selina Kyle, but now she was also Catwoman.
And this time, she would not be forgotten.
..ooOoo..
Author's Note: I'm getting to the grand revealing soon, I promise! A short disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me, which makes me sad. Please review and tell me what you think. I think understanding Selina's background, what has made her who she is, plays a great deal into understanding her actions of the present and future. I find it funny that her past wrote itself, I didn't even have to daydream, but yet it kinda mirrors Bruce's past: rebelling and traveling the world learning how to become Batman. Makes me giggle at how awesome it turned out, or at least I think it did. Tell me whatcha think! Up next: The Gala, and maybe the revealing…?