DAY 8 ...Selina... Selina who is just outside this door. There is no use locking her out. Selina who is everywhere I look. Around every corner. Selina who creeps in and out of my every thought. Ravaging my brain without mercy. Picking me apart. Filling me with doubt. Selina who I almost …
A week... It's been more than a whole GODDAMN week since I threw this ill-fated plan into action.
Since I FAILED. Since I've been FORCED to share my quarters with HER...
Tommy leans into the bathroom mirror, resting his head against the cool glass as he props himself up against the pedestal sink with his large, muscled arms. He stares deeply into his doppelganger's eyes and snarls, disgusted with the image he sees. This man staring back at him looks tired and weary. Worn thin both physically and mentally. This man looks nothing like the one he knew in Paris. The cut-throat man who had slain his family and used that pathetic excuse for a mob bosses daughter to get ahead. The man who will one day cure the world of the disease known as Bruce Wayne. The man who didn't care for anyone or anything but himself. The man who had ripped out HER heart with his bare hands...
...Selina...
Gaining composure, he runs his fingers through his damp red hair and sighs.
There is no escape.
He had figured a cold shower would steady his nerves, keep him alert, but it had only left him the same as before. Edgy. Even during his respite from her, he can still feel her eyes on him. See her crooked smile in the recesses of his mind. Taste her on his lips. Feel her body underneath his.
He tells himself that what happened yesterday was just a lapse in judgment. He chalks it up to cabin fever and assures himself that his body did what it did in order to spare him from a huge mistake.
There is no way that someone such as myself can possibly have FEELINGS for such a harlot. I feel NOTHING. She's meant for HIM. She is HIS heart. She must DIE in order for me to exact my REVENGE.
An image flashes through his mind. She's lying in his arms. They're smiling. Happy. He can feel his heart tighten within his chest at the thought. Conflicted. Steeling his mind, he buries the image deep down below. Gulping the knot forming in the back of his throat down into the darkest depths of his stomach.
This is wrong... so wrong. What would mother say? Think, Tommy, think. Think of Aristotle."I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self." He mutters as he pushes himself off the sink. He then returns his towel to the rack and continues getting dressed. With the snap of the buckle to his holster, he's ready to face the day. Unsure whether or not, however, if he would be ready to face her.
