Author's Note: This is the crossroads of this story. I have two plans for how it will pan out and which one I choose largely depends on what Dick does at the conclusion of this chapter. What do you think? Does he or doesn't he? Enjoy.
Luke 7
It's been almost a fortnight since my dinner at Wayne Manor. I haven't been back since and I don't really feel the need to butt heads with Wayne again either. The guy doesn't like me at all, thinks I'm going to hurt his precious little boy and I don't like people dredging up my past. It almost seemed like he thought I should have the cliff notes of my worst moments on Earth tattooed on my skin like a brand. The truth is though I'm not going to hurt Dick. The truth is my past isn't all I am or ever will be. My issues and my head problems and my lack of remorse for the things I have done and inflicted on other people is something I can deal with. I haven't thought about hurting Charlie or Linda for almost a week and with the cat it's even longer. I like it when he sits on my chest and purrs. It tickles.
School is easy enough. Brunswick has been back teaching for almost a week and still has no idea who knocked him for six last month. I like the way he looks at me and sees nothing but another student. He doesn't ignore me either and in fact thinks I'm brilliant, especially praising my creative writing assignment. He called it 'darkly fascinating' but seemed to miss the fact it was basically a thinly veiled account of what happened to him and why. I thought that was ironic too and smiled to myself on the way home. The rest of my studies, Math, Science, and Geography, all of them aren't a challenge either. I can read and dissect all my teachers from top to bottom and it's enough to smooth the ride further. I like school now, even Gym.
Dick's secret and my interest in uncovering it is starting to wane as I grow closer to him. I'm starting to wonder whether I care about solving the puzzle at all because life is getting so comfortable. I slept in a bed last night for the first time since I was eight. It was weird but I liked it. I still love Dick, but I don't feel drawn to him for his mysterious behaviour anymore. I like the way he looks at me and the way he talks to me more than anything else. As pretty as he looks and as athletic as his body is, it's the way he treats me that draws me in now. I guess it's better this way because it means I'm acting nice in an effort to be treated in the same way rather than just trying to exploit someone's trust for information. I feel more and am definitely less insane than I was a few months ago. It's also down to the pills.
I'm on a new treatment that involves less of them and less side effects. I don't feel drowsy or slow on whatever they are but I do think they increase my ability to experience positive emotions. I definitely feel happier, but I'm struggling to tell if it's manufactured or not. Maybe it doesn't matter anymore. When I feel this normal and together what does anything matter anymore? My name is Luke Martin and I am somebody else. I like it…
And I don't.
I feel too level and too ordinary. I don't have an edge anymore, a weapon to protect and defend myself with against the world. I don't feel dangerous and it's not good for my confidence. Without the safety of knowing I could attack and kill anyone if I needed to, I feel weak. Describing it to anyone else is tantamount to suicide because they'll definitely send me back to a hospital but my panic is growing with every day that passes where I don't have violent thoughts and the flashbacks to my abuse stay exactly the same. So far I'm keeping myself together, but without the thirst for violence, my defense against the trauma I suffered is cracking. I can't explain how it feels to have built a wall of concrete to keep demons at bay only to find the structure is unsound. I've never really been without my urges to harm so I feel naked. This is what they call being a hypocrite. I know I can't have it both ways and it I know it's impossible to expect the two sides to co-exist when they can't and won't. I can either commit to changing myself or I can go back to how I've survived for the last four or five years, but I have to make a choice. I thought I'd already made it, but I haven't.
Dick's sleeping over at my house for the first time tonight. We go straight from school to Charlie's garage and get driven back to the house. Both Charlie and Linda fall for Dick and his charm immediately which is kind of flattering if I'm honest; it means they approve of him and my choice of him as a friend. Even the cat takes a shine to Dick, brushing up against his legs repeatedly before dinner's served. They haven't gone all out to impress him, which is good because if they had, I think I would just loathe them all over again. Dinner is a one course meal, spaghetti carbonara, and conversation is a one topic affair: being Bruce Wayne's ward.
Charlie and Linda ask the typical ream of questions about what they imagine life with a billionaire would be like and Dick is polite in answering them. He looks like he's dealt with these kinds of inquisitions countless times and is relaxed and comfortable the whole time he's speaking or listening. An image of my step-father standing over me while I lie semi-conscious on the basement floor sticks in my mind as the conversation draws on. When he leers at me and bends down to unfasten my pants I snap back to reality. When they're both satisfied they've exhausted the topic, Charlie and Linda move past Dick and focus on me.
"So how's gymnastics training going, son?" Charlie asks me genially whilst finishing off his portion. I tried out for the school gymnastics team last week under Dick's encouragement. Somehow, I got in their reserve team thanks to the backflips Dick taught me over the last two weeks. Today was my first official training session with them. I got my ass kicked on physical conditioning but felt weirdly happy about it. Dick watched me from the bleachers with another injury, this time to his left foot. He thought I looked okay. I shrug.
"It's alright. It's pretty hard but I think I can do it. It just takes practice." Charlie nods in agreement, smiling with what must be pride as he does. My mind shows me a particularly nasty memory of crawling naked and bleeding round the backyard as my left arm hangs loosely by my side as I listen to his reply.
"That's exactly it boy; practice makes perfect. And I'm sure with someone as gifted in the sport as Dick to help you, you'll do just fine."
"Um, actually Mr. Devlin, I'm not a gymnast: I'm an acrobat. There is a difference." Dick corrects him amicably even though it's obvious from his facial expression he's a little offended by the labeling mistake. Charlie raises a hand in apology. In my mind, I see my mom finding me in the yard and saying nothing at all. It makes me shake, but no-one seems to notice.
"I do apologize Dick if I offended you just now; just goes to prove how limited my knowledge of that kind of stuff really is. What I meant to say was how nice it is to have someone helping Luke fit in with a school team; it's not the easiest thing for you to do, is it Luke?"
"Oh don't embarrass him, Charlie! I'm sure he doesn't want you telling Dick about his past experiences with teams." Linda chimes in to save my blushes. She thinks I like her now and is always being supportive of my activities. It's nice but also a big turnabout from what her opinion of me used to be. It makes me suspicious, but not the way I used to be. She's definitely NOT banging Charlie's best friend behind his back. I see that now.
The rest of the night goes quickly in a haze of movies and family-style board games, most of which Dick wins and I've never even heard of before. He plays a tactical game on everything that is so cerebral and perfect it's almost chilling to watch; Dick is seriously competitive and has all the tools to win, but is still good-natured enough to appease Charlie and Linda's egos. He's awfully good, I'll give him that. We're all having fun…I think. I can't concentrate anyway as my mind keeps flashing back to times and scenarios best left buried, particularly the midnight fights in Juvie organized by the more sadistic guards. But I digress. This is normality and again, I find it divides me in a way that it never used to before. I like being part of something like this and I don't like being near a situation as wholesome and safe as this at the same time; I swear if I don't decide what the fuck I want in the next week I will go properly to pieces over it all. The highlight reel just won't stop.
We go up to my room around eleven where Linda's made me up a proper mattress and duvet on the floor and changed the bed linen on the actual bed for Dick. I turn to him to ask him if he wants to do anything else before bed only to find him staring around the room with a stunned expression on his face. "Are you okay Dick?" I ask looking round the space to try and find the elephant in the room: everything is neat, clean and tidy.
"Where's all your stuff?" Dick replies whilst continuing to stare. I frown.
"My bed and bedside table are right there. My closet's over there…"
"No, I mean, where are your toys, books, comics, DVDs, games or your photos? Aside from the furniture the room's completely empty. Don't your foster parents buy you anything?"
When I regard the room again I see what he's talking about. All four walls of my room are bare and beige without a single trace of individuality or decoration to be found. My window sill is empty save for my closet key and, without my bed this room could be anything at all. I guess to someone like Dick, it probably looks like a guest room…or a prison cell. I suppose I'm so used to living like I don't exist that I never noticed it before. I recall the instant moment I was hit by another kid in Juvie and my lower jaw shattered as I nod my head.
"Yeah, they buy me whatever I want; I just don't want much is all." I used to just ask for clothes and pencils. I'd steal a vegetable knife from the kitchen and just sit up here fashioning shivs out of the blunt end of pencils for hours on end in the first few weeks. It was soothing to me in the same way listening to music is for other people. When I briefly open the drawer of my bedside table I count about thirty wooden shivs that have never even been used; I just like having them nearby. The flashbacks stop when I look at them lovingly. Dick doesn't see this. "If you want, we can always go back downstairs and sleep on the couches. At least then we can watch movies or play on Charlie's video games." I suggest only for Dick to shake his head.
"No it's cool. I guess I'm just a little more materialistic than I used to be. I just kind of don't know what you'd do up here all night without anything to entertain yourself with." I'm pretty sure most guys our age are jerking off like crazy since they accidentally discovered it one night by touching themselves and thinking dirty, but not me. I know how it works but I have no sexual desires of any sort. Yeah, I love Dick, but I don't want to fuck him or be fucked by him. When I think about him naked, I don't get a hard-on; I just like the way he looks with no clothes on. It's probably strange for a teenage boy to not be thinking about sex or touching himself, but after my step-dad tried to rape me I guess I lost my appetite. I shrug.
"I have my thoughts. Besides, I rarely spend any time here now; I'm usually out with you and the guys doing stuff."
"Yeah I guess that's true, but you gotta like coming back to your room afterwards. It's supposed to be like your personal space, somewhere you can go and relax. This feels like a prison cell." I smile at him, genuinely amused at his analogy. I'm quick to correct him.
"Believe me, prison cells are a lot nicer than this. My room in Juvie had a TV and en-suite bathroom. I get what you're saying though; I'll try to make an effort to dress it up in future." I say before gesturing to the bed, "Bed's yours. I'll camp on the floor." Dick looks surprised at my offer as if I'm being overly generous. I keep forgetting I've purposefully been hiding the more odd parts of my behaviour and am careful not to mention my need to sleep on the floor or bizarre mood swings. I see a baseball bat for a brief second before it hits me square in the face. I step back only to realize it wasn't real and was just another bad trip down memory lane. Dick doesn't notice me jump at my phantom tormentors.
"Are you sure?" He asks sounding somewhat touched by the gesture. I shrug.
"I don't mind roughing it for one night." Or six years for that matter; it's all relative to me.
"Thanks Luke."
I wake up three or four times in the night as my dreams turn decisively sour on me and then again when my injuries decide to repeat on me. I slip on my underwear and head downstairs to the medicine cabinet, not even looking at Dick on my way out. The pain's excruciating by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs but I'm nearly there when I freeze. There's someone sat on the couch watching TV. I turn on the living room light and find my eyes meeting Dick's when he turns his head to face me. Neither of us says anything for the longest time, but even when he opens his mouth to speak I have to go before my pain crushes me flat. I knock back the usual cocktail of pain killers and anti-inflammatories before collapsing on a breakfast bar stool and willing the pain to leave my body. I hear Dick move from the couch to the stool opposite me as I press my forehead against the tabletop.
"Does this happen a lot?" I hear him ask me.
"Once or twice a week. You have nightmares a lot?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your PJs are damp, must be from cold sweat unless you piss yourself regularly. Since I don't smell urine, naturally the conclusion is nightmares." I say through gritted teeth. I bang a fist against the table and wrench my head up like I remember doing so many times during my darkest years; it was my way of being defiant. I open my eyes to find him staring at me.
"You see an awful lot, don't you?" He says sounding a little anxious. I shake my head to placate him.
"I see what's there and what's familiar to me. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone anything. I think we can agree this is a low point for both of us right now."
"Luke…"
"Just give me a few minutes so the drugs can kick in please? It's hard to talk at the moment."
There's awkward silence for almost ten minutes until the drugs eventually numb me to the pain and I'm totally in control again. For the moment the flashbacks have stopped too. I nod at him to signal I'm okay. "So what were you about to say?"
"All this weird stuff that keeps going on with me? The disappearances and absences and detachment from the world in general? It's not Bruce's fault. He didn't cause any of it, okay?" I really don't care about finding the answer anymore. Bruce Wayne is the furthest thing from my mind at the moment. I just want Dick to be okay.
"What makes you think I was thinking about that in the first place? Look, if he didn't cause it, that's fine. I just don't like seeing you hurt or in pain is all. It's not a good look for someone like you. When I first met you, I sensed that we had something in common and I wanted to share it, but I really don't anymore. I'm fucked up for life, but you don't deserve to be, not the way you are. If something's really going badly, go talk to someone about it like a therapist or something." He looks reluctant to both my suggestion and continuing the conversation. I sigh.
"Yeah, I figured as much. Look, I think I worked out your big secret last week and I'd rather just continue thinking that and not learn the truth. Because if it's not what I think it is, you're in even worse shape than I thought." Truth is, I gave up looking for hard evidence and just went with the easiest fit for what I had. My solution makes sense, but it's totally flimsy and has only circumstantial evidence to back it up, nothing solid. But like I said I really don't give a fuck anymore. Dick does though; he looks intrigued and is actually leaning across the tabletop.
"Tell me what you think it is." He says expectantly. I blow out my cheek, shrug my shoulders and try not to sound like an absolute fantasist.
"You're Batman's partner, aren't you? You're Robin. If you are, everything fits and how you are is perfectly understandable given what that poor kid's been through. If you're not him then I can only guess you're getting seriously abused outside of the normal circles and that only ends in suicide…" I stop talking. I decide not to labor the obvious point I almost articulated and sit back. Dick's expression looks disappointed with my reply and I feel like we're about to move further apart rather than closer together in a second.
"And who do you think Batman is?" Dick inquires much to my surprise. I shrug.
"It's probably Bruce. It would make sense if you were Robin for him to be Batman, especially after that dinner we had. The money, the physique, the steely confidence and the tragic backstory all point to him being a masked vigilante." I answer much to my embarrassment; I probably sound like a lunatic right now reeling out this crap to someone I greatly respect. He smiles at me.
"That's some imagination you've got Luke. I'm actually kind of flattered you'd think that about me…and Bruce."
"Yeah well obviously I have too much time on my hands if I'm willing to agree with that scenario as being believable."
"And if I were to tell you it was true, what difference would it make to our friendship?"
"If it were true: none. I like you for who you are not for what you can do."
"People always say stuff like that. It's never true."
"Well I'm not people; I'm Luke Martin and I mean what I say because I am what I am."
"And what are you Luke?"
"I'm your friend. So do you have something to tell me or not?"
