"You're going to have to stay away from her." Wayne murmurs. I had a day to
mull over my situation. And, as it got me nowhere (like it usually doesn't)
I go to Wayne for advice.
Surprisingly he hasn't flown off the handle.
Yet.
"Don't worry. I intend to."
"That's not your usual attitude towards women."
"This one isn't a woman. She's insane." Any normal girl would have at least given me a flirtatious wink. This one threatens to kill you if you try and help her again.
"Those are the best kind." He says, not even batting an eyelid.
"Trust me Wayne. You don't want to go within 10 feet of this one." Wayne turns in his chair, eying me with that scrutinizing glare of his.
"There's a reason why she's so adamant on being independent. There's also a reason why she was able to figure out who you were after only having met you once."
"Which was?" Silence. I should have known Wayne wasn't going to be as open and honest as he never is.
"That's your job. Unless you're still afraid of going near her. Suit up." Well.
So much for staying away from her.
I follow Wayne's orders and suit up. I fly out to the city, weaving between buildings and skyscrapers. This girl could be anywhere, on any building, in any little crevice of the city. And probably a dark one, judging by her manner.
Or she could be on the one right below me.
Of all the dumb luck in the world, I've happened to chance upon the exact building she's at, and surprisingly enough she's sitting on the roof of it, legs dangling precariously over the edge. I land behind her, not even bothering to try and sneak up on her. She probably knows I'm here already.
"You're not going to jump, are you?" I ask. Lydia laughs.
"I wasn't planning on it. Maybe I should." I don't know whether to be concerned or to brush it off as part of the general malaise that comes out of her mouth.
"Why?" She turns and gazes at me.
"Don't you have better things to do than to be asking me for answers you don't care about?" I almost want to run up and shove her off of the building. But instead I stand there and keep trying.
"What are you doing up here?"
"Thinking."
"About what?" She glares at me again, olive colored skin looking darker still from the look she's giving me.
"You honestly think I'm going to tell you?"
"I'm only trying to be your friend, Lydia." I'd rather take a punch to the gut than take more of her hostility. It's a lie, but you say what you need to.
"I don't need a friend."
"Well that's good, because you don't have many. Nelson's ready to rip you apart, people at school are spreading rumors about you that I don't even want to think about, and you're pretty much rejecting every friendly hand that reaches for you." She is silent for a moment. I move to sit next to her.
"What is it?"
"I just started being this incredibly bad person. I talk back, I fight. I'm grounded every day. Even today." Her tone is bland, emotionless. As if it's a fact of life and it's never going to change.
"Why?"
"Why were you?" It catches me off guard.
"Don't tell me I still have that reputation."
"In some circles." I don't know why. I never did know why. I was stupid.
Maybe she doesn't know either.
"Are your parents as concerned as mine were?" I murmur. She laughs bitterly.
"Parent."
"Your dad?" That would just make it all too close to home.
"My mom." If she says she was murdered, I'll hit the roof.
I don't know why it would upset me so much, but somehow it does.
"Died calmly in bed of a heart attack. I was 10." Again is that distant quality in her voice, as if she's trying to separate herself from the events I'm forcing her to talk about.
"But if you're stupid enough to think that that's the reason for my less-than-cordial manner, you shouldn't be up here talking to me."
"I'm still here. What does that tell you?" It tells me I'm an idiot. Even Wayne would have given up by now.
But for some reason I'm still here.
"What's your dad like?"
"My dad is the perfect Italian father: very busy eating, drinking, and being merry, for tomorrow he could die." It's an old proverb. But I get the feeling that it's more negative than inspiring in this instance.
"With no time for you."
"With plenty of time for me." Every time I think I have her figured out, she turns out to be not what I expected.
"Then why aren't you at home talking to him, instead of up here talking to me?" Lydia looks up at me, her brown eyes not as threatening as the rest of her is.
"He ignores me." I can't even imagine what that would be like. To have your own father simply.not care. My father always cared.
Both of them.
"You still haven't answered my question."
"And you haven't answered mine." Game, set, match. She's ruthless when she's right.
"I guess anyone who runs around in a bat suit fighting crime has to be insane, right?"
"Not if they have a good reason. Do you do it for your father?"
"No." Isn't this all about fathers? Wayne lost his, I lost mine. She's lost hers.
"Neither do I. I do it because of my father." Lydia says it with a sigh of relief, as if it's some great thing that she's finally let off of her shoulders.
"He doesn't show it. I don't think he has it for me. So I'm looking for it." She never says what it is, but she and I both already know. I say nothing more; merely stay seated next to her. Wayne doesn't butt in with a command to get back to work, because he knows what I'm thinking about.
Dad.
Surprisingly he hasn't flown off the handle.
Yet.
"Don't worry. I intend to."
"That's not your usual attitude towards women."
"This one isn't a woman. She's insane." Any normal girl would have at least given me a flirtatious wink. This one threatens to kill you if you try and help her again.
"Those are the best kind." He says, not even batting an eyelid.
"Trust me Wayne. You don't want to go within 10 feet of this one." Wayne turns in his chair, eying me with that scrutinizing glare of his.
"There's a reason why she's so adamant on being independent. There's also a reason why she was able to figure out who you were after only having met you once."
"Which was?" Silence. I should have known Wayne wasn't going to be as open and honest as he never is.
"That's your job. Unless you're still afraid of going near her. Suit up." Well.
So much for staying away from her.
I follow Wayne's orders and suit up. I fly out to the city, weaving between buildings and skyscrapers. This girl could be anywhere, on any building, in any little crevice of the city. And probably a dark one, judging by her manner.
Or she could be on the one right below me.
Of all the dumb luck in the world, I've happened to chance upon the exact building she's at, and surprisingly enough she's sitting on the roof of it, legs dangling precariously over the edge. I land behind her, not even bothering to try and sneak up on her. She probably knows I'm here already.
"You're not going to jump, are you?" I ask. Lydia laughs.
"I wasn't planning on it. Maybe I should." I don't know whether to be concerned or to brush it off as part of the general malaise that comes out of her mouth.
"Why?" She turns and gazes at me.
"Don't you have better things to do than to be asking me for answers you don't care about?" I almost want to run up and shove her off of the building. But instead I stand there and keep trying.
"What are you doing up here?"
"Thinking."
"About what?" She glares at me again, olive colored skin looking darker still from the look she's giving me.
"You honestly think I'm going to tell you?"
"I'm only trying to be your friend, Lydia." I'd rather take a punch to the gut than take more of her hostility. It's a lie, but you say what you need to.
"I don't need a friend."
"Well that's good, because you don't have many. Nelson's ready to rip you apart, people at school are spreading rumors about you that I don't even want to think about, and you're pretty much rejecting every friendly hand that reaches for you." She is silent for a moment. I move to sit next to her.
"What is it?"
"I just started being this incredibly bad person. I talk back, I fight. I'm grounded every day. Even today." Her tone is bland, emotionless. As if it's a fact of life and it's never going to change.
"Why?"
"Why were you?" It catches me off guard.
"Don't tell me I still have that reputation."
"In some circles." I don't know why. I never did know why. I was stupid.
Maybe she doesn't know either.
"Are your parents as concerned as mine were?" I murmur. She laughs bitterly.
"Parent."
"Your dad?" That would just make it all too close to home.
"My mom." If she says she was murdered, I'll hit the roof.
I don't know why it would upset me so much, but somehow it does.
"Died calmly in bed of a heart attack. I was 10." Again is that distant quality in her voice, as if she's trying to separate herself from the events I'm forcing her to talk about.
"But if you're stupid enough to think that that's the reason for my less-than-cordial manner, you shouldn't be up here talking to me."
"I'm still here. What does that tell you?" It tells me I'm an idiot. Even Wayne would have given up by now.
But for some reason I'm still here.
"What's your dad like?"
"My dad is the perfect Italian father: very busy eating, drinking, and being merry, for tomorrow he could die." It's an old proverb. But I get the feeling that it's more negative than inspiring in this instance.
"With no time for you."
"With plenty of time for me." Every time I think I have her figured out, she turns out to be not what I expected.
"Then why aren't you at home talking to him, instead of up here talking to me?" Lydia looks up at me, her brown eyes not as threatening as the rest of her is.
"He ignores me." I can't even imagine what that would be like. To have your own father simply.not care. My father always cared.
Both of them.
"You still haven't answered my question."
"And you haven't answered mine." Game, set, match. She's ruthless when she's right.
"I guess anyone who runs around in a bat suit fighting crime has to be insane, right?"
"Not if they have a good reason. Do you do it for your father?"
"No." Isn't this all about fathers? Wayne lost his, I lost mine. She's lost hers.
"Neither do I. I do it because of my father." Lydia says it with a sigh of relief, as if it's some great thing that she's finally let off of her shoulders.
"He doesn't show it. I don't think he has it for me. So I'm looking for it." She never says what it is, but she and I both already know. I say nothing more; merely stay seated next to her. Wayne doesn't butt in with a command to get back to work, because he knows what I'm thinking about.
Dad.