Bludhaven-- where had the name come from? Haven implies sanctuary, a refuge. Safety. The connotations are undeniable, but this city is so fucked up. Who finds refuge in Bludhaven? Blood-haven. Oh, I get it. It's a haven for gore and violence and crime-- the perfect place to raise your family. I adjust my goggles for a better view of the docks. A large ship had come in supposedly shipping goods from overseas, just your basic stuff. Not in Bludhaven. Goods. Opiates. Barbituates. Cocaine. Enough alcohol to torch a small town. Household goods. I snorted and laughed from the security of the rooftop. Soon the illusion of safety would melt away and I'd near the fray, trying desperately to stop a deal that would surely go down another night in another place. You can only do so much. What exactly would somebody lose trying to end this? When I fight, my body is in danger, sure. Bones, muscles, tissue, spinal chord, ribcage, skull... Broken bones aren't a problem; even paralysis (then Babs and I would be on the same level again though she'd also be taller than I once more-- do short people connect better than most people?). A gunshot might kill me, might not, but we all die someday. I closed my eyes, trying briefly to conjure up the memory of being shot. My hand went involunarily to my shoulder, reliving the vivid experience in slow motion; the sure tearing of flesh followed by sinew and muscle, the agony of blood flow accelerating and then ceasing. I adjust my goggles again to get a better view.
I shivered, half from exhileration. This is why I was addicted to the job. Barbara stopped understanding this after her accident: I'm a workaholic. I give new meaning to the term workaholic, but it's not because I have to do anything. I have no cubicle or computer or even the security of a dental plan. I love my job and I hate it. It's not mandatory but to my messed up conscience and notion of goodness, it is. I love the excitement, the poison sugar of adrenneline flying through my body. I inhale, a painted smile upon my face as i think of the coming conflict. For a moment, all is quiet. The world is still and has stopped moving. The clouds are frozen in various formations. Cumulus. Nimbus. When I was younger I tried to put them into definite shapes. Bunny. Dog. Dinosaur. Batarang. Woman. That's how my life progressed. I look at them now and vaguely detect the shape of a certain bird. Then the silence is shattered as I realize i'm no longer alone on the rooftop. Somebody has invaded my privacy and my body tenses, trying to figure out if it's friend or foe. Fight or flight (though i would never choose the latter). The sound of fabric fluttering in the harsh breeze usually associated with salt water assaults my ears and I relax. This all happens within a fraction of a second. A caped-crusader. I do not care who it is at the moment, and go back to watching my prey.
Finally the momentary haze that had come over me lifts and i see the world through new eyes. suddenly it is more than just that dock and those badly-dressed men carting crates of harmful substances. Another human being is here with me, sharing the air i'm breathing, fighting the same fight i'm about to engage in. The least they deserve is recognition, acknowledgment.
"Little bird to ally: report status." A soft whisper came from the darkness behind me. Now he was next to me. I laughed mentally and thought of small birds: swallows, blue jays, cardinals, blackbirds, robins. robins... hmm.
"Nightwing here." My voice was gravel-ly and soft to match his tone. I turned; it was him, just as I'd expected, secretly hoped for. We'd both come here completely dutifully, yet we both knew full well the high chances of meeting here. It's been four days. I wonder what he's thinking.
"Observations?" the command his soft voice had was impeccable, and I saw his profile in the darkness, cape floating in the wind.
"Most of the men are inside the ship, unloading cargo from the inside out. They're all heavily armed-- guess they've heard of me. There are 12 men stationed on the deck of the ship with guns, waiting and watching. Only four men are actually close to the water. We should split up, surprise is essential." I glared into the water ahead of me, pondering escape routes.
"Nightwing, you forgot to add the truck into the equation. It's imperative to take out the drivers so that they won't be able to (a) call for back up or (b) drive away with any goods they might already have." I turned and stared at him hard, admiring the wholeness of his thoughts though realizing he hadn't actually gone very close to the situation.
"Little brother, you have not see into the truck yet. You see the silhouette of men? They've been waiting there for 2.5 hours. They will wait until the ship is entirely unloaded-- i bugged the place so I heard this. What you don't see is that i already knocked those two men out." my hand fingers my gauntlets, now shy a few gas pellets. He is silent, though i hear the grinding of enamel upon enamel. I put a hand on his shoulder.
"What's the plan, Robin?" i ask, allowing him to take control. He flinches.
"You know that dosen't need any discussion, Nightwing. We both know which side will be most beneficial for us and we're both aware of the others abilities so it's more important to have silent understanding than risk compromising our plan." I sigh, trying to think of a way to renew his confidence. If he second guesses himself at a crucial moment, he could get himself seriously injured. My hand continues to rest upon his shoulder, motionless for a few moments before beginning a reassuring rub.
"You'll take the men on the outside and on deck, then, little brother?" I try to make my tone as confident and carefree as possible considering the tense situation. He flinches once more and i withdraw my hand. I take a deep breath, peering once more through my goggles into the dark bowels of the ship that waited for me like the depths of Hell, full of desperate men and hot lead. My hand quivered for a moment longer on Tim's shoulder before i stood up, on the edge of the roof, looking down. Seven stories. No problem.
"Ready?" I didn't wait for an answer before plunging straight down. I could smell the foul odor of sea water, bad cologne, and alcohol from the building. It was so close to the ship that the acrid air burned my nose as I plumetted down and swung silently into the depths of the ship, hearing muffled yells of panic outside as i assumed Tim had made his move. Inside the hatch was dimly lit, and a barrage of men fumbled with their weapons upon hearing the cues outside, some in the middle of loading crates with bricks of cocaine. I could not use gas for risk of knocking myself out, and was forced to resort to direct combat. The sound of skulls cracking to my knowledgable fingers followed after a few men tumbled to attacks upon well-placed pressure points on their necks and shoulders. My ears perked up at the sound of gunfire richoting off the steel of the ship and i tensed immediately, out of sight, evading the deadly shots. They soon figured out the danger of this folly as one of the men cried out in pain, apparently having caught a stray bullet in the arm. I decended upon them like the shadow of death, finding myself in the middle of a great circle of savages, hooting with anger and threatening blows with various pipes, knives, crow bars and even a blow torch. The beast within me smirked.
More men kept coming still, like a great swarm, so many i lost count as they descended upon me like hungry locusts. My attuned muscles moved before I did, fluidly and rapidly I jumped, dodging blows from fists and metal, while simulatenously my heavily clad feet connected with the jaws, sturnums, noses, and various other parts of the men closest to me, my legs extending, muscles contracting, and expanding, whirling rapidly like some desperate dancer or wild spinning top. This was anything but choatic for me, however. My body was one thing I had complete control over. I watched the scene unfold almost outside of myself-- i have something close to an out of body experience when i fight. The air moves with heat, the men in slow motion, trying futily to grab me, though I simply jump just out of their reach each time, extending my hand or fist, striking each one rapidly in sucession and then retreating like a cobra. My hands fly to my back, fingering my weapon of choice: escrima sticks of an unshatterable polymer. I wield these deadly objects faster than even my hands, smashing the noses and eyesockets of four men nearest me, relishing their screams of agony. I make sure to bring the blows down smoothy and neatly, breaking bones but not yielding compound fractures to make sure the men don't bleed to death. I launched myself into the air, narrowly avoiding a switchblade that made its way towards my sternum. I sneered and grabbed the owner's wrist, twisting it until i heard the satisfying snap.
I hear a loud yell and realize Tim has joined my little adventure. The men's heads turn as well as my own, momentarily-- a costly mistake. In seconds 5 men swarm on me, one managing to kick me in the lower back as another's knife barely grazes my skin before I jump to safety. I make a small noise as the wind is knocked out of me, and my growl of irritation is evident: they'd really done it now. I whirl around, hearing the clank of metal to a skull, seeing, to my horror, Tim's body slumping lifeless on the floor. My eyes flush with bloody anger as the blades in my fingertips come out in true panter style, slashing all those near me, almost not taking care to avoid the jugular. I wanted to kill, rage flooding my vision. MY reflexes doubled as i cut a swathe through the men, wading admist the sea to retrieve Tim's passed-out form. I could see a tiny amount of blood dripping from his head wound to his sharp forehead. The rest of the men fell quickly, almost instantaneously. I could hear police sirens in the distance: somebody'd no doubt heard the gunshots and reported something. Good, now I can take care of more important business. I picked Tim up, slinging him over my shoulder, and exited the boat amidst a sea of men laying on the ground, immobile like a mass grave. I stepped over their bodies with disgust, eager to get the young boy home and tend to his wound. I pray it's not a concussion. It was difficult to carry two so far with my grappling hook so i fished Tim's keys out of his utility belt-- luckily i knew where he kept his things-- and placed him gently into the seat of his car. The engine purred as i started it and drove back home, one hand resting on the shoulder of the boy beside me. Tim looks like an angel when he sleeps-- you can't see the pale fire in his eyes. I carried him up the flights of stairs in the darkness, grateful the city had gone to bed by then, and laid him upon my bed as quietly as I could.
I watch Tim shift upon the bed, muttering a small prayer of thanks that he's awake. He sits up and immediately slumps back down-- a bad sign, his eyes not yet adjusted to the light. He can't see me and i enjoy the stealth and power i've over him somewhere in the darkness of my skull. i hear him cough and see him shiver-- he is cold /and/ injured, damn it. I make a mental note to turn on the heat soon. He shivers harder and i put a hand on his shoulder, pressing him down, applying a warm cloth to his head where the blood has clotted and turned thicker and darker.
"Lie down, little brother. You're safe here." My hand involuntarily strokes his cheek. He makes a small gurgled noise as his hand struggle with his uniform. Our skin brushes and i shudder-- his fingers are like ice.
"Help me," he whispers, so forlorn and needy and unlike him. My heart shatters as though made of glass, each time it pounds upon my ribcage. My hands move slowly over his form, unzipping and unclasping everything, placing his utility belt, gauntlets, cape, and boots on the floor and the night table. The rest gets folded neatly on a chair beside us. His staff is already against the wall-- i removed it when we got here. The smooth alabaster of his bare skin is striking, illuminated in the darkness. My hands tremble and work their way over his naked torso, caressing the skin before hiding his body once again with warm blankets. I bite my lip and disappear, going to turn up the heat and start the tea kettle.
I return to my room finding the bundle of human being and blankets has shifted. He's still cold and i curse the heating system for not warm up faster. MY heart palpitates like a hummingbird's--for a moment i believe it's going to shatter the glass of my chest and burst out like a small bird-- as i pull of my shirt, biting the inside of my mouth as is my habit when I'm resolved. Then i pull the covers open just enough to slide between them and wrap my arm around the cold mass of marble perfection that is Timothy shivering beneath the down. I press my warm body against his, afraid he can hear my wildly crooning heart.
"I'm sorry for tonight." He whispers, fear and regret creeping into his voice. I wrap my arms more tightly about him as though worried some devils will rip through the walls and tear him away. MY little bird... the words slip through my lips, accidentally though undoubtedly audible. He had to have heard me. I froze and cleared my throat, lips pressed partially against his neck, depositing warmth on it with my breath.
"You did nothing wrong, little brother." his body fits so inexplicably perfectly with mine. "I'm just glad you're okay." So glad. His body is a tangled messed up mass of wounded bones and bloodied fur. He reminds me of an aching alpha wolf and my eyes burn with pain for him.
"Can I have something for my head?" I know how humiliating this must be to him. Pain relievers- why hadn't i thought of that before? I smack myself mentally and hop out of bed quickly, rushing to retrieve some aspirin and a glass of water. The tea kettle hisses and spits at me, further marking my forgetful indignation. I make him a cup of tea and carry it all to the bedroom, sitting beside him, holding the glass of water and two aspirin out.
"Here, Tim." I offer him the pills. He takes them and swallows before the water hits his lips. I cringe-- i hate swallowing pills without something to help them down. He sits up and i glance at the perfection of his chest, fingers itching to touch the smooth skin.
"How about some clothes now?" huh? His voice breaks my mental enrapturement and i shake my head. I climb into the bed once more, pulling his body close to mine, molding us together.
"you don't need them right now," I found myself saying to my own surprise. "You're not going anywhere." The words resound in my brain, soft and final, as my grip tightens around him.
"How would wearing clothes better enable one to go somewhere when the only places one can go are in the confines of a private apartment where nudity is not frowned upon?" I pull my face from his neck, a half smile scrawled upon my features, broadening like the approaching sunrise. His hands are wedged between my thighs-- by accident i'm sure-- and i pull them out, still cold.
"You've poor circulation." I push each fingertip to my lips, feeling the frayed skin (can skin be frayed or is that just my imagination?) to the softness of my mouth. My warm breath traps his digits one by one before i take them sequentially into the heat of my mouth, hoping to warm him. The taste of salt is most prominent upon my tongue as i massage it over the grooves of each finger, feasting upon the recipient's shudders. How different it is from kissing him, i mused. It's amazing how Tim is so sweet to the taste with his sharp, sometimes bitter words and yet his hands, his wonderful beautiful hands remind me of salt water taffy. This made me want to kiss him again, to sample the difference between the two once more. My eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, irises sinking into the lack of light that was common in my life. Sometimes I wonder if God transplanted my eyes for those of a cat, but then I remember white cats with blue eyes are deaf and I am not. In the dark, Tim's body is illuminated. I see clearly his inquiring, shuddering facial expression as he pulls away and sits up. Is it pleasure or disgust or a mix of both? Confusion.
"Why are you sucking on my fingers?" I almost wince at the directness of the question and pull away as well. His fingers traverse his scalp, wriggling through his thick straight hair like a jungle of tar. My own hand finds my head and makes its way nervously through my hairline. Why was i doing that? The answers were obvious: for warmth, of course. Then there were the more subtle, unsettling ones.
"I-- to keep you warm. I am sorry, i overstepped my bounds." It was a simple statement, a plain apology in response to his plain question. I almost said 'accusation' but thought better of it. I handed him the tea. "This should help your head and warm you up." There. Problem solved, awkward situation reverted. I couldn't get the taste of salt off my tongue.
"I didn't mind, of course, it was working after all." his lips form into a sneer as he cringes away from the tea cup. I sigh, almost as though the herbal water came from two insicions on my own wrists and he was rejecting me. I make my way slowly through the jungle of tangled sheets and blankets, allowing my feet to be assaulted by the cold air as they hit the wooden floor.
"you should really get some rest, little brother." I pause, turning to smile reassuringly at him. He nods and I remove myself from the bed, stalking towards the pinprick of light that is the bedroom door. I throw it open and am immediately released from the tension that'd thickened the air in the room. The cushions of the couch have never been as soft and inviting as they are right now-- they seem to open their cavernous mouths and beckon me. I'm hallucinating. I let the couch monsters devour me as I sit upon them and turn on the news, closing my eyes.
Inside my head there is a dark hall where i let myself wander, spying the ghosts of the past drifting along the crevices that must be my cerebrum. As I weave in and out of the maze of synapses, Bruce smiles at me-- a pure fantasy on my part. I try to think back to a time Bruce'd truly smiled at me but it was lost in the midst of various people. Roy... Garth... Kory... Barbara... Barbara. Was that even real? Did we ever love eachother? I know the pain was real, the ache in my heart that felt like it'd been sliced with a white-hot knife. Was I really in love? Yes, love. Breathing the breath of the divine, somebody'd once described it as. Maybe it was Babs. Her red hair flickered suddenly to black and I thought of the boy slumbering upon my sheets. What do little robins dream of when they have nothing? Do they want the world? A voice sang in my head, taunting me with memories of my dreams and the realization that they're not distant at all but very recent. I wonder if Tim really hears my words or if he's interpreted them far before the chemicals have even rushed to my brain, before i'm electrified with an idea. The creaking of the bedroom door opening rips me from my thoughts and my eyes fly open, bright as though doused with chemical lights.
Surprise roots me to my seat as i turn and watch Tim stagger to the couch. Stagger is the proper word, for he fumbles and holds onto the walls for support as though stabbed. He tries to smile at me but the effort cracks in half in the middle and his mouth stumbles off his face in the meantime. Oh no, what if he /was/ stabbed? I flinch and resist the urge to pull his shirt off and examine his torso-- stop being an idiot, Dick. I face him, his features aglow in the dim light of the room, and examine his features, frowning as my eyes pick up traces of cuts and scrapes here and there. He'd really gotten a number done on him tonight.
My worried hands cascaded over his face, pressing gently to his argyle cheekbones and then against his jaw, checking for broken bones.
"What are you doing up?" My voices finds its way to my mouth and falls out from my dry lips.
"The news sounded interesting enough to watch." His answer jabbed at something sharp inside me and i had to laugh, my hand falling from his delicate features. The laughter warmed my guts momentarily and i was grateful.
"The news is always interesting, little brother." A smile still played upon my face. "But you should be resting." Worry for his injured body came flooding back.
"We've all had worse. I'm not in any great danger relaxing with you on the couch am I?" Something inside of me grew hotter and hotter upon that remark as it culminated in a broad sly smile sneaking onto my features. The glow of the TV ignited his skin like any moonlight, streaking it with pale tiger spots. His body shifted the tiniest bit closer but my keen senses picked it up. A doe being stalked by a panther. My kestrel prey.
"Oh, I don't know about that..." The words slipped from my lips and i cursed my natural instincts, biting the inside of my cheek in regret.
"You won't beat me to a bloody pulp--so I don't consider it any danger." He was testing the waters. It wasn't as if i hadn't considered beating him up before-- smashing in that delicate nose of his and shattering the eye sockets. Murder is the greatest form of love. Flattery, rather. Flattery, i assure myself. My hand makes its way up the slope of his spine and nestles itself in his hair, stroking it gently.
"Still, little brother. You know rest would be best for you."
"I think relaxing my muscles before rest is best actually." He is always contrary. I frown but my body is more forgiving, hands moving instead to his shoulders, kneading out the boulders that made themselves evident under the smooth skin and hard muscle.
"Of course." His strong hands float like ghosts to my neck, wrapping each slender finger upon my skin until it seeps into the flesh. His face follows. I see it descending upon my own, cool and angular, resting just shy of directly upon mine. I feel his warmth breath on my lips and gulp involuntarily. He was dangerously close and my head began to swim. I bite my tongue to suppress it from slipping out. To lick my lips now would surely be to touch his. It happens anyway as time slows and i find myself pressing my mouth to his, supping from his small exhales, drinking in the smell and the taste of him once more. His lips envelope mine, cushioning my weight as i press myself naturally upon him, devouring my kill. I feel his body shudder in pain as his hands slink up into my hair, exciting the sensitive skin of the scalp so that i shiver and twitch slightly, emptying each air and noise into the depths of his throat. My hands snake around his waist and over his back, careful not to touch his battered body. The urge to protect him coupled with the desire to overtake him mingles and metamorphosed into something new as i push myself against him and over his body, which looks so small in its wounded state. My lips once again find the sweet refuge of his mouth, exhaling with pleasure as each nerve ending is stimulated by his gentle caresses. My own movements become more agitated as my canines sink gently into his soft lip, tugging and tasting the flesh like ripened fruit between my teeth. I hope i do not hurt him.
His body seems as eager as mine, youthful vigor flooding his veins like sugar as he tumbles back into the cushions and i creep on top of him as naturally as i would lay in bed at night and sleep. Small droplets of blood form on his lip and i lick them gently, savoring the flavor of metal and Tim. A growl sets itself in my throat like an angry dog, though it is anything but anger as I feel his sharp hips digging into mine. The hands weaving through my hair are blissful distractions. My prying tongue pushes his lips apart wantingly, invading the hot crevice of his mouth. At times i curse my probing, aching body and carnal desires, chiding myself mentally yet not doing anything to remedy my actions.
I weave through the minefield of actions and reactions: hips bucking, twisting, writhing, tasting, sucking. My mind attempts to sort everything out but is lost in a sea of hormones and chemicals secreted by my pancreas. somewhere in the utter blind passion of the situation my hands find their way to his belt buckle, swiftly unclasping it, having failed to previously note that he was even dressed. This is frustrating. My fingertips work effortlessly upon the lone button protecting him from my prying grasp. My other hand slithers up the vulnerable opening at the mouth of his shirt and waistband, feeling the hot skin prickle to my fingertips as goosebumps explode upon its surface. The satisfying sound of the metallic zipper yielding to me earns applause from my mind as I momentarily relish in conquering the evil technology of the pants, half glad that Tim didn't grab my wrist and twist it painfully. There is a small gasp on his part,
"Dick..." The word resounds in my mind, making its way through my ear like a delicious breeze as Tim's hips bucks against my traveling hand and its slow torturous pace. My other hand travels along the railroad track of his abdomen, stopping just short of its destination of his throat to make the skin tingle from the feeling of my claws raking his chest. Then my hand attaches itself to his airway and squeezes gently: i'd learned in a short time that he enjoyed this and was proven right as my other hand, having freed itself of the confines of the pesky pants, encountered his extreme arousal. He moans and struggles and i glance up at him to find fear written all over his features. Immediately and silently i withdraw, pulling back to the other side of the couch quickly and pulling a nearby blanket over him simulatenously in one fluid, regretful movement.
A shudder of regret and denial passes over the both of us and the moment is mutually erased from our memories-- at least on the surface. I looked down at him, fumbling with his pants. I had done that, i'd encited the blood boiling just below the surface of his pure skin, taunting me with the sin i'd committed. He looked so angelic and violated. violated. I'd violated him. The word stung my body and my mouth began to taste bitter. I'd taught myself to keep from crying long ago by pinching the skin between my thumb and forefinger-- the pressure point activated my parasympathetic nervous system and helped me relax until i could do it without touching the magic point at all. I bit my lip, however, as it was almost not enough this time. What had I done? There were laws against these things-- social, moral, internal, criminal, fraternal; names for things like this, people like me. Pedophile. Sick, disturbed, convicted and doomed to spend eternity in the prison of his mind. Tim moved close to me, resting his innocent head upon my shoulder and i felt dirty, dirtier even than i felt the previous minute, the pressure of his cranium upon my tired, humiliated hump of a skeleton allowing me to imagine the buzzing going on in his brain right now-- how he would never trust me again, how disgusted he must feel. I twitched, aching to shower 20 times over until my skin was raw and bloody, aching to bolt and wash myself clean of the exprience. I would say my Hail Marys 666 times until my biorhythms began to pump with the natural motions of my words and they became like a synchronized song-- my heart would pump a prayer each time it beat. God, what've I done? I look down, unable to face him.
His arms worked themselves around me, pressing ever closer. Keep away from the monster, I wanted to tell him. Let the beast have peace in his cage.
"Big brother, it's okay." His voice was soft and childlike. I'd almost ripped the throat out of this child. Big Brother? I'm not your brother, Tim. I'm something sick and low, something with venom in its gums, hidden away until succulent prey comes along and then it oozes out uncontrollably. Oh Tim.
"Gotta let it happen sometime." The last comment burns my heart, and i can feel it smashing and welling up inside my chest. Love isn't just something you give away, sex isn't just something-- god i can't use that word, it's disgusting right now. It's yours, Tim, you keep it, and god don't let me have any of it, keep it away from me. Keep your crystals and your salvation away from those of us in the suicide woods, Dante. I choked a bit.
"You're so much more precious than that," the words welled up in me like a fount, spurting out in tiny gasps. "It doesn't just 'happen.'" I wanted to protect him but bile rose up in the depths of me as it dawned that he was in the most danger from the predator known as Richard John Grayson.
"It's not like it didn't mean anything to me" His wounded voice bruises my ears and this time the tears spill over the dam of my eyes and stream along my cheeks.
"Oh, that's not-- Tim..." I reach out to stroke his face. He pulls me close and I wish we were cavemen frozen in ice, alive in this moment forever. I inhale the soft musky scent of him, melting to the security of his arms. His roman nose pushes against my forehead in an almost painful way, like an alert, making his presence known. I smiled despite myself. He'd seen me crying, I know, and I knew the effects of that sight would be irreversible. I didn't deserve to be so close to him, we shouldn't be touching…
"You mean a lot to me," I croaked, hoping it was loud enough for his elfin ears to hear. His body froze a bit and i wondered why.
"You mean—much to me." His voice was hollow and robotic but I knew that was Tim's excuse when he couldn't find the right words. I wonder what the rights words are. I hadn't considered his feelings for me before, I was too goddamn bogged down in all the shit. How could I be so selfish—god I'm still being selfish now.
"Much?" I allowed my head to raise a fraction and look upon his stony features. From this angle he looks like a beautiful stone gargoyle guarding the purity of a church against evil, and I was knocking at his door.
"I have feelings." He was avoiding the question and once again my body told me to kiss him. No—I can't do that. I cursed myself, unnoticing my rebellious hand that'd floated to his face and was caressing his jaw like a lover.
"Tim… " I knew how to begin but I wasn't sure how to finish. My feelings erupted from me like a hot volcano, destroying the landscape of his features. "I want to know what this means to you. How you feel, more than just generic babble. This is worth more than generic. This is something. This---" I kissed him once more, I couldn't help myself. I'm so sick.
Dick, naiveté aside, I find myself beyond infatuation. Beyond enchantment. My feelings for you are more than any feelings I've felt before and what that means isn't quite clear. It means a lot." His words sank into my skin and my tongue scraped against my mouth like wet sandpaper. Of course he'd considered it before.
"It's okay to hold back if you want to." I kissed him again, attempting to elicit more from deep within his soul, pulling it out into myself from his lovely mouth.
"Dick..." He stops to consider something as I pull away. I can see the worm of a statement wriggling behind his forehead. "I'm not sure what it means but it appears to be a very important thing. I think I love you." The words bludgeon me like a sledgehammer that forces me away from him, pulling me from our embrace like a magnet of conflict and turmoil. Love—was that the word that'd split his tongue apart and scalded my ears with its intensity and heat? He loves me. I shudder and cringe as my insides twists into knots bathed in sulfuric acid; I can taste it coming up my throat, burning the lining of my esophagus. I look up into those eyes like the night sky clouded with confusion and adolescent pain. My eyelids shut to the world of reality as I count backwards from ten, hoping the moment will dissolve when I open my eyes once more and I'll be somewhere safer, happier—like a mental institution maybe. It isn't working—Tim is still there when I return from my trip into my twisted mind, waiting for a response from me, but I cannot find the words. I cannot find any words at all; they've escaped my brain, floated away in a sea of "I love you." Do I love Tim? God, I don't even know what love means anymore. Is it what I feel for Bruce, what I felt for Barbara, for Kory? Is any of that real or is it simply a fabrication of the mind like anything else. Being in love makes your brain react about the same way as being on a very addictive drug. Was I addicted to Tim? Yes. I shake my head, unable to deny it. Black hair coats my face like a protective veil and I'm grateful for the space between my skull to sort things out but it feels like everything will just bust out from my head; there isn't enough room for everything right now and suddenly I get a splitting headache. I rub my temples, begging to be free from this terse, uncomfortable situation but in vain. Tim is here and I have to say something to him. This poor boy had fallen in love with me, so purely, so quickly, for all the wrong reasons. I'm not something to love, I'm a wretched creature wrapped up in my affairs and my misery.
Thousands of words flooded my brain but none that I could string together into a coherent sentence. I hadn't considered being in love with Tim. I mean, I'd considered the possibility but I hadn't come to a conclusion: I know I'm in not love with him, but I could be. God, what's wrong with me? I look at him wrapped up in the blanket like a wounded dove and think of my activities moments before, days before, two months ago… Christ, I took advantage of him. I abused my power over him. He got up to go the kitchen—for a moment I was afraid he was leaving but he came back and sat down as far from me as possible, as though being close to me stung. I don't blame him. I know the vulnerability you feel at his age, the hurt and the feeling of rejection. She'd laughed when I told her how I felt… The agony he must be experiencing. I kept myself from looking into his pain-filled eyes, unable to handle it. You're such a fucking coward, Dick. You're a bastard, leading him on. He wants me to love him back…Why had I allowed this to happen, to continue? Why didn't I control myself—I can't have feelings for him. He's a colleague, a partner. He's my fucking little brother, and he's 16, Dick. Sixteen. That's statutory rape. What would Bruce say if he found out—oh God. More words come: Outcast, rapist, pedophile, sick, abusive. Christ he's a virgin, I'd forgotten he was a virgin. I remembered minutes ago when I'd touched him and he'd shuddered--- I forced myself on him, he didn't want me. God. Having your first sexual experience with somebody of your own sex. I'd probably screwed him up for life. Oh God. Oh God. My mind reels and finally some words sputter out of the mess.
"I… I have to go." I run my hands through my thick hair, trying to smooth the tempest of my mind. "I can't be here right now, I'm sorry. You stay, feel free. I'll go. I just have to go." I grab my coat and escape out the door into the cool night without a backwards glance.