Warnings: language, domestic violence

Part 1B SEVEN: Lies of the Living

Elle

Everyone lies, for one reason or another. To get farther in life, I suppose. It's sad, really, if you think about it. You can never know what is a lie and what isn't anymore.

Some people lie about big things so they can rise up to the top: of high school (popularity), of a job (owner of a business), etc. They do it in a way so that they can be seen in a certain light. They want to be looked up to, to be doted upon, to be viewed as perfect or as who someone wants to be like. They lie for all the wrong reasons, so how is it that they usually end up getting what they want?

Also selfishly, some people lie so they can portray themselves in a certain way. Depending on the reasoning, they want to be seen as brave and noble, or quiet and mousey, or outgoing and friendly. The unconfident one wants to be seen as outgoing and brave. The cunning mastermind wants to be seen as shy and timid. These people lie to manipulate others, and perhaps to try to change themselves in the process.

The opposite is, of course, lying to protect others. Lying to protect loved ones from the truth, or lying to protect the perpetrator of a crime. It's perhaps a little selfish, but in the end, these people lie with good intentions at heart, at least in their minds.

And, lastly, there are the little white lies, which usually end up not being so little after you start weaving your little web. One small lie turns into two, turns into four, turns into eight, and on and on until you can't even see what the truth is anymore. White lies can be selfish or not, but these are the ones that are the most dangerous of them all. For after you get lost in your own web, you might never come out again.

No matter what the reason is, lying is just a game, really. Survival of the fittest. And sometimes, to survive, you have to do anything you can to win. Lying is both a strength and a weakness because of this. It's a strength because you know that you have to kill – figuratively, hopefully – in order to win. In order to survive. You have to lie in order to get there. But it's a weakness because you have to resort to lying in the first place. It's a weakness because lies and who you've told them to – including to yourself – get lost until you can't remember when you said what and to whom.

I've always hated lying beyond white lies. I'd lie about if I was happy or sad – but so others wouldn't be hurt or ask why. I've lied about why I go for runs – so that Dick and Tim don't feel bad. In essence, I usually lie for the sake of others.

That's why I have to lie about the bruises. I have to protect Nico, even if I have to hide it – lie about it, really – to everyone else.

Monday, October 19

I didn't bother to pay attention in class. I didn't care about what was being taught. Besides, Nico was texting me.

NICO: Class is such a bore.

ELLE: Agreed.

NICO: There's a party after school.

ELLE: Okay…?

NICO: Meet you at the library?

ELLE: I don't want to go.

NICO: Please?

ELLE: Parties aren't really my thing.

NICO: Well, they're my thing, so let's just go.

ELLE: I'd rather not. You go ahead.

NICO: C'mon. It'll be fun. There will be alcohol.

ELLE: Part of the reason I don't want to go.

NICO: Why are you so whiny? It's just one party.

ELLE: You can go without me. Besides, it's a school night.

NICO: Goody-two-shoes.

ELLE: There's nothing wrong with that.

NICO: Except that you're so fucking whiny about going to one fucking party.

ELLE: I don't want to go.

NICO: You're going. Don't be stupid.

We argued about the party for a couple more classes. I gave up at lunch and agreed to meet up with him at the library at 6:00. The problem was that I now had to sneak out of the manor. Again. I hoped that Bruce didn't put up cameras or something. After all, I'd gotten into the habit of sneaking out. I wouldn't be surprised in the least.

It was a little more difficult than usual to get away from the manor today. Alfred took me out for more driving lessons, and then I had to pretend to be sick so I didn't have to stay for dinner. After all, if I stayed, I'd be late to the party – which I still didn't want to go to, but Nico did. And he was right; I was just being whiny.

In the end, though, I did manage to sneak out. Nico and I arrived at the party around 6:30. I bit my lip as I looked around.

"I don't like this," I said to him. "Can we just go?"

Nico tightened his grip on my waist. I stiffened in pain. He bent down and hissed in my ear, "Don't you dare embarrass me." In a normal voice, he said, "Now let's go have some fun."

Nico dragged me over – almost literally – to his friends. He talked with them. One of them – Kyle, I remembered Nico name a while ago – ogled me. Nico noticed and pulled me tightly into his side, his grip on my waist even tighter.

Someone offered alcohol to our little group – or rather, Nico's group with me there. They all took some. Nico forced me to take a cup. He glared at me when I hesitated to drink it. I took a small breath and drank a small sip. After all, I wouldn't get drunk off of just a little bit. And it wasn't like I was driving anywhere. I wrinkled my nose at the taste and smell. Why did people like this?

Throughout the night, that was how it went. Some dancing, but mostly Nico talking to his friends with my attached to his side. As I grew more and more bored and frustrated and anxious about being at the party – I didn't know any of these people – I found myself drinking more and more beer. There might have been some other alcoholic beverage served, but I was no expert. I just took some and tried to look like I belonged there.

I knew that I was drunk, but a part of me liked it. It was helping me get through the party. And Nico liked how I was trying to fit in, I could tell. So I excused myself and went over to where the drinks were. I was getting his approval, at least somewhat.

"Hey, Elle, right?"

I turned to see Jasmine standing there. I just nodded to her question. I hadn't spoken all night and wasn't sure how slurred or stupid I would sound.

"I just wanted to warn you," she continued. "Nico is bad news."

"You said that before," I slurred. "You're wrong."

"I used to date him," Jasmine told me. Jealously and rage curled in my stomach. "He's abusive. He's hitting you, too, isn't he? Or if he hasn't, he will."

He'd hit me, but it wasn't abuse. Not really. It was only sometimes. It didn't count. "You're just jealous that I'm dating him now," I accused.

"I'm trying to help you," she countered.

"Nico is an amazing boyfriend," I declared. "Amazing. Maybe they –" I gestured at the entire room and was surprised to find myself nearly fall over "should be calling you the slut. Not me. Not. Me!" Before I realized what I was doing, I poured my beer – or whatever it was this time – onto Jasmine's shirt. I felt surprisingly satisfied by doing so. "Stay away from my boyfriend."

I stumbled back over to Nico. People were beginning to either pass out on the floor or leave. Nico grabbed my arm and dragged me outside.

"Where're we goin'?" I whined-slash-demanded. "Library's that way." I pointed in the opposite direction.

"My place," Nico said. He pulled my arm harder. I tripped. Nico nearly pulled my arm out of its socket keeping me up.

"But why?" I complained. "Don' wanna go to your place."

Nico spun and faced me, drunken fury on his face. "Because I said so, bitch. You do as I say."

I stayed quiet, except to giggle from time to time for no reason. Bipolar drunk, maybe?

It was midnight by the time we got to Nico's apartment. While Nico was in the restroom, I decided to call Bruce or someone from Wayne Manor to let them know where I was. I must have pressed the wrong button because it was Jason's voice I heard.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he snapped.

I giggled. "You sleepin'? Thought you never slept. Gots better stuff to do."

"Cougar? What the hell are you doing calling in the middle of the night? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

I collapsed onto the sofa. "I was trying to call Brucie, but I called you instead."

When Jason spoke next, he sounded more alert. And maybe a touch worried. But I was probably mistaken. I wasn't exactly in my right mind. "Kid, are you drunk?" A pause. "Where are you? Do you need a ride? Or at least an escort? Damn it, if you get hurt because of this, Bruce will have my head."

"Aww, you're worried about me! That's so sweet."

"Elle, where are you?" Jason sounded so serious that I burst into laughter. It was the first time, like, ever he'd used my name, too! "Damn it, just answer the question."

My laughter died down to giggles, and then the giggles turned into sobs. I was surprised that I was crying. Wow, I really was a bipolar drunk. Or just a crazy-ass emotional one. Angry to silly to sad. How did that even work?

"I'm with someone," I said quietly, sniffing. "Don't worry. I'm with someone."

"With who?" Jason demanded. "I want to know who I can pin this on if you get alcohol poisoning or something."

I shrugged, forgetting that the man couldn't see it. "Just someone. You don't know. Nobody knows. Not Bruce. Not Tim. Not Dick. Not Alfred. Not you. Nobody knows." Why did I start crying harder? "Nobody knows. Everyone sees but nobody knows."

"Elle?" Jason asked, trying to sound tough but he still came across as uncertain. "What're you talking about? Who are you with?"

And just like that, my mood changed from sad to mad in seconds. Again. "Nobody knows. Nobody fucking knows!" I raised my voice. "Why don't they ask? Why doesn't anybody know? They can fucking see it!" My anger turned to worn-out laughter. "Nobody knows," I said. "Nobody, nobody, nobody." I giggled. I was somewhat aware that I sounded insane. "They see but they don't know."

"Quit it," Jason growled, but he sounded scared. Oh. I'd forgotten he was on the phone. "You sound like … like …"

"The Joker!" I proclaimed loudly, giggling, tears still streaming down my face. "He so crazy that he's evil and a genius. So fun to be crazy." I went back to sobbing helplessly. "I wish I could be like that. Crazy is funner than …" I hiccupped.

"Where are you?" Jason asked, sounding a bit desperate, but that was most likely my drunken and tired mind playing tricks on me. Where was Nico? "Elle, talk to me. Where the fuck are you? Who are you with?"

"Not the Joker," I slurred. "He'd be fun. But I'm stuck with hate. And anger. Not fun. Not even when he's happy."

I saw Nico exit the bathroom. Oh, was he listening in? Oops. Maybe I should just go to sleep.

"I gots to go," I said.

"Kid –"

I hung up before Jason could get another word out.

Nico stalked towards me. I couldn't help but flinch away.

"You." He punched my stomach. I cried out. I scrambled to get away but only managed to fall onto the floor. "Stupid." He kicked my side. "Bitch." Another kick, this one to my back when I tried to crawl away. "Who the hell were you talking to?" Punch. Hit. Slap. Kick. Kick. Kick. "Well?!"

"A friend!" I stammered through the pain.

"It was a guy!" Nico yelled. More punches and kicks and slaps followed. I cried out with each one. "Who the fuck was it? Was it Kyle? Was it, you slut? Whore!" Punches. Kicks. Slaps.

"Stop!" I begged, sobbing. "He's just a friend! I love you!"

Another kick. One more punch. A bruising kiss.

"Why did you make me do that?" Nico asked harshly. He gripped my arms tightly. "I love you. I don't want to hurt you. Why'd you make me do that?"

Another bruising kiss.

A choked sob sprang from my throat.

"I forgive you," I told him, because it was true. It was an accident. He was drunk. I should have known better.

"I know you do," Nico said.

He left me, sobbing, on the floor.