The best word he could use to describe it was numbness. He was hollow, unfeeling. A shell. Nothing mattered. During the night, he would destroy his fists. He'd beat them against punching bags, walls, people. He grew remorseless. He didn't care. About the people he hurt. The people that got in the way. But he was still determined to make a difference in the city. That was his job. It was the only thing he was good at. The only thing he had left. In the mornings he found himself on the floor below the window, barely making it inside before collapsing. His body always ached. Sometimes he'd be bruised, most times he'd be bleeding. But he never felt the sharp pain of a stab wound or cut. He was simply numb. Numb from pain but desperate to save as many people as he could. So desperate. He wanted to prove to himself that he was a hero. He hoped that if someone looked past his betrayal and his cruel dishonesty, that they would see a hero. That's all he wanted. Forgiveness.
The truth was, he was a coward. He knew he was a coward. Always terrified. Terrified for the people he loved. No, terrified of himself. Terrified that he would become what he hunted. Terrified that he would hurt those he loved. Whether it was with his fists or his words, he knew it would happen one day. But, he was selfish. A selfish coward. Keeping his friends close, while pushing them far away. So far away, that they could no longer recognize him. Did he recognize himself? It didn't matter. He didn't deserve forgiveness.
He saved a girl the other night. She was young, all high voice and choked crying. She would have died if he hadn't saved her. The morning after he woke up with a broken rib and a dozen bruises. He knew that it was worth it. She would have died without him. And she was worth so much more than him. Her life was worth so much more than his. The life of a screw-up. The nine-year-old boy who who got poison in his eyes. The boy who couldn't grow up without a father. The boy that wasn't tough enough to grow up without a father. The man that couldn't protect his best friend. The man that broke his best friend's heart. A screw-up, through and through.
So if he came back with a few broken bones, it didn't matter. Because those broken bones saved someone's life. Every night he saved someone's life. Every night. It was the only thing he knew he was doing right. And if one night he didn't make it back to the bloody floor beneath his window, it didn't matter. Because he had saved those lives. And they were worth so much more than him. Worth so much more than he could ever be.