Quick warning: Mentions of drug and alcohol abuse and dependency, depression and grief.
If you're good with this, you may continue.
Listen to: Ed Sheeran - The A Team
...
Curling yourself up amongst the pile of blankets you had collected, you tried to control how your body convulsed and shook with each breath you took.
"White lips, pale face,
Breathing in snowflakes,
Burnt lungs, sour taste.
Light's gone, day's end,
Struggling to pay rent,
Long nights, strange men."
You took in large gulps of air; each of them feeling like thousands of tiny shards of glass embedding themselves in your throat. Your body shook violently as you coughed and hacked, the cold night hurting your chest further. You tried to focus on counting the boxes piled up at the other side of the large storage room. In theory it should work the same as counting sheep, and anyway, any distraction for your mind was a good distraction.
"And they say,
She's in the Class A Team,
Stuck in her daydream,
Been this way since eighteen.
But lately her face seems,
Slowly sinking, wasting,
Crumbling like pastries,
And they scream,
The worst things in life come free to us.
'Cause we're just under the upper hand,
And go mad for a couple grams,
And she don't want to go outside tonight.
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland,
Or sells love to another man.
It's too cold outside,
For angels to fly,
Angels to fly."
A few others made their way in to the large room, scanning the faces of those who were already here. You tensed, ready to put up a fight for what little warmth you had as one stumbled over to you. You needn't have worried when he pulled up his cap. Slumping beside you, Les pulled out a small bag and motioned you up. You met Les little over a year ago, around that time when you realised there was such a thing as lower than rock bottom. He was a veteran, now down on his luck, snubbed, and forced to share the same hell as yourself. You'd been splitting what you had with him whenever you'd meet, which was only every few weeks since you had to move around.
You sat up and wrapped a blanket round his old, hunched shoulders as he rifled through his pockets. Eventually he found what he was looking for and the night descended into chasing highs; smoking just enough to take the edge off.
"Ripped gloves, raincoat,
Tried to swim and stay afloat,
Dry house, wet clothes.
Loose change, bank notes,
Weary-eyed, dry throat,
Call girl, no phone."
Upon waking, you began bundling up your blankets and wrapping them around your shoulders. Les was still out so you left one with him.
You made your way outside, into the harsh morning light. You wandered along until you found one of the corners you regularly frequented. Lowering yourself carefully, trying not to hurt your frail body anymore than necessary, you huddled under your cap and blankets and held out your worn old takeaway coffee cup.
You hated that this is what you'd become. You had to rely on the kindness of strangers and endure your fair share of both verbal and physical abuse from those less understanding.
You knew you'd gotten yourself in to this mess in the first place, but once you fell down that hole there was little you could do to claw your way out of it.
You had began seeking an escape from reality when Jerome had been ripped from your life by Theo Galavan. You had plotted revenge on his sister, hoping that losing her would cause him to suffer as you were.
Your plan worked and Theo did indeed suffer, but you found your grief didn't ease any. If anything, it hit you harder once you no longer had something to focus on.
You huddled tight under your thin blankets, your back hurting after only an hour on the ground. You'd collected around $2.60 on the work run, but you hoped they'd all be happier come home time and you'd maybe make a few more bucks. After all, that'd be the difference between a can of cheap lager for dinner, or a few cans and a greasy filled roll from the dingy shop under the tracks.
You kept up your position all day and night, pleading for some change from those more fortunate.
Oh how the tables have turned.
"And they say,
She's in the Class A Team,
Stuck in her daydream,
Been this way since eighteen.
But lately her face seems,
Slowly sinking, wasting,
Crumbling like pastries,
And they scream,
The worst things in life come free to us.
'Cause we're just under the upper hand,
And go mad for a couple grams,
And she don't want to go outside tonight.
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland,
Or sells love to another man.
It's too cold outside,
For angels to fly,
An angel will die.
Covered in white,
Closed eye,
And hoping for a better life.
This time, we'll fade out tonight,
Straight down the line."
Come darkness you made your way to the underpass, stopping in at the small shop that was rarely frequented by anyone but someone in your position. There was never very much on the shelves but the guys in the shop at least tried to push food to go along with the drink. There were rarely any takers. Alcohol took the edge off. Enough would numb the pain and stave off the cravings. Plus it was cheaper than eating. It's not like there was enough to buy a three-course meal and fill your belly.
You hadn't earned much more since this morning. You had been given a small coffee from a kind stranger who obviously hadn't wanted you to pīss money down the drain, but the heat from that cup was long gone.
You headed towards another old abandoned building nearby. There were so many in Gotham that it wasn't hard to find shelter, however you had to choose your nights carefully. Pick the wrong place on the wrong night and you'd wind up as collateral damage from a drug deal gone wrong or a mob 'friendship' gone sour.
Wrapping your blankets round your legs and shoulders once again, you settled in for the night. You cracked open one of the two cans you'd purchased and chugged it down. It tasted like pīss water, not that you could really tell with your destroyed tastebuds. Plus, without any food in you the warmth and the buzz would spread through your body quicker.
You lit the single cigarette you were also able to buy as you cracked open the second can. Your stomach rumbled and ached as the liquid filled it.
With the cans long gone and the butt of the cigarette the only thing left to show from your day, you curled up under the blankets. They probably smelled of stale sweat, beer and urine, but you could no longer smell them, or yourself for that matter. Not that you cared. You were just wasting the days away until your weak heart, beaten black and blue, through and through, finally gave in.
How much pain, heartbreak and abuse could one heart take?
Surely not much more.
"And they say,
She's in the Class A Team,
Stuck in her daydream,
Been this way since eighteen.
But lately her face seems,
Slowly sinking, wasting,
Crumbling like pastries,
They scream,
The worst things in life come free to us.
And we're all under the upper hand,
Go mad for a couple grams,
And we don't want to go outside tonight.
And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland,
Or sell love to another man.
It's too cold outside,
For angels to fly,
Angels to fly.
To fly, fly,
For angels to fly, to fly, to fly,
For angels to die."
Stuck in a restless sleep, your mind whirled with terrible images and noises. Your breathing lapsed, your heart slowing and skipping the occasional beat.
Jerome's pale face flitted in and out, his mouth moving but no words coming through. You were trying desperately to grab on to him, just to hear his voice one more time and hold him tight.
You eventually managed to lock your arms around him. His voice became clear, ringing in your head as you focused on his perfect, unmarred face.
"Looks like we've got ourselves in a bit of a mess, huh?"
You focused on his plump pink lips, wondering why your dream wasn't allowing you to hear the three little words that would kill off the final pink piece of your heart.
You were so malnourished, sore and strung out that your body felt weightless. You felt as though you were floating.
You smiled at Jerome as you felt his arms encase you. A small, soft kiss met your forehead as you closed your eyes, enjoying his comfort for one last time.
"Go to sleep, babygirl. I got ya."
...
A/N
Soooooo... *hides behind a pillow incase anyone throws rocks*
I started this at the weekend when I was streaming Ed 24/7 before I went to his gig. A-Mazing by the way.
I also got major feels writing this, which never, ever happens(!). Now I'm'a have to write something super upbeat or we're all gonna be in a slump.
What's your take on the ending? I realised once I had finished writing that it could be taken a few ways.So I decided not to clear anything up and get some feedback.
Hope you enjoyed it. Votes, comments, and general chit-chat about Gotham always welcome.
I also want to thank those of you who have favourited and followed since last time! It means so much to me. Plus I'd like to thank Prinzessin Mia for my first review on here ^-^. You made my day! Hope you liked this one too.
Addio, maniaci.
- Ellie
