She felt almost nothing now that she lay in her bed. The searing pain of her slashed legs was comforting, and the darkness that blanketed her senses gave her the pleasure of asphyxiation. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she struggled against her own body. The pain was one thing, but his face, his face echoed through her mind. His screams mirrored themselves against the black stretching over her eyes. She cringed as she could almost feel the knife in her hand. The wood handle, slippery from his and her blood. Oh god, this was hell, a hell like heaven.

Her eyes and her throat opened, revealing vomit on the floor. She cursed and fell to the ground. The movement opened her cuts again and she embraced the pain. It sliced to her soul, and brought her to her knees, she screamed, and then slowly crawled to the living room. The cold hard floors beneath her naked body seemed to shake, her senses were beginning to fail her as she collapsed, the shaking floor catching her. She winced as her gashes came in contact with the cold. The awesome cold seeped into her body through her wounds.

Her body lay there in pain, her eyes closed, and she fell into a deep sleep. Her mind wondered in dreams, over his body, the strong features, the glistening blood, the chiseled jaw. His face came closer to hers, his body smothered her, their embrace was strangling. Their blood intermixed and he threw her on the bed, and jumped on top. She screamed as he tore off her bandages around her thighs and stomach, her gruesome figure, statuesque, was bare beneath his. His rigid hands caressed her cuts, the blood shined delicately on his calluses.

"Oh god." Her voice whispered out as he kissed her passionately.

Her body erupted in pleasure as his hips matched hers. The violent pleasure continued. It was so real, his hands on her hips, his scarred stomach taut, and his mouth against hers. He slowly pulled away, his body fading in the dark. The last glimpse of him was gone, but the feeling of his hand around her throat remained. She coughed and coughed but could not shake the feeling. She was suffocating, she couldn't breathe and then…it all went cold.

The night air was washing over her. Her eyes sprung open, her face on the hard cold floor, she cringed. It had just been a dream, a cruel sick dream. Her minds torments were becoming more and more painstaking. Soon there would be no way to differentiate between reality and her own mind. She rose from the floor; dried blood was caked on the ground, and her legs. She walked to the full length mirror, and looked at herself

She became sick, the rust color that stained her legs and the pale scars that were stamped on her body, the excessive paleness overwhelmed her, she sat in the tub, and cried.

The uniform sat in the corner on the chair. She reached for it, and held it close to her body. She screamed for her mother, but found no comfort in dead souls. The only comfort was the feeling of foreign blood against her hands. Her mind was settled on this thought until she glanced to the clock. She had twenty minuets until her shift at Gotham General. She raced to find her scrubs and jacket. She pulled her hair up, and washed her face, applied the modest make up, slipped on her glasses, and then left the apartment with a slam from the door.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about her?" Bruce asked him once more.

"If there was anything more…I would tell you." Dick said from the hospital bed.

His eyes were closed as the nurse dressed his wounds. He could feel the searing pain, and grimaced when she brushed over the stitches.

"This is useless." he said. His words were cold and unforgiving. The young nurse looked uneasy in front of him. She patched him up again, and left without a word.

"There is no need to be this angry Dick, things happen; you were caught off guard, that's all. After a few months of physical therapy, and a few weeks in the gym you will be back to normal." Bruce tried to console him, but it was of no use. His mind was now constantly racing.

He could still feel her mouth on his, her hands pulsing over his stomach. He could still feel her heavy breasts against his chest. She was like a disease, a parasite. He couldn't get rid of her, and couldn't stop thinking of her. He hated her. He hated her more than anything he had hated before. But his hate could wait. The painkillers were finally kicking in, and he was now slipping off to sleep.

Hours later he awoke to whispers from the hallway. They weren't audible, but they were hushed, and from male and female voices. He looked to the corner Bruce was gone. He laid his head back, and tried to focus on the words. Still he couldn't hear them but had an idea of what they were. He turned his head to the window. The sky was gray, and the evening was descending on the city. He stared at the city, wondering where his attacker was, and what she was doing. He hoped that she was suffering…he could only hope.

At that moment he heard two sets of footsteps on the cold laminate floors, he turned his head to see Bruce, and a female doctor, she looked about forty-five, maybe had a few kids, she had that look about her, a soft caring face, much like his mothers had been.

"Hello Dick, my name is doctor Henry, I'm your attending." She said softly. He nodded, and she continued,

" We are really happy with your progress, and we are letting you go home today, just let me call in a nurse to get your vitals and make sure your healthy enough to go home, alright?" she said.

He nodded again to her, and looked at Bruce.

"I guess this means that I will be staying with you then?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, you will stay with me until you are well enough to take care of yourself." He said and smiled.

Soon the nurse walked it, dressed in Burgundy scrubs, and what seemed to be like a black members only jacket. Her hair was up tight on her head, and she wore black square glasses. She came in with a big smile, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"So, how are ya' feeling?" she said quietly as she set up her equipment.

"Could be better." He said jokingly.

"Well I'm going to try my best to get you out of here." She said. She turned to look at him, and she was taken back. His face. It was his face, that smile, those eyes; she scanned him over, the bandages on the stomach. He was hers.

This was her lover.