3 weeks later:
She was in the other room when her cell phone went off. Glancing up from browsing the internet, Wren got up and went to grab it. Eyeing the caller ID on the screen, she groaned, yet another unfamiliar number. Biting her lip, she swiped up to accept the call. Placing it to her ear she muttered "Hello?"
The response was over bubbly and annoyingly familiar "Wren Durrant?"
Taking a deep breath, Wren decided to play polite "Speaking?"
"This is Caroline Espinoza for Gotham news…"
Rubbing her eyes, Wren put the phone on speaker and fell back onto her couch. "Like I said to your producer Ms. Espinoza, I'm not doing interviews."
She knew this wouldn't sate the ravenous newscaster. "But Ms. Durrant, the city is curious about what happened between you and the Joker."
"If you want details, contact HR at Gotham National Bank."
"They only said that you took a bullet for your boss. Which, I must say is incredible."
Eyeing her arm and the thorough amount of bandages, Wren smirked "My arm begs to differ."
The newscaster took this as an in "Were you scared?"
This wasn't anything she hadn't told over newscasters that had called her over the last month "Yes, everyone was. Goodbye Ms. Espinoza, don't call again. I'm still on medical leave and I'd like to spend that time sleeping and eating junk food."
With that, she shut her phone off and reclined into the sofa. "Should have put your jacket over your head when you had the chance, Wren. But no, you had to keep the pressure on so you wouldn't bleed out."
Reaching towards the table with her good arm, she wrangled herself a handful of chips and shoved them into her mouth. The alarm on her cell went off, she had to be downtown in an hour for work mandated therapy. HR mentioned being concerned about the mental health of their staff, so everyone, especially Wren, had been required to see a therapist for at least couple months.
Groaning, Wren forced herself to get up. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to start therapy in her lounge wear. Eyeing her cheeto dusted sweatpants and torn up tank top, she huffed. Going into her room, Wren started the lengthy process of putting on fresh clothes. Her injury, a minor hindrance. The Doctor mentioned that she would be sore even after it healed. Eyeing the bandage, Wren gently pulled on a fresh shirt. It had a graphic on it, depicting a raven picking around the corpse of a smiling woman. Above the image were the words "Perdition."
Looking herself over in the mirror, Wren grabbed her sweatshirt and zipped it up. Despite it being her band, it was probably not the best therapy wear. Even if she did have gig right after. Pulling on a pair of paint covered jeans, and heeled ankle boots. Wren grabbed her purse and left. It would take 30 minutes to get across town, she was hoping that the therapist would be able to see her early. At the very least, she hoped for a short session. Her days off were so much easier when they weren't devoted to proving her sanity after being held at point and shot by the Joker.
Throwing her hood over her head, she went towards the window of her apartment. Preferring the precarious and rickety fire escape to facing the onslaught of reporters that had taken to darkening her doorstep. Grabbing her bag off the couch, she stepped out and slowly descended. Stopping, only to throw down the rolled up ladder. Once it hit the ground, Wren climbed down and walked to her car, a junker of a thing, pulled from a road side ditch just outside of Gotham. The dealership fixed it up and let it go for a steal.
After jiggling her key in the lock, and giving handle a solid kick, the door sprung open. Smirking, Wren threw her bag in and started the car. Doing her best to maneuver out of the alley. Ever since she came home from the hospital, Wren had been forced to hide her car away. Otherwise, the reporters would stake it out and wait for her. Honestly, the people of Gotham had an incredibly unhealthy obsession with the Joker. That hadn't really been a subject of thought to Wren in the past, but now that it extended to her, she found the celebrity of the clown ungodly annoying.
Merging with traffic, she sighed. Maybe the calls and stalking by the reporters would die down once Joker robbed another bank and shot another teller. Seemed a bit cruel, to think this way, but Gotham was a cruel city. Her arm gave a twinge, and Wren groaned. Perhaps the universe had decided to administer a little pain, as punishment in her desire for the misfortune of another. That in mind, she muttered an apology. Either way, Wren was hopeful that the media frenzy would die down, and she would fade into the background like the rest of the Joker's cannon fodder.
