Chapter Text
You wanted to be a lawyer at first.
You had spent your whole life with your nose stuck in any textbook that you could manage to steal from the store, or in the library trying to squeeze out every dime you had on that damn library card. You worked your ass off just to get to university, studying relentlessly and definitely more than you should have in your teenage years.
At some point you weren’t even sure why you wanted to pursue law; it was just the thing that kept you alive, that drove you. You forced yourself to keep doing it just to keep moving forward.
But then, after your first year at Gotham City you realised, what the fuck would you do with a law degree in Gotham?
What’s the point?
So of course, you gave up. Like you do.
You tried medicine next. You somehow managed to get to your third year before realising that you just couldn’t do it anymore. That’s it. That’s your pathetic excuse for dropping out of med school.
You just had enough.
Waking up every day, trying not to be shot or mugged or assaulted on your way to class, listen to someone talk for a few hours, and back to your shitty apartment, the one thing your shitty parents left you, eat some shitty food and sleep in your even shittier bed just to wake up the next day and do it all over again?
And again. And again.
All for it to amount to absolutely nothing. Because you live in Gotham, so you’ll probably be taken by The Joker and tortured to death or left to bleed out in some random alleyway after one of Penguin’s men rob you of all your belongings anyway.
And Batman? The city’s shining beacon of hope? Oh, He wouldn’t save you. Because you don’t need saving. Batman saves people who have been taken hostage in one of The Joker’s twisted games. People who lose their limbs as collateral in some sick turf war. Victims who want to be saved and criminals who don’t want to be saved.
Not people who can’t get out of bed because.
Not people who replay the same mundane day over and over and over. Not people who hide away and let themselves rot in their rooms. You’re not sick enough to be saved. You don’t deserve it.
There’s a difference between saving someone who wants to live and saving someone who doesn’t.
People tried. You have, or had, friends who tried to pull you out; a ‘Hey! Let’s hang out!’ or a ‘Haven’t heard from you in a while. Got some time to catch up?’ or ‘Wanna grab coffee?’ or ‘Chris’ party’s next week. You coming?’
You never responded to any of them. They sat in the corner of your inbox gathering dust, still waiting to be opened. Just like you expected, soon enough the repetitive sound of your phone buzzing was replaced by silence.
You get it. It’s like caring for a brick wall. And that can be exhausting, frustrating. People stopped trying and left you behind. Moved on. Replaced you. No one was going to wait for you to become alive again.
You get it. At least they tried.
You think you prefer it this way anyway. Less guilt and shame. Less responsibilities. A lot less expectations you never asked for.
There’s a tapping at your window. Or rather, a scratching. You sit up to see what it is this time. Someone trying to break in? A vigilante? Another (Yes, another) drunken idiot that somehow managed to get up your fire escape?
It’s a cat.
You should’ve known. Your only acquaintance at the moment, that manky, scrangly stray who you buy cat food for even though you don’t own a cat. You feed him sometimes. A chunk of the top of his left ear is missing, and he has scruffy black fur, with white paws, belly and on one side of his mouth. Sometimes you make this bad joke that he’s left some shaving foam on his chin. He’s not yours, but he likes you. Or does he? It’s complicated.
You open the window before you notice what’s in his mouth.
A dead mouse.
He prances through your window proudly, dropping the mouse next to your sad little mattress on the floor. He looks at you while you grimace.
“Really?” You sigh. “Why do you keep bringing me dead shit?”
He says nothing, obviously. Just stretches and his fur goes all spiky.
You scoff, but can’t help the small crease that forms at the corner off your eye.
What a stupid cat.
Somehow, you find the will to pull yourself off your shitty mattress and past the living room (to call it a living room is an overstatement) and into the kitchen. In one of the cupboards, the top right one in the corner, was where you kept the cat food. You put it in an old takeaway container, then start back to your room.
You pause.
You think you still had a bottle of Heineken or two in the fridge.
Maybe you could drink yourself to death. Or at least to the edge of stupidity.
It’s a bad idea, you know, but you don’t think you cared. Spending one night in a drunken haze and pretending everything else doesn’t exist is just what you needed right now.
You fall onto the old sofa with the cat food and two cans of beer.
The tv you spent two months' worth of salary on is faintly playing in the background. That one news channel is on, the one with the hot reporter. You weren’t really sure what exactly they were talking about, you weren’t really paying attention.
You were more preoccupied with the slightest tint of red in the black behind your eyelids that you could see when you closed your eyes, and how empty your head was.
“Echo, echo, echo...” You thought.
You chuckle at how the words linger and ricochet off the walls in your head.
The cat even comes to sit beside you. Well, not exactly beside you, maybe like, a few paces away or a tad further than that.
You gasp, tears almost welling up in your eyes because the cat has come to sit next to you and he’s never done that before. You reach out to pet the cat, but as soon as your hand touches its surprisingly soft fur, he jumps away. He starts aggressively licking the spot, looking at you, clearly annoyed.
“Damn, sorry Mr Kitty.” You help up your hands.
The cat slinks away somewhere. You just close your eyes.
It’s nice. You wouldn’t say you felt at peace or at ease, you never really do, but your troubles seemed at lot more far away than they actually were. And for once, that impending sense of doom and gloom and all things terrible wasn’t crashing down on you tonight.
It was nice, even if it was only for one night.
You wanted to be a lawyer at first. You had spent your whole life with your nose stuck in any textbook that you could manage to steal from the store, or in the library trying to squeeze out every dime you had on that damn library card. You worked your ass off just to get to university, studying relentlessly and definitely more than you should have in your teenage years.
At some point you weren’t even sure why you wanted to pursue law; it was just the thing that kept you alive, that drove you. You forced yourself to keep doing it just to keep moving forward.
But then, after your first year at Gotham City you realised, what the fuck would you do with a law degree in Gotham?
What’s the point?
So of course, you gave up. Like you do.
You tried medicine next. You somehow managed to get to your third year before realising that you just couldn’t do it anymore. That’s it. That’s your pathetic excuse for dropping out of med school.
You just had enough.
Waking up every day, trying not to be shot or mugged or assaulted on your way to class, listen to someone talk for a few hours, and back to your shitty apartment, the one thing your shitty parents left you, eat some shitty food and sleep in your even shittier bed just to wake up the next day and do it all over again?
And again. And again.
All for it to amount to absolutely nothing. Because you live in Gotham, so you’ll probably be taken by The Joker and tortured to death or left to bleed out in some random alleyway after one of Penguin’s men rob you of all your belongings anyway.
And Batman? The city’s shining beacon of hope? Oh, He wouldn’t save you. Because you don’t need saving. Batman saves people who have been taken hostage in one of The Joker’s twisted games. People who lose their limbs as collateral in some sick turf war. Victims who want to be saved and criminals who don’t want to be saved.
Not people who can’t get out of bed because.
Not people who replay the same mundane day over and over and over. Not people who hide away and let themselves rot in their rooms. You’re not sick enough to be saved. You don’t deserve it.
There’s a difference between saving someone who wants to live and saving someone who doesn’t.
People tried. You have, or had, friends who tried to pull you out; a ‘Hey! Let’s hang out!’ or a ‘Haven’t heard from you in a while. Got some time to catch up?’ or ‘Wanna grab coffee?’ or ‘Chris’ party’s next week. You coming?’
You never responded to any of them. They sat in the corner of your inbox gathering dust, still waiting to be opened. Just like you expected, soon enough the repetitive sound of your phone buzzing was replaced by silence.
You get it. It’s like caring for a brick wall. And that can be exhausting, frustrating. People stopped trying and left you behind. Moved on. Replaced you. No one was going to wait for you to become alive again.
You get it. At least they tried.
You think you prefer it this way anyway. Less guilt and shame. Less responsibilities. A lot less expectations you never asked for.
There’s a tapping at your window. Or rather, a scratching. You sit up to see what it is this time. Someone trying to break in? A vigilante? Another (Yes, another) drunken idiot that somehow managed to get up your fire escape?
It’s a cat.
You should’ve known. Your only acquaintance at the moment, that manky, scrangly stray who you buy cat food for even though you don’t own a cat. You feed him sometimes. A chunk of the top of his left ear is missing, and he has scruffy black fur, with white paws, belly and on one side of his mouth. Sometimes you make this bad joke that he’s left some shaving foam on his chin. He’s not yours, but he likes you. Or does he? It’s complicated.
You open the window before you notice what’s in his mouth.
A dead mouse.
He prances through your window proudly, dropping the mouse next to your sad little mattress on the floor. He looks at you while you grimace.
“Really?” You sigh. “Why do you keep bringing me dead shit?”
He says nothing, obviously. Just stretches and his fur goes all spiky.
You scoff, but can’t help the small crease that forms at the corner off your eye.
What a stupid cat.
Somehow, you find the will to pull yourself off your shitty mattress and past the living room (to call it a living room is an overstatement) and into the kitchen. In one of the cupboards, the top right one in the corner, was where you kept the cat food. You put it in an old takeaway container, then start back to your room.
You pause.
You think you still had a bottle of Heineken or two in the fridge.
Maybe you could drink yourself to death. Or at least to the edge of stupidity.
It’s a bad idea, you know, but you don’t think you cared. Spending one night in a drunken haze and pretending everything else doesn’t exist is just what you needed right now.
You fall onto the old sofa with the cat food and two cans of beer.
The tv you spent two months' worth of salary on is faintly playing in the background. That one news channel is on, the one with the hot reporter. You weren’t really sure what exactly they were talking about, you weren’t really paying attention.
You were more preoccupied with the slightest tint of red in the black behind your eyelids that you could see when you closed your eyes, and how empty your head was.
“Echo, echo, echo...” You thought.
You chuckle at how the words linger and ricochet off the walls in your head.
The cat even comes to sit beside you. Well, not exactly beside you, maybe like, a few paces away or a tad further than that.
You gasp, tears almost welling up in your eyes because the cat has come to sit next to you and he’s never done that before. You reach out to pet the cat, but as soon as your hand touches its surprisingly soft fur, he jumps away. He starts aggressively licking the spot, looking at you, clearly annoyed.
“Damn, sorry Mr Kitty.” You help up your hands.
The cat slinks away somewhere. You just close your eyes.
It’s nice. You wouldn’t say you felt at peace or at ease, you never really do, but your troubles seemed at lot more far away than they actually were. And for once, that impending sense of doom and gloom and all things terrible wasn’t crashing down on you tonight.
It was nice, even if it was only for one night.