Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I finally got around to getting a new journal after my bag got stolen crossing through the Narrows. Ever since that encounter I’ve steered clear of that piece of Gotham.

It's been about eight months of living on my own on the streets and between the numerous stairwells and underpasses I've slept under, my entire existence feels stuck in limbo. These days I sleep sparingly, and eat only when the gnawing discomfort of hunger becomes unbearable. I've gone to bed hungry too many nights now to keep track. Gotham seems to have a special indifference to your wellbeing. The city around me couldn’t care less if I'm fifteen and hungry. Each night feels like an increasingly hard test to see if I possess enough strength to live to see sunrise.

If I’m being honest, I’m not too sure how much strength is still left in me by now. With each passing day there are lingering whispers working their way deeper into my thoughts, telling me to just give up before I starve to death, or I’m killed by some lowlife. It’s a growing, morbid ideation, and the thought often sits heavy with me as if it’s waiting on me to agree. But I refuse, something deep inside me won’t give up. Perhaps it’s hope, or the thin belief that I have the right to exist, even if it feels like no one else thinks so. Yet I worry that I’m heading towards the same fate set for so many other wayward souls before me in this city. 

My thoughts drift to my father, a wayward soul if there ever was one. He’s been gone for years now, so long that I sometimes forget he even existed in my life. He was in and out throughout my childhood, and I can’t say I ever had a strong relationship with him. I remember feeling slightly awkward, and even a little uncomfortable when he was around. He found his untimely end before I had even turned ten. He was just another casualty in a raid on a drug house that didn’t get reported on much. I didn’t really know the true man my father was, and I was never aware of him ever using drugs. My mom would tell me he didn’t, that he somehow got mixed up in whatever had happened but wasn’t involved. Since I never really knew him well, it’s hard to say how I genuinely feel about him. 

And my mother was just never the same after we had to bury my dad, she was left a broken widow who soon remarried to her vices. I still remember clearly what she was like when I was a little kid, this paragon of sunshine that I thought could do no wrong. I remember how safe I felt around her, my entire world could be melting down, and her soothing voice would make me believe that it would all be okay. A stark contrast to the person who seems to have taken possession of the woman who I now begrudgingly call my mother. 

Once a modest wallflower now warped into a belligerent nuisance over years of abusing booze and pills. I deeply miss the “old” her, and I often wonder what life could have been like had she managed to keep her sanity intact. The possibility that I could still be living in comfort at home, with a mother who loved me unconditionally, leaves me yearning for something that feels impossible.

There had been something about myself I’d been holding close to my chest for a long time, an undeniable fact about who I was. It feels fragile, and it still provokes feelings that feel paralyzing. When I was finally able to work the nerve up to confide in her, to tell her the truth about who I was, and how I had felt all these years, she was repulsed. She screamed about how I was wrong about myself, about how the assertion was disgraceful. She found faults in my arguments, she listed her grievances, she cried and lamented the son she had hoped would mature into a strong young man. I tried for acceptance, but was met with rejection.

From that day forward I was no longer a child, and my relationship with my mother had forever been shattered, what little of it had remained. Her love had long grown to be conditional anyways, this just happened to be the last straw. I stayed for a few more weeks until I couldn’t take anymore of the bitter silence only broken by dehumanizing remarks she spat at me, and worked up the courage to leave. The night I left I didn’t look back, it felt like the culmination of our time together, and I doubt she’s bothered to care that I’m gone.

Ever since then I’ve been living on the streets, barely surviving at times. It feels like I’ve been all over the city by this point. I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping in sketchy places, and have learned to anticipate the unexpected hell that homelessness in Gotham will throw at you. The first few weeks I couldn’t help but jump every time I would hear a siren, like it was some sick reminder of just how dangerous the streets I was now sleeping on were. After a while though I learned to tune them out, and now it’s all become white noise to me. I’ve spent some time asking for money, but I hate doing so, feeling awkward and embarrassed asking strangers for money. So I stopped, and began to just sit back and watch people as they lived, going through my life feeling like a mere spectator at times. 

But this actually paid off. I slowly started to see patterns and trends in behavior. I soon took notice of which streets were occupied by local gangs or dealers who stood on the corners. I learned to let the surroundings of the city around me tell me what was happening. You start to guess what the commotion ahead of you is just by the way bystanders react, it can let you know whether it’s some small thing or something far more sinister. After some trial and error I learned what parts of town weren’t safe enough to stay in overnight. 

I would credit a combination of this vigilance and sheer dumb luck as the only reasons I'm still breathing. If I’m not stressing myself out about my safety then I find myself worrying about more distant and abstract things. About my identity, and my future in this world. I’ve been doing my best to keep busy, so my thoughts don’t fester into something dangerous. I still continue to draw, often sketching the buildings and environments of the city as I travel through it. I try to do anything to pass the time and keep the dread of the unknown at bay. I’ve even begun to mindlessly practice writing my new chosen name over and over in the back of this journal. A page absolutely filled with “Carrie” written in various styles and sizes, each one a small affirmation, no matter how insignificant it may seem.

Chapter Text

When starting this new life I didn’t have much money, and I’ve long since forgotten the experience of walking around with any substantial amount. So now when I need to travel any real distance across the city I’m left to either walk it or sneak onto the subways and do my best to not draw any attention. I try to be practically invisible, always picking the emptiest sections and only using the trains late at night when they are at their least occupied. With fewer eyes brings fewer potential questions, and it invites a temporary peace of mind.

When the train begins to move the half-dead fluorescent lights above me flicker and buzz, throwing my surroundings in and out of focus. One moment the car is filled with bright white lighting that doesn’t bother to hide the true ugliness of the subway. The next, sees dark shadows pooled around me, the only light coming from the stray yellow lightning bleeding from the smeared exterior outside. It was late, and exhaustion was weighing me down as I sat curled on the plastic seat, my knees and coat helping to make a small refuge around me.

My sketchbook was sitting on my knees, and my pencil was mindlessly moving against the page like an extension of my fingertips. I didn’t usually like to draw on the train, the movement was always too distracting for me to get anything done. I was desperate to keep myself awake however, and I was doing anything in an attempt to stay alert. 

I sketched the window and the empty seat directly opposite of me, and I tried to replicate the blurring cityscape that was moving beyond the glass as we travelled. I retraced the lines I’d sketched until they darkened into rough shape, my inner thoughts talking to themselves in an attempt to keep myself awake. There was a man a few rows down who was audibly snoring, his head leaned forward in sleep. The sound kept catching my attention and it felt like it was taunting me as I tried desperately to lose myself in drawing. 

After a little while we came to a stop, but it wasn’t the one I was getting off at. I sat my sketchbook aside for a moment, stretching my body a bit while the train was stopped. As I stretched my neck around I couldn’t help but notice a bored looking transit cop on the platform outside that was peering into the windows of the train. My heart skipped a beat, even though I highly doubted his attention lied with me. As his gaze cut through the aisle I felt a chill down my spine that set my hair on edge. I pressed myself flatter against the seat, my breath held subconsciously under my tongue. He lingered for a moment, as if he suspected something could be worth looking for, but I don’t believe he noticed me, and he soon moved along the platform. 

The train lurches within moments and begins to take me deeper into the darkness of the city. I grab my sketchbook and try to go back to drawing but I can’t seem to focus. My eyes feel heavy, and I want more than anything to find some rest. As I struggle to keep my eyes open I sleepily overhear the hushed conversation of two men who must have boarded at the last stop. I look around to see them sitting a few rows ahead on the opposite side, speaking in worried tones that travel just far enough that I think I hear pieces through the rattle of the train. The fragments snag into my mind like vicious hooks.

"I've seen him… Narrows…"

"Swear… not human…"

"Claws… ears… in the dark…"

The wheels of the train scream around a curve and their voices get lost in the sound. I’m unsure if I heard them correct, not confident I hadn’t misunderstood what had been said. Whatever else they could be saying bleeds into the static low rushing sounds of the city moving past as the train sped through Gotham. Really even if I did hear them correctly I shouldn’t be too surprised, this city is home to some rather strange stories and creepy urban legends. 

Over the last few years I’ve heard several odd rumors that some believe might carry some real weight to them. Countless stories have swirled around the city of a figure that lurks in the shadows, draped in darkness. A restless creature that stalks its victims in the dead of night. Most people might dismiss these tales as nonsensical, but I wasn’t too skeptical after living on the open streets for almost a year. 

My eyes gazed back to the window in my sketch, and the blurring background I had tried to replicate. I sketch out two rough looking eyes that lurk just beyond the background, obscured from initial view, two small orbs that stared at you if you looked closer. Perhaps it's just paranoia that makes me keen to accept these rumors as fact. Before I have any more time to reflect on these thoughts however, the train begins to slow with a screeching noise like a sigh. 

As I stepped out onto the platform my eyes wandered upwards towards the night sky threaded between the distant buildings. I stared at the stars that littered the area near the half moon, and in a wild split-moment, I could have sworn I saw movement silhouetted against the moonlight. A cut of darker air that moved with an unnatural ease high up on the maintenance catwalks between the buildings. I blinked hard, unsure if I was really seeing something meaningful, or if it was just something benign obscured in the dark. However as I saw the silhouette move once more I was certain I was actually seeing something. It was a shape that seemed to belong to the shadows, a distant, hunching silhouette that was draped in darkness. 

By the time I could tell myself to breathe it seemed to be gone, slipping back into the night. I pressed my hands into my eyes, rubbing them violently as if that would somehow make whatever I had seen more visible. All that was left was the moonlight and the buildings accustomed to the skyline of Gotham. I looked around, expecting to see someone else who could have possibly seen what I just had. Instead, I was only greeted with my own haggard looking reflection. I looked dead tired, standing on the dim platform small and hunched. My jacket was a mess, and my backpack looked like it was packed too tight. My gaze fell upon my face, obscured behind untamed hair, and to my green eyes thick with exhaustion. I turned away from my reflection and began to walk off the platform. 

“I’m exhausted,” I hear my inner thoughts tell myself. “I must have been seeing things…”

It must have been an illusion my eyes played after dwelling on the many rumors of the mysterious creature lurking Gotham. Even as I’m telling myself it was nothing, I find my pace picking up, trying not to feel paranoid about walking the streets alone this late at night.

Chapter Text

Most people would consider themselves at home after walking through their front door. Well, at the moment my “front door” is a fire escape at the dead-end of some forgotten alleyway sitting on the outskirts of the Bowery. It hangs just out of reach and requires an annoying jump from the top of a nearby dumpster to grab it. My shoes scrape at the rust of the rungs as I climb up onto the roof, where I currently reside. A small makeshift shelter sits behind an HVAC unit that I’m pretty sure doesn’t work anymore. There’s a small overhang above from a neighboring building that manages to keep most of the rain off me on those stormy nights. This small and unimpressive spot has been my home for a bit over a week.

From up here I have a pretty nice view of this part of town. I can see the edges of the East End just ahead and all of the run down buildings within. At night that section of the city paints the sky with neon shades of pink, blue, and green from all the different signs advertising night clubs and bars around the area. It makes quite the contrast to what lies just across the harbor on the opposite side. Turning around you are greeted with the dull yellow lighting that glows low around the Narrows, mingling with the smog that seems to forever hang overhead. 

That smaller island, disconnected from the larger islands of Gotham, is downright scary. Every horror story about the worst the city has to offer seems to feature the Narrows somehow. That area is home to some of the worst kinds of lowlives the city has to offer. Turning away from both of them I am left staring distantly at the much nicer, newer parts of Gotham. The Financial District shimmers in the darkness mostly obscured by the distance, only the vague silhouette of its large skyscrapers visible against the moonlight. Compared to the rest of Gotham its buildings seemed to be daring to grasp the heavens with the way they towered over the rest. Even from this distance I can just make out the faint view of Wayne Tower, perhaps the tallest structure in all of Gotham. 

I’ve spent most of my time this last week perched up here, staring at the city from a distance, relieved to have a place I can stay even if it’s just temporary. I’ve spent the last few months moving absurdly often, typically sleeping in a different place each night. It’s nice to be staying in a consistent place for a change. I used some old crates that were rotting up here to make a small makeshift desk that I’ve sat at sketching the skylines of the city around me to pass the time. 

I even managed to scavenge an old radio that someone was throwing out. I couldn’t get it to turn on at first but after some time blindly trying to figure out how it worked, I managed to coax it back to life. I lifted a small pack of batteries from a local shop and was ecstatic when I got the speakers to finally cough up some soft static that eventually cleared out into real sound. Some nights the signal is better than others, and I typically listen to whatever local station sounds clearest. I’ve grown accustomed to the sounds of Jack Ryder’s reporting for GCN, his voice currently recounting the details of a robbery at a local museum, although I can’t say I’m all that invested in what he’s saying. 

When I don’t hear news broadcasts, the airwaves are usually filled with your typical radio DJ style shows. It’s not the kind of thing I would have normally considered myself interested in, but it beats the silence. The noise helps keep me company, and keeps my mind from spiraling with worried thoughts. Besides, they provide their own kind of entertainment. 

Lately it seems there’s been a recurring theme of people calling in to tell stories about odd things they think they’ve seen in the city. I didn’t pay much attention at first, but after a while it seemed like there might be more to it than the ramblings of sometimes incoherent radio show callers. I had heard one of these very stories just hours earlier as the DJ spoke to a man on the line who claimed to have seen a demon in the city at night. 

“I’m telling you man! I saw him on Kane Street! He was huge! Had to be at least seven-feet tall! He sprung from the dark, with claws and glowing eyes, and giant pointed ears!"

The DJ laughs as he ends their exchange and goes to commercial, and I begin to turn the knobs of the radio in search of something else to fill the void. I twist past ads, songs I’d never listen to, some low energy news broadcasts, until it feels like I’m lost wading through static. I keep tuning the radio, trying to find anything of interest to latch my mind onto, when a sharp noisy hum fills the air and after a few moments, it erupts into garbled voices. It’s something I’m not meant to hear, the words traveling in a sharp, efficient manner. Street names, codes, words like “suspect” and “pursuit” that I can somehow overhear being relayed. 

I don’t exactly understand how or why I can hear their frequency, but this isn’t the first time. It’s happened enough now that I have slowly grown a fascination with it. I started to keep a list of all the strange things I have overheard the GCPD communicating about over the past week. I stare mindlessly at the city in the distance while the radio continues to occasionally sputter out police officers' voices. Their usual chatter passes through the air around me without much notice until one voice cuts through and catches my attention with its breathlessness. 

"…be advised, possible vigilante sighting south of the Narrows… units hold perimeter… notify Commissioner Loeb…" and it seems that static swallows the rest, like a hand clapped over the speaker.

I think I know what they’re talking about even without any real clarification. It has many titles, but most refer to it as The Bat. Some think it’s a demonic presence with wings that devours men like something out of a horror movie. Stories and half-truths swirl around about something that springs out of the darkness of Gotham without warning and punishes evil. Some claim it is a force of pure vengeance sent from hell to enact revenge upon the scum of the city. Everyone with something to say about it seems to claim something slightly different, but all agree that it watches from the shadows, whether you know it’s there or not. It’s hard to say where the truth in all of these stories really lies, but each and every one has stuck with me long after I heard them.  

It was a new pastime slowly forming, mentally cataloging a new urban myth of Gotham City. After hearing so many of these sightings and rumors I have begun to sense something deeper behind it. A bigger mystery that most don’t seem to be concerned with, a pattern of actions that still leaves me scratching my head. I don’t have any theories on exactly what could be doing all of this, and with each new piece of information I hear I feel like I grow farther from unlocking the answer to my questions. It’s beginning to feel less like an urban legend and more like the deliberate action of something, or someone, that I shouldn’t be meddling with. 

As my eyes stare at the city in the distance, the lights smearing into streaks as rain begins to slowly fall, I can’t help but wonder if that thing is out there right now. Perhaps it is moving through the city at this very moment, maybe somewhere closer than I’d like, stalking its prey in the night.

Chapter Text

This week has been a strange mixture of emotions. I feel like I’ve walked through the days in a haze, unable to organize my thoughts or clear my mind. I try to tell myself to stop stressing so much, but it's hard not to when considering my current situation. I often wonder if I made a horrible mistake by leaving home, but part of me knows that the alternative of staying wasn’t much better. Besides, I’d much rather take my chances of survival on the streets than in my mother’s apartment. 

Yet I can’t deny that ever since I left home I’ve felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness consuming my life. Before I left home my entire existence was dominated by my mother, tiptoeing around her or trying to appease her. After months of wandering alone with no real direction or purpose has left me feeling utterly desolate. I’m sure what I’m feeling could be called depression but that just feels like a mask to hide the true horror of the experience. Each day I feel more tense, like there is an invisible presence relentlessly pressing down on me until I desire to flee beneath the earth. I used to find a strange solace in the background noise of the city, but now I just sit awkwardly with my doubts swimming in the suffocating ambience.

Awkward is how I would best describe how I feel most days, especially if I’m out walking around in the city. I think it's the way people glance at me. I know I’m probably just overthinking it, but it feels like they’re trying to unzip me and pull out some part of myself I’ve quietly fought to hold onto. It feels like there’s some wrongness about me that’s sitting deep under my doubts like an animal. It prickles at the skin when people look at me, glancing at me as they would any other troublemaking young boy. Despite what I feel about myself, it feels like the world around me has seemingly decided and agreed upon what I am, and how I’m to be viewed. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m too hard on myself. My own inner thoughts are harsher than anyone has treated me in months. I’ve been trying to find what small fragments of happiness I can within myself. My hair has become the one thing I feel most proud of, despite its somewhat disheveled look most days. It’s a bit uneven, but it’s grown out more than my parents would have ever allowed. My life was filled with adults trying to shape me in ways they saw fit, but since my time alone I’ve been the one to finally dictate my own look. I know it’s just hair, but it's a small glimmer of hope. When I catch my reflection, I feel this quiet, fragile warmth in my chest. Even hidden beneath the tangled red hair and everything the world has layered over me, I still see the unsure girl I feel myself to be staring back. 

That feeling, of knowing she’s inside but having no way of letting her out, it eats me alive. I feel like I spend every moment awake warring over my identity. Most days I’m left feeling completely exhausted. I seem to only sleep when my body forces me to, and most nights I lay trying to find any semblance of true rest. I feel like I’m living in a perpetual fog that softens time around me until I have trouble telling days apart. At night my thoughts feel vicious, I feel like I’m on an ever thinning rope, with voices telling me I’m living my life wrong. They whisper that all this struggling is futile and that I won’t be missed when I’m gone. I try my damndest to hide that worry deep down and keep moving. I usually wake up in tears, not even sure what exactly upset me so severely.

I wonder more and more what it would be like to just give up, a lingering thought that’s made its home at the edges of my mind. I tell myself that I don’t want to die, but honestly I don’t think I would try too hard to save myself. There’s a dull, constant ache where those feelings live, resting like a bruise that refuses to heal.

I’ve been doing my best to keep that ache from turning into destructive thoughts. I push it down with small tasks. I keep drawing. I keep writing. I keep tracking the paths I’ve taken through the city and cataloging the growing amount of Gotham’s urban legends I overhear about so my mind can pretend to have purpose. But before long hunger becomes a sharper voice than my distractions, screaming at me until I can’t think straight. I’ll probably have to go out to restock on food tomorrow. 

Is it bad I’d almost rather starve than do that?

Chapter Text

I walk the streets as heavy beads of rain needle through my thin hood, making stray strands of hair cling to the back of my neck. Street level smells like wet pennies and each person I pass by hurries along with a mingled look of annoyance and exhaustion. As I make my way closer to my destination I mull over all the supplies I hope to get on this outing. As my thoughts are filled with daydreams of food I can’t afford, I try to remind myself of the rules I’ve adopted when doing things like this. I go over them in my head like they’re lifelines: “Don’t draw attention.” “Don’t be greedy.” “Don’t steal something worth giving chase over.” Each one could basically boil down to “Don’t be stupid.” At times like this, when I’m left without the money to afford all I need, this is how I keep surviving. 

My existence consists of stealing the necessities for my continued survival while telling myself I have no other choice. Even with some twisted thief's code of conduct I’m left with an aching feeling of guilt for having to stoop to such levels. I assure myself it’s necessary, but that doesn’t make it any easier, physically or morally. What’s even worse is when I find myself shoplifting I often don’t just desire the necessities I’m seeking, but I yearn for things that feel like betrayals to my current life. It’s become so exhausting craving a life where I’m able to eat until I don’t feel hungry. I find myself constantly daydreaming about having a real home to go to, with walls and a roof. Most of all, I miss having a real bed, a space that’s warm and comfortable that I can confidently claim as my own. Spending months finding whatever was the least uncomfortable corner to sleep in has left me desperate for the bare minimum. 

I yank myself away from my thoughts as I keep walking towards my destination, a bodega that I can now see glowing like a small haven from the rainstorm sitting on the streetcorner ahead. I keep my head down and my hands tucked firmly in my jacket pockets as I cross the threshold into the building. A small bell rings overhead as I push the door open, announcing my entrance. I glance over towards the front counter and don’t see anyone there at the moment. I’m somewhat thankful to have missed their greeting.

I slowly walk my way through the store and begin weaving down the aisles, doing my best to keep my distance from the small handful of other people scattered about. I pretend to be nonchalant with my movements as my eyes search for things small enough to slip into my sleeve unnoticed. After a while my fingers find their way to these items, some small packaged snacks along with another small pack of batteries for my radio. I keep moving, making my way towards the back wall lined with coolers and shelves of drinks. But as my feet moved me forwards, my eyes began to drift and they were soon fixated not on the back wall, but on a rack filled with cheap cosmetics off to the side. 

Before I knew it my body had stopped me in front of the rack and my gaze was fixed upon a row of lipsticks, all darkening shades of red. I was trying to pull myself away, but something inside me was continuing to linger. Without any thought behind the movements, my fingers followed my desires and I felt them graze one of the lipstick containers. As I stood there I ran my fingers over the slick plastic and was filled with a warm anxious feeling, hoping there was no one watching me do so. 

The moment was filled with mixed emotions, standing here just holding it feels perversely holy. I looked around, almost expecting to see someone eyeing me strangely, but to my great relief no one was paying any attention. As my eyes were scanning the store I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the large, rain slick windows. I stare desperately for a moment, trying to imagine just what the color I held in my hand would look like on my lips. I allow myself to get lost in the thought for only the briefest of moments, before returning it back to the rack like a stolen jewel. 

I’m just too embarrassed to buy something like that. I don’t want the possibility of awkward looks or uncomfortable questions. And the thought of getting caught shoplifting scared me enough as is. I felt I could always try and explain away my actions, or justify them if I was caught stealing something like food. I was doubtful however, that I could have come up with any meaningful excuse to a stranger as to why I would be stealing something like lipstick. My hands shake as I leave the cosmetics rack, and a scalding feeling of shame is burning inside me. 

I try to be responsible in my thoughts, telling myself that I “didn’t need it,” or that it’s “ridiculous to let it bother me.” I continue to make my way to the back wall of coolers, silently scolding myself for being tempted by fleeting desire. It’s almost as if I can hear my own mother’s mother’s disapproving tone muttering along. I grab a few bottled waters from the back and soon my hands feel too full. With that I begin to make my way back to the front.

As I approach the checkout counter I empty my arms of the bottled waters and grab a wrapped sandwich from a display nearby. I sit the items together on the counter, trying not to feel awkward that I was stealing. I used to just slip into places like this and take what I needed, but soon I grew paranoid, and decided it might look less suspicious if I actually started purchasing a few small things. A clerk soon walks up and begins to ring the items, his gaze uninterested and lazy. I couldn’t be more happy that he doesn’t seem to care about me. I start to rummage around in my packers for the little money I do have when I hear his voice from behind the counter.

“That all kid?” 

I look up to see his face behind a smudged plexiglass partition, and I give him a faint nod of agreement as I place a few frayed bills onto the counter. I do really feel bad about lying to him, about stealing in general, but I don’t let it show. He takes a small handful of change from the register and slides it back to me.  I quietly thank him as I begin to grab the bottles and the sandwich with one hand, and scoop the change up with the other. Once I stepped back outside I slipped all my goods into my backpack and kept moving. I pull my hood over me tight, and tuck my hands deep into my pockets as I begin to walk home, trying my best to blend into the rain soaked streets.

Chapter Text

I spent my day taking a trip to an old laundromat I was sleeping outside about a month back. Back then I had made acquaintance with the owner, an old woman who would let me dig through unclaimed clothes left there. Today’s visit however turned out to be a pointless venture really. I was hoping to find a new jacket, or really any spare clothes that might have been left behind, but the lady that was working wasn’t the one I was familiar with. She eyed me suspiciously as I tried to explain that I actually knew the owner and used to hang around the place, before she very awkwardly asked me to leave. 

So I did, feeling slightly defeated, and lingered aimlessly around the city. It was overcast after the previous few day's rainstorms, and by the time I started to finally head back home nightfall was swiftly approaching. Living on the streets has made me less fearful of the dark, but I still try my best not to roam in it. There was a chill in the air, the kind that crept down my spine as I walked down the streets. 

I soon found myself completely lost in thought, letting my feet carry me home on their own. I kept my head down and tried not to bump into anyone else as I made my way back to my rooftop abode. I was a few blocks away when I decided to cut through some side street, anxious to get home. I was about halfway down the alley when I glanced back to notice an older man not too far following the same path I was taking. A businessman wearing a suit and speaking on a cellphone as he walked, he gave a small smile and a brief nod when he noticed me looking. 

As I made a left to cut into an alleyway just off the sidestreet while the man behind me continued straight. I had been so absorbed in my own thoughts that I had almost forgotten about him entirely. That’s when I heard something that pulled me back to reality. There were sharp voices coming from the sidestreet just behind me, their tone unmistakably threatening. Part of my thoughts were persuading me to keep moving, but another is fueling my curiosity to see what the commotion is. 

As I peek around the corner to the sidestreet I can see the businessman now being harassed by two larger men. One is pushing him around a bit and the other is shouting at him for his phone and wallet. I can see the businessman stammering, trying to calm the agitators, his cellphone still in his hand. There was this sick feeling surging through me as I watched the scene unfold. There was an overwhelming urge to try and help the man in some way, but I felt rooted to where I stood, unable to think. Time felt like it was moving in a strange fashion. The businessman began to wave his arms around trying to make distance between him and the attackers and soon one of them made an attempt to grab the cellphone from his hand. 

I try to desperately think of something to do, some way to help the man, but I feel paralyzed at the moment. I sat there frozen like a coward. Those two were way bigger than me, and I’m sure I would just get hurt and robbed too. I pry myself away from the corner and begin to walk away, justifying the decision in my head by telling myself that it really isn’t my fight. 

I didn’t take but a few steps away when I heard a loud popping noise, and I froze in place, the blood in my body had gone ice cold in that very instant. Without thinking I turned and rushed back to the corner to see what had happened. I slowly peered around the corner apprehensive, and I felt sick at the sight. Despite months of living rough and hearing about some bad things, I wasn’t prepared for seeing something like this so close.

The businessman laid on the ground, motionless. One of the attackers had begun to rummage through the man’s pockets while the other was tucking a gun back into his waistband. My entire body felt numb, and I felt like I might just be sick. Within mere moments that poor man’s life had been snuffed out, all for whatever of little value he had on him. I felt a horrifically cold sensation run through my body as I pulled myself away from the corner and hurried away from the scene.

I was stunned, my legs felt unusually heavy as I pushed myself to keep moving. In what felt like a blur my fingers hit the fire escape and before I realized it I was sitting back at my makeshift home. I threw my bag aside and sat myself curled in the small blanket heap I slept, trying to calm my trembling nerves. For a long while I just sat there, unable to think straight as the mugging played out over and over in my mind.

  I felt like I couldn’t breathe, the silence around me felt suffocating and I was desperate for a distraction. I soon reached for my small radio and twisted the dials until the speaker wheezed into life, Jack Ryder’s voice coming from it. I could hear his voice but for the longest time the words didn't register, eventually something from the broadcast caught my ear.

“…Another body was discovered today by the GCPD…”

My entire body was trembling as I listened, and I was smothered with a wave of shame and guilt. I know realistically that if I had tried to intervene I would have gotten myself killed too. But the fact that I was there, so close yet powerless to do anything.

“Police say this marks the third body this month to be discovered in the Narrows…”

I felt even sicker; They weren’t even talking about the man I saw get gunned down today. Just exactly how common are murders in Gotham? Without thinking my fingers tune the radio to another channel and it soon lands on soft jazz music. I try to return to the normal habits in an attempt to keep myself from letting full blown panic bloom into something uncontrollable. I take out my sketchbook and try to put anything on the page. Sketching is normally how I convince myself I have slight control in the world around me. I try my best but each line, each mark just feels wrong.

The moment keeps playing over and over in my head. Soon all I could see when I closed my eyes was the motionless body, and the two muggers picking at him like crows on carrion. I try to urge my brain to think of anything else, but to no avail. I begin to wonder if he had a family, maybe a wife that doesn’t know where her husband is, or a child who no longer has a father. 

Despite my best efforts for the rest of the night I kept replaying the whole interaction, the man, the muggers, the spilled blood. From the second I had made the choice to keep walking away from him a feeling of guilt sprouted in my chest that seemed to make me feel sick. I’ve heard about murders, but to be that close to one, to feel like I could have done something, anything, to change the course of those events. I keep trying to close my eyes, to let myself surrender to sleep, but all I see is the panic stricken face of the businessman, and I’m left restless.

Chapter Text

It's been days since seeing that poor man get gunned down but I’m just as much of an emotional wreck as the night it happened. Even just sitting alone on my rooftop I find my chest feeling tight, like I’m on the precipice of something horrific happening. I eventually decided to get out into the city, hoping a walk through the streets might be enough to distract my mind from it all for a bit. As I ambled through the streets I began wondering just how big of a mistake I might have made fleeing my mother’s home. 

When I first left this new life felt somewhat liberating, a new sense of freedom that has slowly morphed into a more realistic sense of dread and fear. I sometimes wish I’d never felt brave enough to leave in the first place, it almost felt naive after everything I’d been through. I’m sure my mother would be plainly outraged to see what I’ve become, subsisting on the streets like some rat, and stealing my necessities like a petty thief.

It’s not like I enjoy stealing, I hate the way guilt clings to my skin from doing it. It makes me feel dirty, like I’m no better than the countless thugs that lurk the streets of Gotham. But despite this, theft has been keeping me alive these past months. I try not to let myself get greedy with what I take, only daring to steal the things I need most, mostly food. I learned to start moving through the city looking for easy targets for such crimes, and any opportunities that could improve my living conditions in any way possible.

I found myself wandering farther from home than I’d meant to walk, so lost in thought I’d not paid much attention to where my feet took me. The moon was beginning to claim its rightful place overhead as I turned back down Seventh Street, beginning my journey back to my rooftop. That’s when the sight of something just ahead on the streetcorner caught my attention.

Through the very sparse scattering of people walking against me was a man pacing back and forth between the street and the sidewalk in a feverish manner. He was wearing a cheap looking suit and was yelling at someone on a cellphone, his free hand moving in spazzing motions as his voice grew louder with each word. I could just make out the jist of what he was saying. He was shouting about whoever was on the other end of the cellphone being late to pick him up. His words came short and angry, but there was also a sense of panic in his movements.

As I moved closer towards the man I also noticed a thick duffel bag that seemed to be his, sitting just behind the brick buildings behind him. Call me nosy but there was something odd about the whole scene, so odd that once I got close enough and looked back to make sure the man wasn’t looking, I took a small peek at the duffel bag. 

It wasn’t fully zipped, and the glimpse of what I saw inside almost made my heart stop. It was money, and I was guessing a lot of it. I could distinctly make out rubber bands holding the bills together in thick stacks, and it looked like the bag was practically full. Without even counting I knew the bag had to have held more money than I’d ever seen in my entire life. No wonder the man seemed to be in such a fuss. 

It felt like my body had been plunged into ice as I stared at the contents of the bag, and soon that uneasy feeling had found its way into my chest. My stomach practically ached just looking at it, thinking of just how earth shattering having even just a fraction of that money could be. Within seconds my mind was filled with ideas of being able to afford food, warm clothes, maybe even being able to find somewhere to stay off the streets. I glanced back, the man was still shouting, his back still turned, completely oblivious of my presence. There was a voice in the back of my head pleading against the urge, 

Don't be stupid… It's too risky.

But just seeing that much money… It had sparked something dangerous inside me. The promise of something greater was right here in front of me, just waiting to be taken from this inattentive asshole. I looked back, the man still not paying any attention, I doubt he’d even taken notice I was there. That pleading voice in my head was slowly getting quieter, and was soon replaced by the faint whisper of a different voice in my head. It cut through my doubts and worries, and dangerously encouraged me to finally do something for myself. 

Just be quiet. Be quick. Take it, and don’t look back. 

I glanced around, no one was paying attention to me, the street ahead of me was sparsely populated by people too engrossed in their own lives to notice me. I bent down and grabbed the strap of the bag, casually throwing it over my shoulder as I straightened up. With one last glance at the man, I casually walked away, hoping that if I could be nonchalant enough that no one would question or notice me. As I walk away I tell myself that he should have known better than to have sat a bag full of money down unattended in this city. I pushed around the corner and after a few steps away, I broke off into a dead sprint, my heart thudding in my ears with each step. 

By the time I managed to slip off the main streets and into a side alley my hands were shaking, and as the adrenaline was beginning to wear off the bag’s weight began to become extremely noticeable. I didn’t realize how heavy it actually was in the heat of the moment. I didn’t let up however, I pushed myself to keep moving and with each step there was a small thrill of elation coursing through my body. 

Before long my head was swimming dangerously with warm fantasies of what I could do with this money. I was maybe three or four blocks away and practically out of breath, daring to believe I might actually manage to get away with this act of theft without any repercussions. It couldn’t have been that easy, right? It wasn’t long before I got my answer. Just as I’d begun to regain my breath and get my bearings, I heard a voice booming from behind me. It was loud, panicked, and viciously angry.

“YOU THERE, KID!”

That voice, it was the same one shouting on his phone from the corner. Without so much as a glance back I took off in a dead sprint, fleeing in the opposite direction. I was running as fast as I could, my feet pounding against the concrete so loudly that it muffled the man’s shouting from behind me as he gave chase. I took turns blindly, I cut across streets without thinking, I was running in any direction that might bring safety from the man chasing me. After what had felt like an eternity of running I dared to look back and was surprised to not see the man anywhere in sight. I didn’t dare think I’d lost him, he couldn’t be too far behind me, and I knew I couldn’t keep running with this bag weighing me down.

By the time I slipped off into another alleyway total darkness had consumed the city and it was getting harder to see to run. I kept pushing myself forward and passed by a nearby dumpster when an idea sparked. Without a second thought I hoisted the bag over into it and I heard it land with a soft thud. I hoped that if I somehow managed to shake this guy chasing me, I might be able to come back for it. 

I kept moving and soon I heard the man’s rushing footsteps growing louder from behind as he rounded the corner. I had barely begun running again when I heard a sickly familiar loud pop, and heard something strike the pavement just behind me.

“IF YOU DON’T STOP RIGHT NOW, I’LL KILL YOU!”

My entire body had gone ice cold as I forced myself to keep running. With each step I felt like I was inching closer and closer to death. I wouldn’t stop moving, I couldn’t. I turned another corner trying desperately to get away when I reached a dead end in the alley. There was an emergency exit to the building blocking my path forward, but no matter how hard I threw my body at the door, it wouldn’t budge. 

With nowhere else to go the man soon caught up to me, and as I heard his footsteps slow behind me, my heart sank. I turned to see him slowly approaching me, panting, just as out of breath as I was. He was disheveled from the chase and shaking even as he raised the gun and bore down on me. His words came slow, each one between exhausted, gasping breaths.

“WHERE IS IT?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” I heard myself quickly answer, not able to think of anything better to say. The man gave a sick smile and looked up as he took in a deep breath, before looking back down at me. 

“Ohh, you have no idea who you’re messing with, you little shit! WHERE’S MY BAG?” 

The sheer fury coursing through his body was palpable, and his hands were shaking as he bore down upon me with his gun drawn. It felt like my life was flashing before my eyes, time seemed to be moving awkwardly. I thought my heart may have stopped beating all together, and despite my best efforts to say something, or do anything, I was too paralyzed by fear. I truly thought my life was about to end. 

Then, before I could even register what was happening, just as I thought the man may pull the trigger, an absolute miracle happened. It was like the darkness above us came alive, and swooped down, snatching the man from the ground in front of me. In what felt like an instant the man who I thought would be my killer was gone. I looked up to see him dangling upside down, being held up from his ankle by a moving shadow that looked larger than life. 

I was completely stunned. My body was shaking, and I had never been more confused about what was happening in my life. The man was flailing around desperately and screaming, dropping his gun in the process. It came crashing down with a clunk near me as I stared up at the sight, utterly transfixed. I could just barely make out the shape of the figure draped in the night, a cut of darker air that seemed to have large pointed ears. There were these slim slits of white that looked to be eyes that were fighting against the darkness. For a split moment it felt like I was staring right into them, and I wondered if they were staring back. Without another moment wasted I took off running while I still had the chance to, the sounds of the man struggling still audible as I fled the dead-end.

From that moment on, everything felt like a total blur. I ran away from the alleyway I thought would be my grave and headed straight back for the dumpster I’d hidden the bag in earlier. By some stroke of luck, it was still in there, resting on top of the worthless trash I’d thrown it on top of. I climbed out of the dumpster, the bag slung over my shoulder, and headed straight to my home. I didn’t stop, didn't slow down, I moved as quickly as I could muster until my fingers grasped the fire escape I’d become accustomed to using. 

As I climbed up onto the rooftop I felt my body become heavy. I was exhausted. Everything around me felt surreal, the world didn’t feel real. I dropped the bag near my makeshift desk and sat down in front of it, just trying to catch my breath. I was trying to calm my nerves, I felt slightly sick as the reality of everything that had just happened was beginning to fully sink in.

Chapter Text

It felt like I sat in stunned silence for hours after I’d miraculously returned home with my spoils. My heart hasn’t stopped beating funny since I took the bag, and even after all this time later my hands were still softly trembling. I stared at the bag, still untouched since I’d first thrown it down earlier. I thought I would be feeling some kind of joy. I now had more money that I could have possibly imagined yesterday, even if I did have to steal to get it. I just feel sick from it all. I’m lucky to have slipped away with my life, let alone the bag. I had risked my life over that damn bag, I might as well see how much money it held inside afterall. 

I numbly worked the courage up to heave the bag closer to me, and with each movement I felt the contents inside shift about. I unzipped the bag and fully opened it, a sea of green meeting my eyes along with a foreign scent of paper and ink greeting my nostrils. It was an astonishing sight, more money than I’d ever seen in my life. I was willing to bet it was more money than my parents had ever owned at one time. I began to pull out stack after stack, some of them were twenties, others fifties, and it seemed the rest were hundreds. Each stack was thick, neatly bound by a band. I began to count it, but lost track somewhere after fifteen thousand, in complete disbelief that there was somehow more than that. Just having this much money in front of me felt dangerous, but it sent an exciting electrical jolt coursing through my body.

As my hands brushed against the last few stacks of cash, my eyes caught sight of more underneath the stacks of cash. I sunk my hand back into the bag and my fingers grazed what felt like several plastic baggies before they reached something that felt cold and textured. I wrapped my fingers around the object and pulled it out, letting the moonlight illuminate it. My hand was gripping the cold, dark steel of a handgun. I had never held a gun before. It was heavier than I had imagined one might be. I was turning it over in my hands, inspecting it with no real idea what I was doing. I had no real idea how to use one, other than the crude instinct to point and squeeze. After a moment there was a cold, unsettling feeling that was creeping up my skin just from holding it. It forced me to sit the gun aside for now. 

I reached back into the bag to see what the plastic I had felt in the bottom was. To my horror I was soon pulling out numerous small baggies, each one filled with differing contents. A few had a white powder inside, and a few others had a similar but more tannish color. There were baggies filled with pills, and even some that had what looked to be little crystals. I examined each one, my mouth growing dry as a sickening realization was crashing over me.

It suddenly all made sense. The large bag of money, the various substances hidden in the bottom with a gun. All owned by a man who’d been frantically yelling on the phone to someone who was late picking him up. No wonder the man seemed rather quick to kill over my theft. If I had fully realized the man was some drug runner I would have definitely thought twice about taking his duffel bag. My stomach was twisting in knots from fear, I thought I might be sick.

What in the hell was I going to do now?

I started to shake, the knowledge of knowing I had royally messed up was beginning to gnaw away at me. I knew that nothing good was going to come from this.

I’ll be hunted… I thought desperately to myself. My eyes were still transfixed on the bag and its contents. My thoughts were wild, but after a moment I came back to my senses. I found my eyes staring daggers at those baggies, eyeing the contents inside. I’m ashamed to admit it, but for a fleeting moment a wild and dangerous urge took hold of me. I was most likely damned already, it surely wouldn’t be long before I was killed as revenge for my actions. Maybe… it would be less painful to just down the unknown contents and drift off into the abyss rather than be murdered by some drug runners.

It was a horrible thought, one that even in the moment I told myself I would never act on. But even as I sat there that little voice inside me kept thinking about it. I moved to grab all the little baggies up, and I walked over to the edge of the rooftop I called home. My hands shook as one by one, I chucked each baggie as hard and as far as I could into the dark oblivion that was the city below me. As I think about it now, that was probably irresponsible, but I just needed them away from me. 

I returned to the bag, my eyes wandering to the gun sitting just beside it. Something inside me was more conflicted about getting rid of it. I’m not a violent person, and I would never want to hurt someone out of malice, but I won’t deny that I live in a violent environment. I decided to tuck it down into my backpack, not knowing if I would ever have any need for it, and hoping that I wouldn’t. 

Even long after as I tried to coax myself to sleep I was still wide awake, paralyzed by the unknown, the dread of retribution that was certainly coming for me. I didn’t feel safe enough to let my guard down to sleep. I had absolutely no idea who the man I’d stolen from was, but with how much money I took it doesn’t seem likely he will soon forget. I tried to bury down my dread and try to think instead of how I might put the money to use. I already made the mistake of stealing it, and I couldn’t take it back now. I might as well put it to good use before I’m hunted down and punished.

Soon my thoughts were filled with warm ideas of what I could spend it on. New clothes, maybe some decent food for a change, and I even dared to believe that this could lead me to getting a more permanent place I could call home for a while. 

As I began to drift off to sleep I found myself replaying my night over in my head, and I focused in on the moment I had managed to escape the man I thought would be my killer. It almost seemed like in everything that had happened my brain seemed to gloss over exactly what I had seen. From the darkness a shadow had plucked the man from the ground and hurled him up to the roof effortlessly. I could still vividly picture the sight of staring up, seeing the man screaming as he dangled from his ankle, and that… thing that held the man from the rooftops above. The large looming figure, long pointed ears, the white slits that seemed to be eyes. It seemed that all the stories of something lurking in the darkness of Gotham were true, and I had stared right into the eyes of whatever it was. My wind was swimming with a million unanswered questions about the figure until sleep began to take hold of me, and I was soon lost in the embrace of Morpheus.

Chapter Text

I found myself awaking just hours later as the dull morning light of Gotham illuminated my rooftop. I still felt hazy after last night, a feeling that was making the entire world around me feel awkward. For the first hour or so I was awake I just sat rather unmovingly on my rooftop. My stomach was still in knots and my eyes kept wandering towards the stolen duffel bag. I was wishing now more than ever that I could somehow go back in time and stop myself from ever touching the damn thing. How stupid must I be? I should have known better than to risk my life over something like this. Was I seriously thinking there could be zero repercussions from it? My mind had begun to run wild with what possible retribution would be awaiting me for all of this. When I closed my eyes I could still so clearly see the man who’d given chase over the bag, I could practically feel his hands as I pictured them reaching out to grab me. It was a paralyzing feeling, and the worry found itself nestled deeply in my chest, making each breath feel fought for. 

As I closed my eyes again I couldn’t help but remember the sight of the man being dangled above me from darkness. It had been him, the Bat. I almost still couldn’t believe it, and I was still wondering if I had somehow been wrong about what I thought had happened. But then I thought of the large shadowy figure, the long pointed ears, the slits of white eyes. There’s no way I had imagined it. I wonder what happened to the man after I ran, perhaps the Bat took care of him. That was an almost comforting thought, until I began to wonder if the Bat might come after me. The mere thought of being yanked off the street by whatever that Bat thing was made my skin crawl. 

I tried to ignore those dreadful thoughts and found my eyes completely transfixed on the duffelbag. Soon I was mindlessly thinking about the piles of money sitting inside of it, and all the possibilities it held. Before long the feelings of regret and dread that had filled my morning were being drowned out by a more dangerous feeling of wonder. I allowed myself to dimly daydream of the things I could now afford. New clothes, perhaps some new art supplies, I even wondered if I could manage to rent a motel room for a bit to get off the streets. Really anything would be better than this damp, gusty rooftop. I almost felt ashamed about just how much excitement was beginning to course through me at these prospects. 

I finally made a choice. I wasn’t going to let myself sit here and spiral with worry and dread. If I had made some kind of grand mistake by stealing this money, then I might as well make the most of this situation. It was time to have some fun spending some of it before the consequences could catch up to me. I moved myself over to the duffelbag and opened it once more, still getting the same heartstopping feeling in my chest when seeing the money inside that I did the first time. I only took a few hundred dollars from the stacks and tucked the money down into my ragged backpack. With that I made my way down to street level and headed to the nearest subway station, eager to check some of the shops in a nicer part of Gotham.

It may sound silly, but the absolute first thing I wanted was new socks. It’s one of those small things about life that I hadn’t realized I’d taken for granted until being forced to wear the same few worn and frayed pairs for the last few months. I stopped at a small shoe store and began to look around. When picking out socks I made sure to get some thick ones and after I made a choice I began to move over to a back wall of nothing but shoes. I wasn’t too sure what kind I wanted, but really anything would be an improvement to the pair I was currently wearing. I looked at several different kinds until settling on a pair of dark gray trainers with bright white laces. I paid for my things and moved to a small, somewhat secluded sitting area nearby. I took off my old shoes and socks and replaced them with what I’d just purchased. As I slipped on the new socks I noticed just how soft the fabric felt against my skin. I just sat there for a moment, wiggling my toes around and grounding myself in the small, undeniable comfort of it.

I walked out of that store in higher spirits, now a semblance of comfort between me and the pavement. Walking in them was going to take some getting used to, and I couldn’t help but keep looking down to notice just how absurdly clean they were compared to everything else about me. After a bit of walking I slipped into a clothing store on the streetcorner. 

I drifted towards the racks filled with your average everyday clothes. Shirts mostly, and nothing overly flashy. I told myself all I needed was something clean, and warm; something that wouldn’t make me stand out from any other normal kid my age. I ran my fingers along fabrics trying to make a decision. There were so many button-ups, a little too proper for my condition, and honestly I’ve never been the biggest fan of them. I ended up settling on a few plain long-sleeve shirts and a couple of loose fitting sweaters all in various muted colors. Grays, Blues, Burgundy. All colors that felt like they might blend into the dim color of Gotham. 

Pants were next and I felt like I lingered in the aisle longer than necessary. My eyes kept wandering to the far end where stacks of clothes of differing shades were folded, a sign indicated the area was for women. I tried to reign in my wandering eyes, but they kept glancing towards cuts that were slimmer, and softer in shape. I stood there silently warring with myself, angry I couldn’t just pick out some damn clothes without overthinking it. I grabbed several pairs of dark colored jeans that sat on a low shelf, they felt rather unremarkable in every way that was fitting for me. 

I moved on; next on the list was a new jacket. Winter weather would be coming sooner than I’d like, and for the first time I wasn’t worried about what I was going to do for some warmer clothing. I perused for a bit, looking at all the different styles before settling on one that was heavier than it looked. It was thick canvas on the outside, a washed out beige color, with a hood that was deep enough I felt I could retreat inside it. The inside was lined with fake fur, soft and fluffy when I pressed it to my face. I looked around, somewhat embarrassed despite there being no one around to see me. 

I eventually found myself drifting deeper into the store, down aisles I hadn’t really planned to walk down. Shelves and racks around me were filled with clothing I wanted nothing more than to wear, but that I pretended not to look at. Skirts and sundresses were arranged neatly on a clearance rack, soft fabrics that I felt my fingers caress before I caught myself. Mannequins wore cardigans in vibrant colors, some wore coats that were cut to accentuate curves, a few were adorned with scarves that were draped around them like little bows on a present. 

I stopped walking almost entirely. I just stood there, slightly frozen, my heart stammering. It felt like I’d somehow wandered into some forbidden area. It felt like at any moment someone might come along, tap me on the shoulder, and escort me away while telling me I didn’t belong in this section. I was imagining what I must look like on the outside, some awkward, disheveled boy staring too long at the women’s clothing. My skin began to burn with this scalding feeling of shame. 

But despite that, I couldn’t stop imagining a version of myself who didn’t have to feel like this. A version of me who could pull off any pick of these dresses off the rack and wear it proudly without some underlying fear of being judged. Someone who could openly exist comfortably in the background, without the awkwardness that came with these feelings of otherness. The desire was sharp and sudden, and unwanted in every way. I just wanted to pretend I was normal, yet it seems that I’m constantly tormented with these confusing thoughts and desires. 

I told myself to just start small. Something that wouldn’t look strange for me to buy. I moved towards a display of hair accessories. There were bows in bright colors, headbands in various muted shades, but my eyes settled on a very simple package of black hair ties. I picked them up and turned the packaging over in my hands. My hair was definitely long enough now that I could actually use these, and it would be a nice replacement to the frayed rubber bands I’ve used to practice pulling my hair up with. It seemed justifiable enough to get, it was the next item that caused more internal struggle. 

A deep crimson colored scarf that stood out from the others it hung with on its display caught my eyes. I sat there debating on whether I would pick it up or not. It seemed a little much, not that it was garish, but it felt a little “extra”. I don’t know if I even realized at the moment, but I think some of my reluctance came from this idea I was undeserving of something so beautiful. There was a voice in my head that reminded me that snow would be falling upon Gotham before long, and when it did I might be glad to own some colder weather accessories. With that I picked up the scarf, and searched for a pair of gloves to go with them, eventually settling on a deep green colored pair. 

As I walked back to the front of the store I passed by a section of various bags, purses, and backpacks. Not long after looking through them all I spotted a dark gray backpack that I couldn’t walk away from. It was thick, sturdy, and the zippers still slid smooth unlike my current bag. With that I decided to make my way up to the checkout counter. There was a lone cashier who stood staring out of the large window bleak overcast afternoon outside. She seemed utterly disinterested in me, barely looking my way throughout our entire interaction. Honestly, I wish more of my interactions with strangers could go that way. I paid for my things and asked if there was a changing room, to which the lady pointed off to the side.

I slipped off into one of the dressing rooms near the back. In the privacy of the small confined space I began to slowly shed off the old rags of my past life. Seeing myself bare in the reflection of the mirror felt uncomfortable, but being able to hide behind new clean clothes helped a bit. Yet it somehow sharpened the disconnect I felt in myself. As I stared back I saw someone more put together than they had been in months, someone who didn’t look on the verge of collapse now, but something still wasn’t right. I tugged at sleeves and tried to adjust every inch of my clothing, trying my damndest to just shut up my poisonous thoughts. 

Before exiting the changing room I began to transfer over the contents of my old bag into the new one. It felt like moving on somehow. My journal, pencils, pens, and the last few scraps of food I’d been hoarding while I was still stealing every calorie. Even with everything moved over there was ample space left. I folded up my old flimsy bag, along with the remaining new clothes I bought and tucked them down into the bag. When I was done I slipped on my new jacket and once it was snug around me something that had been tight inside me loosened. A tense feeling I had been carrying was suddenly relaxing, and my body was washed over with a small warm feeling of security. The weight of it settled around me, and felt like armor between me and the outside world. 

By the time I was finished shopping my entire kit had been practically replaced with much nicer, newer things. Better shoes, warm clothes, I even stopped at a small art supply shop on my way back to catch a train home. I walked out with a new sketchbook and a set of pencils I would have never gotten. A stray thought crossed my mind that my mother would have laughed at them being far too expensive if I’d have asked. Slipping them into my bag gave me a mingled ache of happiness and sadness, like I’d remembered who I’d been before I was reduced to my current existence. 

As I rode the train back to the Bowery a realization hit me: this was the first time I’d ever really shopped for myself. The first time I was able to decide what I wanted, what I deserved, without having some parental figure looming over my shoulder making the final call. This was the real sense of freedom I’d been craving for so long. The opportunity to make my own decisions, not ones coerced by adults or financial constraint.

As I departed the station and wandered back into the familiar streets of the Bowery I began to wonder if I overdid it on my shopping spree. It began with me only intending to get what I really needed for the time. But when you suddenly have more money than you’ve ever had, the lines between “want” and “need” start to blur slightly. New clothing to keep the cold of streetlife out? Well of course that’s a need. New art supplies though? I thought I deserved them at least… 

As I kept walking the streets near my home I passed by a familiar sight: a restaurant I’d longingly passed by several times in recent weeks. A rather expensive dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in the Bowery? Well, I have to admit that may have been a little much, but I didn’t regret it. Besides, it was the first real meal I’d had in months not stolen or bought from some street vendor. I hesitated at the door, suddenly hyperaware of myself. Of how I might look walking into such a place, a kid all alone. Then the thought of warm food crossed my mind again, and I pushed through the threshold anyways. 

The inside was smaller than I’d expected and softly lit, the kind of place with cloth napkins and menus that were home to dishes without listed prices. Walking inside felt like stepping into someone else’s life. It wasn’t too busy, and I didn’t seem to be drawing attention the way I’d feared I might. Before long the host approached, smiled as she greeted me, and led me to a table like I belonged there.

I was given a small table near a window, and was seated in a chair that looked less comfortable than it really was. The entire place smelt like fresh bread mingled with the faint scent of alcohol. When my food arrived I felt so overwhelmed I thought I might cry. I ate slowly, deliberately, savoring every warm bite, afraid the moment would vanish if I rushed it. It felt like the first real proper meal I’d had in months. When my bill came I felt so overjoyed with the experience of it all I left the young waitress that attended to me a fifty, and quietly left back to the dark Gotham streets. 

The city felt different as I walked back to my home, less intimidating maybe. I wasn’t going to bed hungry. I wasn’t wearing rags. I wasn’t cold. I knew the feeling would be fleeting. I mean I was still homeless with no direction, but for the first time in a long while, my mind felt clear. So much of my energy had been spent just staying alive. Staying warm, avoiding danger, and finding food. But now that some of that stress was alleviated maybe there would be space left over for something greater. As I approached my rooftop, I began to let myself believe in the warm kindling of hope that was stirring deep down. Maybe things would really start to turn around. 

Chapter Text

Life feels quite lavish now in comparison to the past few months. I’ve been eating what I want when I want, and suddenly going to bed hungry is now a thing of the past. I’ve been waking up in the mornings feeling rested, actually ready for the day ahead of me instead of dreading the upcoming hours. I had gotten so used to living in some perpetual haze of hunger and sleep deprivation that now that it’s cleared, I’m almost lost on how to act. Along with my newer, warmer clothes keeping the chill of Gotham’s air at bay, I am now in much higher spirits. Sure not everything was better, I was still living on the streets, but I suddenly don’t feel quite as hopeless or helpless against it all. This comfort was providing some time for reflection, and with that a realization I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

After months of just barely getting by I started to believe that the struggle for survival was all I was. It consumed me, became my new identity. But now that’s gone, so what’s even left? Really, I’m just some lonely kid with far too much time to think. Before long this newfound time of reflection was spiraling into a rabbithole of self-doubts and anxiety. I spent hours pacing my rooftop, silently thinking. I seemed to dwell on some greater purpose in life, perhaps living this way is pushing me further from whatever my purpose is. I think back on everything that has happened, everything I’ve had to endure in the past year. When looking back on everything I couldn’t help feeling like I had constantly made the wrong choices.

When I had first fled my mother’s home I saw it as this grand act of defiance. I was running to ensure that who I was, my true self, couldn't be erased by my mother. Yet in a way, I seemed to have managed to do that myself. I used to spend every hour at home with my mother just daydreaming of being someone different. I often dreamed of a different version of myself who was comfortable with who they are, someone who wasn’t ashamed to dress and act as they felt. There was some part of me that believed that freedom from my mother would somehow usher in the existence of that person I so desperately dreamed of being. But in my time on the streets I’ve spent each day living hour-to-hour, ignoring my emotions and feelings and trying my best to go unseen by the world around me. I crafted all of these little silent rules in some vain attempt at creating safety only for those rules to further erase who I truly am. Even after everything, the real me still just felt invisible. 

I silently forced myself to ignore these feelings for so long, but after I stole that money I was finally given a truer taste of freedom, and I found myself pondering these emotions. I feel like I’m wasting my life living like some recluse on this damp rooftop, letting the world move around me without so much as a thought. Slowly a small flame of desire was set alight inside me and I was left yearning for more. I was growing desperate for something new, for something to change, and I knew that it would never come to me on my rooftop. So over time I was slowly venturing back out into the streets of Gotham, searching for whatever it was that I was looking for.

At times it felt like I had no real reason to walk, with no real destinations in mind. But I would still make myself go out and explore my surroundings, an effort to truly learn the streets I occupied. At first I tended to stick to the surrounding areas of the Bowery I was already somewhat familiar with, in particular a small coffee shop I began to frequent. It was quaint inside, typically not busy, and sported a fantastic view out of the large front windows. I rather liked coffee after giving it a try, so I found myself coming here every so often, ordering a warm drink, and sitting in a booth near the window to draw. It almost felt normal, sitting in a public space, paying for coffees, just lounging like I was anyone else. It was a nice change of pace, but after a while I began to venture deeper into the city and into the outskirts of the East End that bordered the neighborhood I called home. 

I haven’t really walked these streets much, I’ve only passed through occasionally and have never really taken the time to actually look. The East End looks much different up close during the day compared to how I typically see it glowing in the distance from my rooftop at night. The dull sunlight spills across layers of thick grime that covers practically everything here from the streets to the rundown looking buildings. They carry the appearance like ghosts of the storefronts and failed businesses. Everything here looked worse for wear, even by Gotham’s standards. I continued to walk along the streets absentmindedly, just soaking in the environment and killing time. It was somewhat quiet here, only being interrupted by the occasional cars driving past. 

I wouldn't really call beautiful, definitely not in the way people would typically mean when they use that word. But there was something about these streets I found appealing, almost fascinating. It’s rough in a way that’s not trying to be hidden, and it fits for the reputation the East End carries. Even being known as one of the more dangerous slices of Gotham doesn’t set my nerves on edge, after being on the street for so long Gotham doesn’t quite frighten the same way it used to. Besides, I’d taken to walking around with that gun I unknowingly stole tucked down in my backpack in case of emergency. I didn’t know exactly how to use it, but hoped I wouldn’t have to. Maybe the threat of it would act as deterrent enough.

The more I stared at the out-of-date looking buildings I felt the urge to draw them. My sketchbook was filled with drawings from all across the city but I hadn’t sketched this piece of Gotham up close, just from the distant view of my rooftop. Before I knew it I had found myself in an area I’d never seen before, and rounded the corner on a street filled with nightclubs and bars. I could just faintly hear something in the distance, a small hum that felt out of place in the background noise. As I walked down the street the noise slowly became more audible, it sounded like a girl and her tone didn’t sound at all happy. With each step my mind was racing with possibilities of what was happening. Perhaps she was arguing with someone I just couldn’t hear, but I still couldn’t tell. With a few more moments of walking the noise had become much clearer, and it seemed to be coming from an alleyway behind an old pawnshop I was now standing by.

I hung back for a moment, trying my best to make out what the sounds coming from the alleyway were. As I approached the back of the pawnshop I hugged the corner and listened as hard as I could. It was a girl I had heard, and she was indeed yelling at someone else who’s voice was much lower than hers. I peeked around the corner and the sight set my hair on edge.

A much older looking man had cornered this girl in the back alley, she didn’t look like she was much older than myself. She had this sharp kind of look about her, cropped short auburn hair, and a fierce defiance in her shoulders even as this much larger man looked over her. The man was speaking in a much more hushed tone than she was, but her loud protests of not wanting to go with the man made it clear what their disagreement was about. I could just make out one of his hands that had a thick grasp of the girl's wrist as they were arguing, and she was trying desperately to wring it free.

It felt like an eternity that I was stood there frozen. The sight felt all too familiar, someone facing danger, and me experiencing it from afar. I thought back to the man I witnessed gunned down by muggers, and how I had felt powerless in that moment. I’ve dwelled on that moment of inaction and this feeling of guilt attached ever since that night, even if I know there was little I could have done to save him. But now, in this moment, I looked at this girl trying her damndest to get away from this man. If I was going to do something to help, I needed to act now.

I reached down into my backpack and my fingers grazed the cool metal of the stolen handgun. I felt an electric rush surge through my body and my hands began to tremble a bit from the nerves of holding it. I took a few deep breaths trying to steady myself, I kept the hand I held the gun in behind my back as I rounded the corner. I was greeted with a clearer sight of the girl’s struggle, and adrenaline was soon pounding in my ears.

“Hey!” I shouted, loud enough to cut through their argument. 

The man’s gaze left the girl he was harassing and found me just down the way. Something in my body compelled me to step forward, so I did, taking advantage of my newfound courage. He gazed at me with this bewildered look of disbelief, then it morphed into something like disgust. He eyed me up and down, and he began to move his eyes back to the girl.

“Piss off punk, this ain’t your business.”

My grip tightened on the gun, the cool steel pressing against my palm. 

“This creep won’t- take the hint!” The red-haired girl yelled out, still trying to pull herself free from the man’s grip. Her voice held more anger and annoyance than it did panic or fear.

“Dude, let her go!” I yell back at the man, trying my best to keep my nerves steady. He didn’t seem too bothered with me, he almost seemed amused that I was trying to interfere. It took another moment of bravery to actually brandish the gun, and as I held it up to the man the entire mood shifted. Suddenly all eyes were on me. He froze for a moment, and his mingled look of amusement and annoyance melted away as he looked between me and the girl.

“I’m not asking,” I say, an edge in my voice that’s foreign to me. “Get lost!”

To my slight surprise, he actually let her go, throwing her arm back at her in anger. I honestly expected a bit more resistance. He muttered something about “talking later” with the girl before he turned and began to slink away down the alleyway and back onto the street, his tone promised that their next encounter wouldn’t be a friendly one. Once he was out of sight, the adrenaline coursing through my body drained fast. My hands started to shake and my stomach was twisting in knots as the reality and the gravity of what I had just done began to sink in. It had all happened so fast, in that moment it had felt like all of the worries in my head had ceased, and was now violently flooding back. 

“Holy shit…” 

It was the girl, the sound of her voice had pulled me from my thoughts back to reality. Before I could say anything she was giving me a tight hug that had completely caught me off guard.

“You’re a lifesaver!” She thanked me in an enthusiastic tone. 

“You okay?” I awkwardly asked as she pulled away from the embrace. 

She nodded as she examined herself, a mixed look of surprise and gratitude. She seemed to be a bit too casual about the situation for someone who was just being harassed. It was like this was all just another part of her day. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. That guy’s an asshole… thinks I owe him something…” She explained as she held her hand out towards me, “Holly.”

“Carrie.” I greet as we shake hands.

We didn’t chat for long, just a few more moments. She told me that she lives close by in some old rundown apartment block near Park Row. She gave a quick explanation of where she was talking about and said if I was ever “in the neighborhood” that I should stop by to hangout, saying something about a way to thank me for helping her. She gave me this look, almost as if she wanted to say more but didn’t. I probably looked that way too honestly. She thanked me once again before we turned and parted ways

I couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased with myself as I walked away from that encounter. It felt amazing that I had been able to help her, to be able to act with a good outcome for a change. I wasn’t really sure if her offer of visiting was all that serious. It seemed like her way of trying to repay me for what I’d done, but I wasn’t interested in some reward. Besides, the possibility of us hanging out and becoming friends or something felt kind of laughable. I mean, at the end of the day she was just some random girl I happened to be able to help out, and that’s all. Despite that, the entire walk home I couldn’t help but replay our brief interaction over and over in my head. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little intrigued by her. 

Chapter Text

It’s been a few days since meeting that girl Holly in the East End and ever since I haven’t been back to that area of Gotham. Instead I’ve spent the last days sticking to the familiar areas of the Bowery I’ve begun to frequent. I found myself sitting in that little cafe mindlessly replaying that small interaction between us over and over in my head. I started to wonder if she might have actually been serious with her offer of hanging out sometime. At first I had believed it was just a small thing she said to be polite at the moment, besides, she doesn’t know me. There’s no way she’d want some strange kid she met once randomly showing up to her home. I mean, she couldn’t have possibly expected me to take her seriously, could she?

I tried my best to just let it go, to move on and forget about our small interaction. Yet for some reason the idea I would never see her again was bothering me so badly it was becoming uncomfortable. There had been something about her that captivated me, and I was slowly beginning to wonder if we could somehow become friends. It seemed ridiculous, but there was something about these thoughts today that seemed to break the dam. By mid-afternoon I had fully given into my curiosity, or possibly hope, to see if Holly had been genuine with her offer. I was soon pushing myself out of the Bowery, and venturing further into the streets of the East End than I’d ever been. 

Going deeper into the East End wasn’t something I felt too confident in doing, but the desire to see Holly again was overpowering any feelings of doubt I had. These blocks felt different than the little part of Gotham I currently considered home, like Gotham’s dirty underside, unregulated and perverse. I recalled the little landmarks Holly had mentioned in the directions on how to get to her apartment building. I turned the corner at a closed down bodega with broken glass windows blocked off by plywood, and soon saw an old bar sign missing half its letters. I kept going straight down the street until I passed an old graffiti mural of a woman whose face had been faded by time.

The vibe was slowly shifting as I walked further, and the people I passed by were making me feel less courageous by the moment. But I kept pushing forward, trying to find my way to the area near Park Row Holly had described. I walked past video stores and pawn shops, trying to ignore the various people on the street I passed that shot me unwelcoming glances. I passed by a couple arguing on the stoop of their building so loudly that I’d be surprised if everyone on the street hadn’t heard every word. The further I went the more uncomfortable I felt, and I found myself subconsciously clutching the straps of my backpack a little tight. Especially after passing by a small group of older men who looked to be bikers. One of the men was working on a motorcycle and blocking most of the sidewalk, making it very awkward when I had to squeeze around them. Even the air in this part of Gotham had a bite to it, it smelt acrid. 

Between my own uncertain thoughts about Holly and the unwelcoming nature of the East End I was starting to doubt myself. My inner voice was questioning if Holly would really be okay with me just showing up randomly. Would her parents be mad? Would she? Hell, she probably wouldn’t even remember my name. I almost turned back, abandoned the urge to see her again out of some lack of confidence, but then I spotted the tenement she’d described to me, and a familiar looking girl sitting on the front stoop. Perched on the top step, elbow balanced on her knee, and a cigarette dangling loosely from her fingers, was Holly. Her short auburn hair looked intentionally messy, and a lazy curl of smoke was winding in arches above her head. I walked closer, my heart thumping, trying not to look nervous, trying desperately to think of what to say to her. She saw me before I had worked up the nerve to call out to her, and her face broke into a small smirk. It almost seemed like she had been waiting for this. 

“Hey dude, It’s so good to see you!” she called. “Carrie right?” She asked, not like she was unsure of herself, but wanted to double-check. 

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Good to see you too, Holly.” 

I felt a bit unsure, a bit awkward as I came to a stop at the stoop. She seemed to notice my anxiousness almost immediately. 

“You didn’t get mugged walking through the bad part of town did you?” She asked in a sarcastic tone. 

I gave a small scoff. “Wait, we’re in the bad part of town?” I snarkily inquired. 

She laughed and flicked her cigarette before getting to her feet. “Well, it’s not all bad. Come on, I’ll show you around a bit. I have somewhere to go anyway.” She’d begun to walk forward and motioned for me to follow when she turned and added with a sarcastic tone, “I promise not to let you ruin your nice, fancy shoes.”

“Pfft, they’re not fancy.” I scoffed.

She gave a small giggle as I followed her down the street. Her movements couldn’t have been more opposite than mine. She cut through the streets with the kind of confidence that came from an intimate familiarity with them. She weaved around small clusters of people effortlessly, glancing back occasionally to make sure I was keeping pace with her. She narrated the neighborhood as we walked, gesturing with small head nods more than her hands. She pointed out her favorite coffee shop, a record store she often perused when bored, and a burned out building that she explained was a bakery before a suspicious fire had forced it to close last year. We rounded the corner onto a street filled with advertisements for various nightclubs and bars nearby, and numerous small groups of people loitering about.  

It felt like with every other step there was someone new calling out to Holly, greeting her or asking how she was. She would lightheartedly answer back without ever breaking stride, offering short and sweet responses. At one point we passed by these two older teenagers that looked like the type I tried to steer clear of. Their frames slouched against some rusted storefront with a practiced, predatory ease. One toyed with a ring on his pinky, his knuckles scarred and raw, while the other wore a cocky smirk that didn't reach his eyes. The pair appeared sharp and restless, scanning the street like they were looking for their next mark. One whistled our direction and began to walk alongside us. 

“Yo, Holly. We got some new releases in, you can have first pick, short stuff.” He spoke, an underlying greedy look in his eyes. 

“Another time Gator,” she said a bit dismissively. He slinked back to his friend still leaning against the old storefront. 

“Gator?” I asked, unsure if I’d misheard her or not. 

She gave a small laugh. “I know, what a dumb name.”

I couldn’t help but smile as she explained those two had quite the reputation for peddling pirated DVDs. As we kept walking I seemed to notice that most of the people who were taking the time to greet Holly seemed older than us, sometimes not by much, but it was enough to notice the trend. I would have found this all a bit stranger if she didn’t act like it was so natural. I watched as she carried herself with this level of ease and confidence that I couldn’t imagine myself having. These people seemed like nothing more than strangers to me, but she spoke to them as if they’d known one-another forever. It felt unbelievable that she somehow knew all of these people considering I tended to avoid those around me, not make friends with them. 

“You seem to be quite popular,” I observed, trying to make it sound as casual as possible.

She shrugged, “Eh, not really. I mean I see most of these people daily. Eventually you start getting to know everyone.”

It sounded unreasonably simple and I tried to imagine myself stopping to talk to half the people she did but it seemed laughable. I pictured the awkwardness of it vividly, but Holly didn’t seem to be weary of interaction the way I’d always been. We soon passed the ragged outline of an old park, its fence bowed outward in places. The grass grew in stubbornly uneven patches, more dirt than green. A fountain stood at the center, its basin cracked and dry, graffiti scattered along its base. Holly slowed just enough to point it out.

“We should come back sometime and let me show you the park,” she said. “I promise it’s not as depressing looking up close.”

Something in her words landed with a warm crash in my chest. It was said so casually, the assumption there would be a next time we hang out. She still barely knew me, I barely knew her, but she was already acting like we were friends. They say some people never meet a stranger, perhaps Holly is simply one of those people. It would explain why she seems to know the majority of those we’ve passed. It seemed to foreign to me, I usually hated talking to new people. 

We eventually arrived at Holly’s destination, a small corner store on the edge of Park Row. The inside was lit with fluorescents that buzzed faintly over the narrow aisles. The shelves appeared either disorganized and crammed or completely barren. I trailed behind her, as we made small talk about nothing special. She remarked on how overpriced the cereal she liked was getting and was talking about some stray cat she’s been feeding as we looked at cat food. I took to carrying some of the things she was picking out as she began to hand me them without asking. 

When we were finished at the register she pulled a thick wad of cash from her pocket to pay. I was a bit stunned honestly, it was way more money than I would have guessed she was carrying, or even had. But just like everything else I’d observed about her, she acted so casual about it. I didn’t ask any questions, I didn’t want to pry. By the time we got back outside the sky was shifting towards a hazy purple color that Gotham gets as the evening fades into night. I could feel the evening air was getting cooler as I adjusted the grocery bag on my arm and tried to keep my voice casual as I spoke.

“Do you work somewhere?”

She gave a small shrug. “I hustle. It’s Gotham.”

She set her bag down at her feet and reached into her jacket. Soon a cigarette appeared between her fingers, then a lighter. The flame flared briefly, illuminating the angles of her face. She held the open pack toward me and it took me a second longer than I’d like to admit to realize she was offering me one. I shook my head. 

“I’m good.”

She let out a quiet laugh, smoke curling from her mouth. “Yeah, I shouldn’t either. It’s a nasty habit I managed to pick up on long nights.”

I didn’t really know what she meant by that. She didn’t elaborate, but then again, I didn’t ask her to. I was starting to feel a little awkward again, and my thoughts were running wild trying to come up with anything to say.

“So, you a cat person?” I asked, trying yet again to sound casual.

“Yeah I guess so,” Holly answered as she pulled her grocery bags back up her arms. “My sister absolutely adores cats so I think I just picked it up from her.”

A sister huh? I had been silently dying to know what Holly’s family life was like. A teenager who smoked, was seemingly running about unsupervised, and carried more money than most our age had. I wanted to ask questions, but didn’t want to come across as nosy. We walked back towards her apartment, our conversation rising and falling in waves. She didn’t seem bothered by the silence when I ran out of things to say. I kept worrying I was being too quiet, that I was being boring, but each glance at Holly I stole showed no displeasure on her face. Her apartment building was dimly lit as we approached it off the street. We stepped into a lobby that smelled faintly of mildew and something metallic. She pointed at the elevator wrapped in caution tape. 

“Damn thing hasn’t worked the entire time I’ve lived here!” She exclaimed, like it was her worst enemy. 

The stairs creaked under our weight as we climbed up to her apartment. On the fourth floor we stopped outside of a door at the end of the hallway. Holly fished inside her pocket before pulling out a small key and unlocking the door. The space inside was small and cluttered but unmistakably lived in. Clothes draped over the back of a chair. A stack of mail laid in a pile on a small table near the door. Dishes rested in the sink like they’d been left mid-thought. It wasn’t tidy, or impressive, but it was leagues above what I was living in. I glanced around, half-expecting to see her parents, or even the sister she’d mentioned earlier, but it seemed to be empty.

“No one else home?” I asked as I still looked around the space, expecting to see someone any moment. 

“No, just me and my sister… she’s out right now.” Holly explained, and I couldn’t help but notice the more glum tone of these words. 

I did my best to help her put away her groceries but ended up standing back and watching her as she moved with quick and efficient movements. I shuffled around awkwardly, my mind filled with more questions about Holly than ever. It was starting to get late, and I didn’t feel too stoked about walking back to my rooftop in the dark.

“Well,” I stammered awkwardly. “I should probably get going, before it gets late.” And before I could even shift towards the door I heard her speak words that caught me off guard.

“Alright. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” 

“Huh?” I asked, bewildered at the idea at first. 

“Well, yeah. you don’t seem to know this area all that well,” she began to explain.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I said, maybe more defensively than I meant to.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” she replied, calm and certain. “I just don’t want you getting turned around heading home, that’s all.” 

I felt my cheeks go slightly hot, but I relented and agreed to let her come with me. We walked together as far as the bodega on the edge of the Bowery. The streetlights above cast long shadows across the pavement as we came to a stop there.

“You can head back,” I tried to assure her. “It’s getting dark. I promise I know my way from here.”

She hesitated, studying my face before she nodded. “Okay. But you know, you got to see where I live. You gotta show me your place sometime!.”

She said it lightly, almost playful. It made heat creep up my neck, but I forced a shrug and an unconvincing: “Sure.”

The thought settled heavily in my stomach. I didn’t have anything to show her. She had an apartment, messy and imperfect sure, but it was an actual home. I had occupied rooftops and borrowed corners for the better part of the last year. Spaces that didn’t belong to me. The thought of her seeing that, seeing my real life and not whatever she must have imagined about me in her head, made something twist painfully inside my chest. We said our goodbyes, and she made me promise I’d come back to see her again soon, so I did. Then she turned and disappeared back into the dim streets of Gotham.

I found myself lying in the dark hours later replaying the day in fragments. Everything about Holly was utterly fascinating to me. The way people spoke to her. The way she moved through the rough streets of the East End without shrinking. The curl of her cigarette smoke against the evening sky. She moved through the world around her like it was built with her in mind, even if it clearly wasn’t. I tried to imagine what that felt like, to be that confident so completely, but I just couldn’t see myself like that. I admired her ability to carry herself in such a manner. For someone who was my age, it felt like she was so much more mature than I was.

Chapter Text

I’ll be honest, it’s quite hard to remember just how long it's been since my last entry. I think it’s been about a week, the days have begun to blur in a way I’m unfamiliar with. The things I used to occupy my time with, drawing, journaling and such, were ways to escape my life. But since I’ve started to spend time with Holly I don’t quite feel the same urge to run from my existence. Even on the days we haven’t been together I spent the hours daydreaming about seeing her again. Somehow, this one person has loosened time’s sickening grip on me. Where I used to wait numbly for each hour to pass I now feel desperate to savor every second I manage to spend with her.

We don’t even spend our time doing anything too noteworthy. We’re just hanging around the city, trying to pretend we’re normal kids for each other. Really, it doesn’t matter what we're doing, so long as we’re doing it together. We’ve spent hours drifting lazily through the East End together, even venturing through some of the sketchier areas that made my hair stand on end. You would think Holly owned these streets the way she would strut down them. Her bold confidence walking through these rough slices of Gotham seemed to be in direct contradiction to what I’d always heard about it. And when I told her she merely scoffed at my preconceived notions.

“I just always heard that walking through here was borderline attempted suicide.” I lightly explained.

“Oh please!” Holly dismissed with a handwave. “I mean sure it’s not like, the most pleasant place, but is any part of Gotham pleasant?”

Well she wasn’t wrong there. But the East End often feels rough in a very deliberate way, a way that feels unique compared to the other areas of Gotham I’ve explored. Some of the buildings here are layered so thick with graffiti that it's hard to tell which tags are new. There are so many scrappy looking storefronts and most of them look so vague I have absolutely no clue what they could possibly be selling. It’s an almost endless sea of pawnshops and bars, places with blacked-out windows and some with buzzers instead of doorhandles. When darkness settles overhead the streets glow sickly pink, green and blue from large neon-lit signs that advertise the various nightclubs and strip joints home to the district. The entire neighborhood feels like some seedy, city sanctioned red-light district. 

I somehow doubt I will ever feel as comfortable moving through here as Holly does. She treats these streets as harmless, but I can’t help but feel jumpy. I feel like I’m constantly on edge, anticipating something bad to happen. Sharp and unexpected noises swiftly draw my attention, and every shadow feels like it hides an unknown threat behind it. My behavior doesn’t seem to go unnoticed by Holly either.

“Relax,” She tries to assure me, bumping my shoulder with hers as if my worries were unjustified. “No one’s gonna fuck with you when you’re with me.”

I’m not really sure why her words feel so comforting, perhaps it's the certainty she spoke them with. She acted like her reputation itself would ward off bad things from happening. Even if the thought was laughable, it was just nice to put faith in the safety of being with her, even if it didn’t always feel tangible. I’ve spent so long on the streets alone that feels almost alien to have someone else around who has my back. 

The typical anxiety from being out in public seems to ease when I’m walking beside her, and in its place a comforting warmth settles through my bones. It’s a quiet, unusual feeling, but I take advantage of those feelings no matter how fragile it may seem. I take time to remind myself to relax, to try and let go, and enjoy spending time with Holly. I’m slowly learning to quiet the inner voices of dread when I’m with her. 

Sometimes it feels like my entire existence has been lived on the edge of suspense, like I’m just waiting for the next catastrophe to happen. One of the first observations Holly voiced aloud about me was that I seemed to not know how to relax, and maybe she’s right. So I’m now making an effort to at the very least try and relax when I’m with her. Even if I’m pretending at times. Maybe pretending it can will it into existence. In the hopes that it might work, I will pretend all is well and that everything will be okay in the end, even if I don’t fully believe it myself. In the meantime I will learn to let go of my fears and worries when I’m with Holly, and I’ll keep reminding myself to take a moment to breathe.

Chapter Text

Today Holly and I walked through this really rundown looking street in Park Row that was home to this old, abandoned theater. It had this really haunting look about it; no doubt once an elegant building in its prime. Its large brick facade was blackened by years of grimy buildup and neglect, and its marquee was stripped down to a rusted skeleton. There was something about the sight that was absolutely captivating, I felt like I could’ve sat there for hours sketching every minute detail. Holly seemed to notice my interest.

“That’s the old Monarch,” she said, like it held grander meaning. “Place is kind of infamous.”

“Oh really?” I asked, not having the slightest clue what she was referencing. 

She motioned for me to keep following her and as we passed by an alleyway that ran behind the building, she tilted her head in its direction. 

“Pretty famous murder happened like, twenty-something years ago down that alley. A mugging gone wrong. This area’s been called Crime Alley ever since, and most try to stay as far from it as possible.” 

I stopped, staring blankly at the alleyway she had indicated, imagining what kind of scenario had taken place there. It was partially blocked by a chainlink fence, and before I could move closer for a better look, I felt Holly tug at my sleeve for me to keep following. 

“C’mon, it’s nothing to see, really.” 

I kept walking with her but my mind was swimming in thoughts, silently recollecting a familiar scenario I’d personally been witness to. I’d be lying if I said I still didn’t occasionally remember the man I had the misfortune to see get gunned down in a mugging. The sight of him lying motionless on the ground was seared into my mind and still finds its way to the forefront of thought on occasion. That same sickening knot of fear settled back into my stomach. The helplessness of that night still clung to me harder than I wanted to admit. It wasn’t until I heard Holly footsteps stop and her words cut sharper through the air that I was pulled from my thoughts.

“Dude, you okay?” She asked, glancing sideways at me. 

“What? Yeah,” I try to play off. “Why?”

“We were talking and all the sudden you’re staring off into space with no response.” She explained, like it was overly obvious. “What’s up?”

I took a moment to think, to decide if I wanted to tell her. To be truthful in this moment, and open up. I wasn’t too sure how I felt sharing my thoughts with her, it felt vulnerable. But then I looked into her face, into her eyes, and I felt safe.

“I just…” I heard myself say softly. “I’ve seen what that kind of thing does to people.”

“Oh,” she hesitated, like she was weighing her next words carefully. “Have you ever… you know?”

I wasn’t entirely sure what she’d meant at first, but when I realized she was asking if I had ever been the one behind the gun, I felt a heat rush up my neck and it settled in my cheeks. I felt all too aware at that moment that Holly still didn’t know too much about me, but to think she might believe I was capable of doing something like that. 

“No!” I said a little too fast. “No… I’ve just… I’ve seen it happen.” My words felt awkward, I didn’t know how to talk about things like this. “I worry sometimes I could be the next victim of that sort of attack…”

Holly was quiet for a good moment, like she was truly seeing the vulnerability in my words. When she did finally speak, it felt like she’d chosen each word carefully.

“I get it…” She began as she leaned against a nearby building and looked distantly down the street. “I have those same fears sometimes too, we don’t live in the safest place afterall. I don’t know, you just don’t seem like the type of guy that’d be stressed over all that…” She was quiet for a long moment, then spoke again in a lighter tone. “Not after how we met, Gunslinger!”

She said it lightly, almost teasing, like it was an amusing contradiction. It didn’t feel amusing to me at all. It wasn’t really those masculine words she used, I’d grown numb hearing people talk about me like that. It was the version of me Holly seemed to see when she looked at me. A hardened street kid, some scrappy looking boy shaped by Gotham’s worst corners. I wondered just how many people saw that when they looked at me.

I wanted to laugh at that notion of myself. It felt absurd, hell I still feel like a scared little kid most of the time. I don’t even feel confident with who I am, or how to exist, I truly have no idea how Holly could believe in this version of me. Apparently brandishing a gun once, adrenaline pumping violently and shaking the whole time, had rewritten me into someone bold and unafraid in her mind. Something I felt I could never be. I didn’t know quite what to say, but I desperately wanted to correct her beliefs about me. 

“No… it’s not really like that. I mean I don’t really even know how to use that thing,” I began to explain, but before I could continue, Holly’s demeanor had shifted and she cut me off.

“Wait, what?” She was looking at me suspiciously. “Have you never used it?”

I felt incredibly awkward now, I wanted to just lie and tell her I had, but she had this serious look on her face. I felt too guilty to lie to her. 

“I mean…” I stammered, still not wanting to admit the truth. “Not really…”

She looked like she was surveying me properly for the first time. “Do you at least know how to use it?”

I felt my throat go dry as she looked at me, her face a dead serious expression. I couldn’t help but stare down at my feet as I answered. “I mean I think… but no… not really…”

“So you’re walking around with a gun, with no clue on how it works?” She asked, an undercurrent of outrage in her voice 

“I mean I know how a gun works, you point and shoot stuff.” I said, trying to shift the tone to something more joking, but Holly’s demeanor did not waver.

“Dude this is serious,” she stressed. “Do you still have it with you?”

I gave a small nod. “It’s in my bag,” 

The words between us felt distant, like I was talking about someone else’s life. My shoulders were tight, braced for something I wasn’t quite sure I was ready for. I watched as her lips curled into a displeased kinda look, like she was disappointed in me. 

“Dude, you… that’s…” it was like Holly didn’t quite have the words to explain how she felt about learning this. “I mean okay, I get why you have it.” She started, almost like she was justifying it to herself more than anything. “But dude, you’re gonna get hurt walking around with a gun you have no freaking idea how to use!”

“It’s fine,” I tried to dismiss, but she didn’t relent. 

“Oh really?” She shot back haughtily, "What if you… shoot your eye out?” 

“Shoot my eye out?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. I understood her sentiment but I couldn’t help but find her choice of example humorous. 

“You know what I mean!” She defended angrily. “Look, all I’m saying is that if you plan on keeping it then you should at least know how it works. You know, I could show you if you want.”

I shook my head without really even considering it. The idea made my skin crawl, I didn’t really want to mess with the gun again. I didn’t like to think about it, about how wrong it felt to hold it, how heavy it was.

“I’m fine really, you don’t have—”

“Hey,” she interrupted, and she stepped closer, lowering her voice to something more intimate. “I don’t like the idea of you carrying something that could seriously hurt you because no one ever showed you how to use the damn thing.”

There was a long pause of silence as she searched my face, clearly expecting resistance, but I couldn’t give her much of anything. It felt like agreeing with her was going to be easier than continuing to argue, even if I didn’t want to. 

“I promise,” she began, her tone shifting to something softer and more encouraging. “I don’t care to show you. I’d be happy to, in fact.”

Everything started to feel strangely far away again, like there was cotton packed between me and the rest of the world. I felt myself nod along in agreement, and we were off again. I tried to keep hearing what Holly was telling me as I followed her down the street, but I was too lost in my own internal warring thoughts. I really had no desire to learn how to use the gun, honestly I didn’t like carrying it at all. I hoped that in case of an emergency that the appearance of it would act as a deterrent enough. But maybe Holly had a point: If I was going to keep it, then not learning how to use it seemed stupid.

After a bit of following Holly we passed by this building that stood out in a way that had distracted me from my thoughts, even if just temporarily. It looked like it was trying its utmost to present itself as tidy and respectable compared to its surroundings. Large windows reflected the drab gray daylight and the brick was completely graffiti free. All around it the street sagged with shuttered storefronts, and trash collected in the forgotten corners like it belonged there. Yet this place sat defiant against it all. A sign hung proudly overhead the entrance that read: Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic.

There was an older looking woman outside sweeping debris away from the front doors, pushing leaves and paper back toward the street. She looked up when she saw me and Holly passing by and smiled.

“Good to see you, dear,” she called warmly to Holly. Her eyes shifted to me. “And who’s your friend?”

“We’re good, Ms. Thompkins,” Holly replied without missing a beat. “Just showing him around.”

The word hit me late: ‘Him’. My body reacted before my mind did. I felt my posture tighten, that same icy sensation in my chest. Even if I knew it wasn’t malicious it still occasionally hurt to hear. Ms. Thompkins offered me the same kind of appraising smile and waved, to which I gave a half-hearted smile and waved back as Holly kept ushering me forward. Once we had walked a bit down the street Holly turned back to look at me. 

“She’s a dear, Leslie. Runs that clinic back there. She can be a bit nosy if I’m honest, but she’s never turned me away.” She explained.

I nodded, though I hadn’t really processed much of it. The city blurred past like scenery painted on a wall as I kept following Holly through the East End. We eventually ended up by the water somewhere near the docks, tucked into a quieter stretch where the city noise thinned out into something distant and muffled. The river was dark and sluggish, reflecting the skyline in broken pieces.

Holly lit a cigarette, exhaled smoke, then held out her hand expectantly. I hesitated before retrieving the gun from my bag and handing it to her. My fingers felt stiff as she slid the gun from my grasp. She inspected it with a quiet efficiency that showed experience. She released the magazine and checked it too before she looked up at me with a small laugh. 

“It’s not even loaded dude.”

“Oh,” I was a bit surprised about that honestly. “I don’t like… have any bullets…” I said stupidly. 

She shook her head, half amused, half unbelieving. Then, her tone looped back around to a more serious nature. “Well, I can load it for you later at my place. I can still show you the basics you need to know, even without firing it.”

I just kind of stood there awkwardly while she walked me through it in broad strokes, her tone patient, grounded. She stayed close, having me hold it, adjusting my hands, my stance. Her touch was setting my skin on edge, it was gentle, meant to steady me. Each touch landed heavier than it should have. My body reacted before my thoughts could catch up, my chest tightening with something that felt uncomfortably close to longing. I’m not really used to other people touching me, and I definitely wasn’t used to being handled like that without some kind of anxiety attached. It made everything inside me feel off balance. 

It was starting to get dark by the time we were walking back to her apartment. The city around us was beginning to light up from the numerous neon signs overhead, each one brokenly reflected in the small puddles of the street. We weaved in between people who passed us without ever looking twice, each one of them no doubt too absorbed in their own private lives and worries. 

“How do you know about this kind of stuff?” I finally asked.

“My sister has one, at our apartment.” Holly explained. “She taught me all this. You know, just in case.” 

I walked into her apartment again expecting to see someone else there, to finally get a glimpse of this sister she kept mentioning. Yet it was still silently empty when we entered. Holly walked into the back bedroom and emerged a few moments later with a small box. She held her hand out again and I began to dig in my bag for the gun, handing it over a few moments later. She loaded it, made sure the safety was switched on, and handed it back to me carefully. I awkwardly thanked her, and silently hoped I would never need to use any of the information she’d taught me.

I found myself lying restlessly awake that night on my rooftop, staring into the night sky and thinking about the day. My mind drifted from the Monarch, to Crime Alley, to the now loaded gun tucked down in my bag. I kept thinking about the way Holly’s hands had felt when adjusting my stance earlier, soft and comforting while making my skin want to crawl all at once. I’ve never felt more confused.

I also couldn’t help but dwell on the image Holly must have had of me in her head. Being confronted with that in a small manner had been an uncomfortable reminder of how the world sees me. It’s hard not to focus on that disconnect. No matter how I feel about who I am, the people and the larger world around me will decide for themselves who and what I am. It’s strange to think I’ve become so close with someone who still isn’t seeing the real me when they look at me. But even so she treats me with respect and affection, even if I don't feel like I fully deserve it at times. I wonder if she’d still treat me the same way if she did know the true me.

Chapter Text

Holly let me know in advance that she wouldn’t be able to hangout for a few days, which I told her was completely fine. Honestly, that shouldn’t really feel like something worth writing down, but it turned out to be a bigger deal than I would have originally thought. I didn’t want to seem like I was disappointed when she had told me, so I tried to play it cool. I didn’t want to come across as clingy or anything. But I spent that first day alone completely bored out of my mind. I paced around my rooftop at a total loss for what to do with myself. There was this small hollow feeling that was growing inside me. It felt like I suddenly had no purpose without Holly around.

I scoffed at the notion; I’d spent the better part of the last year without anyone else, isolated and just fine with it. And suddenly I seem to have issues with being alone. It’s strange just how quickly something can become routine in your life. A month ago I was living in relative isolation, barely leaving my rooftop, and preferring the quiet. Now it felt like I was being suffocated in the silence around me. Holly’s absence was louder than any noise the city made around me. When I realized this, it began to set off a sense of panic inside.

I started questioning whether my newfound affinity for Holly was healthy. Was it really good for me to feel this attached to her so quickly? Was I starting to depend on her presence? Its absence felt practically unbearable now, and even writing those words makes something vague inside my gut twist. For so long I have prided myself on my independence. Besides, depending on other people in Gotham just feels like a recipe for disappointment. I’ve gone all this time without any real ties to anyone; A lone figure lurking in Gotham’s unsightly corners. The idea that I needed someone else now, after all this time, felt like a betrayal to the thick skinned exterior I’ve been pretending to portray.

Despite all of this however, I wouldn’t change a thing. That was a smaller, more calming realization that warmly washed over me. Holly had quickly become one of the few aspects of life that makes it all feel worth living. She’s like a light that has illuminated the darkness I was unknowingly stuck in. I worry that I’m spending too much time hanging around her, scared she will get sick of having me around without knowing how to tell me. But she hasn’t shown any signs of annoyance, she seems to genuinely like spending time with me. Perhaps she truly does. Maybe all of this self doubt is just idiotic nonsense tainting my brain. Nevertheless I don’t want to seem weird or clingy, I don’t want to do anything that might push Holly away. So I will let her have her space, for however long she needs, and I won’t press her for reasons. But that does leave me completely lost on how to spend my time now.

I found myself spending most of it at that small cafe a few streets over from my rooftop. With the weather gradually growing colder the windows now seem to stay slightly fogged along the edges. No one ever bothered me here, or really even paid me much mind, something that was the warmest welcome I could ask for. I typically only ever saw one older looking teenage girl that worked up front who was nice enough but seemed utterly disinterested in her job. It was a calming atmosphere that always smelt of coffee beans and something sugary sweet.

I started a routine of coming in, ordering a cappuccino, and finding an empty booth near one of the large front windows. I would sit here for what feels like countless hours, my sketchbook on the table as I doodled. I've sketched the view of the outside street numerous times, the lines careless and loose. I watch people walk past in these sporadic rhythms and I find inspiration to sketch these strangers going about their daily lives. I draw masculine figures that walk in wide confident looking strides while I find the lines that form the more feminine ones take on a loose, somewhat improvised grace. Their shapes flowed elegantly, forming smooth curves and outlines that quietly called to me. I seemed to focus on them more than the others, adding in more details, long hair and more flowing attire that I dreamed of wearing. I traced over each line with slow, careful detailing, as if taking my time would somehow help me feel more connected to them. 

While it wasn’t something my mind totally focused on, I couldn’t help but recognize these quiet feelings that made my entire body feel awkward. I kept sketching before my thoughts could linger there too long. I found myself so lost in sketching one night that I hadn’t realized just how late it had gotten until the streetlamps outside flickered on and began to bleed through the cafe’s windows. When I stepped outside the nighttime air blew cold and harsh across my cheeks. The city was thick with the typical traffic and I did my utmost to hurry through it to get back to my rooftop home. 

I turned the corner about two blocks from my home and noticed a strange man who stood out slightly from the surrounding crowd. Something about him seemed to catch my eye. He was a rather unhappy looking man wearing an ill-fitting, cheap looking suit, standing on the far opposite street corner merely watching people as they passed by. It was like he was studying each one from afar. It almost looked like… he was searching for someone. I got this horrible chill that ran down my spine as the thought crossed my mind. I kept walking down the street, occasionally stealing a quick glance at the man as I moved along the sidewalk. There was this split moment where I swear we locked eyes. It felt like his gaze had lingered on mine for a few seconds too long before he looked away. Something about him had felt bone-chillingly familiar. His shifty demeanor, his shoddy looking suit, he almost looked like the man I had stolen that duffelbag from.

But surely that wasn’t him, was it? The last time I had seen him, the Bat had been dangling him upside down from a rooftop, something I highly doubted he walked away from unscathed. I'd told myself that it was impossible for him to be the same person. That I was being paranoid; I probably passed by countless people wearing some type of business attire in Gotham. But still, there had been something about him that just felt… off.

I told myself to quit overthinking it. Even so, I couldn’t shake the ominous feelings I had about the man as I slipped down my alleyway. When I climbed back up to my rooftop I felt relieved to finally be home, but I was soon growing sick with worry still thinking about that man. I had been so absorbed in spending my time with Holly that I had almost forgotten about the dread of repercussions surrounding my act of theft. As I sat alone in the cold darkness of the night desperately searching for sleep I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with the idea that my luck would soon run out. I dared to hope that whatever retaliation awaited me from the people I stole from wouldn’t end with me dead. I can’t say I have much confidence in that outcome. All I know is that I cannot wait to see Holly again.

Chapter Text

On the first day I spent with Holly we passed by an old rundown park that she had pointed out, promising we had to come back at some point. So that was where we found ourselves today. We spent a while just sitting around at the old picnic tables, watching the traffic pass by while we talked about nothing in particular. When twilight began to settle we began to walk back towards Holly’s apartment. We were about halfway back when she abruptly stopped walking and turned back to face me.

“You like Asian food?”

“Uh, yeah sure.” I answered, a bit taken aback. “Why?”

“There’s this great Chinese restaurant about a block over,” she explained. “Why don’t we go get takeout on our way?”

Well, it wasn’t the worst idea. I nodded and followed along as she led me down the street. After a bit we approached this little rundown restaurant near the corner. The smell emanating from inside made my stomach growl as we stepped through the threshold and up to the front counter. After placing our order the employee told us it would be a few minutes so we headed back outside to wait. Holly leaned against the building’s dirty exterior as she lit a cigarette while I paced awkwardly around her. 

“God, I haven’t had food from here in forever…” She said, blowing smoke lazily into the air above her. “My sister, Selina, practically banned this place because we would eat from here so often.”

Yet another mention of her sister, someone she seemed to only speak of for brief moments. I hadn’t heard too much about her, and despite hanging around Holly for about a month now I still hadn’t met her. I kinda wanted to ask Holly about that, but it seemed somewhat rude to pry into her and her sister’s business. I ambled around as she finished her cigarette and by the time we walked back inside, our order was waiting for us. As we approached the counter she was already rummaging around in her pockets before I stopped her.

“Let me get it,” I offered, pulling a small wad of cash out of my jacket pocket and handing it over to the lady behind the counter.

“No,” she started to argue before I quickly cut her off again.

“Consider it my treat. A little thank you for letting me hangout so much lately.”

She scoffed with a smirk. “Pfft! Like I mind; you’re keeping me company too you know.”

I smiled, grabbed our takeout bag, and followed Holly back outside. As we walked to her apartment the heat from the bag leaked into the cold air between us. By the time we were back in her apartment the sky had gone mostly dark and the glow of the East End was starting to bleed through her windows. 

Her apartment was still the same cramped, cluttered space I had seen the first time visiting, and it was just as empty of anybody else. But it served as a pleasant contrast to the city outside; it felt oddly cozy at the moment. Holly moved towards the small TV across from the couch, turned it on and set the channel to something I wasn’t really paying attention to. After a moment we settled on the couch with our respective takeout boxes and dug in. For a long while we just sat and ate in relative silence, the low hum of the TV softly drowning out the city’s ambience outside. It all felt a bit surreal. Peaceful. Normal in a way my life rarely felt lately.

“So, what do you think?” She asked, indicating towards our food. 

“Not bad,” I gave a small assuring nod. “I’ve definitely had worse.”

She smiled, “Selina would always complain about them overcooking their rice, but I think she just likes to complain.”

Again, another passing mention. But this time I was eager to hear more about her than just a mere sentence or two.

“Is your sister a picky person?” I asked, hoping to ease into hearing more about her.

Holly huffed out a small laugh. “Maybe not picky… She’s particular. About everything. Food, clothes, people…” She trailed off for a second, like she was sorting through something in her head. “She knows what she likes, and she doesn’t settle for less.”

There was something in her tone, not quite blind admiration, but it let on just how much she looked up to Selina. I didn’t say anything, I just let her keep talking.

“She used to bring takeout home all the time,” Holly went on. “She was never one for cooking, I was always the one adventurous enough to try that.”

“Used to?” I asked before I could stop myself. The words had slipped out too quickly for me to stop them. 

She didn’t react right away, she merely shrugged, and her eyes flicked back to the TV. “I mean, she still would,” she corrected, awkwardly. “She’s just… been out of town lately.”

Something in the way she’d said it was uncomfortable. I didn’t want to intrude, and she didn’t seem to want to say anymore, so I merely nodded along like her words had cleared everything up, even if they only left me with more questions.

“You’d like her,” Holly said after a moment, cutting through the growing quiet between us. “She’s the best! Smart, and funny, and she doesn’t take shit from anyone.” There was a pause before she added much softer: “She’s taught me a lot about how to navigate the city.”

I thought about the way Holly carried herself. The raw confidence that she moved through the streets with. The familiarity she seemed to have with her surroundings. It was starting to make some sense.

“Do you know when she will be back?” I asked a bit reluctantly.

She hesitated slightly. “Uh… soon, I think…” she said, eyes still avoiding my gaze. 

The way she had said it felt like she had been trying to convince herself of that fact more than me. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, wanting to ask more about her, to try and comfort Holly, but was unsure if I should.

“When did you see her last?” I quietly asked, unable to help myself. I was genuinely curious considering I had yet to meet her over the several weeks I’d known Holly. There was an uncomfortable pause before she answered. 

“A couple of months,” she shrugged. “But that’s not too uncommon. Sometimes she’s gone like this. Most of the time it’s not for long, but other times… well, it just depends.”

Depends on what? I almost asked. The question was lingering on the edge of my tongue, but something in the way her demeanor had tightened told me I shouldn’t press it. Instead, I let the conversation drift away from her sister and back to something that mattered very little. After a while Holly seemed to slip back into herself, laughing at something stupid about the show on the TV, nudging my shoulder like nothing had happened.

But something had quietly changed in my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she talked about Selina. The way she couldn’t quite meet my eyes when I had asked her when she would be back. It wasn’t really any of my business, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Holly. She seemed to really love her sister, and it seemed unfair that she would just up and leave Holly for weeks or months at a time. What could she possibly be doing that was so important for her to just abandon Holly like this? Maybe I’m overthinking all of this, something I tend to do often. But I can’t shake the feeling that Holly was deliberately being vague about Selina. 

I soon grew tired and knew that was my cue to leave before long. We said our goodbyes and Holly let me know she would be too busy tomorrow to hangout. When I walked the streets back home later that night the city around me felt colder than before. I don’t think it was that the weather had actually changed much, but something in my mind had. Holly talked about Selina like she was this outstanding person, her tone suggesting she was someone who couldn’t do any wrong. But someone like that wouldn’t just up and disappear for months at a time would they? I had finally learned a little more about Holly’s family life, but was only left with more questions than answers.

Chapter Text

When I awoke the next day, groggy and exhausted, I realized my mind had never stopped thinking about the implications of what Holly had said about her sister. Dinner last night was the first time I had gotten to hear more than the occasional passing comment about Selina, and it only left me with more gnawing questions about her. With Holly being too busy to hangout today I was left with plenty of downtime to obsess over these unanswered questions. 

Once I was well awake I grabbed my backpack and left my rooftop, determined not to ruminate up there all day. I pushed myself to do something, anything before I sank into my mind’s disquieting thoughts. So I walked along the streets, letting my feet carry me along while I found myself mulling over my internal thoughts. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to know what keeps Selina coming and going out of town the way Holly had described. Maybe there was some boring, practical answer. But if it had been, why did it feel like Holly was being so shifty about it?

I weaved by people and felt the cool wind of the passing traffic rush by, but it all fell numbly against my senses. People talking, cars driving, doors of businesses along the street opening and closing. I can’t help but notice how everyone is so caught up in their own lives, without paying any real attention to anyone else around them. People seem to operate in their own little worlds, unless someone else’s world collides with theirs. They all look so normal, at ease, like they didn’t have anything eating away at them the way I do. Perhaps that’s ignorant on my part. Even if to me these people are nameless background elements of my life, they too must lead emotionally complex lives in a somewhat similar way. 

Once or twice my eyes were met with my own shabby reflection shining back in various different glass surfaces. It was painful, seeing myself like this. Dirty looking, a bit disheveled, my hair was touching my shoulders easily now, but it was messy and uneven in spots. My eyes looked tired, not just from the lack of sleep, but from the exhaustion of my life. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of myself, I didn’t own a mirror for a good reason, but I almost started to cry when I finally saw myself. I kept moving, not letting the emotion of the moment overtake me. Does everyone walk around with this much gnawing anxiety or unknown dreads? If so, how is the world not constantly on fire?

After what felt like ages I found myself slowly approaching the outside of the small cafe I’ve grown quite the attachment to. I hadn’t consciously decided to come here, it’s like my body knew where best to take me. The cafe was how it always was: The large windows of the front were slightly fogged around the edges from the chill of the air outside. There was a now familiar scent of coffee beans and something faintly sweet filling my nostrils, and the soft sound of Jazzy Muzak played in the background. I kept my head down low as I moved towards the counter. The same older teenage girl was leaned up behind the counter, reading a book. She was so engrossed with said book that she was completely unaware I was standing there until I cleared my throat to catch her attention. 

“Oh, sorry hon,” she apologized with a small smile, stowing her book away. “Your usual order today?”

I gave a polite head nod and she turned at once to begin making my order. I watched as she moved about the place with a practiced ease, so efficient in her movements that the process looked automatic. I ambled about just in front of the counter trying to look natural, hands in my pocket, eyes drifting about the room lazily. My ears catch fragments of conversations I’m not a part of and before I can start to feel awkward standing there, my cappuccino is ready. I rummaged around my jacket pocket for some cash as she stepped back to the counter with my cup in hand. I paid and quietly thanked her before turning around and finding one of the several booths I liked to settle in. 

My cup sat untouched in front of me for a long while as I stared uselessly off into space. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was being obsessive. My mind was still hung up in countless questioning thoughts about Holly’s sister. It felt like Holly was deliberately hiding the finer details about Selina from me, but why? What could she possibly be trying to keep secret? Perhaps it was something embarrassing? Was it dangerous? Could it be something… criminal?

No, absolutely not. I’m overreacting. Thinking too deeply about something that isn’t any of my business, and speculating wildly about things I don’t have full context for. I’m sure Holly has her reasons for not wanting to tell me. Besides, there are things about my own life that I don’t wish to discuss with her. I’m not even being honest about my identity, so I can’t judge her for hiding something. I’m sure she will tell me when she feels ready to, and if she doesn’t then so be it. I should respect her boundaries, I don’t want to pry into her personal life and push her away.

Time seems to pass strangely around me as I sit here letting these thoughts war amongst themselves on the battlefields of my mind. I eventually start rummaging around in my backpack and pull out my sketchbook, just desperate for some kind of distraction. I grabbed a pencil and tried to let my hands move without thinking too hard about it. But the movements that are typically loose and freeflowing come out shaky and uneven. After a while my pencil simply hovers uselessly above the page as I stare at the page in front of me desperately seeking solace from my own mind. The noise of the shop fades in and out of focus and before I know it I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here.

I exhaled quietly, setting my pencil down and leaning back in the booth. I was utterly distracted, caught somewhere between the unfocused present and whatever’s been pulling at the edges of my thoughts all day. Then, a familiar voice spoke so close to me that it made me jump.

“Excuse me.” 

It was the soft feminine tone of the teenage employee, now standing over my booth. She was an older looking teenage girl with dark, bushy brunette hair and a pair of thick rimmed glasses. She was gazing down at me with a somewhat doubtful look in her eyes, almost like she was afraid of startling me. If I’m honest, she had startled me, but as she spoke again I tried to make my face look natural.

“I’m sorry to bother you; you got a second?” She asked.

“Sure?” I replied in an uncertain tone. She hesitated for a split moment before she began. 

“So, you’ve been coming in here a lot lately,” she explained. “That’s not really… why I’m talking to you,” she added awkwardly, like she had no idea how to say what she wanted to say to me. “I’m sorry, that came out weird.” 

She was acting strange, and the entire situation was somewhat weirding me out. I wondered if she was just a socially awkward person. She glanced around the shop, then lowered her voice as she leaned in closer to me. “A day or two ago… someone came in here asking about you.”

“…Asking about me?” I repeated, like I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Some weird older guy. He wouldn’t really say much. He just kind of described you. Asked if anyone had seen you in here, or knew you.”

I felt sick, but I forced myself to croak more words out. “And… what did you tell him?” I asked, feeling something tighten in my chest.

“Well, I tried to ask why he was looking for you, but he wouldn’t say. So I told him I didn’t know who he was talking about.” There’s a flicker of something like worry in her expression. I studied her face, looking for any sign this wasn’t true. But she doesn’t look like she’s lying, and she wouldn’t really have any reason to anyway.

“You didn’t tell him anything?” 

“No.” She shook her head. “And he didn’t really press or anything either. He just thanked me for my time and left. I didn’t think much of it at first, but as I kept thinking about it, it all just felt kinda… off.” She paused for a minute, studying me, before she added: “I thought if someone’s asking around for you like that, it might not be good. And if it is something bad, you need to know.”

“Has he come back in?” I asked after a long pause. My thoughts were already moving miles ahead of me.

“I don’t think so…” She answered before straightening a little, like she had decided she'd gotten involved enough. “You just… be careful, okay?” There was something undeniably soft and genuine in her tone.

I gave her a soft nod. “Yeah, for sure.”

She studied me for a second longer, then gave a small, almost awkward nod of her own before turning back to the counter. I sat there unmoving for a long while after she left, her words lingering ominously over me before settling viciously into the back of my mind. There was someone going around asking about me, and had somehow tracked me here. My jaw was tensing up and I found myself grinding my teeth as unsettling thoughts began to soak into my skin. Even if I didn’t have total confirmation on who the man was, or why he was looking for me, I had a pretty good guess.

My eyes darted to the window, to the movement of people passing by on the other side of the glass, almost expecting to see that ominous looking figure staring back. My body felt paralyzed by fear. I knew that stealing from that drug runner would have grave consequences, and now it seemed undeniable that someone was actively hunting me. Those fearful dreads of retribution felt less like vague possibilities and more like determined outcomes that were pressing harshly into my skin.

Chapter Text

Learning that someone was going around my usual haunts and asking about my whereabouts had sent my brain into total panic. I instantly felt less courageous with the idea of leaving my rooftop shelter, but even just sitting up here alone made my hair stand on edge. By the time I awoke on Saturday I had decided that I could no longer sit alone, scared out of my wits waiting for something terrible to happen. So I grabbed my backpack and tidied up my hair before sliding down to street level, headed straight for Holly’s. I hoped spending some time with her would be enough to ease my troubled mind, even if it was only temporary. 

I didn't think much of it at first, but when I approached her apartment building I couldn’t help but notice the stoop being empty. While she was typically out front having a smoke when I would come by, that wasn’t always a guarantee. So I made my way inside and climbed up the stairs to her floor. I walked all the way to the end of the hall, up to her door, and knocked. I waited, and waited, and after a few moments I awkwardly knocked again, this time louder, and waited. Still there was no answer. I felt a bit awkward, I had yet to come by and not immediately find her somewhere through here. I pressed my ear to the door, but didn’t hear anything inside. Could she still be asleep? Perhaps she was out running errands, or doing whatever she possibly does when I’m not around. I told myself she was probably just too busy today and despite my overwhelming disappointment, I turned and headed back down the hallway. 

When I stepped back outside I felt a strong reluctance to leave. I wanted nothing more than to see her face right now. I lingered around the front of the building for a while, wondering if she might appear from somewhere, surprised but happy to see me. But that never happened. I sat on the stoop mindlessly watching people pass by. My mind started to once again drift through the lingering dread that came with the knowledge I was being hunted down by someone. Within moments of thinking about this fact again I started to feel rather exposed sitting on Holly’s stoop, so I started to hurry home. Despite my disappointment I told myself that it wasn’t a big deal, that I would come back tomorrow and see Holly then.

Sunday morning fell over Gotham drearily, overcast and on the verge of rainfall. By afternoon I had grown tired of staring out at the looming rainclouds in the distance and found myself walking the same path I had yesterday to get to Holly’s apartment. As my feet blindly retraced those steps my mind was hoping beyond anything that she would be there today to alleviate some of my anxiety. But my hopes weren't high to start out, and seeing the stoop of her apartment building empty once more wasn’t a good sign. As I climbed up to her apartment I felt the same uneasy feeling from yesterday slowly swelling inside me.

By the time I approached her door my chest was wound so tight I thought I might be unable to breathe. I knocked once and waited, but there was no answer. Then again, much louder and faster. Still there was no response. 

“Holly?” I called out, banging ever harder on the door.

I pressed the entire side of my head against the door, desperate to hear anything on the other side, but it was dead quiet. I stepped back from the door staring at it uselessly, as if it might swing open if I waited long enough. After a moment I forced myself to turn away, walking back down the stairs slower than I had the day before. Each step felt heavier, I was daring to hope she would come rushing down the stairs after me, explaining all of my growing concern away with just her mere presence. 

When I stepped back outside I was once more reluctant to leave. I lingered near the entrance for what felt like an eternity, watching the people who passed by without paying me any attention. As I was just about to leave when I noticed someone coming out of the building that looked a bit familiar. One of the many people that had greeted the two of us once or twice before.

“Hey,” I greeted, trying to sound casual. “Have you seen Holly around?”

He looked at me like he had to think about it for a second, then gave a vague shrug. “Selina’s sister, yeah?” he asked. I nodded and he dismissively shook his head. “Haven’t seen her lately. She’s kinda like her sister, comes and goes.” he said simply, already halfway past me. 

And that was that. No concern, no curiosity, not even an attempt at faking those feelings. I stood there stupidly after he left, that uneasy feeling creeping deeper into my chest. It didn’t seem like she had that in common with Selina, I couldn’t see Holly just up and leaving without telling me beforehand. I tried to brush this all off, telling myself I would come back tomorrow and she would be here. But still, something wasn’t sitting right with me as I walked away from her apartment building. As I walked away from her apartment a horrible thought slipped into the flurry of anxiety that made up my thoughts. If someone had been hunting me down looking for me, getting so close as to find the cafe I liked to visit, had they possibly found Holly?

The thought threatened to make me sick, and for the remainder of the day I did my utmost to distract myself from the idea. It did little to settle the heart-chilling worry however. Each time it seemed my thoughts might settle I would once again picture Holly being accosted by those same men hunting me down. Could that have possibly happened? Did they do something to her in an attempt to find me? What if she was in need of help because of me, and here I am completely unaware of where she might even be? I felt like I couldn’t breathe as I pleaded with whatever forces controlled the world that she would somehow be okay. I kept telling myself that I was overreacting, but with each time I believed it less and less.

Monday morning was somehow sadder looking than yesterday. The morning light was a dim gray, and it looked like rain would fall at any moment. By the time I was awake there was no use in pretending I wasn’t downright panicked anymore about Holly. I had known Holly for nearly two months, spent damn near every day with her, and never once had she been gone this long with no prior warning of what was going on and when she’d be back. I had never once gone this long without being able to even find her. In an instant I slipped down to street level and practically sprinted my way through morning commuters on my way to Park Row.

Even though I was moving as quick as I could, the journey felt like it took an eternity with each step filled with blind worry. I told myself I would wait on the stoop of her building all day if I needed to, that I would break into her apartment if I had to, I was determined to do anything possible to find her. The tension shaking through my body felt unbearable as I turned down the street her tenement sat on, and I was doing everything in my power to brace myself for the worst. But in the instant I could finally make out her building in the distance, I also spotted her. 

She was sitting on the front stoop of her building, smoking a cigarette, and staring off in the opposite direction. As I rushed up to her I could feel this immediate wave of relief wash warmly over me, before it was swiftly replaced by an even hotter crash of frustration. There were a thousand thoughts filling my head. Where on earth had she been? Had she not considered just how worried I would be about her? When I finally approached her my intended words of relief had morphed into something different. 

“Holly!” I exclaimed a bit sharper than I had meant. “Where have you been?”

She looked up at me slowly. It seemed to take her a second to fully register my words. “Oh,” she spoke, almost absently. “Hey, Carrie.”

Hey? Was that it? I could feel my face getting warm, a bitter feeling building inside. I couldn’t even look at her as I stepped closer, my chest tight, the words already spilling out before I could stop them.

“What the hell dude?” I yelled, trying my best not to let my emotions get out of control. “I was worried sick about you, I came by looking for you, I waited around, I thought…” My voice trailed off, my frustration tangling with something heavier that threatened tears. “You normally tell me when you’re not going to be around, I thought-”

“I’m sorry,” Holly interrupted, her voice quiet, tired. So unlike her normal tone I’d become so accustomed to. She took a long drag from her cigarette, letting quiet settle between us. 

When I finally calmed enough to look down at her I couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t looking at me either. Her eyes were locked past me in the distance, no doubt lost in thoughts far away from here. There were bruises that stood out against her pallid skin. There was a small one that was peeking out from beneath her sleeve, a darker one along her collarbone, and an unmistakable bruised edge yellowing along her cheekbone. My anger fizzled out at once, replaced by something that made my stomach hurt. 

“Are you okay?” I asked, the edge in my voice lost and the volume dropped considerably. 

She still wouldn’t look at me, her glassy gaze beyond me. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Her tone was dismissive, almost exasperated.

I felt a slight pang of annoyance. “You look rough dude, you sure you’re alright?” I tried again, in a deliberately softer tone. 

“I said I’m fine,” she snapped, quick, with an edge to it. There was finality in her tone, as if she had no intentions to answer any questions about what happened.

I hesitated. “Look I’m sorry, I came in a little hot,” I tried to apologize, hoping that would smooth things over. “I was just worried about you because you’re my friend. What happened? Are you sure you-“

“Yes,” she quickly cut off once more, before adding softer. “Yes, I’m fine. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“But-“

“Not, now.” She declared a firm exhaustion behind it. She finally gazed into my eyes, and I felt a wave of emotions hit me like a truck. Her expression was weary, sad. I wanted to hug her, to comfort her, but she didn’t seem to want any part of that.

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, my voice hollow and defeated. 

I stood there frozen to the spot for a moment, unsure what to do with everything. These feelings of anxiety about Holly’s brief disappearance, along with the growing amounts of unanswered questions about her life were becoming too much to carry. There was a long silence between us where neither of us could speak. It felt like we were both acknowledging this invisible barrier that was forming between us. That silence stretched too long before her voice broke it.

“C’mon,” Holly motioned, pushing herself off the stoop and flicking her cigarette aside. “Let’s get out of here, I’m starving.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I’ll take you to breakfast,” she added casually, like everything before now had not happened. As if this was all completely normal. “Think of it as an apology for being so worried about me.” She added. 

“So what, that’s it?” I asked incredulously. Surely she didn’t expect me to just pretend like everything was okay. She let out a small sigh.

“Do you really wanna sit here and argue about that, or do you wanna hangout and go get breakfast?” She asked, just as incredulously as I’d asked my question.

Part of me wanted to keep pushing back. To tell her no, and demand an actual answer for where she’d been, for what had happened, why she looked so beaten down. But another part of me was just so overwhelmingly relieved she was here with me again, that she was alive, and in front of me, that I let myself ignore those questions.

“…Fine,” I said, more quietly than I intended.

She was already walking down the street like the conversation was over so I followed, and from that moment on we didn’t talk about it. She slipped back into herself pretty quickly. Before I knew it she was cracking small jokes, making casual comments, acting like everything was exactly the same as it had been before. And if I wasn’t reminded by the bruising in her body I almost could have believed it. 

It was while I sat in that booth across from her, intentionally ignoring her bruised appearance and pretending all was well that I noticed just how odd Holly actually was. A kid my age living alone in an apartment, parents nowhere to be found, a sister who stays gone for weeks if not months at a time, the amount of money I’ve seen her walk around with. I wondered where on Earth she could get that type of money. Then I thought back to something she’d told me once before when asking about her money:

“I hustle. It’s Gotham.”

I didn’t really know what that had meant at the time, and I never bothered to ask. Now I was starting to wonder if I should have. Was she involved in something more dangerous than she’s willing to admit? What kind of person was I attaching myself to?

The question sat heavy in my mind, refusing to settle into anything comfortable. But even with that, even with the unease curling in my chest, I was just relieved to not be worrying about whether or not she was dead at the bottom of the Gotham Harbor. She was alive and here, and she still seemed to be my friend. That had to count for something. So, for the  best, I will let it go. Or at least, I told myself that I would for now.