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I don't know whether I wanted everyone else in the room with me, including Rachel.
I could tell Rachel was nervous about letting me within a foot of the door simply because she stopped and waited for a second, pulling on my arm.
Her boost of confidence was gone and so was mine, as it dropped with each step from the bathroom to here.
We debated whether or not to go back into the bathroom, disobeying Dick's request, but since he was right in front of us as we stopped, we had no choice but to face the inevitable; Bruce Wayne.
My father. The one I hoped to find. And now he's here.
Fuck.
Now he's here, and I don't know how to feel. It puzzles the hell out of me, alongside the circumstances of Jason's death.
I mean, the whole situation I'm in now makes no sense. And because of all of this, from my mother to Jason, I lost hope. Lost hope for finding Bruce, amongst other things.
All of this makes no sense; from the way, Tim came home, the way Bruce didn't, the way Jason died.
The how Jason died gets me speculating the most: no one specified who his friend was, nor did Jason have any. Hell, Damian had more friends than Jason, and still does.
"Mara?" A soft voice asks, and I realize that Dick's standing with his hands on my shoulders. I look up at him.
"What?"
"Take a deep breath for me, and never listen to Tim again," he tries lightening up the mood with a jab at Tim, and it does get me to laugh, but only on the inside. I take a deep breath.
"Actually how about the part when he came home without Bruce," I don't think before I speak, and his face drops.
I don't think he expected me to go that far, and neither did I.
Well, news flash Dicky, welcome to my world.
Welcome to my sick, stupid-ass thoughts, most being things I'd never say aloud.
"A little piece of advice, Mara," Dick sighs heavily, taking his hands off of my shoulders, "and don't say that in front of Tim or Bruce, ever."
I can tell he's pestered with me, which just irritates me even more. Jesus, I don't even know where this irritation came from.
Dick opens the door and I follow him, not really in reality. My head is in my imagination, racing through different scenarios of how to react.
How to talk to him. How to look at him. How to look in front of him. How to respond to him.
