Bruce hadn't slept in two days. Withdrawal gave him crippling anxiety. He sat on the toilet in the detox center, feeling his insides twisting, nothing but burning liquid coming out of him. This would be the worst of it, he told himself, although it felt worse this time. He looked at his trembling hand in amazement as he reached for the toilet paper. No stability.
When he was done, he felt himself heaving. He was going to hurl. He needed to get off of the toilet and turn around to avoid spewing onto the floor. He didn't need that embarrassment. As he tried to turn, the pain in his knee made his swallow a scream. He felt like he was a thousand years old, his body stiffer than he thought it could ever be. He awkwardly slid down to the floor and turned to face the bowl, tasting stomach acid coming up. As soon as he turned to the toilet he vomited. Some of the contents already in the bowl splashed back at him as he puked. He should have flushed first. He had never felt so low, so disgusted with himself, so small, so weak.
He could leave at any time. Free to acquire the medications he needed to make all this discomfort go away. But he had sworn to Adriana that he would do this. If only he knew then how agonizing it would be.
He reached for the handle and flushed the toilet and leaned against the wall, still sitting. Standing seemed impossible. He needed help and there were nurses outside, but he couldn't imagine asking for assistance. Bruce Wayne, the successful billionaire and one of the most powerful men in the world, sitting beside a toilet, smelling like the stench of his own waste, unable to stand. He needed to stand on his own.
As he moved to his feet, he heard a loud crack. It seemed to have come from his knee. It didn't hurt. Or maybe it did, but he just couldn't feel it through the pain he was already feeling. Once he was on his feet, his gait felt strange. It almost felt like one leg had become a bit shorter than the other. He shuffled over to the sink, leaning on it with both hands.
As he looked into the mirror, he wondered why he was doing this to himself. He had made her a promise, but he was sure that no matter what, she was leaving him. She was gone. She was never coming back after what he had done.
If he was completely honest with himself, he was hoping that she would see that he was serious. That she was waiting for him. He was getting clean and deserved one last chance. It was the only thing he had to hold onto. The only hope keeping him going.
Then the truth hit him again. He had done more regrettable things than he had realized. He used Twyla's potion to see them together. Adriana and the Joker. Something he never should have seen. He never should have seen how they were together. He could never forget it and it was tormenting him now. She was leaving him for that man.
His wife was leaving him. And on top of it he felt like he was dying.
"What have I done?" he asked himself.
Pushing reality into the back of his mind, refusing to think about it, was difficult. And he was at his breaking point.
Was she with him now? In his arms? He imagined Adriana immediately running to Jack as soon as he was gone. It hurt more than the detox to think that his wife had already moved on. And he was truly alone. On his own, suffering in this way, with no light at the end of the tunnel.
He wanted his medication. He wanted to be back with his son. All of this was within his reach. This thought came into his mind every 60 seconds. He could just leave.
Whether he stayed or left rehab, it didn't matter. Adriana would never take Arsenio away from him, he knew that. So, what would change if he quit now? She had already made her decision to be without him and to end their marriage. Whether he left now, or later, his marriage would be over, but he would still be able to be with Arsenio. They would share custody. No one would care if he was clean or not.
