The Ultimate Soulreach :[Damian Wayne x Reader]

A Soulmate's Sacrifice

(Y/N) POV:

     My stomach drops and my blood runs cold at the thought of this only being a semblance of Damian's pain.

     If it hurts ME that bad....

     Unwilling to finish that thought, I stumble over to my phone, still disoriented, and call Damian. I send a silent prayer to whatever is up there for him to pick up. My heart clenches tighter with each ring that he doesn't answer.

     "C'mon, damn it, answer the fucking phone," I groan between clenched teeth.

     My panic begins to spiral as my breaths become more rushed, trying to get enough oxygen to my brain. I call him two more times, gripping the cell phone harder each time I get his voicemail. At this point, I'm about to start ripping the hair out of my head.

     I jump at the sound of my curtains rustling from another gust of wind as the chill hits my face.

     Breath dammit. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Again.

     I close my eyes and inhale. Each breath is longer than the last until my racing heart is reduced to a steady thump. Kicking off my heels, I wince as the cold wood floors beneath my feet seep into my bones. I spit profanities as my hands begin to shake violently, making me mistype.

     Again, I curse my stupid body for betraying me when I need speed and dexterity. I pick through my contacts and begin calling each one of his brothers.

     None of them answer.

     I call his father.

     No answer.

     I call Alfred.

     No answer.

     I call Damian again.

     No answer.

     "Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck," my voice cracks as I shriek between clenched teeth while holding back the tears welling in my eyes. I sniff harshly and survey the room for my coat as an idea forms in my mind.

     Hastily grabbing it, I slip back into my impractical heels, not thinking twice of the repercussions, and stomp through my house. Even if Bran were home right now, I wouldn't care about being disruptive.

     I begin calling hospitals. I feel more and more hopeless as both Gotham General and Wayne Hospital confirm that no patient matching Damian's description has been admitted.

     Releasing more unladylike curses, I begin pacing in the foyer as the carpet beneath my heels struggles to muffle the pounding of my steps. At this late hour, the staff has gone home for the day. I am utterly alone with my thoughts and the annoying sconces that flicker with every step I take.

     It's fitting how the eerie, haunted weight of silence encases me while the reality of how powerless I am invades my mind. The lack of control has me fighting back a sob of frustration. All of my ideas have resulted in nothing.

     Should I call the police?

     How would I even begin to explain how I know he's hurt?

     What if he was in a car accident?

     But why wouldn't anyone answer their phone?

     As one thought chases the next, they come to a crashing halt when my eyes land on the key rack next to the back door.

     The balm of determination soothes my hysteria. I race to grab the keys and fly toward Bran's barely used and strictly forbidden Mercedes. Not wasting a moment, I back out of the slim driveway at an unreasonably dangerous speed. I whip the car into sport mode as I floor it down the street with screeching wheels. The smoke from the tires clouds my rear view. I send up a silent prayer that the paparazzi don't follow.