The Knowhere Girl

[33] Good God, Y'all

Sun light streamed through the window and hit my eyelid. I groaned silently and turned on my side, slamming a pillow over my face.

Wait. A pillow.

Real or not real? I am Frankenstein's Monster. In my darkest moments the clown comes with the crowbar and beats me down to the basest of human instincts then stitches me up and transformed me into something new. A creature as unquenchable as the sun.

Someone chuckled. Deep but gentle and I had to consciously remind myself every time I woke that it was really Jason, that I saved myself, but he had come. There were no bad dreams, there never were when I was asleep, only waking nightmares that haunted me in the sunlight. Hallucinations that I couldn't escape.

My name is Gwen Stallone. I am nineteen years old. My home is the Pilbara. I was in a basement. I escaped. The Joker is dead. I killed him. Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement's. This is real.

Arms wrapped around me, pulling me back into a chest, lips on my temple. A physical reminder of Jason's presents. Warm and soft and familiar. Always by my side, at least he had been for the last few days while I fought off the hallucination. Others came and went but never stayed.

"Afternoon, doll. No nightmare this time?"

I shook my head. I didn't speak. Dr. Leslie Thompkins ran a few tests, and while there was damage to my vocal cords, it didn't account for it. Finally, she suggested to the Batfamily that my silence had been brought on by emotional trauma. She wasn't a bad doctor, but at least twenty times a session she reminds me that I'm "totally safe", and I would be "happy again one day". It was a truly stupid thing to say, especially to me. As if such a state of being ever existed, anywhere, for anyone.

"Alfred said that this time when you wake up, you should move around a little. The medicine should be out of your system by now." He rolled out of bed and held out his hand. I took it and pushed off the covers, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Don't worry about falling, I'll catch you."

I rolled my eyes.

But the second put weight on my legs, it was like knives stabbed at them and I stumbled. As promised, his arms snatched around my waist before I hit the ground. He set me back on my feet and gripped my arms.

"Lean on me." Each step felt like a toddler's. "You got it doll, it's always hard after you've been under for a day or so."

I glared at him, for babying me like this.

"Don't give me that look, Blue," he scolded.

I know, I know, he was trying to help, but I didn't like the way I had to rely on someone for something as simple as walking.

We took a couple of laps around the room before I regained enough coordination and blood flow to walk on my own. I gradually became aware of several facts as we passed the mirror:

a) I feel warm and sticky
b) I breath stinks
c) It looked like a couple of squirrels had been breakdancing in my hair.

So, after ushering Jason away, I took a shower, but not before he asked if he could join me.

The water stung my wounds, but it wasn't too bad. I used the water to wash away more than just the sleep: I pretended it could wash away the fear and the pain. I stayed under the water even after I was done, fully intent on just enjoying the warm water. My muscles relaxed and I leaned my head back, letting the water run down my forehead, through my hair and down the drain. Even the stinging cuts, to some degree, felt good. It meant I was alive.

When I came out, a new set of clothes sat on the sink.

I put them on and managed a smile at the oversized red shirt.