LOVE + FEAR | Damirae

LOOSE THREADS

Clark stared at her in silence for a few minutes. They were sitting in a makeshift blanket fort with flashlights. He contemplated his words carefully before he spoke, "I don't know what I was expecting, but...that seems right."

Raven shrugged. She had stayed with John longer than she'd planned. How would things have turned out differently if she hadn't stayed with John Constantine? Would Raven have given up on solitude eventually — or embraced it, abandoning everything?

I don't know. But I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for John Constantine.

"I'm still confused about something," Clark admitted. His shoulders brushed against the low-hanging tarps of the fort when he spoke. "How could you be nothing to him? You stayed with John for over a year...why not become his apprentice? He always has some comment about how no one would follow him — you could do it."

Raven knit her fingers together. "No. I couldn't. I mean, I could, physically...but the emotional suffering that accompanies John's job..."

I can't. She couldn't even comprehend how John woke up most mornings. The disasters he faced...most of their solutions required a sacrifice. John had sacrificed so much...she could never forget what happened to his best friend, Chaz. Even if their relationship had begun to mend, it was still scarred by what John had done to save his daughter. Everyone John Constantine loved died — or was tortured beyond measure.

So yes. I'm nothing to John Constantine. Because that's the only way I can live and breathe by his side without being another sacrifice.

Raven didn't disclose the full parameters of her relationship with Constantine. They lurked beneath locks and thorns, repelling prying eyes.

Clark rambled on, "Still, I think you mean a lot to him. Look at him now compared to the Flashpoint: you changed him, Ray, and he changed you — okay, you're giving me the death look. I'll shut up now."

"Thanks." Raven glanced around their tent, lit up by fairy lights. Clark's hideout had the same lure as a rainy day spent indoors or a mother's embrace...but she'd stayed long enough. Constantine had stopped her from turning her back on humanity before. The thought of him had a similar effect on her now. She couldn't cower here forever.

She sighed. "I should probably head back. Find out what happened after Cadmus...and John..."

And Damian. She still didn't know what to say to him. Memories of him from the Flashpoint only puzzled her more. When she remembered their interactions, her bones went soft. They took place during the literal end of the world, but they weren't bad memories. They were actually kind of nice, which mystified her. Was she insane for treasuring apocalyptic memories?

Raven was tired of mulling over inquiries. She had to return. Face people. Endure lingering glances. And — perhaps the worst torment — talking to them.

An introvert's worst nightmare.

— W A Y N E   M A N O R —

Raven knocked twice on the grand oak doors. The home of Bruce Wayne loomed over her. Ivy climbed aged cobblestone. A marble fountain sighed softly in the center of the driveway. Everything reminded Raven of all the old European ruins that she visited with John, but instead of fascination, a ball of dread expanded in her stomach.

As Raven waited before the elegantly elaborated entrance, she checked her phone. When she'd lived with John, they came to an agreement with one another: if one of them was away for a certain amount of time, they'd text the other BTWNDID (By The Way, Not Dead In Ditch) to confirm their vitality.