[TOO FAR GONE] - DAMIAN WAYNE - DC COMICS

pitch black.

The next morning I abruptly woke up to the throbbing pain in my side. I exhaled deeply, rolling over as I tried to find a more comfortable position. I didn't even care that a few of my ribs were snapped in half, I wasn't going to let those broken bones break me. I was always taught to brush it off. But the thing was I only learned this lesson in the context of injuries. Which was ironic considering it was my attitude towards everything.

I decided going back to sleep was not only a waste of my time, but also not physically possible. And at that I rose from my bed to grab a pair of pants. I walked into the living room of the apartment, which was basically the dining room, and lets face it the whole fucking apartment, to feel the waves of cool air wash over my bare chest. I scratched at my arm, accidentally opening a wound from a previous battle. Blood was drawn. But hey, that was a daily dose of Damian Wayne for ya. And then it occurred to me. Why was I still calling myself that? I gave up on that lying imbecile over a year ago. I sure as hell didn't want to be classified as a Wayne considering the deception he accursed myself as well as the others with. My mind was engulfed by this thought that suddenly sprouted into various others. There was a time I thought I was Robin. Clearly, those days are over. I wasn't going to follow in my father's footsteps, which meant I wasn't a Wayne. I didn't realize how much I meant it when I said it last, but I am Red X. He was all I had left.

I sat down at the table, looking at Jason, who had his head shoved in the morning paper. This was strange. Firstly, the only way Jason ever cared to get the news, was through television which for whatever reason was turned off. He preferred hearing about himself, not reading, so why he was suffocating himself in the shitty articles that lay upon, I have no idea. Secondly, though never discussed, he always had breakfast out on the table for the two of us. I never really thought much of it, probably because I had a bulter back at the manor anyway, but still, he was normally on top off this stuff.

"I see we've given up on our daily occurrences. Why didn't you make breakfast today pretty boy?" As opposed to setting the paper down and replying like a normal individual would he just mumbled a response from behind the black and white print. Which I suppose was expected considering he was in no way shape or form a normal individual.

"What? You can't?" His voice had a slight hint of anger, not that I was looking for it or anything. I was trying to dissect what he said when he abruptly continued.

"I mean you've been busy doing things on your own, so I just assumed..." He somehow managed to gently slam the paper on the table, not even looking back at me as he made his way towards his room. And though it wasn't that long of a distance, I mean come on this place was really fucking small, it felt like eons.

"Is that what this is about?" I yelled, trying to get him to stop and face this stupid problem. But he was playing hard to get. Almost better than my mother had... You know before she gave in and just used date rape. It is most certainly fun to learn about your conception. I watched him, as his door harshly closed, and I could soon hear a click as the lock set in. Great. How much did I want to bet that he was behind those walls doing heroin, maybe cracking open a bottle or two? Millions. I slouched in my chair wanting this petty fight to be over. It was one fucking mission. So I eliminated one of the Joker's accomplices... Get the fuck over it. Am I right? Don't answer that. I'm always right.

For the rest of the day, I prayed it would end soon. I was counting down the moments until a black blanket would lay over the rugged surface of earth, and flood the city with pure darkness. Sometimes I wished I was back home. Like home home. Sure it was hell, but it was certainly better than this. It was just starting to get dim, the sky outside, and as I watched through my small crummy window, I was distracted by my reflection. I hadn't at all taken into account that I looked like this. I guess I never realized the scars set in like so. I walked over to the mirror that hung behind my door to get a better look. A slash that I had taken weeks ago, snaked across my cheekbone, just reaching my temple. Another deep cut, gently grazed my jaw, leaving a thick puffy result. And that was just my face. Color me damaged, my body was worse. The collarbone I broke last night was red and irritated, somewhat floppy as it lost it's stiff structure. My side was bruised, a consequence of the few ribs that split in the late hours of the previous evening. The deep purple slowly faded to a blue around the edges, and beyond that was a thin line of red that made the abrasion look sharper. Scars from my time in my birth home still littered my body, some side by side to ones I acquired over the course of my time as Robin. I turned my head wondering if there was any space left. How much more could be done? I walked to my bed wanting to lay down. I felt sick to my stomach, for reasons unknown. It certainly wasn't all the wounds... They were all signatures on the fact that I did some type of good. Right? Don't answer that. I'm always right... Or at least that's how it was supposed to be.

I was lost in thought when I drifted off to sleep, my own personal black blanket suddenly taking me under into the pure darkness. I was drowning in the somber setting. Yet I was used to it. It'd been like this since the day I was born. And I was too accustomed with it. I shouldn't be making fun of Jason and his need for the bottle. Not when I yearn for something the way he does. Except my addiction wasn't even close to alcohol. It was worse... It was darker. That's because it's pitch black.