[TOO FAR GONE] - DAMIAN WAYNE - DC COMICS

quality time.

"I guess orange really is the new black!" I joke, used to seeing him sport the dark color on the daily. The closest he ever came to having any hue at all was his leather jacket. I refused to count the red accent because let's be honest that was solely based on his blood thirst. He rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair, clearly not satisfied with my one liner.

"Why are you here?" He bluntly responds, his tone still somewhat harsh.

"Woah woah woah don't get so defensive, a few hours ago you were playing nice!" I tease, folding my arms as I too relaxed in my chair.

"You were dying." He states, clearly not wanting to engage in much conversation.

"Didn't realize that was a requirement for you to be polite." I say, not really thinking much of it. He just sits there, his face more blank than that of the barbie doll prison guards.

"You know what, it's got nothing to do with that." I admit, realizing that there was a much simpler explanation.

"Really?" He pipes up, sounding as if he was hoping I'd come to that conclusion.

"Yes. It's because for once you were sober! But isn't it ironic that you ended up here... Maybe you do need alcohol to be sane... So much for prescribed drugs... When you were diagnosed with fucksup syndrome they just handed you a bottle and told you to not drink responsibly. Right? That's how that went down? But doesn't it just suck that you'll be suffering major in this hell hole considering they don't exactly get shipments of the good stuff let alone any at all..." His cheeks were red, eyes nearly glued together and I couldn't help but laugh. I knew I shouldn't be giving him this considering all he'd just done for me, but for fuck's sake he started it. I watch him as he calculates a response, and then to my surprise he leans in towards me, he eye's a bit glazed over, and not because there was a piece of glass in front of them.

"Did you ever think about why I went back to the bottle... Why I've been drugging myself up?" His voice was hoarse and cold. A crisp whisper that sort of made me feel guilty for a second. Where the hell was he going to go with this?

"I mean there has to be a reason, right?" He sat there, too confident for just admitting that he had two extensive addictions.

"I already told you. It's cause you like to waste your life. It's fun to you. That's it Jason... There's nothing else, absolutely nothing else you can blame it on." My words were venomous, and truthfully I didn't care. Part of me just wanted to slap him.

"Right... I'm too far gone, you know?" He tilts his head watching me carefully as if I was supposed to react to that. I just raised my eyebrows terribly confused as to what he was trying to prove.

"So you think I enjoy acting like that in front of you just to get some attention?" I couldn't respond. I didn't understand what he even meant by that... But it made sense...

"See that's the thing Damian. My vision might be blurred most of the time, but at least I'm not blind."

Wait a second...

"Attention? Don't tell me this is still about that mission." I breath heavily, my fists clenching as he just sits there, which in fact confirms that he's still on this.

"How many times are we going to argue about this?" I yell, watching him fold his hands on the table.

"Well clearly you still don't understand..." He plainly replies, and I don't even know what he means by that.

"What is there to comprehend? I mean you're not telling me anything and you continue to claim that it's strictly about that stupid mission but there's just no way!" I sit up in my chair.