The Forgotten One

Chapter 9- Healing Wounds

I walk back into the hellhole – also known as school – and shuffle aimlessly through the corridors, people seeming to float around me as they walk by, all of us like zombies apparently.

Ah, I hate Tuesdays.

As if to make my day worse, a certain zombie slouching by – who happens to have perfect black hair and blue eyes – grabs the collar of my shirt and drags me to the nearest row of lockers, slamming my back into the metal.

Ugh.

"What do you want this time?" I spit at Dick, whose piercing eyes pin me in place. "You going to hit me? Shove my shoulder? Lecture me about why I shouldn't be in this world and that Hell is saving me a special spot in its VIP?" I question, widening my eyes mockingly at him.

He glares.

"Look, I'm not dragging you over here to endure this crap from you. I'd prefer not to get filth on my hands, thank you very much. No, – as much as it pains me – I'm here just to talk." His face curls in distaste, as if the prospect of just talking to me was horrendous. "Although," he continues, "I do believe that your face could be fixed up with another nice black eye. A lovely look on you really." He antagonizes, pointing to the fading bruise on my eyebrow.

Bastard.

I roll my eyes and grip his wrist, shoving him backwards. Then I dust imaginary dirt off of my collar; where he had grabbed me.

"What do you want, Grayson?" I sigh, already dreading the conversation.

He begins to shuffle his feet nervously, hands behind his back, and I raise my eyebrows.

Dick Grayson? Nervous?

Well I'll be.

He pauses.

"I saw Willow" Is all he says – and that's all I need to hear – before I begin to speed-walk away.

"Wait." He says as he pinches the back of my shirt, and I cough as my collar strains against my neck. Batting at Dick's hand behind me, he eventually releases me and I throw daggers at his face as I turn around.

"So?" I say, crossing my arms as if I haven't a care.

Little did he know, I was one more snowflake away from a full-scale avalanche. And – as much as I loathe Dick – I didn't want him to be subjected to my rage. Or anyone for that matter. Ever.

"I saw – I saw the bruises on her face, River." He pauses, flicking his gaze up to me.

Then he glares and points a finger at my face.

"If you did anything to her–"

I cut him off.

"I would never do something like that to her!" I roar and I know my emotional control is hanging by a thread.

He does too.

"Then who did?" He asks.

"Her weak excuse for a step-father is who." I growl.

Dick frowns, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Now I frown.

"What?" I inquire.

"Does his name happen to be Jason?" He says, softly however, as if he didn't expect it to be true.

I gape.

"Y-yes. How the hell did you know that?"

Now Dick gapes, clearly unbelieving that his theory was right.