Edited 10/16/24
The door to my cell creaked open. It was time again, just like every day. You'd think by now they'd realize I wasn't going to talk. But they kept trying, relentless in their pursuit of answers I would never give. I loved my family too much to betray them, no matter the pain. With shaky legs, I stood up and walked toward the door, where two guards grabbed my arms roughly, dragging me to the interrogation room—the same white room stained with red splatters after each session.
Once inside, they strapped me to the chair, binding my arms behind my back, securing my legs to the chair's metal frame. The door opened, and I heard familiar footsteps. It was always the same man, the one responsible for my torment. I knew exactly what he would ask, but still, I met his gaze, defiance in my eyes.
"I hate having to hurt you, Miss Wayne," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "But I need you to answer me. What are the identities of the Justice League and Young Justice?"
"I don't know," I replied, my voice flat, emotionless.
Slap. His hand struck my face, the force sending blood rushing into my mouth.
"Would you like to reconsider your answer?" he sneered.
"Go to hell," I whispered, spitting the blood onto the floor. I wasn't foolish enough to spit it at him.
"Is that your final answer?"
I lifted my head, sending him a cold glare. My answer was clear in my eyes.
"Very well then," he sighed, stepping back. "Black Beetle, have your fun."
The alien lumbered forward, an evil smile on his face. "Hello, meat. What shall we do with you today?"
I clenched my teeth. "How about you take this collar off me, and we'll see who wins," I shot back. Bruised, battered, but never broken. I always thought I'd die saving someone in a blaze of heroism, but instead, here I was, dying slowly in this chair.
Before I could dwell on that thought, Black Beetle struck me across the face. For the next fifteen minutes, he beat me—slapping, punching. But I didn't make a sound. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting me. When his "warm-up" was done, he moved on to his favorite tools. Knives, poisons, whips, gases—it was all laid out, but he always favored fire.
Leaning over, he picked up a box of matches, grinning as he lit one. He brought the small flame to my upper arm, burning a hole into my skin. One by one, he used all fifty matches, leaving my arms covered in burns. He admired his work for a moment before reaching for the remote that controlled the collar around my neck.
"You're stubborn, meat. But let's see how long that lasts," he taunted as he flicked the switch.
A shock surged through my body, seizing every muscle.
"Let me hear you scream," he demanded, his eyes gleaming with sick pleasure.
If I could get this collar off, I'd show him a real scream, I thought bitterly. But I remained silent. He adjusted the dial on the remote, a wicked grin spreading across his face. When he hit the switch again, the shock was ten times worse. My vision blurred, and my body shook uncontrollably, eyes rolling back into my head. He shocked me five more times, stopping only when I was on the verge of blacking out.
He liked to keep me conscious. He liked an audience.
The beating went on for another three hours. By the end, my body was littered with deep cuts, welts from thirty lashes, and my lungs felt as though they were drowning, thanks to the poison he injected. It wouldn't kill me, but I sometimes wished it would.
When they were done, I was dragged back to my cell. No medical attention—there never was. This, surprisingly, had been one of my easier days over the past two and a half years. As they opened my cell door, they threw me in roughly, one of the guards kicking me in the stomach for good measure. They left without a word.
I crawled into the corner of the room, clutching the only thing they had missed when they stripped me of my belongings: my locket. Inside was a picture of my father and me, taken after I'd led my softball team to the state championship. He was so proud, telling everyone, "That's my kid," every chance he got. The other picture was of Dick and me on our sixteenth birthdays, taken in the park on a crisp fall day.
Flashback
"Come on, Charlie, please," Dick practically begged, pacing back and forth in the cave. I sat on the couch, absorbed in some mindless reality TV show. It was one of the few days we had off, and I had planned to spend it doing absolutely nothing.
"Come on, we can do anything. How about a movie? Or we could go roller skating—you love to skate! Or we could go to the park!" His glasses were off, and those puppy dog eyes were starting to wear me down. I sighed, standing up and walking toward my room, leaving a dejected-looking Robin behind.
I changed into leggings, a sweater, and some riding boots, then grabbed a beanie before heading back out. His head snapped up the moment he saw me.
"Well, you coming or what?" I smirked.
His face lit up instantly. He flipped off the couch, landing in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close for a kiss. I resisted at first, trying to pull away, but he deepened the kiss, not letting me go until we were both out of breath.
"We could stay and continue this," he teased with a wink, "or go to the park?"
"Oh, save it, Boy Blunder," I laughed, heading toward the Zeta Beam. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, leaning close to whisper in my ear.
"It's Boy Wonder, my little Tweety Bird," he whispered huskily, sending shivers down my spine. I giggled as he flipped me over his shoulder, carrying me to the Zeta Beam like I weighed nothing.
When we arrived at the park, I was still on his back as we strolled through, talking about everything from our last mission to planning our next prank on Bruce. Last time, we had dumped pink paint on his Batman suit. His revenge was slicking the training floor with oil. Good times.
We passed an elderly woman, and I asked her to snap a picture of us. She did, mumbling something about young love. Afterward, we headed to a playground, and Dick made a beeline for the monkey bars. In true acrobat fashion, he swung himself up to the top, offering me a hand. I took it, and he effortlessly pulled me up beside him. We sat there for hours, talking, laughing, and just enjoying being together.
End Flashback
A tear slipped from my eye as the memory faded. I wiped it away quickly, not wanting to show any weakness, just in case they were watching. No matter how strong I tried to be, he was always my weakness.
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