Clothed in our grief

Chapter six

There's a reason your mother wanted to make sure you got to go to a school out of Oregon. Originally, you weren't even suppose to leave the state. You were going to live out a normal life in Portland, at the same high school as all of your other friends. Nothing was suppose to change, everything was going to be the same. Sure, with the events of high school? You'd loosen up and stop being such a stick in the mud when it came to the fun your friends would have. Eventually, you'd start climbing fences and running off more often. Grinning and laughing more over sketchy and stupid teenage shit you and your friends would do. Like run off to the back of school with a plastic water bottle filled with vodka, or something. Or managing to get drunk off bitch-beers with your friends  after sophomore year, on the roof of a friends house or something.

You were supposed to live out the rest of your life as any normal teenager would, go through a couple significant others until you found the right person. Stealing shopping carts from stores, riding them down hills and such. Driving not so nice cars, but keeping the windows rolled down and music all the way up. Making stupid decisions, like piercings. Go camping with a couple friends only so that one of them comes back with some type of rash due to a plant.

You were supposed to be normal. But all chances of that happening were taken away from you the moment your father decided it was his call to make sure you know how to defend yourself, by sticking you with some woman who you didn't even know for an entire year.

All chances of you living out a normal life were stripped away from you when you were five years old, being shoved down a flight of stairs with enough force to break your left arm. Only to find out in a security camera recording that nobody was behind you when you were shoved down the flight of stairs.

All chances of you living out a normal life were stripped away from you when you picked up that monkey wrench in a dark alley behind a drug store in Portland, when you were in seventh grade. The rain pouring down over your face, not a single expression evident in your features during the events that took place that night. There's probably a reason you can't remember that night so clearly, but that night is apart of the reason you had to get out of Oregon.

All chances of you living out a normal life were ripped away from you the moment you got into Gotham, leaving Portland once and or all finally. A different city, everything is different. Places are different, there's no Waterfront in Gotham. Less things to go and do, but it's still promising.

All chances of you living out a normal life were violently shaken out of your entire being when you made eye contact with Damian Wayne for the first time, at that point? There was no going back, you got yourself involved in something that was as far away from normal as you could get. Because just one tiny little event, could very well trigger several bigger ones.

So as you sit in the passenger seat of your step-father's car, you keep your head rested against the door as you watch the sun slowly set. It took a while to get ready for the event, but after a while? You had some loose curls that were pinned back, and a couple clips in your hair to keep down strands and fly-away's. The drive is probably going to last about fifteen more minutes, so in the mean time you had an album that you got as a gift from Mason last year for your birthday in the player, sending the music through the car at a high volume. Windows rolled down, but not the excited feeling somebody would usually get with loud music and rolled down windows.

There she was my new best friend. High heels in her hands, swayin' in the wind. While she starts to cry, mascara running down her little Bambi eyes: 'Lana, how I hate those guys!'