Insanity // J.Valeska

Part Twenty-Five: The Run-Away

[Stephanie Harlem]

Stephanie Harlem was on the run.

Again.

She'd bolted the second her parents' will was in her grasp, after ensuring the panel was hidden once more. She fled Global Incorporated as quick as her legs could manage, feeling suffocated and trapped in the towering building suddenly. Alas, she was disappointed to find that her shortness of breath was not remedied with fresh air. So, naturally, she took off down the street, entirely ignoring the designated car for her waiting out front. She needed to feel the familiar burn in her muscles as she raced; feel and hear the blood buzzing in her veins; she needed to escape it all. 

She didn't know how, but she somehow ended up at her uncle's apartment and her current lodging region. Stephanie hastily scrambled around the messy space, roughly scribbling a half-assed note to her Uncle and donning warmer, sturdier clothing. With the will stuffed in her leather jacket's inside pocket, she headed for the door, not before pocketing one of Jim's many switchblades - he had so many, he would hardly notice one missing. 

Then she was out the door, letting her feet pound against the floor as she paced out of the building. Stephanie kept her head down as she walked along the sidewalks, a black hood concealing her blonde mane; she walked quick and with purpose, weaving between people coming home from work and going out on the town. 

Stephanie needed space, to breathe, to escape, to mourn. She needed to just do something, something that wasn't related to duty or family; the law or the city. 

Mere minutes had passed by when her walking turned into sprinting. People watched as she ran past them, watched as tears fell from her eyes, watched as she fell apart. 

It was only some time later that Stephanie Harlem found herself at her destination. The slums of Gotham City. 

Here, she would never be recognized for status or wealth; here her surname would never be of any importance or significance. Here, she was able to escape the suffocation that was her name. 

Stephanie drew her dark hood back as she slumped to the ground, leaning against a concrete wall. Directly above her head, cars drove across the bridge overtop, heading to a destination; driving with a purpose. She found it funny, how people expected he wealthy to be so happy, so decisive. It was ironic that she was the exact opposite. Prior to her parents' death she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life; now that they were gone she still had no idea, but it seemed her path would be forced on her. With a name life hers, there would be no choice; she never even had a choice. 

With Jerome she had. He didn't care who she was to what her last name was. He cared about her, who she was, what she wanted. She chose him, and he chose her - and then  he died and he too was ripped away from her. 

Stephanie Harlem tucked her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them protectively. A slight sob bubbled up in her throat, and it took all of her willpower and strength to swallow it down. As for the tears... she stopped caring about the steady stream eons ago. 

She thought of the life that was ahead of her; a life of signing contracts and business meetings; a life of a loveless marriage and unhappy children. That was no life for anyone, and yet, there it was in black and blue, in her jacket pocket - the paper that signed her life away. 

The will was her last sign. Her last sign that her mother and father had never truly loved or wanted her. She was merely an outcome of a contract, one designed for the benefit of her family's business. 

Steph sniffed and wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve before letting her head fall to her knees. She shivered now, finally allowing for the chill of the airy Gotham night to seep into her bones. She felt terribly lost and alone: there was nothing Stephanie longed for more than someone to talk to in that moment. Someone to not just listen but to also kick her in the ass for moping - she could never even hope to get herself out of this funk by herself. What she needed was for someone to kickstart her fried engine; pour gasoline on the flickering embers - she needed to restart.