Since Bruce could remember he had been infatuated with the idea of soulmates. The thought that someone out there was meant to complete him was any young child's dream. Bruce would sit with his parents and ask them about how they met for the first time. His father would always smile as his mother animatedly rehashed the story Bruce had heard a million times. He loved the story, at a stuffy party where they were both bored and his father spotted his mother across the room.
Bruce would wander into his father's study sometimes even if he wasn't allowed in just ask to see the black smooth feminine cursive lettering of his mom across his wrist, 'Do I know you?' He thinks it's sweet. His mother's was equally perfect. A blocky sturdy lettering that mimicked his dad's that read, 'I hope you will.'
Bruce remembers staying up all night on his tenth birthday waiting for the letters to appear. He wondered if she would have a bubbly lettering or smooth or even messy? He mostly wondered what it would say. He hopes it was something has poetic has his parents.
He wasn't sure how he felt about the eerily sterile lettering that showed. It was precise as if the person took great care in every letter, almost too much care. The words confused him more, 'Jerome beat me?'
Who was Jerome? The thought of walking around with the name of someone he didn't know bothered him. The words also seemed to bother his parents to a degree. He remembers overhearing a conversation a few nights after his birthday.
"Martha, you can't tell me it's not alarming!" his father whispered.
He heard his mother sigh, "There's nothing we can do about it. You can't even be sure it will be a...a," his mother trailed off in the way he knew meant she was talking with her hands now. He wonders what she was motioning.
"Don't be daft," his father hissed, "People are going to see. Going to say things to him. He's just a child. One look at that mark and you know no women would write like that."
Bruce looked down at his wrist, eyes filling with tears. He didn't understand what they were talking about but he felt uncomfortable. He turned and quickly ran down the hall. Smack into a pair of sturdy legs, "Master Bruce, what seems to be the issue?"
Bruce wasn't sure what to say, he didn't even know what the issue was. He wordlessly showed his wrist to Alfred. The older man leaned down and examined the mark. There were a few beats of silence before he spoke with a smile, "Seems like you're going to be in a bit of a scuffle, Master B. Best make sure you grow up strong to make sure this Jerome, fella doesn't cause any more issue."
To a ten year old that sounded a lot more promising and exciting than it was.
But life didn't turn out how Bruce wanted, one minute he was walking home with his parents and the next everything he thought he knew was shattered.
His ideas and exceptions of the world scattered like the pearls at his feet.
The idea of a soulmate wasn't as appealing as it had once been while he looked at the lifeless bodies of his parents.
-
But time moved on and he moved with it. He had plans and goals of his own and slowly the words on his arm faded into an afterthought until a name made its way to his ears over the news.
"Inmates that escaped include Jerome Valeska," the newscaster said while naming off other dangerous individuals. He felt a chill at the thought that this may be the same Jerome mentioned on his wrist.
