Authors Note: My first ever Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne story, gasp! I'm in need of a break from my Bruce/OC story Discovering Batman, so I figured a bit of Catwoman feels wouldn't hurt. This is my first time writing in Selina's perspective so I'm hoping she doesn't come across as OOC or too soft. Sarah, my OC in Discovering Batman, is the exact opposite of Selina - soft-spoken, tender-hearted and sweet to the core (Although she's got a major grudge right now...) so it'll be interesting to switch things up this much.
Don't forget to leave me a comment or "vote" if you enjoy the story. If you don't like it...tell me why! Don't flame me. ;) Constructive crit is extremely appreciated, though.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but this silly little plot. Selina is not mine, nor is Bruce. *sad face* I would like to own Bruce Wayne, but that hasn't happened yet. Someone want to buy me a Bruce Wayne?
I realized that I was in love with Bruce Wayne on our 46th day in Florence. Not that I was keeping track or anything.
I probably should've realized it sooner, considering all of the times - 5, I didn't count that, Bruce did, however, and reminded me quite a lot. - I had tried to leave him and failed. The longest I had lasted was a week and a half, spent in a disgusting hotel room with cockroaches and a sleazy old man at the desk. I had told myself that I wasn't the domesticated time. I was feral, and even that was stretching it. I wasn't meant for an easy life, I was meant for the rough and tough lifestyle of a street rat, forced to steal when hungry or cold or lonely. I thought it would be easy to go back to the life I had lived so comfortably for so many years, but the moment I stole the wallet out of a married man's pocket, his gaze too focused on my chest rather than on my hands that crept carefully to his leather-bound wallet, he hadn't noticed.
I left it at the service desk the next morning, along with a note telling him to stop being sleazy.
Batman had shown me the light and the good parts of life that I was missing out on. Bruce Wayne gave me a reason to want to live better. Both had absoloutly ruined me and my reputation.
I returned to our tiny house at 3AM and crawled into bed, our bed, after a long shower to rid my body of the disgusting cologn belonging to men that meant nothing to me and the tears that I had no business crying for a man that I didn't deserve, not at all. He had wrapped a strong, heavy arm over my midsection and it didn't feel like a cage, not anymore. He acted like nothing ever happened in the morning, despite the fact that I know I saw a tear on his cheek before he wiped it away as he asked what this meant and if I was leaving him again.
He didn't question me, ask where I had been or why I chose to come back at all. When I told him that I was staying, he simply nodded. "I'm glad." He had told me, and I believed it. Later that night, he confided in me and said that the only reason he hadn't said more was because he knew he would've broken down.
Bruce Wayne does cry, apparently. I found that on my 45th day in Florence with him. He only let the tears slip out for a few minutes, in the safety of a dark room with his head in the crook of my neck. If I hadn't of spent days, thinking he had died, I wouldn't of understood. I did understand, though, and I let him cry without speaking a word to him.
At midnight, when he had finally fallen asleep and allowed himself to feel safe for once, I realized that I had fallen in love with him, all of him. Bat ears and Kevlar included.
