An Empire Of Broken Wine Bottles

The Meeting

When you were a child you dreamed of never-ending days, and green plains, and meadows of the prettiest flowers. You dreamed of princes, and castles, and beautiful dresses befitting a queen. You dreamed of one day marrying a man who always dressed his best, and would rescue you from bad men, and take you on walks in parks, and would treat you to candlelight dinners.

When you were a child you were told that you would marry a certain man when you were both older. It was an agreement made long before you were born and there was nothing you could do to get out of it. But you didn't mind back then. You thought you were getting the world on a platter. You thought you were going to marry a prince.

You asked a million questions. What he looked like? What his name was. Did he live in a castle? Was he nice? What was his favorite color?

The list goes on. You didn't understand back then just how unfair it was. But as you got older, as you noticed other boys and boys noticed you...well, the situation became clear when your parents sat you down and explained the situation to you again. This time it all sunk in, and you were in no way pleased with the information.

There was no pre-set date. No idea when you were going to meet this man you were supposed to marry, as per an agreement cloaked in mystery and clandestine purpose. Something about a debt being repaid.

In retaliation to the situation you continued to date well into college. But somehow, some way, the relationships would fail. After hardly weeks of the relationship, your boyfriend of the time would back out, call it all off with a wavering voice and a spark of something (fear) in his voice. And that would be all he wrote.

Nothing ever lasted.

You put the arrangement from your mind. As far as you were concerned, you would marry no one.

You worked part-time at a jazzy coffee shop between a florist's store and a discount bookstore (where you also worked part-time), and you had calm weekends, and a cabinet full of all kinds of teas and coffees and life was good. You weren't living the high life, but you were doing well on your own and you were proud of it.

You were living the life you wanted until one day your phone rang and it came crashing down.

It was time, apparently.

Your father had made the call, given you the details, and you had promptly hung up on him.

There was silence for days afterwards, and you were naïve enough to think it would fade, that it just wouldn't happen. Because- honestly, it's the 21st century, nobody has arranged marriages anymore.

There was an interlude scheduled, a brief period before the wedding where the two of you were supposed to get to know each other, and you made yourself as busy as possible.

For what good it did you: your father had shown up at your workplace (both of them), and your apartment, and pleaded with you. Practically begged. You didn't give an inch, not until he agreed to pay off your debt from college. It wasn't much, but with the jobs you have, you'd be working for decades in order to pay it off.

So, now, here you sit in a pleather booth, nursing the last cup of coffee in the diner's sole coffee pot while you wait to meet your fiancé. Your father isn't an idiot, he's outside the diner, leaning against the window, watching the street. He knows you'd try to run if given half the chance.

The diner is old, it's weathered some storms and earned its place on the streets of Gotham. The staff is hardened, curt, borderline rude, but you understand.