Fawkes

Means of Escape

*****TWO YEARS LATER*****

It had gone on for a year. Me being good. Me following the schedule I was given and not trying to escape. I itched to be free, and every time I went outside to help Alfred garden or something, I'd yearn to just run. To just hop in one of Bruce's many cars and drive away. I knew I'd never make it though.

I soon came to realize that I couldn't take it anymore after a year. But it was hard, because of Alfred.

He grew to be my first friend. In all of my years of being alive he was the first person to actually listen to me. It took months, but I became so open with him that it scared me. I relied on him and I could talk to him. In the beginning I was my usual snarky, cursing, rude self. And believe me, I was still all of that. But around him I learned to be respectful and friendly. Eventually I told him everything about my past. Well, almost everything. I refrained from letting him know all of the pain, but he did know some of it. It was hard to keep the scars from him, especially on particularly hot days outside. He'd watch me as I took off my sweater and gaze at the scars along my arms. I'd try to hide them but it was no use. All I could do was get mad at him whenever he threw me a pitiful look.

He shared stories with me as well. Stories of Batman and how Bruce became him. He told me of the old Bruce. Younger Bruce. Happy Bruce.

Speaking of Bruce, I hardly ever saw him. Although it was his mansion, he was never around. And when I did see him, I wouldn't spare him a glance. We were never on good terms, and I was okay with that. In fact, I made sure to be especially rude and snarky when he was around just for the sake of seeing him annoyed.

I realized that Alfred cared about me, on a day that I had an emotional break down. I started shaking for no apparent reason and he talked to me about bottling up my feelings and told me that he was always there to listen and comfort. I had told him that no one had ever done anything remotely as nice and ever since that moment I accepted that not everyone on earth was rotten and selfish.

Alfred was the only thing that got me through living here. And leaving him put a hole in my heart. I'd tried bringing up the fact that I wanted to leave, but he usually just changed the subject so I knew there was no point.

Once my second year at the mansion began I started growing more irritated with my conditions. I was tired of everything and was growing older, eager to get out. I was thirteen when I first tried to escape. It was a feeble attempt, and was thwarted by the electric fences that surrounded the mansion. I tried again after a while, and soon it became a pattern for me. Every month or so I'd try to escape and every time I'd fail. I had spent a year coming up with an elaborate plan to escape when in the end I was so impatient that I just went for it.

Now it was weekly, daily almost, that I'd try to leave. Every time I was convinced that I would make it, but then shit would happen and I'd be right back at square one with an angry Bruce and a disappointed Alfred. I tried not to take their negativity to heart, because it would do me no good. Although something about the shame Alfred threw at me with a single gaze made my heart drop. It was easily ignored however, as were all of my emotions. Although I hadn't been with the Joker for years, I still had nightmares every single night and he still got in my head. I'd wake up screaming on the rare times I tried to sleep. Alfred may have been able to balance out my eating habits, but sleeping was something that would never change for me. Emotions also weren't an option, not since the last time I showed them, when my parents died. My break down with Alfred was the last time I showed anything remotely related to anger and frustration, but the only time I'd ever let my real emotions show was the night my mom and dad were tortured and killed in front of my eyes.

Today was no different than the others. I had yet another plan to get outta here and was yet again fully convinced that it would work.

After one hour of torturous slumber in which I woke up in a terribly cold sweat, tangled in my sheets and somehow ending up on the floor, I stood up and checked the time.