730 days~ Batcat

Is this real?

Selina pov

As quietly as possible, I used a small lock pick to undo the latch on the large study window, after which I gently pulled open one pane before stepping inside.

The room hadn't changed one bit since I had left, everything from the decor to the files clotting the desk was exactly as I remembered. The only thing out of place was the figure lying rather in a heap on one of the study sofas. I hadent seen Bruce for a long time, but I had to admit I hadent expected him to change this much. He lay with his back to me , but I could see how his shoulders had broadened and his figure had become more muscular and tense. And judging by the way he was barely curled onto his makeshift bed, it was clear that he had grown considerably. I wasted no time in walking over and taking a seat on the sofa across from him, before flicking my feet up to rest on the coffee table. Oddly, I could see small notches scratched into the table, almost like a tally, beside which lay a small blade. I picked up the pathetic little thing and examined it carefully. I noticed a small engraving of two letters which caused the anger inside me to peak. SK. Selina Kyle. This was my knife. He had kept my knife. Perhaps I should have felt honoured or sentimental in a moment like this, but all I felt was the blinding rage: he kept a reminder of me with him, a constant way of putting me into his thought, all of that to make himself feel close to me... AFTER HE ABANDONED ME.

Without even realising, I had brought the blade down onto the table with such a force, that it impaled the hard wood and remained stuck in the centre of the table with my fist still curled around it so tightly my knuckles were white.

To no surprise, the loud movement startled Bruce and he sprang up and dived over the back of the sofa. He then withdrew a blade from a holder on this tailbone before tuning to face the intruder. When he turned to me, his eyes widened and his fierce expression dropped to one of utter confusion and disbelief. He dropped he blade and took a shaky step forward before muttering below a whisper " is this real?"

I stared for a moment, tying to suppress the blinding happiness that threatened to break through the blistering anger. But, after a quick glance to his cut cheekbone and battered knuckles I shifted back into the careless state of mind that I had arrived with. He left me for this city, to protect people and a place that had done nothing but hurt him.

I looked briefly back at my hand, still clutching the knife, before withdrawing it sharply from the table, standing and striding back towards the window. I was so stupid to think I could face him, so foolish as to think that he meant anything to me anymore.

"Selina!" He gasped, his voice urgent and full of a mixture confusion, relief and disbelief. I stopped dead in my tracks, small blade still in hand.

"Is this real?" He repeated; whispering now.

"No.....I'm nothing more than a ghost." I uttered, before resuming my beeline to the exit.

But I didn't quite get there. Bruce dashed across the room and grabbed my wrist, holding me back. Instinctively, I turned sharply and smashed the back of my hand into his temple. He stumbled backwards, momentarily perplexed, so I took the opportunity to dive through the open window and out of sight, leaving behind nothing but a large notch in this study room table, and vivid memories of the boy who was once my friend.

Bruce pov

I stared, dumbfounded, at the floor of my study. I couldn't turn to the window. I couldn't bare to see if she was really gone. But even worse, I couldn't bare to see the window closed, no trace of her, no proof but the images of her in my mind to support that fact that after all this time she came back. I clutched my temple, numb to the pain of her slap. I stood for a moment longer, before spinning and sprinting over to the desk, from which a withdrew a small mirror. And there it was. Proof. The small cuts that littered my face had never meant anything to me: they were just collateral damage from my many somewhat heroic exploits. But this, this tiny, minute, seemingly insignificant little cut that lay jagged across my temple meant everything to me. She was really here. She was really back. It wasn't a dream. And she felt something. Whether it was hate or betrayal or anger, she felt something for me. She cared enough to feel. I glanced up, my eyes fixing on a notch larger than the others on my coffee table, then on breeze from the open window whipping around the ornate curtains.

"You are real."