Competition | ❧Damian Wayne X Reader☙ |

Part 2

Taking home the papers given to you on the first day of school by Damian, made you feel pride. It was so early on in the school year and you'd already been chosen for an important assignment.

With pride, you also felt concern, concern for how your parents might react to your accomplishment. Their reactions weren't usually the most rational—in fact, they almost were never rational at all. You'd never told many people about your conventional relationship with your parents for you always felt naïve saying it but you felt as if they were never happy for you.

That following Thursday night you show your parents the paperwork, which thankfully didn't require any guardian's signature for you to be able to participate.

While reading the letter your parents were both emotionless and unreadable, as they were when they did anything else.

“You'll be talking to your professor tomorrow,” your father said, then paused and turned to you with a blank expression. “You will thank them for this exceptional opportunity and then kindly decline. I will not allow you to go over to some rich snobs house without proper supervision,” he spoke blandly.

Your chest heaved, your breathing hitched. You knew this was going to happen, why were you even surprised? And yet, you wanted to try to convince him otherwise, but everyone knew that if (D/N) (L/N) said something it was final.

However, you were always stubborn, “Think of all the attention this assignment will draw to Gotham University's college admission counselors,” you pleaded. “Your grades are sufficient enough to draw attention to you...” your mother's flat voice said from behind you. “Have your grades dropped? Is that why you're so eager to pursue this silly project,” she speculated, her voice growing angry.   

You shook your head, “Of course they haven't! You know how important college is to me, ” you pleaded to her, knowing that assumptions tended to stick with her. She remained with an angered expression, probably unconvinced by your words. You turn back towards your father, who sat comfortably and unbothered on the couch, “Please, there will be proper supervision. The family's caretaker Alfred Pennyworth will be supervising throughout the whole duration of my time at their manor,” you begged him, hoping he would give in.

Hopeful is a word people close to you would most likely use to describe you, you were hopeful that something that couldn't possibly happen would happen.

His facial expression stayed blank, “Do you really require us to spell out our answer? (Y/N) (M/N) (L/N), I honestly thought you were smarter than this. I guess not, ” your mother said in a disappointed-sounding tone.

You hated those words, those words turned the handle to the already smashed faucet in your eyes. You took a sharp breath in, looked both your parents in the eyes, and climbed upstairs.

You locked your door, sat on your bed and just thought. You weren't worried about your parents chasing you up to your room, they never did anyway.

You knew you shouldn't have told them, but your parents hated it when you kept secrets. Last time you did it was the silent treatment and constant degrading for almost two months, not like the degrading stopped but at least now it wasn't as constant.

And there it was that salty, clear liquid, which at this point shouldn't even come out anymore when your parents said those hateful things to you. A cold tingly sensation traveled your body as tears glided down your face. During times like these, you always thought of the adult's point of view; they wanted to keep you away from a boy who they had little to no knowledge about. Most parents would probably have the same concern, but the thing is most parent's children don't get handed the opportunity you did. The opportunity to have all your professors practically write you a letter of recommendation. They knew how important getting into Gotham University was to you, how could they just let you pass up this offer?