Alter-Ego (Batman fanfic)

Chapter seventeen: three words

Chapter seventeen: three words

Harmony's POV:

As soon as his mouth opened my body tensed up, and like a lighting bolt hitting my brain, a bad memory struck me. My fingers clamped shut on his shoudlers, his face was in a worried twist, and his soft eyes, looked so sad.

Even though I knew Bruce wasn't Harold, the knife earlier, and now the words of weapon, words I never thought I'd hear again, ran through my head, on loop.

An ancient echo.

"I'm sorry, it's too soon."

I stood up from the bed, wrapping a blanket around myself. For no reason I sat on the floor agianst the bed, looking at my toes under the Christmas moonlight.

"Harmony," Bruce stood next to me, after pulling on his underwear.

"It's not you."

"What?"

"It's not you, it's me."

He slumped down next to me on the floor, patiently sitting by my side. Bruce never tried to touch me or force me to do anything for an entire ten minutes. As we lay in silence I think I discovered a true feeling of regret for what I'd just done. The most sincere of relationships are the ones where you don't have to talk. Where you can stare at a wall for days and not want to move only being content because they are near you.

I loved him.

It was all too soon though, becuase if I was falling in love, that would only mean the impact would be harder and more painful.

"You don't have to tell me Harmony, but I'm going to tell you," Bruce spoke. My attention was on him now, and I made it clear by intertwining my hand with his own.

"When I was a little boy my parents and I went to a show on Christmas Eve. I don't remember why but I was scared of something during the play and I asked my parents to leave. When we got outside someone pointed a gun at my fathers head and asked for his wallet, and then my mothers necklace. After that he shot them dead, right in front of me, and for some cruel reason he left me there to wither in the blood of my dead parents alone, for hours. I know it's his fault that they are dead, but I can't seem to ever stop blaming myself. Then Rachel died, and I didn't even know if I could love again, until I met you."

"For what your father died for, you made up in bounds and leaps, I guarentee if he was here he'd be more than proud of you," I said.

Bruce seemed slightly suprised that I was talking "I'm not one to pressure, but you should really tell me what's bothering you, and I will try my best to understand."

My mind raced, telling someone my life story isn't a common or simple thing to do. My history compares to the brutality of Vikings. Yet something told me to trust Bruce, something.

"My dad left us when I was three, he went into the military and divorced my mother halfway through his leave. When he did, me and my mother were penniless. After my grandmother died, it got worse. My mother was a nice woman, but she was broken. Day after day man after man would show up and leave like nothing happened, not a single one of them showed their face again. She was prostituting. That's when I reached my stupid teenage years, I got into drinking and drugs, but nothing too hard core. That's when I met Harold."

My demeanor changed at only the mention of his name. Everyday I wasn't sure how I felt about him, guilty or relieved.

"Harold is your ex-husband?" Bruce clarified.