❝ This is the age of miracles, and there's nothing more horrifying than a miracle. ❞
DC Extended Universe, Justice League 2020
Bruce Wayne x OC, Soulmate AU.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"But, in certain cases, carrying on, merely continuing, is superhuman."— Albert Camus
. . .
The experience at the Salinger County PD and of Officer Park set off a sequel panic attack that, like most sequels, is second-rate to the original. After that illuminating advice, and figuring out that she was a few hours outside of Coast City, Theo excused herself to lock herself into the public two-stall bathroom of the building. She avoided the mirror, hands wrapping around the edge of the cheap porcelain sink while leaning back and down towards the floor.
She needed a moment to think.
There had been a plan. Theo had planned for months. Every decision was thought through four moves ahead, and then another four to make sure. It didn't matter though; everything blew up in her face. It probably would have been better for her just to dip without any planning. Probably would have gone a lot smoother than getting caught in the act.
"Fuck," Theo muttered while getting the first look of herself in the mirror. "Fuck."
She was a nightmare, how Officer Park just hadn't taken her at her word was astounding. Her shirt was covered in mud and grime, with a few decaying leaves stuck here and there; the charcoal fabric was channeling some 4D art exhibit than a fast-fashion top. Underneath her shirt would have dried blood, Theo knew it would. Her neck wasn't bruised anymore—another mystery to add to the growing list—just red. Her face was much of the same, the stain of whatever she vomited up this present along her chin, and angry red lines scattered along her face stood out starkly on her sallow skin. From being dragged, there were twigs and leaves tangled long brown hair. Her scalp burned—she wouldn't put it past him dragging her by her hair at some point.
I was definitely dead a few hours ago, no big deal.
The thought fell like thunder, silencing anything else and grounding her in the present. It was absolute, bizarre, and horrifying; it was also happened to be true.
The first step towards a forming plan was not to look like a victim. She had to be clean, or at least as clean as she could get. She couldn't do much about her clothes, but her skin could be cleaned; Theo twisted the sink faucet to full blast and began scrubbing. Within a few minutes and a few gallons of lukewarm water later, she looked like a functioning (dirty) human being.
As Theo left the ladies' room, she had a semblance of a plan.
"I need to use a phone," Theo announced, standing before Officer Park's desk. "I need to make a call, and I don't have one."
"Use the phone on the second desk up," Park instructed, continuing to type on her computer. "It'll offer you some privacy. Dial 9 for an outside line."
That thought in itself was laughable, but Theo said nothing, turning and heading directly for the unoccupied desk. Sliding into a chair, she pulled the tabletop phone towards herself, dialed 9 as instructed, waiting impatiently for the dial tone switch before punching in a number she knew by heart. The line rang twice, three times, before clicking over to an automated mailbox greeting with a generic recording: The person you're trying to reach cannot answer your call right now. Please leave a message with your name and number after the beep. Your request will be returned as soon as possible.
