The Diary of Damian Wayne

Monday, June 15

It is dusty in our attic. Not to imply that our attic is dirty, which it is not, it  merely has been 43 days since anyone entered the attic, and the dust has begun to pile up.
I am in the attic because I need a break. Father has insufferable since last night, and Alfred keeps fussing over my wounds.
My body feels like it got beaten with a rolling pin. I am covered in knife marks. My memories of last night are hazy at best, but I will try to remember.
Father and I were staked out on top of the building across from the Meringio family's warehouse on the South Gotham Docks. When the time came to infiltrate the warehouse, they were waiting for us. I do not know how, but they knew we were coming.
As soon as we crashed through the window, tear gas bombs went off. Father and I can both handle tear gas, but that wasn't our only problem. Somehow, the Meringio family had laced the tear gas with Scarecrow's fear toxin. Father managed to get his mask on in time, but not me. I blacked out.
When I woke up, I was chained spread-eagled on an upright board. A single light fixture hung directly above me, and the rest of the room was pitch black. My mind was still hazy, but I knew enough to begin focusing on escaping. But the Meringio family's thugs saw me squirming, and surrounded me.
I remember there being at least seven of them, but my drug-addled mind may have been wrong. I know for certain there was at least four thugs.
All of them were hugely muscular men with many scars and vicious smiles. They looked like the kind who hurt people for fun.
Two of them pulled out chains, and began beating me with them. The beating couldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.
The pain spread out from where the chains connected with my skin. I could feel my ribs cracking as they whipped me. But I wouldn't let myself make a sound. To do so would let them win.
When the thugs saw that they weren't going to get a reaction out of me with chains, they pulled out the knives.
Stinging lines ran across my body, and my blood began to drip onto the floor. But I still made no sound. I couldn't let them win.
They began to cut deeper into my skin. By this point, I was in enormous amounts of pain.
The thugs had just put down the knives, and grabbed what looked to be a vial of acid, when I heard a window break open. This is where the memories haze over.
I believe that four of the thugs ran to see what broke the window, while three stayed behind and began to drip acid onto my arms. My vision began to black out, and the next thing I knew, Batman was standing next to me pulling the chains off of me. As soon as I was free, I began to collapse, but Batman caught me in time.
The next thing I remember is being stretched out on the examination table in the Batcave. An IV was connected to my right arm, and I had an oxygen mask over my mouth. The pain rolled over me in waves. I must have let out a small moan, because Father immediately came to me and told me to lie still. I felt a needle being inserted into my arm, and world slipped away.
I woke up this morning in my bed, and covered in bandages. Father sat in my armchair reading "Martin Eden" by Jack London. As soon as he saw me awake, he rushed over to me.
I could see the fear in his eyes. I have already died once, and when I get hurt like this, it always scares him.
He stayed with me for a while, and eventually left so I could rest.
I was told my injury count is three cracked ribs, a fracture in my left arm,  137 stitches, an infusion of one pint of blood, and four acid burns.
I couldn't take the constant smothering concern, so I came up here for some quiet. Pennyworth and Father will have my head for it, but it is peaceful up here. The window near me looks far to the west, and I can lose myself in that distance. It is good.
I have begun to feel weary, so my one interesting fact about myself is that I like the color silver.
That is all.
Damian Wayne