Author: Whigmus Lister PM
I couldn't resist. I heard a song on the radio the other day and I got the idea to apply it to our favorite semi-psychotic hero. It's nothing new or revolutionary, but I thought I'd type it up anyway. See if you can guess what song inspired it.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Angst - Bruce W./Batman - Words: 1,442 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 9 - Follows: 1 - Published: 04-26-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5022204
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I couldn't resist writing this short. I heard a song on the radio the other day and I got the idea to apply it to our favorite semi-psychotic hero. It's nothing new or revolutionary, but I thought I'd type it up anyway. See if you can guess what song inspired it!
I don't get this way very often. I hate it when it happens. But no matter how hard I try, I can't get over the fact that I'm just a human. Living my life… seeing what I see… doing what I do… I can't keep myself from sinking into these depths.
Sometimes I hate myself. I can't stand the person I am. I hate that I'm bitter and cold. I get a migraine just realizing that I'm too much of a chicken shit to actually talk to people. I don't know what I'd be without Alfred - I probably would have gone insane by now.
I know that I have to put up walls - both literal and figurative. I can't do what I do without them. More often than not, it's for the better, but when I get like this… I hate those damn walls. My life is slipping by and I'll never get it back. It's too late to salvage my youth and my adult years are rapidly becoming my middle-age years. Soon, I'll lose those, too. I know that I chose this life, but when I made that choice, I don't think I fully realized what I was getting myself into. Now it's too late. I'm on a track that I can't get off. Most times, I don't WANT to get off because I know that it's necessary for me to do what I do. But when I get like this… I just want to throw it all away and try to be normal. Try to be something better.
She's the source of joy in my life that I hadn't counted on. She's also the one that makes my trips into self-loathing a thousand times worse.
Selina and I could screw our way out of depression, but then we had nothing left to do but bide our time until the need arose again. Selina's like me. She hates herself almost as much as I hate myself.
The others… what a joke. Nobody can hold a candle to Diana. And that's why I can't, for the life of me, figure out what she sees in me.
That last time we were together, staking out the museum on that roof… I couldn't look her in the eye. She was trying to tear down my walls and I knew exactly what she wanted me to do. I regurgitated my lame reasons, the reasons that I could throw at anybody stupid enough to try to get close to me. But with her… she's not stupid. For some unworldly reason, it looks like she actually wants to get closer to me. I didn't tell her my secret reason Number Four… the reason that only applies to her: I'm not worthy.
She's perfect. Her mind, her body, her soul… even her flaws, because they enhance her character. I can't fault her for her stubbornness - it's borne out of a desire to make her world a better place for everybody. If it's a failing, it's because she cares too much. Hell, her skin is so damn soft, I feel like I'm being sacrilegious just touching her. Her grace in battle, or just walking down the hall is the epitome of perfect human motion. How can anybody so powerful float like a feather one second, then destroy twenty tons of concrete statue the next?
And her past… She grew up in a place that had no filth, as I know it. I'm not a fan of monarchies, but I understand them. She was raised to lead a nation. She was trained by the best her society had to offer and she took it all in and BESTED them all. She was MADE to be the perfect.
I don't know what I was made to be. I inherited my father's intellect and my mother's grace. I like to think I've put them to good use, but all I really do is choose my battles well. I can't do what she does. I fight punks on the streets, she fights gods.
She can fit into virtually any social setting she wants. Me… I don't fit anywhere. I have to pretend to be human to make it through the day wearing a suit and I have to pretend to be inhuman to survive the night. I can't remember the last time I was actually myself in public. I don't even know if I could be. I can't even say for sure if people would shun me if I tried to be myself at the office or at a social event.
And if the truth ever did get out… if anybody ever did find out about what I do at night, well…
I'm sure prison wouldn't be the sentence. I'd end up in Arkham. There'd be TEAMS of doctors trying to figure out what kind of creep dresses up like a bat to fight crime at night when he could just stay at home and count his money. What kind of reason would I be able to give? What could I say to the press or to a judge that would explain what I do? The few people that do what I do even think I'm weird.
But I have to do it. I don't care about the pain. I can control that. I can control my body. I NEED that control. I can drive myself and sharpen myself into a weapon. When I get like this, I try to remember that my salvation will come from my sacrifices. I'm not Clark or Wally - I don't have what they have, but I can push myself to make my body as perfect as it can be… as DANGEROUS as it can be.
And I can do what I do without sinking to the levels of the scum I take out. My sacrifices and my code… they'll save my soul. But that's about all I can count on - if that.
And she helps as well. She shouldn't even be giving me the time of day, but for some reason, she calls me 'friend'. For some reason, she wants to be more than friends. I can't give her that. I don't know if I'll ever be able to - probably not. And I feel my lowest when I realize that I take pleasure in the fact that she notices me. I feel like I'm staining a wedding dress when I want her to miss me, or chase after me. She shouldn't want me. And I hate that I WANT her to chase me at times. I hate that I'm so shallow that I get pleasure in the fact that I can make her angry - that I can affect her at all. What kind of a sadistic ass does that make me?
Because I'm not special like her. I can't give her what she deserves. I wish I could give her whatever makes her happy. She shouldn't even have to ask. She's the kind of woman that makes a man WANT to be chivalrous… to give her whatever she wants.
I wish I could be better. At times like this, when I feel sorry for myself, I wish I could be more than what I am, because maybe I'd feel worthy of her. I wish I could be myself around her and have her know me. I wish that I had the spine to show her that. I hate when I wish, because wishing is for the weak. And right now, I feel so damn weak! This is what she does to me… she breaks down my walls and makes me want to step out of the shadows and into the light with her… into her light.
I wish I could be good enough to give her the happiness she deserves.
I wish I was special enough to always be with her. But it will never happen.
I don't belong there.