Tonight, You're Gonna Break Your One Rule

Monster. Monster. Monster.

That’s all I could hear, all I could feel, all I could think. I wasn't was I? But mother's don’t lie, I wasn't, was I Mother? My feet pound on the ground, was I? Oh God, was I?

I run, oh I keep running, streaking through the alleys away from the building where screams and my clowns' questions still resonate. The sun beats down on my petrified heart as I keep running. I hear sirens rushing to the scene and tears start streaming down my face. How could I have left him? But how could I have killed my own mother? Monster, I wasn't, was I Mother? All I could think of was to get as far away as I could from the mess I'd made. My leather coat flies behind me and weighs me down as the sun wraps around me. I fling it from my shoulders onto a nearby dumpster and feel the weight lift from me, my heeled shoes grinding into concrete as I try to run from everything. I suddenly realise I have no weapon with me, and far from feeling lost I feel glad, any weapon in my hand was a mistake, I'd just kill someone I love. I sprint across a main road through to another alley, not really knowing where to run to, I had no one.

The chaos around me seemed to grow louder as that prospect dawned on me, yelling, sirens, and sound of blood rushing through my veins, then, suddenly, an uproar of cheers. My breath seems to fail me as the sun beats down on me, my shoes are digging in, slipping and grating on the concrete, just like prom night so many years ago.

I sprint across a road into another alley, head down as the breath rips in and out of my lungs. I start to wonder if I'm hyperventilating, but don't answer, as my feet slip on some rubbish, and I fall into a wall, scraping all across my shoulder and down my arm. I hiss through my teeth and carry on running, until I reach a dead end, and the base of a ladder.

I reach down, tear my shoes from my feet, seeing the indent of the straps red raw across my ankles, and I throw them into a corner, their bright colour catching me for a second, until I hear the sirens and general commotion of Gotham, and the need to run and get away consumes me.

Bare-footed on the dirty iron ladder, I scramble up onto the roof, where the remnants of the last rainstorm lay, and I splash through them, catching my breath where I thought I would be safe for a moment. I look around, wondering if I could see the van, an ambulance, police cars, even the bank where the chaos had exploded. But I couldn't, I had run further than I thought.

I surveyed my city, maybe a second, maybe two, until the whirring of a helicopter overhead brought me back to my senses, run again Cally-Rose, just keep running. So I do once more, I couldn't get caught. I run to the edge of the building, where I see the top of a ladder, and climb down it, my feet slipping and my knuckles aching from hanging on. About halfway down my feet slip from the rudders and my knuckles, still sore from my last fight, simply give way, and I fall to the concrete below.

I have to keep moving, I didn't know who had seen me and ran after me, I didn't know if the helicopter had spotted me, I didn't want to meet my clown, I didn't know what would happen. So I pick myself up, jeans ripped and dirty, shirt as ripped and falling from my shoulders, bare feet ripped and scarred, covered in mud, my arms grazed from falling and tripping.

Still I run.

Only now, now I had a purpose, I had somewhere to run. A place to hide and stay, but not for long, and I head to the upmarket district of townhouses that I had forgot so long ago.

I don't care what I'm running through, who I run into, but since I still have my makeup on, I keep my head down, maybe an arm thrown across my face in busier places, but I stick to the alleyways. I reach the back of the townhouse, wondering whether I should bother trying the probably locked front door.

No, I shake my head, there was no point, and my body was crying for rest, so, shaking my aching muscles out, I find the bottom of the fire escape. Taking careful steps in my bare feet, I start the ascent on that long-ago ladder. My feet burn on the steel steps as my broken and aching fingers grasp the slats above me.

I simply close my eyes, breath raging my lips as all I can think of is getting to safety. I reach the second floor, which I remember, luckily, housed mine, Jess and Cassie's room at the back.

Swinging my legs from the ladder onto the small grating outside the window, I take a deep breath, run my hands over my face and hope to God the house was left deserted so many months ago. I take another deep breath and try the window, but, of course, it's locked, and I resort to my strength. Shoving my shoulder into the window, bracing myself against the impact, it doesn't smash, but I hear a loud crack. Moving my shoulder against the window again, it finally breaks, and I use my hands to move the broken glass and clear the windowpane. Ignoring my now bleeding and slashed hands I pull myself through the window and I'm suddenly overcome by so many memories.

Closing my eyes and stumbling towards the wardrobe I pull it open, shaking my head to rid the memories. Tearing out all the clothes that would hide me, the most androgynous clothes I could find, I throw them onto the bed, panic constricting my throat so I have to breath shallow and quick. Rooting through under my old bed, panicking as my breathing wouldn't seem to calm, but I had to keep moving. I was on auto-pilot, my mind simply echoed my Mother's words, then my clowns shouts, and I couldn't think of anything else. Pulling out an old holdall and bundling all the clothes into it, I stood shakily, running my hands through my hair.

Ripping open the door I tripped down two sets of stairs, and was immediately met with the most disgusting stench in the world. Frowning slightly and approaching the poolroom, my gag reflex already tripping, I peer in through the smashed door, and immediately retch. Running for the kitchen I'm sick in the sink, the smell of dead bodies filling the rooms along with stale air. I didn't think he'd simply leave the bodies there, just to rot. Not my boss and my old 'friends', but there they lay, rotting corpses on the carpet and green felt of the pool table. With a hand either side of the sink I still breathe heavy, and turn on the tap to wash everything down. Cupping my hand beneath the stream, I take a drink, and pull a face as it splutters. They must've cut the water off. I stand up properly and look around, God, this place was a mess, an inch of dust in some places, cockroaches and ants running across all the tiles, eating the carpet. I wander over to the fridge, and pull it open a fraction, retching and slamming it shut once more when the stench of rotting food filled my nostrils.

Exiting the kitchen as quickly as I entered it, I cross back to the stairs; satisfied the place was totally deserted. Taking three more staircases up to the third floor, where Gambol's room was, I hesitated a little at the door, I had never been in there before. But still, I needed to get in and out of here as quick as I could unless someone had seen me and come after me. So, pushing open the door, I head straight for the bedside cabinet in the expansive, dark wood room that reminds me so horribly of the hideout, and promptly find two or three wads of money. I grab them all, trip back down the stairs, needing to be quick now, and burst back into my old room. I shove the money into the holdall, under another androgynous shirt, and quickly shed all my clothes, leaving them discarded on the floor. Dressing again in an oversized mens shirt and long, baggy dark jeans, my breathing was quickening again and my eyes were wide and frantic, I just had to keep moving, to somewhere where no one would think of me. Grabbing a baseball cap from the side, I push it low onto my head, so it cast a shadow across my face, and wrap a scarf tight around my mouth. I shoved my feet into an old pair of pumps, and my God, I didn't realise how cut and beaten my feet were until then.

But I didn't care now, I just couldn't get caught, and after one last turn around the room to check I hadn't left anything, I cross to the window and throw the holdall out of it, hissing as it makes a loud bang on the pavement below. I hear a shout, and curse under my breath, throwing myself out of the window and down the ladder. Crossing to where the bag had landed I swing the strap over my shoulder and set off down the alleyway.

It was hard to run with the holdall slung over my shoulder, my already uneven breath not supplying enough oxygen to my lungs, but I keep my shoulders hunched and my head down, to the back alleys until I know exactly where I'm headed.

It grew dark, a murky sunset drawing to a close over Gotham, the dull colours far from the symphony I had once watched set with my Jack. Gulping back my fear as I carry on running, into a darkened alley with no light source at all. Suddenly, a hand grabs at me, and though my insanity is seeping back into my bones now my Jack wasn't here, I had the presence of mind to take a step back and swing my holdall at them. I hear a loud thud and a grunt, then nothing, and usually my cackle would follow, but instead simply my breathing echoed around the alleyway.

Setting off on a run again my muscles are aching beyond imagination, my feet are torn to shreds within too small pumps and my baggy clothes billow in a way I haven't felt in years.

Night was setting now, and I had to find a place. If I stayed on the streets either the police or a mob would pick me up I just knew. So, turning onto a slightly better lit street my eyes scan apartment buildings for vacancy signs. Turning down another street people look me up and down, some frowning, some turning away. I keep my head down and slow to a walk, running would be far too conspicuous.

Vacancy signs were non-existent, everywhere was full and everyone was giving me suspicious looks. My breathing was still tearing at my lungs like a thousand knives; my eyes were wide with adrenaline, fear, and confusion. At last I spot a vacancy sign, like a neon beacon in this black despair, and I jog over to the door, taking a sweeping glance over the building as I sigh. I lift a weary hand to hammer on the door, and a few seconds later the heavy iron door is pulled open a fraction.

"What?" The old, balding, scrubby looking man through the inch of open door looked at me with disdain. There was no fear, I was not used to there being no fear at my presence, but the scar obscured the real me, and I intended to keep it that way.

"Sign says you got places to rent," I murmur, breathless as I try to keep my fear under sedation. I felt like I was infected with Scarecrow's fear toxin.

"Yeah," The man wasn't a talker, surprise surprise. I take a quick glance over my shoulder and clench my fist ever so slightly.

"Well I got rent money, you give me an apartment?" I look over the man, usually I was so good at reading people, but this man was a brick wall, a blank page, I couldn't see a thing, and I didn't like it.

"Yeah."

"How much?" I was losing my patience now, I wanted to knife the guy, so bad. But no, no, I had no knife, no weapon and it was for the best. I did not want to hurt anybody, much less anyone I cared about.

The man looks me up and down, "Fifty a month," I nod and go to move back ever so slightly, to retrieve the money from my holdall and keep it hidden from him, until he speaks up again, "One off extra hundred. Short notice n'all."

I nod, there's nowhere else I could go, so I take a few steps back, unzipping my holdall and carefully retrieving the appropriate money. Stepping back again, I hand the man his money and his eyes glint, shallow idiot. Opening the door so I can slip through, he steps back and the smell of dank walls and rotten wood filled my nose. Curling my lips slightly I follow the podgy man, dressed in a dirty white vest and sweats, to the small desk. I keep my head bowed, my face in the shadows and my scars covered by my scarf. Reaching over his desk the man throws me a pair of keys, which I catch easily and shuffle on my feet.

"19. Sixth floor."

I nod and head for the stairs, muttering a thanks as I go. Taking the stairs two at a time and keeping my head bowed, I reach the sixth floor. My muscles are aching, falling apart and I feel like death, held up by invisible puppet strings I longed to cut. Shoving my key in the door, it takes a few tries until it opens, jammed by being so unused. I throw my keys onto a table, drop my holdall at my feet as I slam the door behind me.

Exhaustion fills my bones and stained them a dirty grey, as I stagger forward. I didn't know my surroundings, only saw the sofa before me, and my muscles gave way as I reached the flowery affair, falling face first into the musty fabric. Sirens and lights whir past the dingy window, but I barely see nor hear them as I slip into the deepest sleep I'd had in a while.

And I never wanted to wake up.