Inside Your Eyes

The day went on as normally as it could for a birthday. A small celebration was thrown by my co-workers while Bruce napped. I was even given a cake saying "Congrats, You Slept Your Way to the Top". It was humorous to me because none of the staff really gave me a hard time about the relationship being posted all over the news. In their eyes I was Maya Conway, infamous survivor that was sweet, kind, and caring.

The part of the day I couldn't get out of my mind was the future visit to Lisa's grave. Is she proud of me. looking at me from Heaven? Is she sad? Angry? Oh how I wish that day could have turned out differently. My head was in my hands during the final hour before I clocked out.

I heard a knock on my desk. I looked up to see Bruce, "It's that time," he said. It was five o'clock and my legs didn't want to move. I looked back down, "Maya, she's not going to come to you."

"I know. It's just..." I sighed Don't cry! I shouted in my brain, "A year has passed and..." my voice switched to this strange whining pitch I hated. I wanted to finish my sentence but those damned emotions had tightened my throat and made my eyes grow hot and watery. I stared at the wall and held my breath I don't care if I pass out from lack of oxygen, I will not allow myself to sob!

I felt a hand on my shoulder, "I know you feel it's your fault, but it isn't."

All I could do was nod and lean onto his stomach. I managed to stifle the sobs, but the tears ran down the side of my face, absorbing into his shirt.

He did the only thing everyone seems to do when you cry, rub the shoulder/back. I knew he wasn't the best at comforting, but I was happy he tried.

My throat turned back to normal after a few minutes, "Thanks Bruce," was the only thing I managed before my throat tightened again. Why does talking always intensify things like this? I became slightly frustrated with myself.

"C'mon. Let's just walk out and get to the car. Alfred is parked out back in the Lexus."

I nodded and got up, somewhat clinging to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air was cool, and my coat seemed to let the wind run through it. At the first sight of the cemetery, I noticed some punk had nailed a sign to the gates saying, "NECROPOLIS" in bright red spray paint.

"I presume the children are learning new words in school," Alfred commented.

"Whatever it is they should learn some respect," Bruce held me close as he said this. I just wanted this day to be over.

We came to a solitary grave on the top of a hill. Mine had long since been removed. I ran my fingers over the print, unable to speak for fear of turning into a water fountain again. It was a very emotional scene, something similar to what I'd see in a tragedy movie. It ended with myself putting a bouquet of white lilies on her grave.

I turned around to leave when I saw a man around my age sitting on a grave. His face was painted to look like a skull, his body covered by a black suit shrouded in chains, "What are you doing here?"

"Paying respects. Why do you ask?" Bruce replied. I still wouldn't let myself talk.

"Didn't you read the sign? This is property of the Necropolis Gang now. No one trespasses without paying a small fee," he smiled and rubbed his fingers together.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but the cemetery has always been public property," Alfred explained.

"Really, old man?" he hopped off the stone, "My friends say otherwise," he gestured to other graves where people with similar face paint and clothes rose.

Bruce pushed Alfred and I behind him, "Name your price and let us leave."

"50 grand and the chick."

He looked my way May be different people, but thugs never change.

"100 grand," Bruce began to write a check.

"Thank you for being so generous," he grabbed the check and gestured toward me. I felt a hand take a fistful of my jacket and yank me backwards. "Pleasure doing business with you!"

Something snapped when that hand grabbed me. With my emotions the way they were, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I kicked off the ground and flipped behind him. He reached for a knife, but I knocked it out of his hand. My fingers grasped his throat with a strength I had no desire to control, "Give back what you've taken." All I heard were choked gasps in return, "Give her back Jennings," I began to see red and tightened my grip. To me, that whole event exactly one year ago came back to me. My grip grew tighter and tighter until I noticed no fight in the body I grasped. I let go and clasped my head.

"That chick's crazy!" the leader shouted and ran off, his goons trailing behind him.

"Maya," I stared at Bruce when he called my name, "We need to go. You need rest."

"What, so you can put me in a jail cell? I just killed a man! Sorry, buta you fell for a psychopath," I began to run at full speed. I jumped over the fence and ran to the only place I could think of, "The last known hideout of The Joker."