Ghost Smoke
My friend @pretechvenus is helping me with the traslation.
Chapter1.
This Second Chapter
TW: Neglect, Smoking, Family issues / toxic family dynamics, Angst, Mentions of envy and loneliness
—Happy Birthday! One more day closer to death!— Shouted Karl, wrapping his arms around your neck to hug you, pressing his cheek against yours. Laura didn’t hesitate to hit him on the head with a book. You couldn’t help but let a smile escape your lips at the harsh scolding from the raven-haired girl.
—What kind of person says that to someone when their friend turns 18!?— Furious at the poor redhead who had gone too far with his joke, you put your hand over your friend’s head to stop more book smacks from hitting him, which caused him to cling to you as if you were his protector. —Laurita, it’s not his fault he’s an idiot— Karl looked at you with wide eyes and no longer smiling, with an exaggerated frown, and this time you couldn’t hold back your laughter.
—You’re all so cruel!— Karl muttered, before some footsteps interrupted him. You lifted your gaze toward John, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his long hair down. You don’t help yourself much either, Karl. By the way, where did you leave the candles? I bought them a little while ago. This house is a mess. Are you sure you want to live with the disaster that is Karl, _?— John shifted his gaze toward Karl upon noticing the look he was giving him— Hey, don’t look at me like that, you’re a mess, but a fun one, I’m not insulting you.
—Calm down, you too, Karl, and believe me John, I like this place, it’s, I don’t know… It feels… very free?— You tried to find the words to explain yourself with your eyes fixed on the graffiti and drawings on the walls made by the redhead. “Free?” repeated John with a raised eyebrow, as if trying to understand your point.
Before John could ask further, Stefanny came in carrying some bags. You didn’t hesitate to stand up to help her with the bags full of snacks, canned chips, cookies, Doritos, and more. —Happy birthday, _, you’re a full adult now, huh? How do you feel?— She asked while putting the bags on the wooden table covered in stickers. —How do I feel? Well, I feel good, I finally got out of that damn bat box.— You tried to joke, knowing that at least John, Karl, and Laura still didn’t know that your family was the acclaimed Batfamily. But you saw the corners of Stefanny’s painted lips curve upward.
—But, well, you went from living in a haunted mansion to a cozy little place, and you know what the best part is? The best part is that I’m here.— Karl put his hand on his chest proudly, touching his chains with a grin from ear to ear, then Laura laughed as she pulled beers out of the mini fridge covered in stickers just like the table.
—Oh yeah, sure, stop bragging or you’ll drown in your own reflection like Narcissus, too bad you’re not as handsome.— She handed me the beer she had opened, I sat down again on the couch after saying “Thanks, Laurita,” while she listened to Karl’s complaints, who was whining like a little kid despite his streetwise look.
John and Stefanny arranged the snacks on plates, and in the end you stood up again to prepare a sauce together with Laura, while Karl connected the PlayStation 4 to the TV that, despite the year, was still one of those huge boxy ones, but worked wonderfully. You beat egg yolks making homemade mayo; you had learned from the cookbooks John had given you years ago for no apparent reason. You learned to make some delicious dishes even though you didn’t spend much time in the kitchen so as not to interrupt… so as not to be a bother, you didn’t want to bother Alfred, though unfortunately, you had to eat.
—Relax, you’re whisking too hard, it’s going to split!— You stopped in surprise, whispered a quick apology, and kept whisking again, not noticing—or not wanting to notice—that Laura was watching you worriedly, having seen how lost you seemed in your own thoughts. Sometimes that happened, you seemed to be doing things, but you weren’t really there, at least not your mind.
Soon everyone was sitting around the little table, though John was on poufs shaped like billiard balls, holding a beer in his hand, while Laura sat on another pouf shaped like Snorlax. Karl and Stefanny were by your side on the couch when you decided to grab your beer to lift it —Cheers… I’m finally of age, I guess I’m finally an adult… I don’t like getting sentimental, but I toast to you who have been by my side all these years, celebrating with me; no matter if it was sneaking out of our houses at night… to celebrate Christmas together, going to parties with fake IDs with weird names and John busting out forbidden dance moves to the music. Even when we went to parks and ended up listening to a whole lecture on plant species thanks to Laurita, or the art painted on every wall of Gotham by Karl with his overflowing energy… And of course Nanny, who… has been our pillar, who always found ways to organize us and find answers to our problems.— You had a smile on your face without even realizing it as you held the beer, and when you lifted your gaze, your friends were looking at you as if you had just given a peace speech for the UN.
—Cheers to _ and his magnificent way of fighting, crushing it in the boxing ring, soaring the skies with his jumps across rooftops, for always supporting us in our craziness! And above all, for existing and being here!— Shouted Karl, then John followed, while you stayed silent with your cheeks slightly flushed from hearing such things.
—Cheers to _, for always being there when we’re at our worst and our best! For every band recommendation he gave us, for always stepping in front to save our asses! I toast because he’s here!— You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in John’s words, then Laura adjusted her glasses, to your surprise, ready to continue.
—Cheers to _! For being the one who always stays to listen, to extend a hand when someone’s in trouble! I toast because he faces life without fear and because he taught me to face my fears! I toast because he’s here with us, and I hope it’s always that way!— She raised her beer high and then set it down on the table. Facing life without fear? Did they really see you like that? You asked yourself at that moment, and then Stefanny stood up with her beer in hand.
—CHEERS TO _! CHEERS BECAUSE HE IS HIM! BECAUSE HE STANDS FIRM AND BECAUSE TRUTHFULLY HE IS PART OF US AND WE ARE PART OF HIM! CHEERS BECAUSE HE’S HERE!— She shouted louder than the rest, and it seemed like she wanted to cry, but you were about to break too, though you wouldn’t, and quickly clinked glasses with your friends, trembling with emotion… Yes, they were definitely your family.
The room you had left behind was now empty. Not that you ever had many things, and what you did have came from your own effort through some jobs, even street fights with some bets. They had placed you in one of the higher floors of Wayne Manor, in the farthest area; you were grateful at least for the good view, though you knew it was to avoid having to cross paths with you. Although sometimes you had thought about jumping out the window, your body smashing against the ground like minced meat, a mess, surely they would scream in horror, or at least your family would show a horrified expression. You didn’t know, but at least it would show they had noticed you. However, there was always something that stopped you… even outside your “home.”
Before, you had put up some posters that were no longer in the room, since you had taken them when you moved into your new home. There weren’t many, you could count them on both hands, from videogames like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Sonic, even Five Nights, and three movie posters—two from Friday the 13th and the last from another Godzilla movie. It might seem silly, but it was the only decoration your room had from childhood to adulthood. You had admired them as works of art the first time you put them on the gray walls of the place. You remembered it was a gift from John; the others had been from Karl.
The sheets on your bed lay perfectly clean, folded, and ironed, since you wanted to avoid wasting Alfred’s time. That way he could just put them away, and the room could pass as a guest room. You didn’t know, it was simply a quicker way to disappear from that mansion, leaving no trace like the ghost you were. You would never see them again, though you knew you would see their faces saying how wonderful those heroes were… especially Bruce Wayne… the Batman himself.
You always knew, but everyone acted like you didn’t. You were never Robin; you were simply a ghost taking up space in their lives. But finally, you could leave, you didn’t need to be exorcised with cruel words, you could leave on your own.
Two weeks had already passed since your successful move, when the door of your cold room was opened. Alfred ran his two gloved hands over the empty walls of your room, his eyes resting on the folded sheets on the bed, a lifeless room, a room that seemed to never have been occupied.
He picked up the sheets, they were light, too thin considering the cold Gotham nights where even the windows would dampen. Strangely, they felt heavy in his arms, or maybe it was his chest… Was there ever someone who occupied this room? He tried to recall a blurry memory, a shadow that wandered silently through the mansion, a shadow that usually stood staring longingly out the windows.
“Who was it?”
There was no master or mistress he didn’t remember, but this time it was different.
He quickly went to the place where he kept records of all the photos he took, even the childhood photos of Master Bruce, the arrival of Dick, every master and mistress he saw as his children were there. He spent hours searching, page after page, photo after photo, without rest, but couldn’t seem to find anything. Until he felt something underfoot. He moved his shoe, and there it was; a photo not in the albums, but under the cabinet where they were kept, lying on the floor, dirty and worn, with a date faded away that had been marked with a pen and a barely visible ink heart.
The truth was that photo wasn’t supposed to be there. It had been a “mischief,” a very annoying one according to Duke, of you meddling in things that didn’t concern you. You had left it there the first year you arrived at the manor. You wanted to keep the photo of your mother in those albums, since you assumed it was a family album, so it seemed fair that it could be there, but your brother didn’t think the same as he lectured you on everything you did wrong. You dropped the photo, which remained abandoned on the floor. You hoped that at least if Alfred saw it, he would keep it. But you never found out, you assumed it was abandoned or simply thrown away. Sometimes you wanted to sneak in again and take the photo, but you never did.
But now Alfred could see it and took it between his fingers. He observed the tired-looking woman who smiled despite her sickly appearance, with a small child in her arms. He wore a Tigger onesie, one of the friends of the honey-addicted bear Winnie the Pooh. Then he recalled the name and surname of the child, and felt a lump in his throat. He cleaned the photo with a small silk handkerchief, and kept it in the pocket of his formal suit, leaving the room wondering where you had ended up now that you weren’t at home… hoping it wasn’t on the streets like your grandfather.
You were leaving work when it all happened. You thought it would be a casual day, one of those that passed as quickly as a leaf in autumn; something quick, attending customers, getting home, and preparing lunch for when Karl arrived (a new routine in your life as roommates). How dared you think it would be a normal day? For god’s sake, you were in Gotham, the city of crime! You now found yourself at a moderate distance from the chaos, unlike the rest of Gotham’s citizens who every day showed less instinct for survival.
They were drawn like flies while Firefly put on a dramatic show in an abandoned factory. You could spot the swift shadows you recognized immediately: Batman and Robin, to be exact Damian. They acted fast as always, evacuating the homeless who spent cold nights sleeping in that abandoned place. You didn’t move as you watched their heroic actions, acclaimed by Gothamites. You really weren’t enjoying seeing their faces even under masks, but the bad thing was you had been born in Gotham, so the vein of standing and watching the drama remained in you.
You took a drag of your cigarette, your brow furrowed—something wasn’t right— You moved a little closer, trying to see where the growing unease in your chest came from, and then you saw it; “Brat!” Resounded in your head at the sight of Damian’s recklessness, always trying to be one step ahead, he had gone inside the industrial facility, wanting to catch Firefly off guard, but like a wolf chasing prey, he fell into a bear trap. Your cigarette fell to the ground.
You were someone who took great care of your motorcycle, since it was your means of transportation and one of your greatest achievements. A memory of childish longing at seeing Jason riding his bike or even Bruce with his known Batcycle, now a reminder of your autonomy, even a storage of memories of escapes with your friends or illegal races you sometimes went to, so your religious care for your motorcycle was never surprising.
That wasn’t the case now. The roar of the Kawasaki was loud as it tore through the police tape. The commotion of the people and police, of the reporters, even of Firefly or Batman, none of it mattered to you at that moment—it was all irrelevant noise. Your eyes searched relentlessly, desperately, for the only thing that mattered to you in that place crumbling to pieces.
—Damian!— Your shout echoed in the place.
The motorcycle you cared so much about was now lying among the wreckage. It had become secondary. Your heart pounded as if you were living in flesh the tale of the tell-tale heart, and if it was betraying you, there he was—Damian, in the jaws of chaos, with a huge beam crushing him, and your heart sank. You weren’t as strong as the rest of that family, you were never meant to fight like a ghost. At that moment, maybe it was adrenaline filling you, you moved with extraordinary speed, bending down to push the beam aside without paying attention to your arms being slashed by the jagged metal, the collapsing wreckage leaving your arms a mess of scratches and cuts.
You held Damian in your arms. You were sure he would never have let you hold him, but in that moment you held him tightly, like the fragile child he was. You stood with your younger brother in your arms, barely noticing your ankles stained with dirt and blood from the force of pressing into the shattered floor, but you couldn’t ignore the burning white whistle that buried itself deep into your left eye, blazing red hot as blood mixed and ran down your cheek. You screamed in pain. But you couldn’t stop, not now, you ran, leaving everything behind as the place went into its imminent explosion.
There was no time to think about the pain, or the past, or the present, only about carrying the child hiding under that Robin armor. You felt his fragile breath against your ear as you pressed him against you, using your own body as a shield in case you didn’t make it in time, but luckily you got far enough from the explosion that blasted like a screech in your ears, collapsing onto the grass, already away from that place.
—Damian…— You put your hand on his cheek while looking at the mask that covered his face, then you heard another shout calling the same name, and you stood up even with the pain fresh in your body. Then you realized what you had done and the stabbing pain, no… You thought about how unpleasant it would be to see your father at that moment or for Damian to scream at you with disgust, and you needed to go bleed out somewhere else now.
Each step cost you more, but you made it to an alley where you collapsed to the ground, weakened by the loss of blood and wounds. It would have been easier to escape with your motorcycle. You didn’t have a motorcycle anymore, you remembered, and wanted to scream “fuck,” but you simply fainted onto the asphalt.