[...]
He sits in a café, cup of coffee hot and steaming in front of him as he stares through the glass on the other side of the street, uselessly trying to catch a glimpse of someone he knows, someone that would care if he lives. Trying is completely fruitless but when he stands to go away, he turns around to see the image of a familiar face on the TV screen.
Bruce Wayne is standing in a pristine black tuxedo, looking prouder and mightier than his 6-feet. Two drinks are in his hands, on top of the ice cubes of one of them sits a maraschino cherry. On the bottom of the screen there’s a blue strip and it says Wayne Charity Dinner Gala. He can see the lips of the man moving but the TV is muted. Oliver walks to the counter to ask the waitress to raise the volume.
“Who’s the lucky lady at your arm, tonight,” the journalist asks, because there’s always a different lucky lady at his arm and it’s never the same, which is why they don’t bother much to show her face, unless the relationship passes the second date.
“I’m the lucky man. I had to work a lot to have her company. One might say there was blood to spill,” he says with a chuckle.
“Oh, so she’s a hard catch?”
Oliver can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, must strain to hear his words over the chattering and the fear he’s imagining things because it would make life more bearable.
“She’s another league entirely.”
[...]
Buy Me A Coffee