[ @alphonsetalbot ! ]
Selina hadn’t been around when Bruce died. She had run, like a coward, had been drinking in the desert when he had taken his last breath. For that, she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to forgive herself. Usually, it was easy for her to just care about herself, just worry about her own wellbeing and everything else fell into place. This was the time that it didn’t—this was the time that the thing she had always dreaded, always managed to escape, happened. The love she and Bruce had shared wasn’t a romantic one; it was more like brother and sister, like the family she’d never had as a young woman. He had filled in the missing spaces in her heart. He’d been the one who had actually cared what happened to her, even when she felt like no one did.
And now he was gone and she was unmoored again, wanting nothing more than to drown her feelings out with a drink and some light thievery, though the first had spiraled out of control to the point where she couldn’t even squeeze herself into her leather catsuit. Instead, she sat on the floor of her apartment in just her underwear and bra, a bottle of wine in hand and her face surprisingly devoid of tears. She hadn’t cried yet. She wasn’t sure if she could. When there was a knock at the door, she simply shouted it’s open before lifting the bottle to her lips again. Tonight, she would fall apart. Tomorrow, she would put herself back together.
