Fateful Beginnings (Battinson)

VIII

You woke up feeling sweaty and disoriented, peeling your cheek off the slobbery sheet. The room was so dark and you fell back against a pillow. Is this my apartment? Why are the lights off?  You wondered aloud why you felt so bad. Your head pounded and your throat felt sore... you started and bolted up out of bed. You looked around, frantic, and noticed this wasn't your room, this wasn't even your building; this was Bruce Wayne's fucking room. "Fuck, fuck," you peeked outside the slightly open door and saw no one standing in the small sliver of the hallway you could see. You psyched yourself up for leaving, wondering why the hell you had ended up in here. Your mind was fuzzy, memories blurred, and you couldn't think while covered in his smell. You didn't even have your phone on you, what the hell had happened?

Padding out the door you tried rushing to the stairs but noticed Bruce stepping down them. You stopped in your tracks, noticing how... sweaty he looked. You narrowed your eyes at him and took a step back as you both stared at each other. You squeezed your eyes shut and spit out the words swirling in your mind. "Did we, um,"

"What?"

"I woke up in your bed,"

"Do you not remember?"

Your mouth went dry and you felt a white hot rod of anxiety rush through you. "Oh fuck," You threw your hands over your face and shook your head, shocked. He must have drugged you, that was why you didn't remember! He had drugged you and then used you, he'd gotten revenge, finally, and—

"What? You had an allergic reaction." His incredulous tone reverberated off the stairs. "Alfred put peaches in the food. You took some allergy meds and then went up to my room and crashed."

"So we,"

"Why would we?"

You stood there like that as you struggled to trust him. He had known about the peach allergy, which he wouldn't have known unless you'd had a reaction. Or he pulled your hospital records. But your throat hurt like it did after a reaction; you didn't remember much and were exhausted, which was customary for taking Benadryl. You resigned to trusting him and vowed to verify it with Alfred later; right now, you needed to get back to your room.

You were halfway up the stairs before you remembered you'd drooled all over his sheets, and he'd walk into a massive wet spot. Oh god. What if he thought it was pee? You hurried down the stairs and to his doorway. He turned and glared at you. "What?"

"I'm uh, that's drool. Not pee." You felt yourself blush with embarrassment. He looked from you to his bed and then to the floor. He mumbled something about it being fine, and getting new sheets, but you didn't stick around. Unable to tolerate the embarrassment you rushed back to your room and slammed the door shut. You stayed there panting a few beats before settling on the edge of your bed. Opening your phone made your mouth do the same. It was late afternoon now, and you had to turn the paper in by the next morning.

You nearly tossed your phone to the other side of the bed until you noticed three missed calls from your father. Worried, you furiously tried to call back until the BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP of the 'disconnected' tone threatened to send you into psychosis. then, a text popped up from your dad: Hi hunny. Your mother and I had to cancel our flight to graduation. We tried to call you but we heard Gotham was flooding. Are you safe?

You texted back. Yes, I'm safe. Why did you cancel? Your heart raced as you saw the text bubbles pop up and fall back again. Up and back. Up and back. What on earth was he trying to say? You shut your laptop and stared at the bubble until it paused, and a longer message was sent. We didn't want to text you this, but it's good you know as soon as possible. Your mother's scan came back today and her cancer is back. We need to save as much money as we can for her chemo copayments. We're sorry hunny.