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II: REPRIMANDS
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I never take the subway. It's loud and dirty and crowded and full of the kind of people I'm trying to avoid. I'm better than them, I always tell myself — a lie. No one's better than anyone in this city. We're all sinners, from the Wayne Tower to the rotting alleys, some of us just can afford the perfume to bury it.
There's a parking garage at work. I was one of the last fortunate souls who received a chip for it when I started the job seven years ago. I park my car, then take the lift up to the 25th floor, where my division sits.
Davies looks up as I pass him, his giant blue eyes meeting mine for just a second before I focus back on what's before me. We used to fuck, but I suspect he's gay. Not a problem, unless, of course, you're the woman sleeping with him. He's probably the best looking guy employed in this building.
Next best thing — Freddie Hayes. He waves as I arrive at my desk, situated sandwiched in between Hayes' and Piper's — my best and, probably, only real friend. When she hears my chair squeak, she lifts her head and her freckles dance over her face as she's smiling at me.
„Morning, En" she beams. She knows I hate it — she likes it so much because I hate it. From the corner of my eye, I can spy a lopsided smile on Freddie's face. I turn on the computer, let my chin rest in the palm of my hand as I wait for it to start.
„I'm making coffee," Hayes says, clearing his throat, „you want one, Enya?" I nod, and he's on his way.
„Soto's antsy," Piper's chair makes an obnoxious noise — much worse than nails on a chalkboard, at least to my ears — as she slides over to my desk, resting both her elbows on it. I appreciate the gesture as an attempt to keep conversation at a volume mostly inaudible to the entire office for once, and lean over to her because I know how much she loves it when I indulge in her gossip. I try to look for that familiar sparkle in her eye, but it isn't there. I frown.
„What for?" I say, my fingernails now drumming on the desk as I stare at the screen, still in the process of starting up. How obnoxiously slow for one of Gotham's biggest newspapers. I stare out of the window, my gaze meeting Wayne Tower, because there was no place in this godforsaken town where the Waynes weren't constantly watching you. Even in death, the city was still in their hands.
