Gods & Monsters | Bruce Wayne

SIX - BUSINESS

It was pitch black that same evening when Carla strut down the street in heeled boots and a leopard print fur coat, hair pin straight and mascara curling her dark lashes. It wasn't raining on that particular night and Carla swung her twenty-five-thousand dollar bag back and forth between her fingertips, not having to worry about the leather getting damaged from the rain.

She and Jonathan had stayed late in the courthouse to finish up piecing together some statements, eventually calling it a day when the lights in the corridor outside their office turned off and they realised that almost everyone else had gone home.

That wasn't the end of their time together however, a plan to have drinks across town carrying Carla's feet in the direction of the Iceberg Lounge.

She watched with furrowed brows from a distance when the door to the bar opened and a man was thrown out onto his knees, the twins stepping back inside after shouting something at him, slamming the door and leaving him with blood pouring down his face and a tear in his white shirt.

As Carla drew closer, she recognised the pale face of the gentleman beneath her, cut and bruised like a child who'd been pushed over on the playground, a pathetic expression of defeat on his face and wallowing in his wide eyes.

"Bruce?"

He looked up, panting for breath before pushing himself onto one knee and slowly rising to his feet.

"What happened? Why were you, what are you, are you alright?"

Carla had a thousand questions on the end of her tongue but none of them really mattered too much at that point, her main concern being the blood dripping down the side of Bruce's face and his split lip.

He just laughed, spitting blood onto the floor with his hand resting on the wall, the other on his hip, "I'm fine."

"You don't look it, do you want me to phone an ambulance or something? You-"

"No," he said quickly, waving his hand, "Really, I'm fine."

She sighed, his assertiveness to push aside help being recognisable in herself, "My car is just around the corner, I have some stuff in there to clean your face. You can't walk around looking like that, it's embarrassing."

Bruce looked at her, noticing people across the street staring at them and mumbling things to each other from the corner of his eye. He nodded then, accepting her offer and following her a short distance around the block.

A black BMW was parked next to a meter and Bruce waited in the shadow of a streetlamp as Carla unlocked the car, reaching into the centre console and pulling out a Louis Vuitton monogram makeup bag, resting it on the roof.

"What are you doing down here?" He said.

"That," Carla replied sharply as she pulled a face wipe from a packet, "Is none of your business."

She took his face into one hand, pushing his hair up away from his forehead as she began to wipe away the blood. Her hands were gentle around the bruised eye and he winced as the wipe stung the fresh cut. Carla noticed him frown at the pain but didn't stop.

"Aren't you wondering why I'm down here?"

"Nope," she replied, eyes narrowed as she searched his face for any other injuries, "It's none of my business."

"Carmine Falcone has been recruiting boys from the orphanage that I fund. I came here to have a little talk with him."

Carla paused, looking at him blankly with a shrug of her shoulders, "I didn't ask."

Bruce just scoffed, shaking his head with a grin, "God, you really do hate me, don't you?"

"I wouldn't be using my hundred dollar facial wipes to clean your bloody face if I hated you, Bruce."

Perhaps the nicest thing Carla had ever said to him, Bruce smiled and accepted the words, even if he didn't really believe any of them. There was a hesitancy from Carla to befriend people, to trust people and while Bruce admired that and found it reminiscent of his own values, it frustrated him to not be able to get through to her with as much ease as he did with everybody else.

"It's my birthday in a few weeks and I'm having a party, I'd like to see you there."

Carla raised a brow as she pulled another wipe from the packet and began to swipe away the blood from the side of his neck, tilting his head with a light hand and pulling back the collar of his shirt.

"Considering some freak pushed me off the terrace at the last event you hosted, I think I'll pass."

Bruce hissed through gritted teeth, "Yeah, I'm so sorry about that. I should've done something, should've been there to stop him, to help you."

"Nobody did shit. But it doesn't matter, I'm still here. Thanks to that..."

She looked up at the dark sky and Bruce did too, watching her eyes as they ran across the clouds.

"Batman?" He suggested.

She looked into his eyes then, his face free of any overly-confident smirk or antagonising glimmer, perhaps more handsome with cuts and bruises and untamed hair than he was in a tailored suit and shined shoes.

He looked honest for a split second, purity in the dark hues of his eyes and the way he held her gaze long enough to make her look down at his lips before looking away entirely.

"Yeah," Carla nodded with a sigh, "The Batman."

Bruce remained perfectly still while Carla cleaned his face. She avoided his gaze but he wasn't shying away from staring at her as she dabbed at the blood that had fallen down his neck beneath his shirt. He hadn't expected her touch to be so gentle, so light, considering her words and her demeanour were usually anything but.

While she didn't hesitate to push and pull his face in different directions, she was careful when her fingertips brushed around the blue bruising at his eyes and the split in his lip, letting Bruce know that somewhere inside of her, she did in fact have a heart.

Despite his question being shut down immediately, Bruce's mind still wandered through all the possibilities as to why Carla was heading towards the Iceberg Lounge that evening. He'd stepped foot in the establishment a few too many times by that point and had taken notice of the clientele that drank their liquor and amused the men, but Carla didn't seem to fit the stereotype.

She was strong, he could see that from a mile away, thick skin and an ego that wasn't self-righteous, but bigger than most. Carla oozed confidence from the way she walked and talked down to the addictive scent of her perfume and her red lips. Bruce was certain that she wasn't willing to let herself be thrown around like a rag doll by any of the sleazy men in that joint, especially not for a couple of handbags that she probably already owned.

"There, now you don't look so humiliating," Carla said, tossing her things back into the car and locking it, "You okay to get home or is someone else going to jump you?"

"Are you offering me a ride?" He said, fixing the collar of his shirt and straightening his coat.

"I suppose so."

He smirked with a shake of his head, "I'll be fine, thank you."

"Good," she nodded once, looking him up and down before beginning to walk away.

"Carla," he called, making her turn on her heels to look back at him from a few feet away, "Clearly you don't take advice from me or...probably from anybody, but be careful around here. Really, it isn't safe."

Carla just laughed, "Perhaps you should take your own advice, Bruce."