But You Can Call Me Gotham (#JustWriteIt #FreshStart) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 2: Hunger and Other

It's amazing how people think it's okay to judge.

Gotham was getting tired. But she thought about Simon again. She was glad he didn't stay any longer. She didn't like the idea of talking to him. Thank whatever God is up there, Gotham thought, as she slithered down the tree. I couldn't stand another minute of it.

It was true, Gotham didn't like the company of people. They were corrupted, blackened by the media and its rules. Their hearts of gold rotted black with judgement. Though, Gotham supposed, it was hard to not do something when it's all you've ever known. People judge people, and people judge back.

But Gotham was different. She didn't think them worth it.

Media said that if you don't look like this, you're not perfect. If you don't dress like this you're not perfect. Gotham didn't like that.

No one was perfect. Gotham knew that.

But still, she wished she was. Deep down, Gotham wished she had no flaws.

Simon popped up in her mind again. He must have flaws, she thought. Everyone does.

But he's also different.

Drat it, she thought. Simon will be one of them in due time, and then he won't be different any longer.

She made her way home, though the fog hazed her vision, making it harder to see her way. But she knew where she was going; she walked this path everyday, she could do it with her eyes closed. And she sort of did, right then, because the fog acted like a blindfold.

When she arrived home, Simon was completely wiped from her mind. He wasn't worth the thought, since he would no longer be Simon the next time she saw him.

She was unbelievably hungry, as she hadn't eaten a thing all day. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she had eaten more than a few berries. With her stomach screaming at her for food, she scavenged her pantry for a morsel of food. She buttered bread, made soup, and wolfed it down before it even had a moment to cool. She didn't feel the burn, for for too long had she gone without food. She barely chewed the bread before swallowing, barely tasted it before it was gone. Her hunger was satisfied for now, but how long could she last this time? The food felt so good in her stomach, and she couldn't stop eating, till she felt nauseous and collapsed on the floor.

She thought she could do it, control herself, but she couldn't.

Not this time.

As she lay in her old bed that night, she cursed herself for being stupid. She was supposed to be strong, she was supposed to be able to control herself. She found it hard to not think about her day, also, and Simon yet again crossed her mind.

She told herself again that he wasn't worth it, but as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't help but remember how kind he had been.

****

It's amazing how people think it's okay to be judged.

Gotham awoke the next morning and felt sick. Maybe the butter hadn't been as good as she had thought.

She rushed to the window--she needed fresh air, and she needed it now. She didn't know what time it was, but the thick fog told her that it was early. The clouds hadn't risen yet. Her head felt like it was being compressed. There was no doubt she was sick.

But she didn't want to stay in this house. So she slipped on her bleached, fraying dress, wobbled down the stairs, and grabbed a few nuts and berries to eat. She left the house, and felt the cold on her everything. Gotham had second thoughts about going out.

She never had second thoughts about going out.

Something was changing. And Gotham wasn't ready.

Her feet were cold and rough from days of walking without wearing shoes, for she simply didn't have any that fit, and she surely didn't have any money to buy new ones. She had gotten blisters and cuts but she never got infected or sick from them. Eventually, her feet got thick skin, and she didn't feel the pain of the stones or the bark on her tree.

Thinking of her tree, Simon came to her mind. Gotham knew Simon would never be the same again. Either he would be one of them, or he had lived to survive another day as one of The Others. But Gotham knew that in due time he would be one of them. No one ever stayed one of The Others. Not even Gotham's parents.

Her parents' death was her mantra. She refused to think that they became one of them, and abandoned her. No, they killed her parents, they didn't take them into their rotting arms.

"Hey!"

Gotham nearly tripped.

Her dull eyes looked forward, and there, at the base of her tree, was Simon.

Her first instinct was to say "Why are you here? You don't belong here. This isn't your place," or "You shouldn't be here, you should be over there, with them." But instead, one word came out of her mouth, betraying the rules, devouring the line between right and wrong.

"Hi."

Simon grinned at her.

"So she speaks."

Gotham didn't know what to do. Did she converse with him? Or did she remind him of the rules? They were on a very thin hair, one that, at any moment, could be the cause of a disaster.

"I figured I'd find you here."

He had waited for her? This wasn't right. Gotham was afraid. He wasn't even acting like one of The Others. This was something different entirely.

She suddenly felt wind on her face, and the ground was coming closer, and the next thing she knew, she was sitting on the ground, staring at Simon.

"A-are you okay?" Simon asked, and he ran to her side.

Gotham didn't—couldn't—understand. Was Simon worried for her?