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

Chapter 7: Bomb and Free

It's also amazing how a small indifference can lose someone's respect for you.

Gotham made a small smile at Simon. "I know."

"We should go now."

Gotham suddenly remembered, they would see him leave. They saw him come to her house.

What if he wasn't safe from them anymore?

But he had lost his protection once he had come back to her.

Why was Simon so different? Why hadn't they taken him yet? He wasn't one of The Others. If he was, by now he'd be one of them.

"How come they haven't taken you yet?" Gotham wondered aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...usually when people talk to me, they get to them and tell them not to."

"Why would they do that?"

Gotham shrugged. "Because they don't like me, I guess."

Simon's brows furrowed.

"Come on, let's go now before your dad gets worried."

Gotham ran down the stairs to the door. Simon followed her and soon they were running towards the park.

Simon was still very surprised that Gotham could run so fast for so long and not get tired. He played soccer and he was still breathing heavily once they had arrived at Gotham's tree.

"Don't tell your dad my secret," Gotham pleaded. "He's one of them."

"My dad?"

Gotham nodded. "He looks at me the same way they do."

"He's never told me to stay away from you," Simon said.

"Maybe he doesn't think I'm hurting you."

"But you're not," he pointed out.

"I never said I was. But they seem to think I leave pain and hurt everywhere I go."

"I think you're exaggerating."

At that point, Gotham saw the speck of them in Simon that his father had planted in him. She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"You don't know what I've learned through my years."

Simon scoffed. "You're ten, Gotham! You've barely lived!"

As Gotham had mentioned before, she was very fragile. Like a bomb, she remembered saying. Well, she really felt like one right then.

I'm going to blow, Gotham thought. I'm going to do it to him again.

"I know much more than you think, Simon. Maybe I shouldn't have given you a chance."

And then she ran.

She ran out of the park, ready to start crying right then. She ran to her house and she could feel the tears welling up.

This time, she made it to her room, and she locked the front door and the door to her room. Simon knew where she lived now. She didn't want him to come find her.

I was right. They were just tricking me. Trying to get inside my head. Trying to find out what made me tick. They were using him. And I let them. They got to me. Now they know my secret.

This time, she didn't cry all night. Instead, she listened. Just to make sure that that door stayed closed. But when she fell asleep, a single creak resonated throughout the house and into Gotham's dreams.

****

It's amazing how intuition works.

As soon as Gotham woke up she knew something wasn't right.

She dashed out of bed to stand in front of the door. As she had expected, it wasn't being held shut anymore.

She stared into the room. It was as dusty as a bus with its windows open driving down a dry dirt road in the summer.

In other words, it was so dusty she choked.

"Wow," she coughed. "I know what he was talking about now. This is awful."

After standing in front of the doorway and fanning away the dust for a while, she could finally actually breathe and she walked into the room.

Hateful, aren't you, temptation? Naughty, naughty temptation. I'll be out of it for weeks after this.

Still, she explored the room. It didn't look that much different from the last time she had seen it, years ago. Everything seemed to be in the same place. The bed was there, the clothes on the floor were there, the bookshelf was still nearly bare with a few knick-knacks of the shelves. The window was different though. It was much dirtier than her own, but that was probably because Gotham had tried to clean it every month, 'til she gave up and figured it wasn't worth it.

For some reason though, seeing this room empty and absolutely dirty didn't affect her they way she thought it would have. She had expected many memories of her parents to whip her but they never caused her pain. She could remember when they had kissed her goodnight, when they had helped her with her cut knee, when they had taken her to the park, when her father had chased away the feral poodle.

But she couldn't feel any tears.

I must have gotten over it, Gotham concluded.

Yes, that must have been it, and Gotham was satisfied with herself.

Getting lost in my own mind was worth it.

Gotham then went into the tiring task of trying to find the duster and the broom. She went through closets and the pantry, tossing out all the things in her way. Still, she was only able to find the duster, so she put everything back where it belonged.

Cans upon cans upon cans of soup, a little bit of bread that was starting to mold, and way too many nuts and berries to count. She shoved the bread in her mouth and the cans of soup and the nuts and berries on the shelves of the pantry.

After that was finished she ran up the stairs and into the room, feeling light on her feet even though she knew they had taken her parents from her.

But she ran around the room, the duster in her hand and above her head, with a smile on her face as she chased the dust motes around the room. The light shining through the dirty window put the dust in a spotlight, and for once she felt free.