The Struggle {ON PERMANENT HIATUS}

Chapter Three, 'Oh My God, You're Such An Ass!'

I woke up as the midday sun burned through my windows, making it impossible to sleep any longer. I rolled over, and something sharp cut my cheek.

I sprung forwards, sitting up in my bed, one hand against my stinging cheek, and the other fumbling around the bed sheets for the offending object. It was a card. 

Suzanne,

There’s a dress on the door of your wardrobe. 

Wear it to lunch.

Your driver will pick you up at one o’clock.

I look forward to seeing you,

Bruce.

I felt anger bubbling up within me. God damn him! So what am I now? His ‘date slave’ that he can just buy dresses for and order out whenever he feels like it? 

And pushing past my anger, I was incredibly curious. Why did Bruce want to meet for lunch? We’d only just seen each other the night before. What could he possibly want to talk about?

Eventually my curiosity got the better of me, and I got out of bed, and stormed over to my wardrobe. Sure enough, there was a blue silk dress with a lace neckline hanging on my wardrobe door. I changed my underwear, and then pulled the dress on over my head, before sitting at my vanity table to do a scalp braid before putting the rest of my red locks into a pony tail, and applying minimal make-up. I wouldn’t want Bruce to think I was making myself look overly pretty just for him. 

“What shoes should I wear?” I mumbled to myself, as I danced across the room back to my walk-in wardrobe. I’ll admit that Bruce picked a nice dress, though I wondered how he got it into my bedroom without waking me up. I pulled open the double doors, and the lights immediately switched on. 

I wandered over to my shoe racks, and inspected them. Blue with blue might be too much, so maybe a pair of black heels…I thought, as I eyed my collection of multicoloured footwear. I picked up a pair of Casedei closed-toe slip ons with jewel encrusted heels, and slipped them on, before moving over to my jewellery cabinet and quickly accessorising the outfit. 

After checking myself over in a floor length mirror, I pulled on my coat from the night before, and a black clutch and walked out of my room, and watched some T.V until Harold called. I flicked through channels, barely noticing anything, until the news appeared on my screen.

“Two expert cat burglars broke into one of Gotham’s minor banks two nights ago, and no one has yet been charged. An eye witness account by the on shift night security guard, Karl Prince, revealed that one of the culprits, described as a tall, white male donning a full black outfit snuck up behind him when he was securing the back exit, and knocked him out. These thieves are smart, and unfortunately, as Mr Prince couldn’t recall a substantial physical identity of either of the culprits, may never be held accounted for this crime. I’m Vicki Vale, and this is Gotham City News.”

A small smile played on my lips, as I listened to Vale’s news report. Of course we’d gotten away with it. 

My cell phone buzzed then, and at a quick glance, I knew it was Harold, and that he was waiting downstairs, so I switched the T.V off, and exited my apartment.