Scared of the Dark || Damian Wayne x OC

18: high school experiences

I'd hoped that Bruce would be strict about Summer's party. I'd hoped that maybe he'd stop us from going. Maybe tell us that we were too young to be out by ourselves, or whatever it was that normal parents said to their children.

I knew how to handle myself fine in the real world, particularly at night. I had spent many hours in Gotham City past dusk. It was not a pleasant time to be out, in all honesty. But if shit were to happen, I could easily protect myself.

But that was beside the point. I needed Bruce to be strict because I didn't want to go. I was too scared to go. Everyone would still be thinking about Friday's incident, where Flynn had exposed me to a least half of the 9th grade.

I'd forgotten, though, that while Bruce was a billionaire business-man by day, he was also a playboy star by night. The famous billionaire-playboy was my temporary carer. And that meant that he had little to no rules about partying because, frankly, he did a lot of it himself.

"I've never been to a high school party before," I told Dick, Jason, and Tim as we sat around the TV. I had just gotten out from my shower and was wearing one of my many silk bathrobes that made me feel like a celebrity.

Jason spoke through a mouth full of chips, "You'll be fine. Just have fun and don't overthink anything."

Dick interjected, "But don't drink the punch, though."

Jason looked shocked. "What? But that's the best part!"

"What's in the punch?" I wondered, highly confused all of a sudden. I didn't understand any of these terms. And what even was punch, really?

"Alcohol," said Tim with a frown. "Most people don't know that and get stupidly drunk. Then they nearly fall off a balcony or something."

Jason swallowed his chips and waved his hand in front of Tim, dismissing him. "Don't listen to them. The punch makes everything better. Just don't drink too much at once, unless your tolerance is high."

Then, with a frown, he added, "Wait, is your tolerance high?"

"Okay, stop it. She's fourteen," Dick scolded.

This was getting way to confusing for me to keep up with. "I'm going to find Damian," I announced. "Maybe he can help."

I kind of doubted that last part, but I proceeded to get off the couch and head up the main stairs. I weaved my way through the grand halls of Wayne Manor and found Damian's room at the other side of the building.

His door was closed, so I knocked quietly. When no reply came, I called out, "It's Sasha."

A few seconds later, the handle began to turn and there stood Damian in nothing but sweats. "What is it?"

His harsh tone didn't surprise me anymore, I had grown used to it. So instead of getting upset, or feeling hurt, I said, "I need you help."

I dragged him to my room, hoping he could help in some way. "How many parties have you been too?" I asked.

"I don't know, a few..." he replied, clearly quite confused with why I'd brought him here.

I pushed him into my walk-in closet. "Well, what am I meant to wear?"

He gave me a flat look. "How should I know?"

"Because you've seen other girls at parties," I responded with a hint of desperation in my voice.

He still looked doubtful, but let out a sigh as he headed over to the dress rack. He sorted though about four dresses until he pulled one down. He held it up high and examined it for a few seconds. Then he threw it at me to catch.