The Struggle {ON PERMANENT HIATUS}

Chapter Five, 'I wanted more'.

“Ask Harvey Dent.” I replied, simply, not looking back over my shoulder.

Bruce didn’t follow me, and I was glad for that. I couldn’t stay in his company for too long without throwing myself at him, either to kiss him again or to choke him to death.

My head and my heart had me annoyingly confused. My head told me to back off, leave him alone and to smack the arrogance right out of him, and my heart was mirroring Alfred’s words; to give Bruce a chance, to open that door that had remained locked tight after my last relationship.  

I somehow managed to make my way back to the car, and Alfred looked at me sadly.

“Did you managed to hear any of that?” I asked, sighing.

“No, Miss.”

“Then why the sad face?” I asked, softly.

“I deduced that you had an argument, Miss Dawn, from your body language. I’m sad, because Master Wayne didn’t follow you.”

“Why would that make you sad, Alfred?” I asked, confused. I stared at the white haired man, who was obviously wise and clearly cared a great deal about Bruce. After all, he had raised Bruce from a child. He smiled sadly at me, thinking his words through before answering.

“Because one day he’ll regret watching you walk away, Miss. Now I won’t say anymore. I’ve already spoken out of turn. I’ll just text Master Wayne and ask him if it would be alright for me to drop you back. You can get in, Miss Dawn.”

I nodded, noticing the passenger side door already open, so I climbed in, and waited. 

While Alfred waited for Bruce’s reply, I thought about what he had said about Bruce regretting one day that he let me walk away. Would he regret it? I somehow doubted it.

Maybe, though, one day, I’d regret being the one to walk away.

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Alfred dropped me off at the Turner family mansion, and I realised that the mansion I grew up in wasn’t that far from the Wayne Mansion. They were both in the Palisades, maybe six miles apart, if that. I let myself in, waving Alfred off from the marble porch steps, ignoring the sinking feeling as I heard footsteps approach the door.

“You must be Suzanne.” A female voice said. I turned around, and my eyes narrowed in anger. Whoever she was, she was wearing one of my mother’s necklaces.

“That’s right. Who are you and why are you in my house?” I asked, quite rudely.

“I’m Chloe!” Her red smile fell slightly when I shook my head, still not knowing who she was. “Chloe Turner? I’m your father’s new wife. He didn’t tell you?”