Third person POV:
Damian bends over, clutching his stomach in pain.
"Oowww!" He moans in agony.
Feeling sick to his stomach, Damian runs to his bathroom, just in time to hurl right into the toilet.
After emptying his bowels, Damian rinses his mouth with mouthwash and plops down, onto his bed. Not in the mood to eat, Damian decides to take a nap. He closes eyes, is just about to fall asleep when a bolt of discomfort hits him.
"Fuck, I completely forgot about my binder." Damian remembers. He achingly gets up, and goes back to the washroom. He takes off his shirt and unhooks his binder, one hook by another.
"Oh screw this!" He impatiently rips the rest of the binder off.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he sees his chest a nasty shade of red, with a few splotches of purple by his ribcage. When he turns to look at his side, Damian finds a deep, swelled-up, purple bruise on the side where Tim kicked him.
"Fuck!" Damian hisses when he touches the bruise. "Hurts like a bitch!"
Oh fucking great! Now I need ice! Damian thinks sarcastically.
So Damian goes to the mini fridge in his room and takes out some ice.
He wrappes the ice in a washcloth and applies it to his bruises.
After about 20 minutes of Damian swearing so much - that if Alfred heard, he would wash his mouth with soap; quite literally - and painfully applying ice to his bruises, Damian changes his overflowing pad, and takes out his heating pad that he stole from his sister Cassandra. Finally, Damian goes back to sleep, hoping to finally get some shut-eye before patrol.
Author's Note:
Thanks for everyone for the support on the last chapter! I know this chapter is shorter than the rest, and I'll try to create a longer one. Please leave comments and feedback, and kudos are appreciated! - Thx, Teardrop
VOUS LISEZ
Freebird
ActionDamian Wayne seems like a cold young boy without a heart, but that's not true. Damian runs away because of a secret; a secret that he will keep to the grave, a secret that is about to come out.
