Song | Two Weeks
FKA Twigs
I'd put you first / Just close your eyes and dream about it / (Higher than a motherfucker, dreamin' of you, as my lover) / I'll quench your thirst / Just chase a lie and stop your doubtin'
He never felt good about his scars, not until she touched them. He had only ever seen them as a way of reminding himself of the torture that came with them. He felt many things about them. Anger? Yes. Good? No. Not until she ran her fingers along them like the words in a book. She didn't ask because she didn't have to. Everyone knew "the story", but she knew his story because it sat under her fingers begging to be opened and understood.
They could sit for hours doing nothing but caressing the wounds of the past and trying to build a future they could only imagine in the safety of their room.
Well not theirs, more like her's, but they had spent so much time in there together it might as well be theirs.
Helena liked that, being with Jason in their own private world where no one could hurt them. Outside of those four walls was nothing, but pain and a city that wanted them dead. Jason couldn't stand it, Gotham and her hold on him. Gotham and the way she howled for attention and constant protection. Spitting out one psycho after another after another. Gotham had chewed him up and spit him out with nothing but scars and PTSD to show for it.
When it came to Helena, Gotham had simply swallowed her whole. No one cared about Bruce Wayne's troubled daughter, they only needed one Wayne and she simply wasn't in the running.
Helena had scars too. Nothing like Jason's Y incision or the dents and slits left behind by a Clown and his crowbar. Her's were in odd placements, in places she only let Jason and her reflection see. He understood why and he hated it. When you're a girl they treat you different. They threaten you different and they torture you different. He hated knowing the difference between their scars, that while his where random and simply meant for pain her's where meant for much more, dehumanization. Damage that would last a life time and long after death. But he held them too, the indents left from teeth under her breasts, the engravings on her inner thighs and the lashes across her back. He touched them because they too demanded to be read.