CHAPTER EIGHT
( alone and falling )
❛ there was no galaxy she could not outrun ❜
†
SHE WAS ALONE AND SHE WAS FALLING. Falling through time, through space, through galaxies. Infinite galaxies full of colours and emotions she had no idea even existed. She fell with an awe that words could not describe, a wave of adrenaline, an ocean of ecstasy. She fell through universes, her fingers kissing the stars as they painted the darkness around her. The hair whipping her face become but a distant memory as the constellations wound themselves around her naked body like string. But she did not feel scared. She did not feel vulnerable. Or embarrassed. She felt no other emotions except raw, unrivalled joy.
Out here, she was nothing.
Her existence became nothing.
She was only another shadow within forests of darkness.
And it felt good.
To fall through the worlds, as weightless dust.
To fall through time, like a stone sinking through water.
To be nothing in an era of everything.
She had no responsibilities here. No-one holding her down, anchoring her to a world where she no longer knew the difference between living and existing. Bruce. Jason. Richard. Barbara. Steph. God, even Tim. They meant nothing to her. She was no longer bound, no longer weighted down by the shackles that chained them together. The freedom she tasted was magnificent, like a breath of air after a millennium submerged. And it was that sense of freedom that she dreamt of. Begged for.
And as she fell, she clung to that false hope that this fall would be endless. Because she knew, felt it within her bones, that this was the closest she would ever get to being free in her lifetime; and she did not want this feeling to leave her. Not again.
But of course, it did. Because that is how the world treats her now. Every time she shows even the slightest amount of joy, the world rips it from her grasp and dangles it in her face, daring to flash a tormenting smile as her hands are shackled behind her back.
The wind that darted past her face became solid. The stars that slipped through her delicate fingers became blades of grass. The darkness around her shifted, the air became dirt beneath her palms. She had landed, face down.
But it didn't hurt—when she collided. It was a pressure she felt but could not touch. A solid wall of air. And it was surreal.
Athena breathed in deeply, the smell of grass and smoke overpowering her with the sense of familiarity. She pushed herself up onto the palm of her hands, loving the feel of the soil under her fingertips.
She was in a meadow. Or, someplace that looked a lot like a meadow. There was grass everywhere and a grand oak tree slightly off in the distance with a swing hanging from one of its branches. It looked like something from a fairy tale, from an old storybook her parents used to read to her. There was a field of yellow sunflowers (or canola—she couldn't quite tell from this distance) and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, disrupted only by the white of one or two clouds. She sighed, dropped into the ground and rolled onto her back. The smallest of smiles crept onto her face.
That's when she saw the flames.
Smelt them.
She immediately sat up, threw her head to the side, however knowing exactly what she'd see.
A house. Not an extravagant, wealthy-looking house. But a house where it was obvious that the owner was not poor. One storey, brick walls, brick roof, wooden doors, four windows. A house of a family.
Flames licked up the walls, smoke escaping through the broken windows in thick, grey clouds. The front door was already devoured by the fire and as Athena stumbled closer to the burning building, the blood coating the inside floor made her stomach knot. She halted 50 meters from the door, her legs unable to move any further as she lifted her head and squinted into the smoke.
Faces, hidden behind the smoke but illuminated by the fire, greeted her stare. Three of them. There were yells, crashes and screams that pierced through her heart like a bullet. Then, one of the figures stepped through the threshold, their bottom half concealed by smoke and their top—Athena chocked—covered in blood. They were crying. The tears made a streak of white down their cheek as the ash washed away. Athena went to take a step back and the figure's head lifted, eyes snapping to the coward in front of her.
A woman. Delicate features; small nose, soft lips, eyes of dark brown. She was beautiful, even when her black hair was mattered and her once white dress was crimson. The woman took a weak step forward, her arm failing to rise above waist height as she attempted to reach out to Athena. Her lips slowly moved to form words. Words that Athena could not hear, or understand, over the chaos she that devoured them.
But Athena didn't need to hear what words the woman spoke. She didn't need to go by her side as she collapsed to the ground. She didn't need to pull the dagger out of her spine or stop the blood from staining the porch.
Because the woman had told her to run.
And so she did.
†
Athena woke to her head pounding. She groaned, rolling over on her side as her eyes flickered open. The sun was harsh into her room, and by the angle of it shining through the window, she deemed the time to be at least around 11 am. She didn't move, though. Instead, she stayed staring at the blank white wall in front of her, too afraid to close her eyes again but too drained to move her hands as they dangled off the side of the bed.
How long had she been out? She couldn't remember what happened last night. The last thing she truly remembers was that man—Crane—at the bar and talking to him. Learning about the date and time where she was to meet him to demolish the Scarecrow trade. She remembered how so incredibly eager she was to brag to Jason that she was the one who found out first. After that, it was blank. How she ended up here, in their room, on the bed—she had no clue.
Athena suddenly realised she was hot. Uncomfortably hot even though she was only in her underwear. She kicked at the sheet over her bottom half, instantly regretting the movement as a wave of pain struck her. She groaned. The sound was soon echoed by another hoarse groan, followed by a rumple of sheets.
But it was not her who made the sounds.
Slowly, Athena turned her head to the other side, bracing herself for the only possible person those sounds could have come from.
There, to her absolute horror, was Jason, lying on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow. Half asleep and wearing nothing but red boxers.
A wave of heat flushed over her and Athena's eyes widened. She screamed, slamming her foot into his side with enough force, that he fell into the ground in a loud thump. She ignored the pain in her head as her breathing became heavy.
Jason collided with the ground with a mumbled curse; he was already half awake when she slammed her foot into his side. A few moments later, his head popped up. His hair had been ruffled, a small cowlick dangled over his forehead. Anyone would've guessed he was still half asleep by the way his head slightly dropped to the side but it was his eyes—his eyes were wide and they were awake. Jason had always been a light sleeper.
"What the fuck was that for?" He demanded, his hand coming up and rubbing the side of his head.
"What do you mean 'what the fuck was that for?'" She repeated, her voice rising. "Why the fuck were you sleeping next to me in the first place?"
Her eyes snakes down his body; his bare chest and the fury in her grew scorching. "And why are you fucking naked!"
Jason replied instantly. "That wasn't my fault!"
"'Wasn't your fault?'" She scoffed. "How the fuck do you explain the fact that you just so happen to be sleeping next to me, coincidentally with no clothes on. You expect me to believe that I undressed you? Are you fucking serious?" Athena was panting now, her eyes fogging over in anger.
Jason opened his mouth to reply, but only looked down at himself and pressed his lips together in a smirk.
He fucking would.
It was as if Jason could feel Athena's glare on him because his smile disappeared almost as instantly as it had surfaced. Then; "you ruined my pants."
Athena was lost for words. "I don't give a flying fuck about your pants!"
"You were the one that asked, you fucking idiot!" He yelled back. "When you were high as fuck, you completely threw up all over my them and then tore my shirt to fucking pieces!" He threw out his hand, pointing to the corner of the room where a white t-shirt lay in a crumbled heap on the floor, threads indeed tangled and spread across the floorboards. Athena cringed. "It was my favourite, too."
"I did not—why the fuck was I high?"
"You got drugged, dipshit."
This was unbelievable. There's no way she would've taken drugs, she's not that stupid—
Shit.
Slowly, fragments at a time pieced together. Little things at first: meeting Crane, taking a drink, falling down. Crane had disappeared within that short period of time. She couldn't remember anything when she fell, except Jason roaring her name across the bar. Her eyes widened.
Jason sighed and leant back on his hand, mumbled a sarcastic 'you're welcome' under his breath. Athena looked down at her hands, like the love lines on her palms would help her remember some forgotten piece of her memory. But the only thing they helped her to realise was that she was still not wearing any clothes.
"What happened to my clothes?"
Jason, who had pushed himself up to his feet and was walking towards the torn shirt on the floor, sighed. "What?"
"My clothes. Where. Are. My. Clothes."
He took a while to answer, as if he was thinking of a way to phrase his next words in a way which wouldn't make her strangle him. "In the bathroom."
"Why are they in the bathroom?"
"Because I put them there."
I took everything in herself not to leap off the bed and put a knife in his chest. "You what. You fucking took them off of me—"
"What did you expect me to do!" He yelled back, more of a statement than a question. "You passed out! Be grateful I didn't just leave you half dying on the floor." He leaned down and fished the shirt up with his fingers. "I decided that it would reflect poorly on my behalf if Bruce found out that I let you die in your own vomit. So, being the gentleman I am, I went to pick you up and drag you to bed, but the moment I touched you—you were burning up." Jason examined the shirt that was dangled I front of him. His breaths filtered through the strips of shredded fabric that dangled from the white shirt and sighed, twisting to look Athena directly in the eye, "so yes, I did take your clothes off."
Athena didn't know what it felt like to be speechless. Didn't know what it was like to not have a snarky remark to reply with, or some insult she could throw at him. So, the fact that she was now without any words to describe how she was feeling, it pissed her off even more.
There was no fucking way she was going to thank him. Give him the satisfaction of knowing that he held her gratitude. So, instead, she threw the sheets off of her in a noble attempt to act unfazed by his words, ignoring the pain as it washed through her as best she could, and stormed to the bathroom. "I'm having a shower." She slammed the door behind her, a heartbeat before her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor with the realisation that she had stalked across the room in nothing but her underwear.
"Asshole." She muttered under her breath.
authors note
hey lovelies, hope you enjoyed this
little chapter! i live on banter and the bants
shared between these too is my LIFE.
yeah so ive decided to keep these relatively
short but if you have any questions, feel
free to hit me up. as always, if you liked
this chapter, like, comment and share!