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The party is everything you would expect the mayor’s birthday party to be. The golden chandeliers hung heavy on the roof, lighting up the large ballroom in a tow-colored hue. The orchestra was playing Vivaldi, the waiters carrying expensive champagne and canapes. Everything felt shiny and flaxen, like a dream. The room was full of people, laughing and smiling and talking, but he didn’t feel part of the crowd. The room was full.
Then why did it feel so lonely?
It was the first time Bruce was seen in public since- well, since she left. But no one knew that, it’s not like anyone really cared. They thought he was in Switzerland in a ski trip or taking diving classes in Mauritius, everyone seemed to have a different story.
Alfred had forced him to come. To socialize. To live his fictitious life. To pretend that he was okay, even though he clearly wasn’t.
It felt like his tie kept on wrapping tighter around his neck. It felt like the lights kept on shining brighter in his eyes. There were hands wrapped around his arms, but he wasn’t sure to whom they belonged. He looked through the crowd trying to find an excuse to leave and then - and then- he saw her. No. It couldn’t be.
It was her. He was sure of it. The dress was long and black and slick. Just her type. It left her back bare, revealing just enough skin as two straps criss-crossed her back.
“Selina,” he whispered but the words not quite forming. The sounds not quite leaving his lips.
Her hair was short with small locks hugging her ears. And black, so black. It was her. If he tried enough he could almost smell her perfume, Hermès 24 Faubourg. She kept it in a small golden container next to the sink. It’s still there. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Or touch it. Or smell it.
Maybe he was being a little dramatic. Bruce Wayne always had a flair for the dramatic. And he always had a flair for pain too. He knew pain but- not like this.Not a broken heart. Not so many pieces he couldn’t put back together. Not so much pain after being so close to so much happiness.
It seemed that she was leaving. Her steps strong and confident. He asked himself if he should follow her, but that’s all he ever does isn’t it? He goes after her. He chases her. He follows her.
It seems like he will never stop.
Bruce moves through the crowd, avoiding questions and greetings, squeezing his way through fancy gowns and suits, trying to keep his eyes on her. Her name is on his tongue, on his lips, he’s ready to shout it out loud. But what if it’s not her?
Before he can make a move, he sees her leave through the back door and he goes after her as quickly as he can, leaving the glass of whiskey he had on one hand on the nearest table.
She is running, her heels making clicking sounds as she climbs up the stairs and he swears he can smell her perfume. He keeps up, as he always does. His breath comes in small spurts, hot and nervous. At his sides, his fingers curl into sweaty fists, swinging forward as if it would make him faster.
Bruce thought for a second that if he did catch her, that if it was her, he would have no idea what to tell her. He would have no idea what to say. Only one single question come to mind.
Why did you leave?
Why did you leave?
Why did you leave?
He’s thought about it for so long. So many nights spent in bed, reading her letter, asking himself what went wrong, trying to convince himself that sleeping without her body next to him was normal. So may nights on Gotham’s rooftops, looking out into the night, asking himself if it was Gotham or if it was Batman that was cursed. He isn’t resentful just, forlorn. Bruce thinks that if he had the chance, he would have left himself too. Hell, his children had all done it, his fiancée had done it.
His lungs and heart were pumping, but the air didn't seem to be enough as he sprinted forward. It was her, he was sure. He had to go faster. He could catch her. He knew their game. The cat and mouse game. The cat and bat game?
Bruce reached the top of the stairs with a quick jump, where it led to the roof. He opened the door, where she had come through, and stepped outside, the cold air hitting his face in a whirlwind.
No. There’s no way.
There’s no one.
That’s not possible. He saw her. It was-
There were so many feelings going through his head. He was angry, indignant and miserable but most of all he just wanted her back. He wanted a single moment to hold her in his arms and then let go. He wanted to relish the feeling of being loved for who you are one last time. And then let go. But he couldn’t.
He stopped for a moment. Breathing. He walked across the rooftop. No one could have escaped so fast. Maybe it was a ghost. Her ghost, inside his broken mind. The memory of green eyes and soft hands and expensive perfume haunted him. And maybe he had wanted her to be there so bad, that in his head, she was.