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Sometimes it was better not to feel.
That was something Damian had learned, over time. It was better to feel nothing because the alternative was too painful. It was better because he could feel the sadness, just below the surface, just waiting for the nothing to fade so it could take over- so it could consume him until it was all he could think about. Until it shadowed over the feeling of his unwashed hair, or the bad taste in his mouth from not brushing his teeth. Even simple tasks were difficult to do with the nothingness. He felt too hollow, watching his body carry out the ministrations while his mind remained distant.
He waited for the nothingness to fade, it always did. Damian wasn't sure how he felt about the nothingness. All he knew was that it was better. It had to be.
Sometimes he felt himself missing the league, when his mind was busy frantically searching for ways to please his trainers, his mother, his grandfather. Staying alive. Searching for the answer to some gruesome question- always searching.
Now his mind was still. The fighting he did was mundane and controlled. The tasks he completed were of domestic nature. Now instead of awaiting the next fight, he was dealing with the consequences of his last. Sometimes he found himself missing the league, and he couldn't help but feel disgusting for it. How was he allowed to mourn the very thing that had killed? He had a loving family, a space to call his own where he didn't constantly need to be on high alert, yet he couldn't seem to stop dwelling on the past.
He tried to get better, but it was so hard when he looked into the mirror and all he could see was a murderer. The blood of his victim, his hands holding the weapon that drew it.
Some days were better. Some days were unbearable, where he wanted to rip his own skin off and scream until his throat was raw, and some days were barely days at all, because of the nothingness. He welcomed the nothingness because it was a break from the sad.
Sometimes it was better not to feel.