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You didn’t know how you were blessed with this strange ability. You weren’t sure why. You didn’t even know who decided you, of all people, would be the best to handle such a gift. Assuming there was a ‘who’ in the first place.
All you knew, were the numbers. The numbers that told you everything you needed to know about those who surrounded you and shared this earth with you.
You didn’t understand exactly how people were marked. Perhaps it was personality. Perhaps it was their mood. You doubted it though, as the only times you had ever seen numbers change, were during growth. A baby, who is marked as zero, would obviously not stay a zero. They typically ranked as one, two at most, when they become toddlers. And during those intervals it would continue to change until they reached their prime in adulthood. By then, they were set. You had never seen an adult's number change. Not unless they went through something incredibly serious.
The highest you have ever seen someone marked would be a six, perhaps even a seven. Those were reserved for military people and murderers however. Well, you said reserved. It was more of you’ve just never seen someone who wasn’t either two be ranked that high. Of course, more fell under that category but those were the mains.
It was an odd scale, but it worked. There were times it quite possibly saved your life. Of course, as you would never experience the ‘what ifs’, you didn’t know for sure, but you could guess.
The time when your mother dated that six was a hard time. You were wary already, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He claimed to have been military, so you brushed it off.
Your defenses railed back up when you noticed bruising on your mother. After another month of her claiming to merely be having accidents, you realized the six wasn’t for being military (which you found he wasn’t even apart of), it was for the abuse he put his partners in.
You haven’t seen his ugly mug since you threatened to shove those scissors into his most sensitive body part.
Another time was when you were walking home from a friend’s house. You should’ve just taken their offer to stay the night, since it had been quite late. But you wanted to be home for the early weekend morning with your mother. Ever since your dad died you both often spent the sunrise hours paying respects to him.
If you hadn’t seen those glowing fives in the dark alleyway, you may have been on the first page of the paper that next morning.
Now, of course, you tried to make it a point to not judge people based on their numbers. But with this being such a special gift, it was very hard for you. You couldn’t help but be worried around your former navy coworkers with their fives. You couldn’t help but be protective of those adults who still ranked two, even if they were a big beefy man covered in tattoos.
You were always a solid four, ever since you began to see the numbers, which officially started at the tender age of three. For the longest time you thought every kid could see them.
To this day, they have never let you down. You learned to rely on the numbers you saw to help you decipher your life, to help you succeed. You trusted those numbers more than anything in the entirety of the world. They were a constant, never changing.
And as life would have it, it was also the day you began to doubt those beautiful numbers.
After all, how on the whole green earth could billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne, be an eleven?
XxXxXxXxXxXx
You worked hard to make it in the industry. You worked hard to get that promotion. And it paid off. With the extra advantage of using the numbers to help you talk yourself into the right circles, it might’ve been called cheating. And that was probably correct. But hey, in what other situation would you be able to use them? Beyond avoiding those who worried you of course.
Your new boss loved showing you off to his associates, proving how ‘clever’ he was in snagging such a brilliant mind.
You weren’t really as bright as he bragged, but you were certainly smarter than him with how easily you played him.
It was at a charity ball that you met him. The eleven.
You feared for your very life when you saw him. And yes, you may have made a bit of a fool, standing there gaping above his head. But what other reaction were you to have?
A six you could confusingly grasp. A seven, you could consider. An eight, would have been a stretch but not entirely inconceivable. But an eleven?!
You thought at most the scale was on a one-to-ten, despite never seeing that high of numbers. But this just blew your mind. And terrified you to death.
How were you supposed to treat this supposedly god-like person?
And how were you supposed to avoid this incredibly dangerous man when your boss was determined to get him involved in a company project, and succeeded.
You would tread on eggshells whenever he arrived to speak of the project (it was some kind of charity project for the Gotham School Districts), tried to shrink into your own clothes whenever he was in sight, you trembled in his mere presence.
And you could tell it confused him to no end, but you couldn’t help it!
So when he eventually asked you out for coffee after a particularly long day planning out the project, you squeaked an answer. To your horror, you realized a second too late that the answer was a yes and had to, ever so reluctantly, walk to the shop with him.
“I’m sorry, but did I perhaps offend you in some way? I assure you it was never my intention. Actually I have found myself quite drawn to you.” You wheezed as your body visibly shook. “The speech you gave during the charity ball intrigued me, it’s what made me so willing to partner with the company. You’re quite brilliant.”
You were very close to just blacking out entirely.
XxXxXxXxXx
This began a routine that even your coworkers found amusing. The dashing playboy would flirt with you as you continued with your project, and you would react in much the same manner of jumping at the slightest movement made by him.
Unfortunately, as your brain often shut down in his presence, it also resulted in many ‘dates’ so to speak.
The paparazzi were having a field day with you.
At the next party you were invited to, you reluctantly went with Bruce as his date (also because of brain failure).
And proceeded to embarrass yourself more so when you choked on your drink as he introduced you to a reporter he was on good terms with.
First Bruce Wayne was an eleven and now this awkward, baggy clothed newspaper writer was a ten.
You began to have huge moments where you reconsidered everything you thought you knew about your numbers.
Like if they even worked in the first place.
It didn’t help that any dignity you may have somehow held on to through all of this went right out the window when Clark had his own date come meet you.
The glowing twelve above the model-like Grecian beauty matched his date almost perfectly.
This was the last thought you had before you promptly fell into a dead faint that would be gossiped about for quite a few weeks to come.