Chapter Text
The skyline of Gotham is dark, only a faded band of light visible from Eloise’s room through the hazy air. Streetlights flicker outside her window, bathing her momentarily in an orange glow.
She lies awake, taking in the mess on her floor, listening to the argument of her parents downstairs. She glances over to the corner, where the stash of needles and bandages and blades reside, but decides against it. Not eating had done her enough harm for today. She rolls over to face the wall, folding her pillow over her ears, desperate to escape the anger and pain this house has brought her. But sleeping rarely came easy. Some nights the mix of exhaustion and burnout and abuse was enough. Tonight is not one of them.
The argument intensifies momentarily, and Eloise thinks about making her way downstairs to give her mother some defense against Kieran, but decides against it. She remembers the night he threw her sister off the chair at the dinner table, slamming her head against the radiator. The screams and cries of her mother from that night are still etched into her mind. As is the smirk Kieran gave when no one was looking. She looks back to the corner of her hidden stash again, and this time decides to go with it.
She pulls back the covers, gently setting her feet down on the floor and walking silently over the filthy carpet. Eloise is almost there when a loud crash rings out from downstairs. She freezes, her heart seizing in her chest. A few quieter crashes resonate through the house, then silence. She dares not even breathe, but her heart beats so loud she fears even that will give her away. And then she hears the stairs begin to creak.
Eloise prays for a moment that it’s her mother, hoping that everything is as usual, and not somehow, in some respect, worse. But the footsteps are heavy on the stairs, and the drunken stumbling just meters away from her door confirms it. It is Keiran.
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The door sweeps open, bathing her skinny pale frame in the warm golden light of the hallway, only shorts and an old band shirt now three sizes too big for her covering her body. Her blonde hair is curling damp at her sides and she lifts a hand to protect her blue eyes from the sudden light. The fury in Kieran's hooded eyes set a fear deep in her, buried in her gut. “You little bitch” he spits, his deep Slavic accent similar to hers shining out hard, grabbing her by the wrist, pushing her back against the wall. Eloise’s stomach churns, the weight of Kieran on her body sending an unsettled vibration through her bones. His hand wraps around her neck, gripping hard. “Whatever you think you heard, you didn’t, you understand me?” he growls. Tears prick at her eyes, and, with no room or safety to do anything else, she chokes out a strangled ‘yes’. He lets her go, her fragile body slumping to the floor, and she coughs desperately, trying to catch her breath.
‘Run’ her brain screams at her. But she can’t. Every other part of her body keeps her rooted there, her mind racing with every danger and path and eventuality that comes with running. All of them end the same: him finding her.
The cascade of schoolwork and every other random item in her bag startles her from her swirling panic. “Get some clothes. We’re leaving” Eloise’s father spits, throwing the bag at her chest. She shakily grabs a few undergarments and shirts and leggings that have most definitely not been washed in weeks, shoving them in the bag. She daren’t protest nor question where or why, reminding herself of her sister and the ‘accident’ that befell her. That’s what the police called it anyway.
Kieran snatches the bag from her arms, pulling her by the upper arm off the floor. The familiar sound of distant sirens wail, but Eloise can’t tell if it's her paranoia or reality that they’re getting closer. He pulls her down the stairs beside him, rushing past the kitchen. But not quick enough that she is unable to see the blood pooled on the floor. What has he done?
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They reach the side door out of their house, and Eloise can finally confirm it. The sirens are getting closer. Keiran fumbles drunkenly with the lock, and she almost offers to help before she remembers what’s outside that door. The car. With the gun in the glovebox. Questions race through her mind, and she moves slightly further back from Keiran. What is he planning? Why would they take that car and not the one on the main road in front of the mansion. Is he going to kill her? And, once more, back to the same question: what has he done?
He finally unlocks it, and fear grips Eloise’s chest. This is really happening. And she isn’t safe. He shoves her forward, indicating towards the passenger seat. She climbs in obediently, trying to ignore him fumbling for the gun while she straps herself in. The sirens are close now, merely streets away. But they will be too late for her, she thinks as the car splutters into life and Kieran reverses out the alleyway. She can only pray they save her mother.
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The streets are abandoned, minus the few lingering goons that always reside in the alleyways, so the flow of traffic is clear. They’re out of Gotham and in the suburbs in mere minutes, when, for some reason, Kieran decides to stop at a gas station. He climbs out the car, mumbling at her to come to, before tucking the gun into the back of his trousers and covering it with a loose jacket. He grips her wrist, weaker this time though, as a few Gothamites linger inside, and she tries to ignore the bite of the cold evening air on her skin.
Kieran allows her to wonder around the shop for a little bit, telling her to get a snack, though she doesn’t. After all, the fear of the calories on the package runs nearly as deep as her fear of him. Eloise eventually wonders off to the bathroom, washing her face with the grimy water from the tap. She is drying her hands, accepting for the sake of her life that she has to go, when out of the corner of her eye, she sees it through the barred window. A police cruiser.
Hope sparks in her, and she comes up with a rather haphazard plan, but the best she has in the moment. She grabs an old metal can from the corner of the floor, God only knows what or why it is there, and throws it weakly through the bars at their car. It hits the bonnet, leaving a small dent, and she sees the officers heads jerk and watches as they climb out. “Eloise, time to go” Kieran grunts, tapping on the door. He’s coming down from his ‘irrational violent drunk’ and back to his 'low-profile abuse sober’
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Eloise is walking toward the counter from the bathroom beside him when the officers walk in. Kieran's hand wraps tighter around her wrist, and he becomes instantly shifty. The officer's eyes scan the store, and she prays Kieran's behavior is enough. The officers clock him quickly, and turn to whisper between themselves. But Kieran notices, beginning to walk confidently towards the exit, and Eloise feels sick to her stomach when she realizes they’re almost out the door. But then the older officer places a gentle hand on Kieran’s chest. “Excuse me sir, can I have a chat with you for a moment. Kieran stumbles over words, but eventually settles on a yes. “Great, we’ll talk here and maybe my partner can get the kid a snack” the officer replies. Kieran just nods, and lets go of her wrist.
The next few seconds are a blur of chaos and yelling and sirens, but it ends with Kieran being walked out to the patrol car in handcuffs by the older cop and the younger one wrapping a blanket around Eloise's shoulders while they wait for another cruiser to pick her up. And with a defeated look on his face, the younger cop mumbles out “Kid, I’ve got some bad news for you”