The Universe's Mixer

Edward had been suffering a great deal over the last week or so, since things had gone so badly with Jonathan to the point where Edward had ended their relationship. It made more sense than just sticking it out despite what had happened between them. No no, Edwards ego was far too inflated for him to continue to be thrown under the bus any longer at the snap of Jonathan's fingers. And it was far too inflated to allow Edward to forgive Jonathan for what the man had done. He simply couldn't do it. It just wasn't possible. Though it broke his evil little heart, Eddie had decided to try to move on with his life, having moved himself entirely out of Arkham and back into the warehouse where he had been lurking before his incident with Bruce that landed him in the nut house. His re-location to Arkham had been willing, however, and Jonathan had insisted almost as if he had been trying to protect Edward. Well, that plan had certainly backfired on the good doctor, and this time Jonathan had no one to blame but himself.

Who needed love anyway, right?

Well, Edward did need love, despite what he wanted to allow himself to believe, and he was of course only human. Humans had needs and love was one of them unfortunately.

While he missed Jonathan terribly, Edward had kept the pain at bay by being intoxicated almost all of the time he'd been able to get to a bar or some place with access to alcohol since the time he'd left Stark Tower. He'd only been at the Tower long enough to walk Enigma home, and stop in for a minute to say hello to Timmy, his robotic grandson, but of course Enigma had tempted him with a minibar and that had been the start of the party.

That was how Eddie found himself at Purgatory, one of the few places that looked remotely tolerable despite the clientele. He didn't care who was drinking there, they could've been zombies and Eddie wouldn't have noticed or minded. All he cared about was getting completely drunk and not feeling a thing anymore.

He had managed to get through the bouncer at the door, the tiny, pretty little thing that was dictating who went in and who she turned away, making a bee line for the bar once he was inside. He didn't care much for the music, but once he'd had a few drinks the music had become only a buzz in the background.

His head swam, but he felt a little better, keeping to himself as he sat alone at the bar, curled almost against the counter itself, a shell of the man he usually was.

Why did love have to be so hard? He hated it when things got complicated.

He took another sip of whatever the bartender had given him, not really caring what it was, and set the glass down on the counter, before taking a slow glance around at the patrons that surrounded him. It was almost like a dream, the way the people moved, or maybe he was just too drunk to remember what reality was.

It didn't matter. All that mattered was he was finally beginning to feel better.

Finally.