Enigma surged up, wrapping her arms tightly around him...and knocking him into the tub with the added weight, burring her face into his chest. She turned his her head so that her ears were blocked by his arms, trying to block out the sounds. "I'm sorry," she whispered against his chest. "I know it's immature to be afraid of storms they just...remind me of things I'd rather forget," she whispered.
Like the sound of her parent's skulls being torn apart by a shot gun because she choose the wrong door in a madman's trap. There were reasons she stopped playing hero, Deathstroke was just one in a long list.
She raised her head just slightly in order to look up at him, eyes glistening with tears as each rumble brought back the memories, the feel of blood and brains across her face, sharp bits of bone cutting into her skin...she whimepred, eyes squeezing shut tightly, desperate to escape the thoughts. "Why won't it stop?" she whsipered softly.