stephanie brown will always be (theblondebat) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-04-21 03:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dc comics, *narrative, stephanie brown |
narrative: mmm i'm movin' out
WHO Stephanie Brown.
WHAT A narrative: moving out of Wayne Manor.
WHEN Recently.
WHERE Upper West Hill, downtown Gotham.
WARNING sads, demon possession, hints of suicidal thoughts.
It happened with little fanfare.
Stephanie had found the listing on Craigslist: a patchwork sort of loft with chips in the paint and mismatched brick walls. She could afford better, but she didn’t really want better. She’d never felt comfortable in real lavishness -- it was why she did so well during her stints in Africa and Earth-3 -- and who knew how long her job at Arkham would last? She hadn’t been back since that ghoul clawed at her legs and tried to drag her under, and she was certain her absence could only last so long before Crane got pissed. More pissed. And, Steph didn’t have a husband anymore to help support her, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to dip into the Wayne funds.
So, here she was, in a loft fit more for some recent graduate than a doctor with all her years of experience, right in the heart of the Upper West Hill neighborhood. The area reminded her a bit of growing up in Old Gotham, where yards were overgrown with weeds, and you knew that shady shit was happening in that three-family house down the block. West Hill didn’t have homes, but there was that same sense of edginess. Gentrification hadn’t touched it yet, and the Narrows tended to bleed down into its streets, too. It was mostly, however, a place where lower middle class families and blue collar workers moved and lived and hoped for better.
Maybe, she shouldn’t be living alone. Maybe, she should find a roommate, or something. But who would want to spend any time around her. She proved time and time again that she was a damn expert at making people hate her. Her family, her ex-husband, her friends. She? Had no one left, and oh god did she fucking deserve that. Those voices whispering in the back of her head confirmed as much. Dark, low grumbles with a lilt of Gotham accent that sounded like her own conscience with a twist. Some part of her knew that it had something to do with Arkham, with the dreams and ghouls, but it was hard to ignore it when it felt so fucking true. Where was Bruce? Her brothers? Someone who actually loved her?
Maybe, that didn’t actually exist.
A couple of boxes waiting in her car to be brought upstairs, she stood in the doorway of her new apartment, exhausted with a constant sense of fatigue, holding Flounder’s leash in one hand and Bandit’s carrier in the other. Steph felt awash with a sense of numbness that hadn’t attacked her in years. Lonely? Yeah, well that was her fucking fault. She had so many good things, and she screwed every single one of them up. Her father hating her had been her own fault, her marriage crumbling to pieces? Hell yes that was on her. Guilt wracked her every moment, with that thick, nasty murmur in the back of her brain encouraging her to believe it.
You’re worthless, you’re trash, why are you even still trying anymore?
She should have let Eddie keep her in that basement. She should have rid everyone of the burden of knowing her.
Both pets were released to explore the new abode, and she closed the front door before slowly sliding to the floor. Burying her face in her hands and closing her eyes, she dug her fingers into her closed lids until the pressure ached. She bit back a scream. It had been years since she felt this low, and maybe it was time to call it quits with this charade of being okay. Maybe it was time to seek some real help. But, who was she getting better for? No one cared either way. Stark loneliness
Stephanie could see the mazes in her waking moments now. She could feel the temptation to go down to the basement again. She could feel the urge to just do something even more drastic than all that. And that? Scared her a little more than she liked to admit. That thought hadn’t ever crossed her mind before, even in the throes of depression and PTSD. Oh, she thought about what it could be like, but she never felt the urge to do it.
Meow, and her hands lowered to see Bandit edging to crawl in her lap while Flounder sniffed around the apartment. Steph laughed, thick and wet, and she scooped the animal into her arms, burying her face in its fur until Bandit mewled in disapproval. It was sad, but at least she had her pets. Sighing, she pulled back and looked around her new place. This would be good. And maybe being alone wasn’t so bad. She survived this long, right?
No one would want you anyway, growled a voice that sounded more like her father this time. Stephanie inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and trying so very hard to push it out of her mind.