The following day was, in all honesty, quite depressing.

I sat in my room, tangled in the satin duvet, blasting songs by rap artists that had no real meaning except that whoever had written them was definitely going through some tough times. I felt sick to my stomach every time I remembered what Flynn had done the day before. I felt numb and empty, yet overwhelmingly emotional at the same time.

It shouldn't have been a big deal, really, that he'd exposed me to the school. Anyone else might have gotten over it quicker. Anyone else might have just thought, oh, fuck it, who really cares? They'll all forget about it within a week.

But I was not anyone else. I had craved a normal life for so long that the mere idea of it being stripped away from me left me in a wreck. The main thought that kept spiraling through my head was that it was my fault. I'd technically done this to myself. it was my doing and that was the worse part about it all.

However, the boys seemed surprisingly... concerned about my well-being. They visited me every hour or so and would get Alfred to bring me food and drinks. Dick kept checking up on me like I was some kind of sick patient. Arguably, I kind of was.

"You sure you're okay?" He asked doubtfully when I'd straight-up lied through my teeth that I hadn't been crying just minutes earlier.

"I'm fine," I replied unconvincingly, which I was not.

If it wasn't already obvious by my behavior, my appearance was an actual mess. I was wearing a loose tank and extra loose pajama pants. The pants were long and pink with pizza slices covering them. My feet were permanently encased in a pair of grey fluffy socks, and my face sported deep bags and red-rimmed eyes from all the crying.

And don't even get me started on my hair.

So when I finally did emerge from my room to get some "fresh air" (as Alfred had suggested), the boys tried their hardest to keep a straight face. I knew they thought I was a literal train-wreck, I could see it in their eyes. The way Tim did a double take of my appearance made me want to smack him. But alas, I contained myself. I was too tired to hurt anyone anyway.

I sat down in the garden in the dirt and grass. It was a decent day and the sun was out. Some birds were singing in the nearby trees and I swear I saw a squirrel scuttering about. Behind me I heard voices, faint but still audible to my expertly trained ears. Bruce was on the front doorstep, watching me, and whispering something to Damian.

"What do you want me to say?" Damian seemed frustrated. I knew instantly that they were talking about me. That Bruce wanted Damian to comfort me, or whatever.

Fat chance, I thought bitterly. He's about as sensitive as a brick wall.

I pretended to play with a little stick on the ground and heard Bruce reply, "You know better then anyone what it feels like to be different. She needs someone to talk to."

Now that part confused me. Different? How was Damian different? Sure, he had some weird quirks, like his survivalist activities and his extensive knowledge on irrelevant topics.

But i didn't get why he knew better than anyone. He was normal. He had lived normally his whole life, right? He knew how to interact with normal kids at a normal high school in a normal city. How the hell would he know what it was like being different? It didn't make sense.

Damian said, "What's the point? She won't listen to me."

"Just do it, Damian," Bruce replied sternly. This was followed by an aggravated sigh, and then the sound of quiet footsteps as the boy made his way toward me.

I stopped playing with the stick and glanced to me left as Damian reluctantly took a seat beside me. I noticed how he kept a distance of about 3 feet between us. He never liked getting too close to me, but I supposed I felt the same way, too.

"Bruce is insisting I talk to you about yesterday," he began bluntly, a bored expression on his face.

I looked away. "Yeah, I heard that."

A couple seconds of silence passed. Awkward. It was always awkward between Damian and I. It was like we could never truly have a normal conversation together, only crazy ones or awkward ones. There was no in-between. It was either one or the other.

He shifted uncomfortably on the grass and adjusted his grey sweater. It was a nice sweater, now that I noticed. Very smart-looking, yet somehow casual at the same time. It really screamed "rich" in my opinion. That preppy kind of look that you'd expect a billionaire's son to wear.

"Do you... feel any better?" He finally asked. I knew he was trying to ask sensitive questions, but it was clearly proving difficult for him. He was terrible at this sort of stuff. I didn't know why Bruce even bothered to get him to talk to me.

"No," I replied flatly.

Then, feeling as if I was being rude, I added, "Well, maybe a little, I suppose."

Damian gave a small nod, face still emotionless. "He's an asshole anyway. He's not worth your tears."

Again, another attempt at being comforting. He was talking about Flynn, clearly. The last name I wanted to hear right about now, to be honest.

"It's not Flynn I was crying about," I muttered in response. No, It wasn't the fight or what he'd said to me. It wasn't the bruises that had formed on my legs and torso from his fists.

It was the student's reactions that had me depressed. They all knew about my sick, violent past now. They would never include me again. I couldn't care less about Flynn, it was my friends like Rebecca and Natalie and Summer that had me concerned. What if they never spoke to me again?

Damian looked like he wanted to ask more, but when I glanced at him through my now-blurry vision, I saw that familiar look in his eyes. That look he wore when he knew not to push me any further. That mind-reading thing he always did with me.

I rubbed at my eyes and forced myself not to cry. Crying is weak, Sasha. You're better then this.

Damian looked over his shoulder behind him. At first I didn't know what he was doing, so I followed his gaze to the front steps. Bruce was no longer standing there, and obviously Damian noticed.

He stood up very suddenly. "Come with me."

It was more of a demand then a proposition, but I was curious. "Why?"

He did not bother explaining. Instead, he towered over me and waited for me to get up. Reluctantly, I obeyed, and managed to scramble to my feet.

"Whatever it is, I'm too tired," I mumbled grumpily.

We walked into the manor through one of the many back entrances and I let Damian lead me down hallways and corridors. I eventually recognized some of the rooms and knew instantly where we were headed.

He was taking me to the gym. But why?

"You're trying too hard to be normal," Damian said as soon as we arrived. Truthfully, it took me a little off guard. Who was he to judge me like that? I felt irritated and wanted to defend myself.

But he sensed my efforts to interrupt and continued with, "And that means you're trying to deal with things normally, like a normal girl. But you're not a normal girl. You said it yourself."

I couldn't really argue with that, I supposed.

I watched Damian walk to the far end of the gym and then return with a pair of boxing gloves. He handed them to me. "Put these on."

Suddenly, I knew where this was headed, and I didn't want to go there. "No, Damian, I can't do this right no--."

But his cold gaze stopped me before I could finish. It was terrifying how fast he went from neutral to scary. It was like flicking a switch, and suddenly his brows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed. I almost wanted to shit myself.

I slipped on the first glove. It had red patterning around the velcro straps and on the inside of the fist. When I moved onto the second one, Damian stepped in to help. I guessed that he didn't want me using my teeth to adjust the strap. Or maybe he was trying to be nice like Bruce had suggested?

"Tight enough?" He asked, the scary face slowly fading. I glanced at his scarred hands as they rested on my glove, wondering why they were so injured. I twisted my wrist to test if the glove fitted well.

"Yes."

When he let go, I let out a breath. I hadn't even realized I was holding one in. Why was that? What was going through my head? I was being stupid again, wasn't I?

Damian moved toward the nearest punching bag, gesturing me to follow. I didn't like where this was heading, not at all. I was tired and depressed, and there was zero energy in my body. I couldn't box right now. I wasn't warmed up, and I wasn't in the right mindset. I didn't know why he was insisting on me doing this.

My shoulders were slouched as I walked lethargically to the bag. It was a heavy weight bag, too, so at least 50 pounds. I was not in the mood for this at all. Damian, however, had other plans for me.

"Hit it," he simply said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

I groaned pathetically. "Do I have to?"

There was that scary look again. I swallowed and lined myself up with the bag, placing my left fist in front of my face for protection. I positioned my right foot forward so I was ready. Then I released a single, effortless punch at the black material before me. It didn't even move.

I lowered my fists. "There, I hit it."

Damian stepped toward me, and I felt myself grow nervous again. Shit, I probably shouldn't have done that.

It took a lot of strength to hide the fear I felt as he approached me. I hoped he wouldn't hit me, or stab me, or do any of his anger-management outbursts. I knew I shouldn't have been a smartass or l given him attitude, but I just couldn't help it.

"Again. Properly this time," he said lowly, glaring at me with hard eyes.

I summoned up as much will and zest as I could, which was close to nothing. Just do it. Just get it over with. He's obviously not gonna let you back out of this, I told myself.

I regained my stance and prepared to attack with a little more power. I didn't really feel like starting a fight with Damian, so it was best if I just did what he said.

My fist lurched forward and the bag swung slightly. Glancing at Damian I saw he was staring intently at my hands. He wanted me to go again. Typical. I wanted to scream at him, but I controlled myself. I'll take it out on the punching bag instead.

Bam. Another hit, this time with my left fist. It was more forceful and caused the punching bag to keep moving. Then, a cross punch from my right, my dominant side. This gave me more momentum.

"Again," Damian said, which made me want to groan. I felt insecure with him watching me like this. I looked like an ugly mess while he was, well, undeniably attractive. The fact that he was forcing me to workout when I was in the worst state of mind made me angry. Couldn't he just leave me alone?

"I want to stop," I said, already feeling even more tired than before. This was too much for me. I couldn't do this right now. Wouldn't.

His glare didn't falter. "Again."

Now I was even angrier. "I said I want to stop. I'm tired and I'm sad. Can't you see this is pointless?"

But he just looked at me like I was crazy. Like I was some kind of alien with freaky horns sticking out of my head. "This isn't you, Sasha. You're not being yourself."

I scoffed. "Oh, so now you think you know who I am? Please. You have no clue."

Admittedly, I realized how harsh I was sounding. I realized how idiotic I was being. But Damian was always so self-entitled, and he thought that he knew everything abut everyone. Well, guess what? He didn't.

"Show me who you really are, then," he spoke through gritted teeth. It was so startlingly aggressive I felt a wave of fear wash over me.

Damian continued, "Maybe I don't know you that well, Sasha. Maybe I barely know you at all. But I sure as hell know that you're not like everyone else. You're not a normal kid. You don't function like normal people do. Normal people cry and watch TV and wallow in their thoughts. People like you and me don't know how to do that. So you can try as hard as you want to "recover" like other people. You can be as self-pitying as you like. Or, you can hit the fucking punching bag like the assassin you were meant to be."

I was quite frankly shocked. Silently, I stood there processing. That was the most amount words I had ever heard Damian say in one go.

His speech was still tumbling through my brain as I tried to think of a response. Although I wanted to disagree, a large part of me knew that he was right, in some way. I was just an assassin trying to fit into an ordinary role. I wasn't coping with this new life like I thought I was.

I had no clue how to reply. What was I meant to say after all that? I glanced at Damian, feeling a sense of guilt and embarrassment in my gut. He was just watching me, waiting for me to speak. Waiting for me to come up with a defense.

Yet I had nothing.

That was when my fist made contact with the punching bag instead. Words were useless to me now, so I resorted to the thing I knew best: combat.

I hit again and again. Left hook, right hook, straight punch, cross punch, then a side-kick, then a series of combos that had been engraved into my mind at such an early age.

All my grief came rising to the surface. All my anger spilled out like an overflowing pot of boiling water. I couldn't seem to stop hitting even if I tried. I was mad. I was sad. And I was very, very frustrated with shitty past.

How silly of me to think that I could be like everybody else. How silly of me to even consider the possibility of sweeping my past under the carpet and hoping it would never be found. That no one would ever know. That I could start completely fresh, like a newborn baby.

Of course I couldn't erase all the horrible things I'd experienced. Of course I couldn't forget my training and all the things I was taught to do at Midnight. It was useless of me to try. Shit like that didn't just vanish overnight. Shit like that stayed with you forever, whether that be negatively or positively.

It was up to me to decide, really.

Now the heavy weight bag was swinging with incredible force. Back it went, again and again, as I swung my fists and threw my legs with all my might.

I'm an assassin. I'm a motherfucking assassin. There is nothing I can do to change that.

Damian wanted me to accept myself for who I truly was while I just wanted to push it all away. How stupid was I to not see that in the first place? I was trying to be someone else this entire time. It had resulted in my own demise. I had made myself more depressed then I should've been. If only I'd realized sooner.

When I finally stopped to catch my breath, my hair was stuck to my sweaty face and my hands were aching.

However, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest. A boulder that had been crushing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. It was like someone had just picked it up and thrown it to the side. I was free, essentially. The chains were broken.

I gasped for air and bent over, resting my hands on my knees. But that was before I realized I was still wearing my extremely loose tank top, which was gaping open around the neck and probably giving Damian quite a show. I quickly stood up, clutching my chest and hoping he hadn't seen too much.

Not that there was really anything to see, though.

"Feel better now?" He said, his lips twitching into a tiny smirk that was barely visible to the naked eye.

Between puffs I replied, "Much better."

I tried to rip off the gloves but I forgot that I physically couldn't unless I used my teeth. I lifted it to my mouth but Damian stopped me midway. He undid the velcro for me while I stared dumbly at his handsome face.

I felt like a rat in comparison, standing inches away from him while covered in my own sweat and wearing hideous pajamas. He was so close that I felt his warm breath against my skin. I was so awkward that it was frankly embarrassing.

"Well, now I need a shower," I laughed nervously, my voice noticeably shaky. He smirked again, pulling off my gloves and tossing them to the side.

"Good thing Summer's party is tonight, then," he responded, and walked right past me and out of the gym doors.

Oh, God, I had completely forgotten.

I wanted to throw up.

Fuck me.

hey fam sorry its been a little while, hope u enjoyed this chapter. summer's party will be in the next chapter which I'm going to start writing right now cause i have some good ideas for it eek

we're on 3.4k views, tysm for reading!! love u all endlessly xo