Gotham Academy

Tuesday (the next day)

I was not expecting Summer to come running toward me the next morning, distress pouring from her eyes and coating her like a blanket.

"Sasha!" She gasped, pulling me into a tight hug. I had to admit that I was little confused at first. What was she so concerned about?

She stepped back, but made sure we were close enough so no one else could hear. "I heard about what happened on the weekend. At my party, that is. I'm so sorry I didn't help you, I was so wasted I had no idea what was going on."

I laughed softly and placed a hand on her arm. The worry dissolved slightly from her face at my actions. "It's okay, Summer. I'm fine."

She continued, "No, I should've done something. I don't even know why Drake came, I didn't invite him personally. I tried to find you yesterday but then I heard you'd gone home. Something about Damian and a fight? Is he okay? Are you okay? Oh, god, and then there was the cafeteria incident on Friday. What happened with Flynn? People have been saying things, but I don't know if it's the truth."

I could sense her anxiousness building; she was clearly upset and worried for me. It was nice knowing that she cared, that someone cared. But the way she had said that made me realize how much drama I'd been involved in the past four days. Only four days.

Wow, this past week had not been going well for me. Two fights and sexual assault? Not a nice combination of events, that was for sure.

"I'm fine. Damian's fine. He's been suspended for a week, but he's had worse. Don't worry about it," I consoled her.

She stared in disbelief. "A week? What did he do this time?"

I shrugged, trying not to turn it into a big deal. "He and Drake had a fight. There was an ambulance... but it doesn't matter. The ambulance wasn't for Damian, lets just say."

Relief flooded her eyes. "Good. I'm glad you're okay." She rubbed my arm reassuringly. I was so shocked by her kindness and concern that I wanted to hug her again and never let go.

I spotted a flash of red in the corner of my eye. Rebecca had entered the corridors and was scanning the area, searching for someone. She looked worried, too, and as her eyes connected with mine, she charged at me like a bull.

"Oh my god, Sasha!" She cried, throwing her arms around me. Compared to Summer's, her display of affection was much more... loud. But Rebecca was a loud person by nature, and a very fiery one, too.

When she pulled away, her concern was replaced with an emotion that could only be described as rage. "Where the fuck is that shit-eating dickhead? He better not show his face around here, or I'm going to lose it."

Summer chuckled prettily, a noise that could probably summon all the birds and deer in the forest just like Snow White's singing. "Don't worry, Damian's already sorted him out."

Rebecca seemed to calm at those words. She gave us both smiles, moving to her locker that was only two down from mine. Summer turned back to me and said, "Let's find somewhere quiet to talk. I have so many questions."

We spent the rest of the morning sitting beneath the large oak tree in the far corner of the courtyard. It's leaves had turned a golden-brown and were slowly falling, landing in our hair and on our books.

I explained everything that had happened to me in the past couple days, including my history at Midnight and the assassin I used to be. The girls listened intently to what I said. To my surprise, they didn't run, scream, or judge.

"I heard about that on the news," Rebecca said, fiddling with one of the fallen leaves. "Over 200 arrests, right? All those professional assassins taken in and locked up. They mentioned the child trafficking and slavery, too."

I let out a tired sigh. "Yep, that's pretty much what happened. When Batman took away my father I thought I'd be going to prison, too. But he used the tracker in my arm to hack into Midnight's data bases. He freed all those kids, including me."

Summer looked thoughtful. She had her knees to her chest, staring across the grass at the students walking by. "Wow. You did that, didn't you? You saved those kids lives."

I had never thought about it like that. Me? Saving people? Saving the kids that hates me oh so much?

"I guess I did..." I muttered, staring down at my hands. I examined the scars that trailed the skin there, crawling up my wrists and arms. Little cuts and small gashes that had never healed completely. Above my veins sat the largest scar of them all, the one from the tracker. The tracker that had saved my life.

Rebecca looked up at me, her green eyes searching mine. "Is that why Flynn is such a bad kid? Did Midnight do that to him?"

I thought about that for a while. Was it possible that maybe, in another life, Flynn could have been a nice boy? Maybe if he'd been shown love and respect and learnt what makes a good person, he could've turned out completely different?

"Years of traumatic experiences really messes with a kid," I told them, speaking the words almost subconsciously, like I wasn't in control of my mouth anymore. "Flynn's way of coping was to devoid himself of all emotion. That way, he wouldn't have to feel bad about the things he did. About the things the trainers did to him."

They both nodded as if they understood, which I knew they didn't really. Rebecca and Summer were nice, caring girls, but even they could never truly understand what it felt like to live such a horrible, treacherous childhood.

They had been privileged enough to live free of worry. To sleep in a nice, big mansion and attend a school with amazing educating facilities. They had grown up with opportunities. Opportunities that Flynn and I had not. And that was why that boy and I were so different to everyone else. We, like the rest of Midnight's students, would never be normal.

Summer leaned her head on my shoulder, her soft hair tickling my arm. "I'm sorry, Sasha."

I glanced down at her with a frown. Rebecca looked at me through pitiful eyes, sharing the same face as Summer. She reached over and rubbed my other shoulder. "Sorry for what?" I asked them both quietly.

Summer stared up at me with those beautiful, ocean eyes of her. The eyes that I drowned in, because even though I also had blue eyes, mine were nothing compared to hers. Her eyes were like Heaven and Earth combined. Her eyes were the reason why people got up in the morning. The reason why birds flew and wolves howled and bunnies hopped.

Summer replied, "I'm sorry you had to go through all that pain."

Like an allergic reaction to her words, I breathed in sharply. A gasp, maybe. My heart seemed to skip a beat. A chill flew through my body, goose bumps springing across my skin.

Something flicked inside of me like a switch. Something had changed, right then. Something had happened to me.

I'm sorry you had to go through all that pain.

All. That. Pain.

My throat clenched. My cheeks burned. I chewed at my lip to stop the tears spilling from my eyes.

"Me, too," I whispered, though I'm pretty sure the wind swept my words away, carrying them across the courtyard and high into the sky.

--------------------------
Flashback
Downtown Gotham
18 months ago

"Who's the girl?" Vincent Romaro asks, though it's more of a demand then a question.

Slade is to my left, a couple feet forward. He is standing in that way he always does — legs wide apart and arms crossed. He's itching for a fight, I can tell. The way his fingers graze the top of the gun in his holster. I know him all too well.

Romaro, however, does not.

"She's with me," father simply replies, and I can tell that under that mask he smiles when he says that. He loves bringing me along as his secret little weapon. He loves the look on their faces when a little girl like me pulls out a pistol and shoots them all dead. He loves it and I know it.

Silence from Romaro, who exchanges glances with the others in the warehouse. All his little slaves stand around suspiciously, eyeing us like we might start shooting them at random. They're probably smart to think like that, i'll admit. Slade has never been quite predictable, and I've always been taught to go along with whatever he commands.

Romano is an arms dealer, and a big one, too. He holds ties with hundreds of Gotham's worst, including villains like Two Face and mafia bosses like Falconi. He knows the business and he does his job very well. My father agreed to meet with him to discuss weaponry. He brought me along as "backup", supposedly, though I know he could kill all these thick-minded idiots on his own with a hand tied behind his back.

The real reason is probably to teach me another lesson of sorts. Probably get me to learn how to successfully trade with sketchy dealers like Romano, or something. Who even knows? Slade is hard to read.

Romano clears his throat. "She looks young," his voice is thick with an italian accent.

I remain where I am, standing casually with a katana strapped to my back. I'm wearing my usual getup: black, tight fitted long sleeve shirt with a bullet proof vest and pockets lining my cargo pants. My hair is out loose and sprawled across my shoulders. My hood is down and they can see my face. Slade insists that letting an enemy see my features is good for training. it helps me work on my "poker face", as he calls it, my ability to conceal emotion in front of potential threats.

I have pretty much mastered it, I believe.

Romano is watching me uneasily. I'm glaring at him, eyes never leaving his. He definitely looks uncomfortable with my presence.

The man says, "Kinda reminds me of my niece. She's, what, twelve? thirteen? Kinda looks like you."

He's talking to me, staring at me directly. I take a nonchalant step forward and shrug my shoulders, loosening them up.

Slade just tilts his head to the side. "Let's stay on topic, shall we?"

The stupid henchmen are lugging forward suitcases of weapons now. Mostly military shit, cute little bombs and the occasional assault rifle. Father is handling a sleek, shiny looking sniper. He's aiming at random things, testing the scope. I stand back and watch everyone carefully, noting their every movement. I'm "back up", so my father says, so i meed to make sure no one is getting any funny ideas. Especially the way these men are anxiously fingering their triggers.

Romano smiles. "You like what you see? I have many more where that came from, my friend. What did you have in mind?"

Slade has an edge to his voice when he replies, "Oh, you know. Just the usual rooftop assassination stuff. Kid's gotta learn from somewhere." He gestures to me and I look down at my feet. Should've known this whole thing was based around training me. It always is.

Romano smirks and his eyes meet mine. "Right. Like father like daughter, huh?" And then he chuckles at his own witty remark. No one else makes a noise.

Father finishes up ten minutes later. "We'll take them all," he says, and pulls me toward the suitcases. I pick one up carefully and try to ignore the strain on my arm. It's heavy, but i'm not about to appear weak in front of all these people. Never show your weakness, father always says.

We pile them in the back of Slade's vehicle. It's a black heavy duty car made completely bullet proof and sturdy as hell. He's rammed through walls with this thing, and it never fails him. I notice how Romano is looking wary when he sees the full appearance of the car. He knows that nothing will ever penetrate it, and that scares him.

"It's been a pleasure," Romano is smiling. I can see that it's forced.

Slade throws him a large duffel bag, obviously filled with cash. "Likewise."

We pile into the car and pull out of the warehouse quickly. Slade speeds down the raging roads of Gotham City, muscles tense and body stiff. I sit in silence and pray that there is nothing else in store for me that night. I hate sparring with him, he beats me every time as I'm always the first to break.

There is a loud banging noise, and suddenly the car jolts. I spring forward in my seat and am saved by the seat belt, narrowly missing smashing my face into the dashboard from the force.

"Fuck," Slade hisses, and I agree.

He swivels the car around and we turn jaggedly, vehicles beeping and honking for us to get out of the way. A collision takes place only ten feet away from us. A huge truck demolishes a small car and sirens begin to blare.

Shit. The batmobile pulls into view. We are driving at lightning speed toward it. I want to throw up from anxiousness. Fucking hell, not the batman again. Please not the fucking batman.

Slade is swerving all down the street now and i'm freaking out, clutching onto the sides of my seat and praying to god that I won't have to fight. I can't do it right now, I'm exhausted from training and my wrist is badly sprained. Even thinking about facing batman in combat scares the living shit out of me.

The car swings violently and we skid off the side of the road, smashing into a store front. As I said earlier, Slades car is indestructible, so we don't crash and burn. I fumble my way out of the seat and push open the passenger door. As I stagger out, a dark figure walks toward us from the end of the street. Batman is coming.

I turn to Slade, who is loading ammunition into an assault rifle. "Father, we have to go!" I plead. He ignores me as usual, and I want to scream with frustration.

"We can't... I can't do this again. He's going to kill us, Slade! He's going to fucking kill us!"

This time he looks at me, and clicks the barrel shut. "That's the thing, Sasha."

He aims the gun toward the man striding toward us like a demon from hell. He takes two steps forward and lifts the weapon to his eye. "He won't be the one killing."

Bullets spray and I'm watching with both horrible and intrigue as Batman dodges every one of them. He ducks behind the shrapnel of another torn up car and the billets merely fly above him. Slade grunts in annoyance and flings the gun to the side. "Fine, we'll do it his way."

And every suddenly, Batman is sending ten batarangs our way.

My father rolls out of the way and jumps to his feet, swinging a fist to the Bat's face. Batman blocks and hit back, once, twice, three times until Slade slams his knees into his chin and sends him stumbling back.

Their moves are perfect, each in their own way. They fight like it's a dance, a perfectly performed dance with years and years of intense rehearsing. They know what they're doing and they're doing it well. Each punch is rough, each kick is excruciating.

And when the dark cowl with white slits for eyes aims it's deadly fists at me, I duck and dive and I yank out my sword with a nice, satisfying "shing."

Here we go again.

God, I hate my life. I wish it would end.

thought i'd include some more of sashas back story because i keep forgetting to do that

WE ARE AT 7K READS LIKE WHAT? IT WAS ONLY LIKE 3K THE OTHER DAY??? SO MUCH LOVE FOR EVERYONE READING X