Run.
Her shoes pounded against the slick, wet pavement, her breath coming in frantic, shallow gasps. No, no, she didn't know what was going on. She felt the wind burning at her cheeks, felt her muscles screaming at her to stop, every part of her aching.
Run.
She swerved around a corner, yelping as a booming crack of thunder echoed through the sky. Tears that streaked down her face were lost in the pattering rain, lost in the chilly, torrential downpour.
She heard the shout of the black clad man sprinting after her, heard the click of the gun, and she bit back a scream as adrenaline made every nerve throb painfully.
Run!
She shouldn't have gone out in the first place, she shouldn't have been so frustrated, so angry. It was her fault.
A horrifying, burning pain erupted in her shoulder and she went crashing to the ground, crying out.
My fault, it echoed through her mind.
The man grabbed her, his face hidden by shadow as she felt the pure menace wafting off of him. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as a blinding green light flashed over her vision. She felt something shock through the air and flood her with more pain.
My fault.
Her eyes fluttered shut as unconsciousness took her spiraling down into darkness, and she took one last puff of air, feeling the burning sensation course through her veins.
My fault.
Mine.
****************************************************************************
He shouted her name in the streets, he pounded whatever information he could out of any poor lowlifes unlucky enough to cross paths with him, he searched and searched and came up with nothing.
His daughter, vanished, without a trace.
His daughter, gone, after a huge argument with her brothers.
His daughter, disappeared, the only thing left that hinted at her initial existence was the puddle of blood that slowly dried up in the back alley behind the theatre.
Blood, her blood, a stain that had most of it drilled away by the horrendous downpour.
Someone wanted to hurt her, someone had hurt her.
Bruce felt bile rise up in his throat at the thought of that.
What kind of a father was he, letting some lowlife creep get his hands on his girl? What kind of a father let his daughter get hurt, let his daughter run out of their home in tears without even noticing until a few hours later?
He was a horrible, horrible father.
He had to find her, or he'd never forgive himself.
He never found her.
************************************************************************
Damian knew it was his fault, even though he wouldn't admit it at the time.
He knew that all of them, together, neglected her too many times to count, but that was just the fuse. The more times they forgot about her, the more times the fuse was snipped shorter and shorter until it was nothing but a nub.
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Bloodbath || A Batsis OC Fanfiction
FanfictionShe's the spare, the extra, the unwanted. The thrown-aside twin of the Heir. She wasn't meant to be born. She was weak, vulnerable, emotional. It made so much sense for her to turn. It made sense for her to run. Running gave you a semblance of co...
