Twin Flame

He exited through the front of the venue, snow falling onto his face and settling into a fine powder on his shoulders.  It was odd for him. Even when he was just plain Bruce-y boy, he was inherently elusive and seeing him be bolder than usual made me clench my jaw. I wanted to break him.  The sight of him unmasked and vulnerable made me desperate to inflict torture on him even more than when he was just The Batman to me.  

He was dressed well, albeit ironically, in an inky black suit, patterned with large, assorted, muted-colored flowers. A sneer spread across my face at the thought of him dressed like that.  This was how The Bat presented himself in public. “How sweet,” I thought, smirking as I leaned further into my lap to observe him. I understood why he wanted to keep this version of himself a secret.  Bruce was intoxicating and charming, and the city’s most mysterious bachelor.  He was Gotham’s favorite dream boat.  Part of me was disheartened to have found out his identity.  I always enjoyed our mutual anonymity and how despite that, it almost seemed like we were telepathically attuned to each other.  Still, having something to taunt him with, a secret to dangle over his head the way you would with a small kitten, made me giddy.

“I know that he knows that I know,” I sang to myself, recalling his face falling the moment I discovered his true self.  He had been sloppy for a month, the constant grind of it all, coupled with an assortment of distractions, had put a sizable chink in his armor.  Isolation.  Drink.  Women.  I understood.  They plagued me too, sans having to zip on a normal demeanor for the citizens of Gotham during the day.  “After all these years, Batsy is Brucey?” I asked with a roaring cackle, as he scrambled away to hide himself.  They promptly sent the white coats to whisk me away to Arkham, but it was too late.  I got to see the entire transformation, my eyes going wide at the sight of him even as they were scooping me up at the armpits and dragging me away.  His relentless pursuit of perfection and virtuousness fell away, leaving him exposed; a naked soul before me. Nothing pleases me more than the thought of how, amid the very depravity he detested, I completely unnerved him.  It gives me a fucking hard-on. I wish I would have taken a picture of his stupid face.  I would have hung it on the fridge.  I would have framed it.  I would have made it my phone lock screen. 

Precautions were taken on his end to thwart my attempts to confront him after my break out, but I was a man, reborn with purpose.  A little bit of technology and a lot of science enabled me to track him for two weeks, culminating in the annual Wayne Charity Gala.  The anxious tycoon had been looking for me over his shoulder at Wayne Enterprises, so he put himself on a short sabbatical, only emerging from the Bat Cave on the day of the big event.  Text messages I intercepted told the story that he didn’t want to go.  He did anyway, taking the advice of his confidant and man slave, Alfred, arriving more than fashionably late for it.  He mingled only for moments before making short remarks and then shuffling quickly out of the front doors and onto the street.  I enjoyed the entire scenario from the back of my white surveillance van on multiple monitors.  He got into an Aston Martin Vanquish, surely one of his little toys, and then got out around the block and hailed a yellow cab.  I nearly doubled over with laughter as I tailed him with my goons. 

Was this the plan? Avoiding contact with me by ditching his car?

 I rolled my eyes and told the idiot driving to floor it.  I couldn’t risk losing him, now that he was almost in my grasp.  The yellow cab stopped in the middle of an alleyway, letting Bruce out and then sped away jerkily.  I smacked the back of the driver’s seat in the van hard and fast until we slowed to a halt and then I jumped out, stalking towards Bruce. I made no attempt to silence my footsteps.  I let the soles of my expensive shoes clack loudly against the pavement of the alleyway.  He stopped for a short moment and then started walking again.  “Mister Wayyyynnee. What a beautiful night for a blood bath.”  I watched as he turned around slowly, his fists balling and then resting at his sides.  The moment he lay eyes on me he closed them tightly, muttering something under his breath.  I waited until I was so close, we could touch the tips of our noses together, and broke into a full grin, inhaling the crisp, full bodied scent he was wearing. 

“Oooooh, you smell good,” I said, letting my eyes roll back into my head for a moment before swinging for his face and meeting the brick of the alley instead.  My knuckles smashed into the wall and I yanked my hand back quickly, wincing and ducking my head out of the way of his counter punch.  Not fast enough. He connected squarely with my jaw, knocking me onto the ground, into a small mountain of freshly fallen snow. My blood spattered the icy white there as I laughed up at him.  “All this time I thought it was the suit that made you punch like that, and here I am finding out it’s au naturel.”  “JOKER.” He said my name through gritted teeth.  The fury I elicited from him made his face set in a stern scowl.  “How?! How did you find me?  It was an early Christmas present seeing him this way.

Catching him by surprise made me cackle and he responded by kicking me in the chest and planting his foot upon it, pinning me in place.  “I asked you a question.” I let out a guttural sound and smiled up at him, feeling my nervous system reacting, releasing doses of adrenaline and cortisol, and turning me into a sweaty, giggly mess.  A persistent, fluttery sensation in the pit of my stomach, caused by a hundred million neurons sending fight signals to my brain, made me fidgety beneath him.  I put my hands behind my head and got comfy.   

“One of my men disguised himself as a cleaning person and sprayed your office at Wayne Enterprises down with a chemical.  It left a biological signature on your body and allowed me to track your whereabouts.  I monitored you for two weeks.”  He looked down at me with furious eyes and I decided right then and there that I wanted to hurt him severely.  I wanted to make him bleed.  But I didn’t want to kill him as Bruce.  It was too mundane.  It was too run of the mill.  I wanted the full-on drama.  I wanted to kill him as Batman.  I was panting, words struggling to come out of my mouth properly as he increased the pressure on my chest and leaned in closer.  “It’s getting cold out here, Brucey.  Why don’t you take me back to the Bat Cave, so we can do this thing proper?  I’m sure you’ve got about a thousand white, wing-tipped collar shirts and an extra dinner jacket I can borrow.  What do you say?”  

My tone was manic and completely unhinged as Bruce looked down at me with a face full of annoyance, confusion and then something that looked like pity.  He rolled his head on his neck, releasing some of the pressure from the foot on my chest and then removing it all together.  He extended his hand forward and I grabbed it, pulling myself upwards.  As soon as I had leverage, I propped myself up on his shoulders and spit directly into his face.  I hadn’t even finished laughing before he was smashing me against the wall, holding me there with his forearm against my Adam’s apple and a knee sharply pressing into my thigh.  He had a tight hold on me, but I was able to shimmy a small pocket knife from the inside pocket of my blazer. 

“Joker, I’m calling GCPD.  You need help.  I’m not who you think I…”  I forced the blade into his abdomen, trying to miss vital organs so I could keep him alive for the final showdown I was plotting for a later date.  He fell back onto the dirty, snowy slush, the pile bracing his fall as the blood poured out, slowly staining his crisp white dress shirt.  I straddled him at once, grabbing his hands and placing them over the wound.  “You should apply pressure to that wound, Batsy.  We don’t want you losing too much blood.  Wait?  What was that?”  I grabbed one of his bloody hands and smeared my face with it.  “Mmmm…how did you know that I needed one of your hot hands on me to keep me warm?  I’m a bit of a freeze baby.”  I laughed, crouching over him whispering.  “Brucey, Brucey, Brucey.  This is going to be so fun.  Just me and my twin flame, waltzing in and out of each other’s lives in perpetuity until I catch you and fumigate you to death like the Bat you are.”  With that, I threw my card at him, letting it land on his chest as he struggled to dial the police, on his phone.  “Add that one to the collection, Bat Boy.  Give Commissioner Gordon my best.”   

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Twin Flame

He exited through the front of the venue, snow falling onto his face and settling into a fine powder on his shoulders. It was odd for him. Even when he was just plain Bruce-y boy, he was inherently elusive and seeing him be bolder than usual made me clench my jaw. I wanted to break him. The sight of him unmasked and vulnerable made me desperate to inflict torture on him even more than when he was just Batman to me.

He was dressed well, albeit ironically, in an inky black suit, patterned with large, assorted, muted-colored flowers. A sneer spread across my face at the thought of him dressed like that. This was how the Bat presented himself in public. “How sweet,” I thought, smirking as I leaned further into my lap to observe him. I understood why he wanted to keep this version of himself a secret. Bruce was intoxicatingly charming, and the city’s most mysterious bachelor. He was Gotham’s favorite dream boat. Part of me was disheartened to have found out his identity. I always enjoyed our mutual anonymity and how despite that, it almost seemed like we were telepathically attuned to each other. Still, having something to taunt him with, a secret to dangle over his head the way you would with a small kitten, made me giddy.

“I know that he knows that I know,” I sang to myself, recalling his face falling the moment I discovered his true self. He had been sloppy for a month, the constant grind of it all, coupled with an assortment of distractions, had put a sizable chink in his armor. Isolation. Drink. Women. I understood. They plagued me too, sans having to zip on a normal demeanor for the citizens of Gotham during the day. “After all these years, Batsy is Brucey?” I asked with a roaring cackle, as he scrambled away to hide himself. They promptly sent the white coats to whisk me away to Arkham, but it was too late. I got to see the entire transformation, my eyes going wide at the sight of him even as they were scooping me up at the armpits and dragging me away. His relentless pursuit of perfection and virtuousness fell away, leaving him exposed; a naked soul before me. Nothing pleases me more than the thought of how, amid the very depravity he detested, I completely unnerved him. It gives me a fucking hard-on. I wish I would have taken a picture of his stupid face. I would have hung it on the fridge. I would have framed it. I would have made it my phone lock screen.

Precautions were taken on his end to thwart my attempts to confront him after my break out, but I was a man, reborn with purpose. A little bit of technology and a lot of science enabled me to track him for two weeks, culminating in the annual Wayne Charity Gala. The anxious tycoon had been looking for me over his shoulder at Wayne Enterprises, so he put himself on a short sabbatical, only emerging from the Bat Cave on the day of the big event. Text messages I intercepted told the story that he didn’t want to go. He did anyway, taking the advice of his confidant and man slave, Alfred, arriving more than fashionably late for it. He mingled only for moments before making short remarks and then shuffling quickly out of the front doors and onto the street. I enjoyed the entire scenario from the back of my white surveillance van on multiple monitors. He got into an Aston Martin Vanquish, surely one of his little toys, and then got out around the block and hailed a yellow cab. I nearly doubled over with laughter as I tailed him with my goons.

Was this the plan? Avoiding contact with me by ditching his car? I rolled my eyes and told the idiot driving to floor it. I couldn’t risk losing him, now that he was almost in my grasp. The yellow cab stopped in the middle of an alleyway, letting Bruce out and then sped away jerkily. I smacked the back of the driver’s seat in the van hard and fast until we slowed to a halt and then I jumped out, stalking towards Bruce. I made no attempt to silence my footsteps. I let the soles of my expensive shoes clack loudly against the pavement of the alleyway. He stopped for a short moment and then started walking again. “Mister Wayyyynnee…what a beautiful night for a blood bath.” I watched as he turned around slowly, his fists balling and then resting at his sides. The moment he lay eyes on me he closed them tightly, muttering something under his breath. I waited until I was so close, we could touch the tips of our noses together, and broke into a full grin, inhaling the crisp, full bodied scent he was wearing.

“Oooooh…you smell good,” I said, letting my eyes roll back into my head for a moment before swinging for his face and meeting the brick of the alley instead. My knuckles smashed into the wall and I yanked my hand back quickly, wincing and ducking my head out of the way of his counter punch. Not fast enough. He connected squarely with my jaw, knocking me onto the ground, into a small mountain of freshly fallen snow. My blood spattered the icy white there as I laughed up at him. “All this time I thought it was the suit that made you punch like that, and here I am finding out it’s au naturel.” “JOKER.” He said my name through gritted teeth. The fury I elicited from him made his face set in a stern scowl. “How?! How did you find me? It was an early Christmas present seeing him this way.

Catching him by surprise made me cackle and he responded by kicking me in the chest and planting his foot upon it, pinning me in place. “I asked you a question.” I let out a guttural sound and smiled up at him, feeling my nervous system reacting, releasing doses of adrenaline and cortisol, and turning me into a sweaty, giggly mess. A persistent, fluttery sensation in the pit of my stomach, caused by a hundred million neurons sending fight signals to my brain, made me fidgety beneath him. I put my hands behind my head and got comfy.

“One of my men disguised himself as a cleaning person and sprayed your office at Wayne Enterprises down with a chemical. It left a biological signature on your body and allowed me to track your whereabouts. I monitored you for two weeks.” He looked down at me with furious eyes and I decided right then and there that I wanted to hurt him severely. I wanted to make him bleed. But I didn’t want to kill him as Bruce. It was too mundane. It was too run of the mill. I wanted the full-on drama. I wanted to kill him as Batman. I was panting, words struggling to come out of my mouth properly as he increased the pressure on my chest and leaned in closer. “It’s getting cold out here, Brucey. Why don’t you take me back to the Bat Cave, so we can do this thing proper? I’m sure you’ve got about a thousand white, wing-tipped collar shirts and an extra dinner jacket I can borrow. What do you say?”

My tone was manic and completely unhinged as Bruce looked down at me with a face full of annoyance, confusion and then something that looked like pity. He rolled his head on his neck, releasing some of the pressure from the foot on my chest and then removing it all together. He extended his hand forward and I grabbed it, pulling myself upwards. As soon as I had leverage, I propped myself up on his shoulders and spit directly into his face. I hadn’t even finished laughing before he was smashing me against the wall, holding me there with his forearm against my Adam’s apple and a knee sharply pressing into my thigh. He had a tight hold on me, but I was able to shimmy a small pocket knife from the inside pocket of my blazer.

“Joker, I’m calling GCPD. You need help. I’m not who you think I…” I forced the blade into his abdomen, trying to miss vital organs so I could keep him alive for the final showdown I was plotting for a later date. He fell back onto the dirty, snowy slush, the pile bracing his fall as the blood poured out, slowly staining his crisp white dress shirt. I straddled him at once, grabbing his hands and placing them over the wound. “You should apply pressure to that wound, Batsy. We don’t want you losing too much blood. Wait? What was that?” I grabbed one of his bloody hands and smeared my face with it. “Mmmm…how did you know that I needed one of your hot hands on me to keep me warm? I’m a bit of a freeze baby.” I laughed, crouching over him whispering. “Brucey, Brucey, Brucey. This is going to be so fun. Just me and my twin flame, waltzing in and out of each other’s lives in perpetuity until I catch you and fumigate you to death like the Bat you are.” With that, I threw my card at him, letting it land on his chest as he struggled to dial the police, on his phone. “Add that one to the collection, Bat boy. Give Commissioner Gordon my best.”