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Jazz leaves the West Block quickly. After spending a whole extra week waiting, her organic chemistry teacher had the fucking gall to look startled when she showed up at his office hours. She'd barely been able to say anything to him, before he was rushing her out again, with some half-baked excuse.
It was the same with her math teacher last week, and it really puts into question just why Professor Gammons cancelled last week's office hours in the first place. Jazz is trying not to be paranoid, but at the same she can feel it all wearing away at her temper.
You'd think her self control would be better.
After all, Jazz is supposed to be used to gossip. Even back in Amity Park, she'd stood out. If it wasn't for her studious nature, and her exceptional grades, it was her parents' behavior. And in the later years, Danny's difficulties had been added to that — not that anyone actually knew why Danny was acting out, but well. Their teachers and classmates certainly noticed the odd behavior.
She wonders if this is what Danny felt like, back when he was just fourteen. She wishes she'd been more able to insulate him from it all. She wishes she'd tried to demand custody the second she turned eighteen.
She wishes that Gotham would stop treating her like she's a fucking time bomb.
It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.
With every wary glance, she can feel the tension building in her shoulders. Whenever someone flinches as she walks by, she fights the urge to snap. With every teacher that hampers her simple desire to succeed — to learn — she wants to launch herself at the nearest person and clamp her teeth around their neck, shaking until every last ounce of nervous energy has drained from her body.
She won't, though.
She won't do anything like that, because she is a rational human being, capable of thought and compassion, and she knows that reacting with violence won't help anyone. Still, every day makes it harder. Every sideways glance drains more of her energy and focus away, pulling it out of reserves and into the constant groundwork of breathing exercises, and physical activity. Of carefully applied music, and even more rigorous reminders.
All for a quickly-diminishing return of temporary calm.
If things continue like this, she'll have to withdraw from college, no matter what anyone thinks. She's not going to risk anyone's safety, no matter how much good it would do, for her to stay here.
No matter how good it would be for Danny to have something resembling a home, whenever he finally wakes up.
Looking for a job is just another nightmare, piled on top of all the rest. She's not sure whether it's Gotham specifically, or her own terrible Fenton Luck, but every interview she lands is positively plastered with red flags. Just the other day, she'd left a store, dead certain that the cute little antique shop was actually a money laundering setup. She'd been half-tempted to take the position anyways — after all, it wasn't her fault, whatever crimes they were doing — but whatever plausible deniability she had doesn't hold a candle to the thought that she might be helping them hurt people.
Not to mention the risk of getting herself investigated by the fucking cops, or worse, the Bats.
Well, investigated more, at least? She's still not sure what her watcher's goal or intentions actually are, after all.
They've certainly shown no signs of leaving, at least. Even right now, they're sitting there, watching from the shadowy corners of a nearby rooftop. A witness to every last, shattered piece of Jazz's effort to be good, to do good.
And if Jazz so much as lunges at anyone, she has no doubt that they'll step in. It's sort of comforting in a way. At least she can trust them to stop her, before she does too much damage. Before she can actually hurt anyone.
Still, it's starting to drive her insane, the way they're watching her. The way they never do anything but sit there, silent and cold and observant. The way they see her struggling, day after day, and still they just sit there, instead of even offering to fucking help.
Jazz freezes, halfway across the quad.
How could they help, if they don't even know what's wrong?
The realization washes over her like a bucket of ice water, freezing the irritation right out of her system. Slowly, her brain restarts, and Jazz rolls the thought around in her head, carefully examining its angles.
She's done this to herself, hasn't she? She expected the people at Gotham U to react to her curiosity just like Amity Parkers would; with a roll of their eyes at the most. And she's still paying the price of that mistake with every passing day.
Ever since, she's been making an active effort to insulate her feelings. To disguise her oddities and cover her distress. She's dedicated hours, if not days, to learning the language and culture of this place. She's studied the rogues, and learned their history.
She knows why they react the way the do, now, and she's stopped voicing her weirder questions, but that early mark on her reputation is like a stain that won't wash away.
And above it all, her shadow watches. No doubt monitoring her for signs of misbehavior. And she'd treated it as just another consequence of her actions. She'd taken the presence and ran with it; making an active effort to convey to the Bats her desire to be a good and upstanding citizen.
Still, she hasn't really been making every effort, has she?
Jazz, spins on her heels, making for the nearest bus stop. She can't do this on campus. Not without scaring her peers even more.
The ride out to the industrial district isn't quick, by any means, but it is without incident. It's late enough now, that the evening crowds have mostly dispersed, but not yet so late that the nightlife has properly begun. All in all, it's nearly the perfect time of day to be doing this, and taking this little tête-à-tête to a quiet corner of a working district should keep it relatively private, just in case things do go badly.
She really hopes it doesn't, though.
Jazz pulls the cord and listens to the ding that signals her requested stop. She's hoping she hasn't lost her shadow, going somewhere so far off of her usual routes. But the Bats are supposed to be exceptional at what they do, so surely a little deviation won't be enough to throw them.
The bus pulls up to the stop, but when she gets up, the back door doesn't open. Jazz frowns, turning to glance at the front, where the other door sits open. Something inside her bristles, but she wrestles it down, and starts walking.
"Listen miss, are you sure you wanna get off here?" The bus driver asks, as she passes him.
Jazz stops short, turning to look at the man. He's frowning at her, but it doesn't look upset, exactly. More like he's concerned.
Oh.
She supposes it's an understandable thing; Jazz is still dressed in her college clothes, designed to present a carefully tailored, studious and respectable appearance.
She certainly doesn't look like she should be wandering around the industrial district in the evening.
"Don't worry," she replies, plastering her best attempt of a reassuring look across her face. "I shouldn't be here long, and I've got protection." He doesn't really look reassured, but the door stays open, so Jazz turns away and steps down onto the curb.
It's sweet that he would be worried about her. A reminder that not everyone in this city has made the same assumptions about her.
Still, she's got business to attend to, and it's best that she keeps her attention on the street around her, empty though it may currently seem. This is the kind of place where getting distracted could be dangerous, after all.
Behind her, the bus shuts its door, and lumbers away, leaving her alone on the poorly lit street. Old cars and trucks trundle past as Jazz begins to wind her way down the street. It takes a couple minutes for that shadowy aura to creep close enough to feel it again, but once she's certain she's been found, Jazz turns off, wandering down side street after side street.
Eventually she finds a perfect little alleyway. It seems well off the beaten path, and it's not a dead end, which bodes well if this does go badly. Plus there's an accessible set of fire stairs for her; one that looks relatively sturdy, even.
With a deep breath, Jazz begins to climb.
A faint sense of confusion washes over her shadow, but she ignores it, focusing on climbing up the creaking steps as quietly as possible. She keeps her shoulders squared, doing her best to look as unconcerned about her current actions as she can. The confusion is quickly followed by curiosity, and a touch of concern, but although Jazz obsessively listens with her little proto-core, it never ticks over into panic or alarm, so she simply keeps climbing, until she reaches the top. She still can't see them, but she can feel her shadow, just a few feet away on the roof of the building.
With once last deep breath, Jazz sits down, right there at the top of the stairs, and she opens her mouth.
"I think it's high time we actually talked, don't you?"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Sometimes loneliness is sitting in a room full of people and realizing nobody knows what is happening inside your head.
You smile when you're supposed to.
You answer questions.
You go to work.
You buy groceries.
You remember birthdays.
And somehow, you become an expert at looking okay.
The strange thing about survival is that after a while, people stop asking if you're hurting. They assume you're strong because you've learned how to carry your pain quietly.
I used to think someone would notice.
That one day a person would look at me and say, "You seem tired. Not physically. Soul tired."
But life isn't a movie. Most people are busy carrying their own invisible things.
So we pass each other like ghosts.
A thousand silent battles crossing paths every day.
Maybe that's why I've become gentler with strangers.
Maybe the woman staring out of the bus window is remembering something she wishes she could forget.
Maybe the man laughing too loudly is trying not to fall apart.
Maybe everyone is carrying a story they never tell.
And maybe the kindest thing we can do is remember that.
She chose to walk alone, though others' wondered why. She didn't have companions', no need for earthly things'; all she wanted was freedom, from depression & oppression; that held her like puppet strings'. She longed to be a raven, so that she may fly away. She envied every Sakura Tree, for the tree; planted it would stay. She was jealous of the stream, for; with the flow, it would go. Some say she wished too hard, others' say, she wished too much, but, one day; at the break of Dawn, she let go of all she knew, & had known; & had finally was able to take "flight" & had "flown" away from everyone & everything, she had ever known. The elements' refused to tell, though; someone who had seen it, said the "story" "played" out well. We awoke one Spring Morning, to find that the girl we all knew, was gone, in a whirl, & was now known as "Gone Girl".
