#violetmuses

Invisible. You were nothing short of invisible. It’s better this way, especially when hiding between sidewalks as the world nearly sprinted in all directions. Thousands of folks helped you blend without ever recognizing such an unknown secret. 

You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be alive, let alone traveling between locations like this. Every suitcase. Every plane ticket. Every hotel led closer and closer to the dingy yet vital apartment that you found this evening. 

No one smoked on the fire escape. Sneaking inside, you passed the rear and your enemy didn’t wait in the living room, most likely restless in bed for the millionth time this week. This man doesn't sleep much, if at all, quietly haunted by the ledger of his own crimson past. Unlike others, you don’t care, still lurking forward. 

From the bedroom door, the plan is simple: Eliminate your target at night. No emergency lights. No games. Leave without trails and never look back, taking out one of the most dangerous criminals on earth. Redemption won’t “save” the beast.

Pointerdexter. Orphaned, trained by Quantico and marching around Wilson Fisk. This man stood like an absolute recipe for disaster while mayhem hit your desk. You’re not good or bad either, yet standing in the middle without joining authorities. Even civilian justice won’t be enough to describe your plans. 

But the door opened before you could turn back, caught by another silhouette as his lean yet muscular frame revealed scars in the dark. The barrel of his own pistol forward, ready. 

“Who are you?” His accent, not strong enough for the boroughs you’ve known so well, pulled venom. 

“Your worst nightmare. Put the gun down and let me handle business.” Defending yourself, there’s no other choice. 

“Seem pretty confident without your own weapon.” Dex chuckled, almost circling you like sharks around blood. “You’re not better than me.” 

“I am.” You continued. The debate won’t stop. “You’ve killed innocent people.” 

“Look around. No one is innocent anymore.” Dex went on, almost baiting. 

No surrender? Fair enough. Just when you prepared to battle him up close, another gunshots crossed the sky and shattered windows, buckling your stance moments later as you dropped against the wooden floor. 

Shit! 

Chaos erupted on the street, but arrogance nearly splintered when Dex looked ahead . One of the bullets hit your leg and spilled blood. Balance split down the middle again. Could Dex save you, leave this apartment behind or save himself at all?  With each passing moment here, who knows what else could happen next?

Sirens wailed out loud moments later, only worsening his thoughts. Could law enforcement turn up the blame and land Dex behind bars again? His nerves moved higher and higher as you bled out, still gritting through horribly warm pain. 

You could die without help. You could die without him, especially when left untreated. As bedlam stirred over the damaged window, Dex pulled himself together and hoisted you out, almost running between shadows to head outside. 

Your body, limp from exhaustion between flashing lights and broken glass, almost huddled against Dex’s chest as his voice called out, looking for anyone to help. Though you’ve tried to destroy him, your life stood in the balance. No matter what burned some time ago, Dex still knew that people deserved another chance. 

Upon realization, the medics scrambled and hoisted this gurney without fail, slamming both doors and wailing down the streets, counting every second. 

No one should hear the misery at night. No one should question his sanity when the city darkened after sunset. The backburner no longer exists and memories still haunt  his broken mind, even tainting how kids still play baseball in the park. 

Bradley. One of the most formative people. Dex can’t even watch games on television without flinching. Cracks from the bat. Players running over the diamond. Nothing onscreen makes the heart fond, only recalling the worst day of his life. 

The first kill, when the pole struck confirmation. Dex cracked one powerful toss over Bradley’s head and everything shattered. Folks shrieked while crimson spilled. Dex, still young back then, doesn’t remember when red and blue lights showed up. 

But when the police asked questions over the mayhem, Dex knew one fact as a child: 

It wasn’t an accident. Anger bared its ugly face and abandonment reached the breaking point. There’s only so much children could accept, especially when his own parents yelled without offering guidance. No life skills. No empathy, either. 

Bootstraps be damned, it’s cold out there. Sometimes it’s an absolute miracle to wake up and face himself at all, let alone face whatever plan Charles scheduled without fumbling. It’s good to work, but Dex still questioned his worth, gently sad. 

Showering for no reason beyond heat, Dex pulled himself together once more and grabbed his coat, trying to escape his mind again. Silence might derail so much progress here, even when most people welcomed peace over and over again. 

____________

There’s someone new in the diner this morning. Not his favorite place on earth, but Dex would rather stay here than marching in Quantico again. As raindrops meet the windows, it’s colder than expected. The weather might grit his teeth already. 

Cornering by his window seat, you sipped one of the drinks alone and rested silverware on your plate, finishing breakfast faster than others who crammed the local spot. This cityscape honked and barked outside, but you don’t even flinch. 

Paying in cash, you settled belongings and scooted out of the booth, clicking heels near the front door before prepping an umbrella to walk outside. You’ve worn business attire from this angle and Dex considers your job. Attorney? CEO? Maybe an entrepreneur? Now, who knows what your life entails beyond the restaurant? 

Though wishing to help you out, Dex won’t move from the table. Can’t. His own thoughts may scream toward respect and kindness, but in this world, he can’t offer assistance. Too many questions. Too many headlines. One wrong move could send him right back to prison because you deserved personal space. He’s a man after all. 

And yet, his rehabbed neck almost craned back to the window as fog blurred your silhouette down this cracked sidewalk. Another pedestrian. Just another person moving forward today. To Dex, no one thought of you or smiled, at least not yet. 

__________

It’s become another habit in his book. Too early in the morning, without Charles interrupting, Dex joined the diner once more. Maybe you’ll show up again. Maybe not. It’s still better than drowning with his thoughts or staying in that empty bed. 

When the front door chimes, Dex glances over to see you entering. Has the universe began to sing? You look more polished than last time, clearly dressed for something important later. Watching the server open another table, you sat down and took that menu, still perusing to an extent as different customers mingled. 

Once you’ve chosen breakfast, Dex quietly notices your plate and commits that delicious order to memory. The drink. The condiments. How staff cooked this meal itself. On and on. He would rather observe than speak, better off silent again. 

His conscience fared embarrassment now. You seem much more interesting than him. Gentle. Softer. Attributes that he’ll never gain without dishonesty and trepidation. Too many burned bridges. Redemption will never settle forgiveness. 

What if you recognized him today? What if someone moved higher up and called Charles at some point? Nerves kicked off again and Dex can’t even "appreciate" seeing you up close. Possibilities rattled even more with each passing moment here. 

Choosing light makeup this morning, you’ve wiped lipstick onto one last napkin and tipped the server, bidding farewell as quickly as your arrival. The front door jingled again and Dex still looked over, curious if the outdoor sidewalk will lead somewhere else for once.