The air has that very... classic aroma.
That very classic sex sweetness, in place of what I expected would be the metal stench of blood.
Visually, only one thing has changed.
The ironed white bed sheets are thoroughly wrinkled.
Thoroughly wrinkled instead of thoroughly painted with blood-
Which in yesterday's imagination could very much have been mine.
I remember last night.
I remember the books.
"Before steamy nights there are a few necessities you should prepare, no matter what!
• Ask your sweetheart about her favourite scent; now go and light those candles and buy those flowers with the very same- thank me when she gives you thrice the enthusiasm when you get down to it!
• When you're inside her, make sur—"
I need to put this magazine down.
I'm a man way too confident in my preparation tonight.
The drawer next to the bed has a stash of lube under the bed- no scented candles or flowers, but of course condoms in her favourite taste- orange flavoured—(Not that the night would even have a chance to be steamy enough for her to taste it)— and 2 of the finest rifles I happen to be extremely well versed with hidden under the far side beneath the sheets, along with some more guns that are so loyal to my fingerprint, my sweetheart couldn't kill me even with it up my ass. I was not planning to die that night. I needed the weapons just incase.
I remember last night.
I remember how she showed up entirely clothed.
I remember how even when I stripped her she was still not entirely naked, the black lingerie she was wearing surprised me. How was I supposed to go through with my plan if she showed up like that?
I expected any time for her soldiers to barge in thinking they found me vulnerable.
But she's lying in bed next to me today, her body heat keeping me warm. She's safe, I expected it. But I'm safe?
That was odd.
You can't blame me for my hypervigilance—
It's not every day you get to dance the devil's tango with the city's most iconic Hero.
Especially not as the city's most abominated Villain.