Rain hammered against the windows, drowning out the faint sounds of the soap opera on TV, shadows flickering across the walls.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Jean shot a glance at the door, irritation flickering across her face. "Zara, quit pacing. It's probably just the neighbor or something," she muttered, watching her younger sister fidget by the couch. Zara's eyes were wide, uneasy, but she stepped back as Jean moved to the door, her steps hesitant.
Jean grabbed the doorknob, hesitating before pulling it open. There stood Jack, drenched, rainwater dripping from his hair, his face pale and hollow as he stared at her, like he'd been wandering in a storm and finally found his way home.
"Jack?" Her voice was barely a whisper, a hint of worry creeping in, but before she could say more, he stepped inside, closing the space between them.
The TV mumbled in the background, a soap opera character declaring, "The kid isn't mine!" Jean blinked, startled, but Jack didn't wait. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands cupping her face as if he needed her to stay grounded. She stumbled back, his intensity catching her off guard, but she didn't pull away. Her hands found his shoulders, gripping him as they moved together, backing into the apartment, his rain-soaked clothes pressing against her, chilling her skin.
Their hands roamed, fingers tangled in hair, gripping each other as if they might slip away if they didn't hold tight enough. The rain outside and the TV faded into the background, distant, overtaken by the heat between them. They moved down the hallway, breaths mingling, urgent and unspoken, as they fell into the bedroom.
Jack paused, looking into her eyes, something raw and broken flickering in his gaze. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, lips pressing into hers again, slower this time, his hands trailing down her back. She let out a soft, muffled moan, fingers clutching his shirt as they moved together, falling onto the bed.
They let the rain, the shadows, and the warmth between them drown out everything else. For once, Jack felt a flicker of something real, something he'd been missing, and he held onto it, letting it steady him, even if just for that fleeting moment.
Jack woke to the sunlight streaming down on him, a blinding warmth he hadn't felt in days. He sat up slowly, head pounding, squinting against the light as he took in the room around him. His suit jacket was on, slightly damp, pants gone, and he ran a hand over his face, flashes of last night hitting him in waves.
The rain, cold against his skin. Falling from the cliff, the wind rushing past him, that brief, weightless moment of freedom… And then Jean. The feel of her skin, her warmth, the way they'd moved together, like she'd been the only real thing he'd ever touched. He let out a strange, quiet laugh, feeling something like a smile creep across his face.
He glanced around, spotting his pants crumpled up in the corner. As he reached them, his fingers brushed against the cold metal of a gun hidden in the fabric. He kicked it away, nearly laughing as he did, the absurdity of it all sinking in. He felt empty, hollowed out, yet there was something else, something twisted and bright at the edges of it all… he felt happy.
He moved around the room, digging through the mess, tossing things aside until he found it—his book. He clutched it to his chest, flipping through the pages with shaky hands, his grin stretching as he scanned the half-finished lines, jotted down thoughts, snatches of ideas that made no sense anymore. He sat down, still in his underwear, grabbing a pen and finding a blank page. His heart raced, and with a quick breath, he began to write.
"Oh… Jackie, is that you?" His mother's voice cut through the room, fragile and worn. She stood there, framed in the doorway, a ghostly figure that looked small, almost pitiful, as if she had been waiting forever just to see him.
Jack froze, the pen hovering over the page, and his gaze met hers. The anger hit him like a wave, rising fast, sharp, pounding in his chest. Anger. Years of it, buried so deep it was almost its own pulse, thrumming, relentless. He stared at her, his eyes narrowing, feeling that familiar heat build up, fingers twitching with the need to crush something, anything, until there was nothing left.
But he plastered on a smile, forcing a calm, bright tone. "Hi, Mom," he said, a crooked grin stretching across his face. She didn't notice the edge in his voice, the barely-contained fury simmering just beneath the surface. She never saw it.
Jack blinked, only to find himself in the warm light of a sunny afternoon. Jean's hand was on his shoulder, her voice light, casual.
"You really should do comedy, Jack. You're funny," she said, her eyes bright with amusement.
He looked at her, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Funny." His voice was hollow, distant, as he tried to steady himself, the laughter from the scene still echoing in his mind, blood-slick images flickering just below the surface.
Down the street, a crew was setting up a stage, bright banners stretching overhead:
{November 27th, Thomas Wayne Mental Health Rally}
He felt a chill, a thrill of nervous energy prickling his skin. The world seemed to tilt slightly, the edges blurring. He looked at Jean, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm… I'm nervous."
Jean took his hand, her touch warm and grounding. "You'll be fine. He'll accept you, Jack. I promise." She smiled, pressing her hand over his, calm and steady, like she was the only real thing in this world; his world.
The rally buzzed with energy, the crowd gathered under banners as Thomas Wayne stepped up to the podium. He looked calm, composed, as he raised a hand to quiet the crowd.
"Thank you for being here today," he began, his voice steady, carrying over the heads of the crowd. "Mental health is not just a personal issue—it's a public one. It affects each and every one of us."
Jack stood near the edge, his eyes locked on Thomas, barely blinking. He felt his fists clench, his breath coming slow, controlled. Thomas continued, oblivious, his face set with the practiced ease of someone who spoke these words often.
"We need to support those struggling in the shadows. We need to build a better system, a safer place, for everyone," Thomas declared, the crowd murmuring their agreement, heads nodding along. Jack watched every movement, every shift of his expression, feeling that familiar anger rise, coiling inside him like a snake ready to strike.
As the rally wound down, Jack kept a careful eye on Thomas, trailing him through the crowd. He watched as Thomas moved to the side of the stage, exchanging words with a few suited bodyguards. They looked tense, their expressions firm as one of them stepped forward, blocking his path.
"Sir, let us accompany you. Just a precaution," one of the guards insisted, a hint of urgency in his voice.
Thomas waved them off, exasperated. "For God's sake, it's a restroom. I don't need a damn entourage to take a piss." He shot them a look that left no room for argument, then turned on his heel, heading toward a side hallway that led to the bathroom.
The bodyguards exchanged glances, then stepped back, reluctantly obeying, looking visibly irritated. They walked past Jack, barely noticing him as they muttered to each other about Thomas's stubbornness. Jack slipped into the shadows, watching them leave before he ducked into the hallway, trailing Thomas silently.
He pushed open the bathroom door just as Thomas reached the sink, oblivious to the fact that he wasn't alone. Jack paused, watching as Thomas turned on the water, rolling up his sleeves with a tired sigh. Jack moved further in, keeping to the wall, his steps soft, almost hesitant, eyes locked on Thomas's reflection.
Thomas glanced up, catching sight of Jack in the mirror, his face betraying a brief flash of irritation before he smoothed it over, keeping his expression neutral. "Hey, you alright?" he asked, turning slightly, his voice calm but distant, not entirely invested.
Jack fidgeted, his hands twitching as he looked around, barely managing a nod. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, eyes darting around, avoiding Thomas's gaze.
Thomas gave him a once-over, and then, with a sigh, stepped closer, adjusting Jack's collar in a quick, almost mechanical gesture. "Look, kid," he muttered, voice low. "The world's a tough place. You've got to pull it together." He patted Jack on the shoulder, offering a thin smile before turning and heading toward the door.
Thomas patted Jack on the shoulder, offering a brief, dismissive smile before turning and heading toward the door. He was already halfway through the doorway when Jack's voice stopped him.
"It's not just pulling it together," Jack said, his words spilling out, shaky but insistent. "It's everything, you know? People just look right through me. I'm a joke. That's all I am to them—a joke. I try to make something of myself, to get people to notice, to feel something, but it's never enough." He took a breath, his words coming faster, more frantic. "No one ever sees me. Not really. They laugh and move on, and I'm left standing there, like… like I don't even exist. Like I'm some kind of ghost."
Thomas paused, his hand still on the doorknob, a flicker of something passing over his face. He turned slowly, his gaze sharper now, studying Jack, as if seeing him for the first time. He looked like he was weighing something, his eyes distant for a moment before he stepped back into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.
He walked closer, his face softening slightly. "I get it. I really do," he said, his voice low, measured. He sighed, nodding almost to himself, before he met Jack's eyes. "You're right. Sometimes the world's a pretty damn lonely place. It chews people up, spits them out, and barely looks back. But listen to me." He placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, this time with more weight, a slight warmth there, a fatherly tone slipping into his voice.
"You don't have to feel that way," Thomas said, his tone more intentional, direct. "You're more than you think. Maybe you can't see it, but I do. And you know what?" He paused, the words hanging in the air, his expression finally shifting into something almost genuine. "I can help you. Really, I can. Tell me what you need, and we'll figure this out together. You don't have to do this alone."
Jack blinked, his mind reeling, feeling a strange mix of shock, disbelief, and an almost desperate hope flicker inside him. For the first time in what felt like forever, someone was really looking at him, really seeing him. It was a moment, just a small, fleeting moment, but it was enough to shake him to his core.