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When I saw him for the first time, he was walking down the street. Perfectly tailored black suit and a perfectly pressed tie; he behaved as if he were completely perfect, and that intrigued me. It had been a long time since anything had interested me like him.
At first glance, he looked like a heartbreaker. In his way of walking, of speaking with other people, with other women, his manner exuded a mystery that left everyone around him curious. And, I confess, it left me curious. I don't usually get attracted to spoiled heirs, but this one in particular had something different about him. Bruce Wayne was different, always throwing parties and at the company, but he was lonely. Without parents, siblings, or any other relatives beside the strange butler who followed him everyplace; Bruce, deep down, was desperate for attention, for affection.
And I would gladly give it to him.
But Bruce was not a man who would be easily won over, I realized in the weeks I observed him. He behaved like the stereotype of a womanizer, but I could see thru his attention; it was all a disguise. Bruce didn't really want to have a different model on his arm at every party just to end up with a boring, disconnected fuck that he wouldn't even bother remembering the name of by morning. He always called them my love.
Ah, I taught him not to use that little word for nothing.
I left the apartment and got into the elevator that was playing a completely boring song. I didn't like instrumental music; it was dull, but Bruce liked it, so I had to listen to it to understand him better. It turns out that what I found boring, he found calming.
When my research was complete, I decided it was finally time for us to meet. It couldn't be at a party, as I knew all his conquests; otherwise, I would just be another one on his list of broken hearts. It had to be something unexpected, inconvenient, and natural, a boy-meets-girl story worthy of romances.
He seemed like a gentleman, so I took a chance. In that small café that Bruce went to every morning, which I started going to every morning, it was the perfect place. I have many connections, and it wasn't difficult to orchestrate a robbery, all in the name of love. Or all in the name of revenge for my poor companions who had their expectations destroyed and deceived by his romantic words. Everything is mixed up in my head.
It didn't matter the reason, I wanted Bruce. And I had him.
I knew many things about him. I knew that he only drank his black coffee without anything else, not because he liked it, but as a form of punishment for something I would discover during our nites of conversation. Even before I met him, I could already list all his quirks and mannerisms that he didn't even seem to notice. And I knew that as soon as one of those assailants came to attack me, he would defend me, that he would come to my rescue, as if I were a damsel in distress.
What I didn't know about Bruce was that he was Batman. The moment Bruce Wayne started fighting the three assailants, I realized, shocked that no one had ever connected the dots before and happy that he could still surprise me; our relationship would never get boring like those songs Bruce listened to.
When the police and ambulances arrived, he looked for me in one of them, where a paramedic was cleaning a ridiculous cut on my forehead. Bruce looked at me for exactly seven seconds before saying anything, and I knew exactly what was going thru his mind. I dressed for him. I dressed, I behaved like a simple, delicate woman who cried when she got a cut that barely bled and who helped the elderly carry their groceries; someone who would bring sunshine to the cloudy world that was the heart of Bruce Wayne.
That's why I ran to him and hugged him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. But I knew I was on the right track when Bruce hugged me back, tense and seeming like he had never been touched before. I, like the good and delicate girl I pretended to be, thanked him, said that I would probably be dead if he hadn't defended me, said that he was my hero; nothing in the world could match the pleasure I felt when I saw Bruce Wayne's face at that moment, almost terrified, imagining that I knew who he really was.
But he wanted me to be just another one of his conquests when he invited me to his house at that moment when I showed I was vulnerable. So I said no, I wanted more than a nite of boring sex. I wanted to be your world, I wanted to be the one who would make you late for work in the morning and for whom you would skip your rounds at nite.
Bruce urgently needed to get over this whole dead parents story. It was inconvenient, but I would be lying if I didn't say that the difficulty made everything more interesting. I stood firm in my no, tho. Getting to Bruce Wayne's bed was easy, but I wanted to reach his heart, his mind.
Now that he knew I existed, it was easy to make him notice me.
Every time he went to the café, I was there; that same table in the left corner was the first place the bat looked when he entered, and I pretended not to see him, not to know him, but he saw me, always freezing for a full second, as if he were embarrassed to run into the woman who had rejected him.
But Bruce noticed me. But I needed proof that he was at least interested in me; the opportunity arose in that very café, I went to the counter and ordered mine, four sugar cubes and half with milk, completely the opposite of him.
And, honestly, it made me nauseous. I hated coffee, but he liked it; I gave up a lot, Bruce should be grateful.
A woman approached my object of desire and hit on him, vulgarly, exactly the type Bruce liked, easy and forgettable. Everything I wouldn't be. Bruce wouldn't forget me.
But he denied it and I couldn't hold back my smile, but that's okay, because Bruce turned around at that exact moment and the look on his face was directed at me.
Oh, Bruce. You were so in love.
He looked at my mouth as if my smile were the sun itself and, yielding slightly, I asked the waitress to bring a cup of coffee, Wayne saved my life, what was a cup of coffee in thanks?
As soon as the cup was handed to him, he came over to me. It couldn't be so easy to get close to him twice, the world is dangerous for a billionaire, but maybe because of who he is, he wasn't afraid. Until the moment he left, he had drunk the entire cup; it would have been so easy to put some poison that I had carefully kept; however, I wanted more.
I like the conquest, the love. And Bruce gave me that.
The other day, he paid for my coffee, which I delicately returned, pretending to be embarrassed. It worked. Bruce came up to me and asked if I didn't like it, and when I replied that I liked my coffee extremely sweet, he noticed and said it suited me.
Ah, Bruce. You were head over heels for me, weren't you?
In the days that followed, Bruce Wayne sat in front of me every morning, sometimes we talked, other times we sat in silence. One time he asked how the flower shop I worked at was doing, and that was the first mistake. I had never mentioned where or what I worked in. Bruce had looked for me, but even with the pleasure of this news overwhelming me, I didn't let him know.
However, he didn't ask me out again, and that annoyed me. Bruce wanted me to be just his friend? What an outrage.
I confess that I let anger take over me for a few days, but then I realized. Bruce was afraid.
I had played the perfect role, of the perfect woman, delicate, gentle, who truly cared, and Bruce Wayne didn't want to ruin that woman by shoving her into his life, a dark life made of resentment, shadows, and revenge.
God, those dead parents really spoiled you, didn't they?
So I had to take the lead myself and he couldn't say no, how could he? I was the embodiment of all his most desired dreams that he hid in a little box at the back of his mind.
Our meetings were nothing short of perfect. All during the day, of course, Bruce was busy at nite; we had some picnics, he surprised me by going to the florist to take me out for lunch. How lucky I was to be extremely careful and prepared, right? The flowers were one of the only parts I liked about this character I created for Bruce Wayne.
So he introduced me to Alfred, his butler and, probably, his only friend, but now he had me, even tho we hadn't even kissed.
Many people think that carnal desire and physical touches are directly linked to love, but they are not. Passion is important, but love comes from the security that the other person makes you feel, from the affection they give you; from the warmth they bring in cold times. And none of that required the slightest touch, I didn't want his body, like all the others had, I wanted to break down his walls, make him trust me. How powerful would I be to have Batman himself at my feet like a little puppy?
Over time, I started to have doubts; it wasn't possible that he had completely trusted that stupid character, but he had fallen for my performance, and not just because I am a wonderful actress, but because you desperately wanted someone.
Someone to trust, to comfort and embrace him. I hit the nail on the head, didn't I?
Bruce Wayne was so interesting and complex, unraveling the puzzle that was his heart and mind became my favorite pastime. And he didn't suspect a thing.
In three months, I entered his heart. On the day he pulled me close and kissed me breathlessly and eagerly, wanting it more than anything else; Bruce Wayne longed for my kiss, for my touch, which I gladly gave him.
But, to my horror, Bruce Wayne kissed badly.
He was desperate, hungry, and wet. I liked slow and deep kisses, but I imagined that my character would be so blinded by her own desire that she would like anything that came from him. That was indeed a pain in the ass, but I taught him how to kiss me the right way, I taught him how to fuck me the right way.
He enjoyed every second of it; for the first time, he had a real woman by his side, with whom he wanted to share his life, his home. But he still didn't fully trust me, not telling me who he really was. Bruce had to trust me, so why didn't he tell me? The doubt gnawed at me.
If he didn't trust me, I couldn't trust him. When Bruce invited me to live in his mansion, I declined. I made him believe it was because the house was huge just for the three of us, and he fell for it like a hungry little puppy.
Alfred idolized me, so he didn't even blink when I said we would be moving. I, of course, said that he could come live with us without any problem, but the butler was smart and didn't want to intrude on the couple in the new house. I liked Alfred, his confidence made you adore me even more, as if his approval were the final stage of your heart.
But it wasn't, was it?
A year and he didn't tell me he was Batman or that he loved me. Did he at least like me? Or was I just some random person that Wayne frequently slept with? What was wrong with him? Did he love another? I don't like feeling like the other women he left and cruelly abandoned; the fragile women I needed to care for and avenge. I wasn't like them, so why did he treat me as if I were?
It was then that something happened. I should have foreseen it.
On a mild nite, someone entered our apartment, for a few seconds I imagined it was someone from my past; but I was sure I had no enemies. None alive, at least. So it could only be one thing. Someone discovered Batman's identity and came to kidnap the Bat's greatest weakness: me.
God, if I hadn't played that perfect character, I could have easily dealt with the three men who invaded our apartment.
Oh, Bruce. Your rule of not killing your enemies was stupid. I would have to change that in you, my love.
So I pretended to be defenseless, and how difficult it was. I could have dealt with those incompetents and gone back to sleep so quickly that there wouldn't have been time for the dead bodies to hit the floor. They knocked me out, and I woke up tied to a chair, with a black cloth over my face and one tied to my mouth.
I couldn't force myself to cry, unfortunately, it was a flaw of mine that I was working on, instead, I trembled my body; pretending to be terrified. Everyone was apparently believing it.
I was begging for help, too. Or that someone would just take the cloth off my face, I was eager to see how he would act with his girlfriend in danger. And I wasn't disappointed, was I?
They removed what was preventing me from seeing, and Bruce, as Batman, stormed that counter and took out that mini army that had formed to defeat him. Aggressively. Every time someone fell near me, I screamed and moved desperately, and he looked at me with despair in his eyes. When they were all unconscious on the floor, he came to me and untied me, Bruce seemed shattered for putting me in danger; but I knew how to finish breaking him.
You need to go after my boyfriend, Bruce Wayne. He lives with me!
I saw the exposed part of his face freeze and his hands tremble rapidly. I could hear Bruce thinking that even if I had been kidnaped, the first thing I was worried about was him.
They say that the eyes are the mirror of the soul; I always thot that was complete nonsense until I met him; his eyes, when you paid attention, revealed everything. And there was no one who paid more attention to Bruce Wayne than I did.
And in his eyes, I saw the fear he had of losing me, the relief at seeing me alive and well, and, above all, the love he felt for me. It was all there, exposed like the Mona Lisa, I just needed to make him speak.
It wasn't that nite that he said he loved, unfortunately. But it was that nite that he said who he was, what he did. As expected, I acted out of fear, worried that he might get seriously hurt, and insisted that he stop. I didn't want to see him dead over petty thieves, and Bruce, surprising me, promised to act with more caution and less frequency.
Bruce Wayne no longer had his own opinion, I managed to tie myself to his heart and nothing would tear me away from there while he was alive; he became the people he abandoned: a little being thirsty for attention, affection, and love, it wouldn't be long before his mind gave in and he admitted that he loved me.
I wasn't wrong. It was glorious.
I was lying on top of him wearing only his shirt, resting my head on his bare skin; we had just made love, as he said, not caring if it sounded like a lovesick teenager. Bruce caressed my long, black hair, in a touch I was already accustomed to.
In that very domestic, very comforting moment, he said, for the first time, that he loved me.
In that very domestic, very comforting moment, it was where he uttered his last words.
"I love you." He said.
So, gently, I reached my hand to the drawer of the bedside table and took a knife from there. I kissed him.
And I cut his throat right after.
I got out of the elevator when he finally reached the ground floor and went to my car. I had burned all my clothes and cleaned the apartment of everything that could link me to him, leaving behind only his rotting body, and I laughed as the wind from the window blew thru my hair.
But one more item on my list completed, one more heartbreaker ruined.
I spent the entire trip with a smile glued to my face, where I finally used my favorite red lipstick. I was happy. I had been in his life for two years and he never even suspected me, the nighttime hero who even made the Joker afraid, didn't even know the real name of the woman who slept beside him in bed.
I killed Batman that nite.
But I killed Bruce Wayne the day I saw him for the first time.