Chapter Seven: past

THREE YEARS EARLIER

Harold sent another painful blow to the side of my face, causing a ringing sound to echo through my head. I didn't even know why he was mad, or at least couldn't remember.

"Next time don't fuck up, and I won't have to hurt you!" He scolted shoving a hard finger into my face. Ever since I'd started to pick up photography the abuse increased, claiming I was distracted and useless. More and more my eyes were opening, he isn't good for me, I could and should leave. I'd had the oppurtunity many times before but it's so much harder than it sounds to pick up what remains of your life and let it crumble in your hands. It didn't start this way, yet it never does. Growing up teachers and parents would warn you about abusive behavior and what to look out for, but when stupid young love takes over, it consumes you.

Harold checked his watch and grumbled to himself.

"I have to go, don't do anything stupid," he warned, storming out of the house. It used to be a semi-good relationship, but there would always be arguements, and now violence.

I opened up the freezer and shakily held the bag of frozen corn on my swelling purple cheek. Daring to look in the mirror I found that the punches to my face had cause a massive buldge. Sighing I picked up my concealer and layered on the make up until you couldn't distinguish the discolored skin. Though if you saw me from an angle you'd know there was a lump. Next I pulled up my shirt to look and my small, bruised ribs. How long was it going to be before he did something worse, hurt me til I lay helpless on the floor, cold and dead.

My cell vibrated on the kitchen table, causing the sound equal to a wood chipper to ring through the home. I dashed out the bathroom and scrambled to answer, immeadiantly recognizing the number.

"Hello," I said horsely.

"Miss Tolkin?"

"That's me," I cringed at hearing the name.

"Your mother wishes to see you, she's only got a few hours left." I knew this was coming but I wasn't prepared, just yesterday she seemed to be getting a lot better.

"I'm on my way," I answered, grabbing Harold's keys off the counter. He would be mad at me for taking his precious car but this was the last time I'd see her, my mother.

I rushed past the various different ICU rooms, heading to the one my mom was currently in for the last week. If they'd had more time, they would have moved her to hospice. I drew back the glass door, and then curtain to my moms room. She lay weak in bed, pale with her eyes closed. I glanced over at the heart monitor, showing a faint small beat once every two seconds. She really was at the brink of death. She really wasn't going to be here anymore.

"Mom," I hovered over her.

"Harm, is that you," her voice cracked weakly. I lifted her hand from her side and stroked the top of it.

"You can't leave me, not alone," I whimpered. I never knew any other family, the only child to a single mother, who's husband and my father left us quite early in my life. Sure she had a long running boyfriend, but he didn't give a second shit about me.

"You'll never be alone, I'll always be with you."

"Not if your dead." A small frown crossed my mothers cheek as she squinted at the bump on my face.

"Promise me something child."

"What?"

"Take my ring off my finger, and I'll tell you a story," she instructed. I laid eyes on the ruby and silver band around my mothers middle finger. I'd seen it all my life and never once wondered why it was there, or that it was even on her finger at all. Carefully, I slipped the ring off and held it in my palm, admiring its beauty.

"My mother gave that to me before she left my father alone, and her mother gave it to her before she passed away, now it's your turn sweety, to give it to your child when you see fit, but unfortunately your still not ready to wear it yet," she sighed, a hit of dissapointment in her voice.

"Why not?" I asked tears flowing.

"The ring may fit your finger, but it won't fit you until you leave that wreched man, and reclaim your family's name, promise me you won't wear it till he's gone."

"But mom I-"

"But nothing, promise me," she pushed. I could hear the strain on her vocals.

"I promise." She lay back down in her bed, using up the last bit of her energy to plaster a smile across her face. The heart monitor began to beep louder and more rabidly, indicating she was dead. A few hours my ass, it had only been thirty minutes since the call. I had a strange feeling in the back of my mind, that she lived just long enough to forfull a purpose, and I wasn't going to let her down. A single tear left my eye, and I let go of my moms now limp hand.

"I will wear the ring," I whispered to her.

---------------------------

I showed up a week later at Harold's, not seeing him since the day he smacked me across the face. This time I had with me one of Gotham's divorce attorneys, and a GCPD officer.

I knocked on his door harshly, getting a comforting shoulder pat from the attorney.

"Who the fuck is it!" Harold cursed.

"GCPD, open up!" The officer yelled. Harold slowly opened the door with one hand, in the other a cigarette. The officer yanked him out of the house and cuffed him, all the while he started at me suprised.

"The fuck?" He murmered

"Your under arresst for assult and battery, and the selling of illegal substances," the officer stated. My attorney stepped in front of me with a clip board.

"Your wife will agree not to press charges against you if you so choose to sign these divorce papers, and submit to the requirements of this restraining order." Harold gave me a menacing glare, but somehow I wasn't afraid this time.

"Yeah, I'll divorce the bitch," he growled. A feeling of relief washed over me as the officer and attorney guided him back into the house to go over the divorce agreement. I stayed outside for a moment as something dark and fast caught my eye. On top of the building next to me was the masked vigilanty that was cleaning the streets, what's his name, batboy, batman? At the speed of light I pulled my phone out of my pocket and snapped a blurry shot of him mid air between two buildings. Not the best, but it was something, the picture of the day my life changed, a symbol of what life could be like if I were free.