Title: Things Lost
Fandom: DC Comics
Prompt: Words #10, slugabed: one who stays in bed until a late hour
Word Count: About 280
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me; it's the other way around.
Summary: He knows about contrasts.
You used to enjoy flirting with the girl that sold you cigarettes. She was a nice blonde with a beautiful voice, much too young for you but still more grounded, more real than the women you used to date.
Now you have to send a couple of guys to buy you cigarettes. And sometimes you have to send a couple of guys to watch those guys, just in case. You haven't seen the girl in years. She's surely grown up now, perhaps married to some lucky bastard. Perhaps you already killed the lucky bastard without knowing it. You half-smile at the thought.
You used to enjoy clean, expensive sheets. Both sex and sleep just felt better when you had nice egyptian linen caressing your skin. Those had been the first expensive things you had ever bought in your life, and you loved them more than you ever told anybody.
You used to enjoy sleeping late the few days when you could. They were few, and a guilty pleasure, and better than sex.
You sleep where you can, now. There aren't always clean sheets, or even mattresses, and carrying and caring for nice ones would make you too slow, too easy to track. With him trying to find you, you might as well just wait for him in the Gotham Police rooftop. And sleeping late could get you killed.
You used to enjoy poker. It was like practicing law, or perhaps the other way around, a competition of brains and guts where you won more often than everybody else expected.
Now there are few people who'd play with you, fewer yet that'd dare win, and only one of them you'd want in your table. Not that he would.
But half of you doesn't care, and you lost that coin toss a long time ago.