[02]
The white marble sink was tainted with a faint trace of blood as he opened the faucet, washing it off as well as he could. He splashed his face with cold water as well, the temperature of the water reawakening his sinking senses.
A thin pair of arms had wrapped around his shoulders and he turned back, looking at her with a smile, his right hand caressing the soft cheek gently.
Her fingers clutched at the collars of his jacket pulling him down for a kiss. He did not object as he let her delicate fingers brush over his face, his lungs tightening as the air inside was sucked out.
And though he was well aware that he would have to pull apart eventually or else the terrible drowning feeling would douse over him once again, making him suffocate.
But still he held onto her, ignoring the warning signals his brain was giving him. It had been a long time since he had last paid heed to those warnings.
Each time he did something he shouldn't, his brain dived into an alarming mode, warning him of the consequences he would have to put up with ultimately. Countless nights without sleep or rest, faltering health and last but definitely not the least, an ultimate death.
But he would ignore it stubbornly every single time the warnings resurfaced and would dive deeper into his intoxicating urges. Some people would call it suicidal, Neal called it the adrenaline rush.
There was a time when he had meticulously listened to his head; subjecting himself to the bland logic of survival, ignoring the temptations that beckoned him towards trouble. But what use had that been for him? Instead he had only discovered that he had wasted all that time in worrying and merely months if not years were left for him to savor his life to the fullest.
He no longer cared for what the future held in store for him. As far as he knew, there might never even be a future.
She had pushed him to the wall deepening the kiss and a countdown had started ticking off in his head, announcing the mere seconds that were left until he would have to break off the moment because then he would be unable to keep going on without risking suspicion.
And only when he was completely breathless, he pulled apart turning away from her as a coughing fit got hold of him. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth but his hands rested at the sink. The water from the faucet poured down the drain, mixing with the drops of red dripping down that she could not see due to his face that was turned away from her, hiding it from view.
"Later, love," he breathed in a slightly hoarse voice.
"They're all waiting for you..."
"I know. Just a minute, okay?"
She disentangled her arms from him stepping back with a smile on her face, "later?"
"My place," he mumbled, the back of his palm smudging off the remaining black of his eye liner from his face.
Her smile widened as she stepped out at last.
He waited till her retreating footsteps got lost in the distant clamor of the club. At last, Neal looked up at the reflection staring back at him and hastily wiped off the sliver of blood from the corner of his mouth.
Composing himself, he applied a fresh layer of liner accentuating his striking ocher eyes then taking one last look at the reflection that no longer showed the man underneath, he stepped out as well.
A stage and a raging crowd was waiting for him. He could not afford to think of his past self at that moment.
Neal Hastings lived in the present and there was no place for ghosts of the past in his short fleeting life.
Pushing up the cuffs of his jacket determinedly, he climbed the steps to the stage, absorbing the loud cheers of the crowd. A thousand camera flashes went off and he basked in the blinding glare of the lens, his presence on the stage almost having a magnetizing effect.
His fingers closed around the mic placed on the stand in front of him and a dazzling smile played upon his well chiseled mouth.
"Gotham City! Give me a loud cheer. Show some enthusiasm, folks!"
His voice was cheerful, loud and every bit opposite to the mild tone with which he had conversed with Barbara Gordon or the vague, comforting whispers that his girlfriend Rose was accustomed to hear. It overpowered the cheering crowd unlike the polite timbres he had chosen with both women.
And thinking of Barbara Gordon, the brilliantly flashing smirk on his face widened, recalling her confusion at his responses.
He knew she was intrigued just by the first meeting alone. And heavens knew how often the two were going to meet just due to the fact that she had chosen to work at the GCPD; the one place where his visits were unwilling but frequent, mostly due to his name scribbled on the suspects list.
"Presenting you the much awaited night of this whole season... Put your hands together for the Banshee Tribute!"
The curtain behind him lifted and among the thrilled screams and yells of the crowd, the band members in all their punk glamour stepped out. Despite the striking and outdone appearances of the band members, Neal seemed to stand out from them distinctly, his ocher eyes sweeping over the electrified crowd and drinking in the enthusiasm.
"Brace yourselves for the first song of tonight, composed especially for you people... The Gotham State Of Mind!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd once again, the deafening clamor washing over him as he flashed another brilliant smile at the people cheering for him in front of the stage.
Passing the mic to the lead singer, he gradually retreated, stepping back from the lights and glamour so discreetly that it seemed as if he had simply faded into the background. An unbelievable feat for someone who held his striking aura, for someone who was just being applauded by countless hoards of people that had swarmed in.
But Neal Hastings had become rather known for his contrasting nature.
He could be sweeter than sugar and yet spicier than a hot pepper. He could be dazzling than a flood of lights and at the same time, he could merge into the darkness as if he had never had a single ounce of light within his soul.
Neal Hastings was an enigma.
A hollow shell of a man disguised behind his many contrasting masks. And no one had yet peeled off all the layers to get to the man underneath. No one had seen what was behind his countless appearances.
And as far as he was convinced, no one ever would be able to tear through every single facade that stood as a barrier inside him. No one would find out what he hid from the rest of the world inside the deepest and most scarred part of his own apparently brilliant self.
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