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Zoey In Distress	By : tooshoes Category: G through L > Gotham Views: 4238 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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"Miss?" A hand gently pushes my shoulder.
I turn over and try to keep sleeping.
"Miss?" I hear again with another gentle shove, and finally I open my eyes to see a woman dressed in white like an angel.
A moment later, I remember that I've been in the hospital waiting room all morning, and I sit up and rub my eyes.
"Sorry, I was going to let you sleep, but my shift is almost up," the nurse says.
"My mom?" I ask hopefully.
"Not yet," she replies. "Actually, her surgeon says they want to keep her under for another day."
"What?" I ask, alarmed.
"It doesn't mean anything," she hurries to clarify. "The doctor tried to ease her to consciousness, but your mom began moving around too much, and he's afraid she might hurt herself if she wakes up too early."
"But she's ... going to be okay?" I ask, bracing for any bad news.
The nurse nods. "She's doing much better today."
I sigh in relief.
For the first time, she lets me sit with Marylin in the intensive care room.
When I arrived, I was expecting to see the beautiful face of my mother resting comfortably on the bed, like I've seen on so many TV shows and movies after an operation, but she looks even worse than she looked before the operation. Her face is half-covered in a mask. Her throat looks bruised. More tubes are attached to her than when I last saw her two nights ago. Machines surround her, making a variety of beeping, clicking and squishing sounds, and lights flash all around her like those on a Christmas tree.
The nurse assures me that this is all normal after such a complicated operation, but it freaks me out, anyway, to see her life seemingly supported by a thread.
The nurse suggests that I take a shower in a nearby impatient ward to settle my nerves. She doesn't have to tell me the other reason I might want to shower.
After a crazy day of being trapped in these latex leggings and warm jacket, I've worked up quite a sweat.
But almost as soon as I leave the ICU, I glimpse Bruce and Alfred at the receptionist's desk just down the hallway.
I duck behind a wall.
What are they doing here? They obviously don't care that much for me. Do they feel responsible or something?
Well, I'm not throwing a pity party.
When I see them turn a corner, I sneak up to the same receptionist and tell her that I'm no longer staying at Wayne Manor and give her the Kindling Club's phone number instead. I ask her to call there if anything changes with my mom, and then I hurry out of the hospital before Bruce and Alfred can see me.
I hadn't looked at a clock since the nurse woke me up, so I have no idea what time it is. But once I leave the hospital, I can see the sun is already low in the sky, telling me that I'm still on my usual sleep schedule. Those of us who work at strip clubs mostly sleep during the day and work at night.
I begin the long walk home, and by the time I arrive at the Kindling Club, orange is spreading through the clouds overhead, which looks beautiful even in Gotham, while it lasts.
I am surprised to find the main entrance to my home blocked off by yellow police tape, declaring a crime scene, as if there is any doubt left after seeing the large hole in the front of the building.
I tell myself that it would be best to obey the crime scene warnings and to enter my home from the back because I know the combination to the lock that keeps the rear door shut.
But I'm not very good at obeying that wise voice in my head, and I'm distracted by a cat sitting in the shadows near the hole, which looks as large and mysterious as a cave. The cat is, in turn, fixated on something else, and I can't tell what that is until it moves. At first, I think it's a mouse, but then it flies into the cave, and the cat chases after. It must be a bird or a bat.
I love cats, and I hate bats, so following them into the void is a difficult decision, but curiosity gets the better of me.
I can't see anything in the shadows. The cat and the bat have been absorbed by the darkness, and all I can see now is the destruction. The spot on the ground where Daddy's body had dropped dead just two nights ago is cruelly glowing such that I can even see the body outline drawn on the floor in his place, making it impossible for me to ignore how much I had lost here.
I collapse onto a pile of bricks, mere inches from where he breathed his last breath, and I start to cry. Tears come down in streams, and it feels like they will never stop.
I'm not interested in remembering what happened or in finding clues anymore; I just want to go upstairs to my bedroom, bury my face in a pillow and cry or sleep or read or do anything at all that reminds me of when I was just a normal 16-year-old stripper-wannabe daughter to a stripper mom in her Daddy's club.
I don't remember ever feeling so small in this building that I grew up in, and nothing feels normal. The hole in the front has flooded the interior with fresh air mixed with the scent of destruction. Someone had shut off the electricity, making my home feel abandoned.
I think I can fix that, at least. I know this building well, having followed Daddy around for years, and after flipping a few switches in the circuit breaker box, the whole building lights up, as though the building was in full swing. I go from room to room to shut down the multi-colored and neon lights. I don't want people outside to get the crazy idea that the bar has re-opened.
About halfway through the process, the phone rings at the bar, and I freeze. Who could be calling? The hospital shouldn't be calling until tomorrow, so I figure this could only mean bad news. I reluctantly lift the receiver and say, "Hello?"
I hear breathing on the other end, but no reply.
"Hello?" I try again.
The other end clicks off.
I feel a shiver run through me, but I try to shrug it off. The club receives its share of crank calls, and at least it wasn't the hospital calling, so I should be relieved, but that was creepy as hell.
I leave the rest of the bar's lights on, suddenly feeling scared of the dark, and then I head upstairs to my bedroom and click on the bedside lamp.
I hesitate because something in the air and the shadows feels very wrong.
Then I look at the window, and I see her shape, and I stumble back and fall onto my bed.
"Sucks about your parents," the female voice says, as the silhouette steps forward into the light, and I see Selina Kyle approaching me, her whip swinging from her hip.
"What...?" I hesitate, feeling both terrified and excited by her revelation. "What do you want?"
"You never gave me my clothes back," Selina says ominously.
I hurry to take off the jacket.
But she raises her hand, signaling for me to stop. "Let's talk a bit first."
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"Not for you," Selina says, shrugging. "I was planning on camping out here. That's just how I live my life; I set up camp in abandoned places. I figured you'd be staying with Bruce for a while, after what he told us yesterday, so I thought nobody would be here."
I shake my head. "What did he tell you?"
Selina looks away and says nothing for a moment, then finally, reluctantly, she says, "Sorry about what Barbara did to you."
I feel anger welling up now. "You're the one who demanded I get undressed."
"Those clothes are expensive, and I thought you would be wearing underwear," Selina countered. "Didn't think it would be a big deal. Now I know better."
"You slapped me," I countered. "Really hard."
"Well, you pissed me off," Selina spits back, then sighs. "Bruce said ... nevermind. I didn't think ... I mean, what the fuck happened, anyway?"
"Why are you asking me? You guys raped me," I reply quickly, barely even considering my words.
Selina thinks for a long moment, and I can't read her face, and then finally she says, "I guess we were a little out of line. Barbara was just having some fun, and sometimes she gets out of hand, but not to blame the victim or anything, but you can't tell me you weren't into it."
I want to deny everything and shrink away in shame, but somehow just feeling ashamed makes me excited, which doesn't speak well of me. I always thought there was a big difference between fantasies of rape and actual rape, but I'm not sure anymore, at least not for me. People who are raped aren't supposed to get turned on and have their minds explode like the fourth of July. They aren't supposed to feel the emotions I was feeling. So although I cried in shame and fear last night, and although I never consented, I don't regret what happened. So was it really rape?
"No, I was into it," I had to confess the politically incorrect answer, shameful as it is.
"Why?" Selina asks accusingly. "Is that something strippers do? Did you pull that same shit on Bruce?"
"I didn't mean to do any of that," I insist. Then I decide to tell her everything, not because I trust her or feel I owe her an answer but because I need to tell someone, and I think she might listen. "That was my first time stripping when I met Bruce, and I took ecstasy before going on stage to get into the mood and past the jitters. At least, I thought it was ecstasy, but it must have been something much stronger, and I can't shake it. It's still in me. It's like permanent."
Selina seems both curious and skeptical. "Who gave you that shit?"
"I don't know his real name, but we called him Frank in the club. He worked in that Indian Hill place last year, but he died next to Daddy during the explosion," I reply.
"Well, fuck," Selina says, suddenly sympathetic. "I didn't know the virus could work like that. But you sucked at fighting when we caught you, and you were amazing in the end. What's the deal with that?"
"I don't know," I reply, not wanting to tell her the truth.
But she knows I'm keeping something from her, and she says, "That's okay, I wouldn't give that up, either."
"It's not that; it's just embarrassing," I say, but embarrassment is now addictive to me, and I want to let her in. "It seems like everything makes me horny, now, and if I get excited enough, I feel very hot and time almost seems stops. So when Tabitha attacked me, everything was like in slow motion. I saw every punch before she threw it."
Selina nods. Amazingly, she believes me, and she sits beside me on the bed. "Do you always just share everything with everyone? Why were you at The Sirens club, anyway?"
"Bruce said that you were probably the guys who blew this place up, so I just wanted to see who would do that to me. But then Barbara told me it wasn't you, so I don't know who killed my daddy," I say, and tears begin to flow when I mention Daddy. "Sorry, I can't believe he is gone."
Selina stares at me, shaking her head. "Bruce was right; I thought you were messing with his head, but you really are just some kind of stupid innocent."
"What??" I say while wiping my eyes.
"Why would you believe anything Barbara told you?" Selina asks back. "Maybe she did do it. Maybe I did it."
I stare at her in disbelief which is turning to anger. "So ... you ..."
"No, I didn't do it. Maybe Barbara did it, I don't know," Selina explains coldly, purely logical, "but why would you believe anything either of us says? Bruce took you home and took care of you and told you that we are guilty, but you ran away from him. Now, one of the girls who you know for sure hurt you last night sneaks into your window and tells you she's innocent, and you believe her. That's just stupid."
Selina's eyes are piercing and serious, and I lose that staring contest.
"I guess I just wanted to believe," I say, "because if I believed that my Daddy's killer finger-fucked me to an orgasm, I'd want to kill myself."
Selina's stare softens as she says, "Well, okay, I get that. And if it makes you feel better, I promise we had nothing to do with your father's death. At least I didn't."
Her eyes strike me as very honest, and maybe I'm a sucker, but I say anyway, "I believe you."
But maybe she's lying about something else.
So I ask, "But then why are you here? I don't believe you just wanted a place to crash."
Selina is surprised, and she avoids my eyes for the first time. She refuses to answer. Instead, she asks, "Do you have any food here?"
"Downstairs," I say, letting her change the subject, and we both rise from the bed. "There are pizzas, fries and burgers in the fridge. We just have to cook them."
"Cool," Selina says. "Any salad stuff?"
"This is a strip club," I reply.
"Oh, yeah," Selina says with a laugh, and we exit the room and descend the stairs.
I'm surprised to find that the kitchen is mostly empty with the refrigerator door open and all of the food gone. Thieves must have ransacked the place after the detectives left.
"Figures," Selina says flatly. "Guess we'll have to go food hunting."
"Maybe not." I lead her into the dressing room, and I open one of the drawers under the sink.
Selina smiles brightly when she sees the row of granola bars, completely untouched. I grab a bottle of Kahlua and a carton of milk from the bar and make Sombreros; then we sit side by side, stuffing ourselves.
We are both small girls, so after just one drink, we are feeling buzzed.
"So what do you think of Bruce?" Selina asks between bites and a swig.
"He's really nice," I say while refilling our glasses. "I thought he was into me, but whenever I thought he might make a move, he'd pull away. I think he's stuck on someone else. Then he and that butler of his made me feel like trash, so ... I don't know what to think."
Selina smiles a bit too much when she says, "Yeah, I know what you mean."
After two crunchy maple granola bars, I'm stuffed. The nurse at the hospital kindly fed me when I visited the ICU, so wasn't that hungry to begin with.
Selina, however, is munching hers down like the Cookie Monster, so I don't think she's anywhere near done.
I take off the faux leather jacket and lift the black shirt underneath over my head before Selina asks me, "What are you doing?"
"You want these back, don't you?" I say as I kick off the boots and peel off the latex leggings. "I've been basting inside these all day, and I'm dying for a shower. Don't worry; I'll wash these before I give them back."
Selina laughs. At first, she seems surprised that I'd disrobe in front of her, but then she looks at my naked body in an all-too-familiar way. The excitement that rushes through my body is becoming familiar to me as well. I give her a brief, playful show of my dance repertoire before I disappear into the shower stall at the end of the dressing room.
I take a long shower. The white noise smudges my thoughts and memories, letting the sensations of the pulsating stream of water take over my consciousness, and it has a calming effect. But when I grab the bar of soap from its nook in the wall and slide it over my arms and legs, my skin comes alive. Then I rub a lather on my breasts. My belly. Between my legs. Everywhere. I lose track of how long I'm in there. Maybe five minutes. Maybe twenty.
Will I ever be able to just relax in the shower again?
I remember that Selina is out there, waiting for me. Does she know what I'm doing in here? Am I making a lot of noise? I can almost see the disdain in her eyes, and somehow that turns me on. I see her in my mind. I imagine her in here, with me. I imagine my hands are her hands, exploring my body. I imagine her bending me over her knee and spanking me again, and the thought is enough to make me gasp. I'm burning up, but I want it hotter, so I turn the cold water valve down. The burn of the hot water reminds me of Selina's hand snapping on my ass like a whip. I turn the cold water all the way down. I don't know what sounds are coming out of my mouth, because my whole body is on fire, like my clit has expanded to include every inch of my skin and is revving up to redline. My heart is pounding like a bass drum, and I stay in redline for an hour, a day, a year. I can't tell.
Except that the hot water turns cold as the small water heater is exhausted without warning. Time quickly accelerates. I hurriedly shut off the water and rush out of the stall.
Selina appears drunk from Sombreros when I burst out, and I see a look of alarm on her face when she sees me.
"What happened?" she asks. "You're burned!"
But when I grab a towel to dry off, and my engine slows down to the idling range, Selina says, "What the fuck!"
"What?" I say with a satisfied smile.
"Your whole body was bright red a few seconds ago, and now it looks almost normal," she says, amazed.
"Really?" I ask as I slip into a bathrobe. "I forgot. When time slows down, I kind of heal faster, I think."
"A lot faster!" Selina says. "That's fucking amazing!"
I laugh with a flirty smile. I don't mean anything by it; it's something I grew up doing, and after a few drinks and an orgasm or two, I don't have the awareness to censor myself.
But Selina doesn't know that, and when she frowns, I look away, worried about what she's thinking.
"I see why he likes you," she says, surprising me.
"What? Bruce? Why?" I ask, certain that she'll insult me as shallow and sexual, and I know I would deserve it.
Instead, she says with a deep sadness, "Because you are beautiful, and there is nothing fake about it."
I don't know what to say, or even if I should thank her, because she doesn't mean it as a compliment. She means it as a concession, and I finally understand what she's been hiding from me.
I hate myself for not seeing it sooner, because she is so wrong.
"You are beautiful, too," I say.
"Pah-lease!" she denies while rolling her eyes.
"No, really," I say as I approach her and touch her hair. "I really wish I had curly hair like yours. And your eyes are amazing, and your body looks just as good as mine. We are the same size, even."
"Pfft," she says dismissively. "I've just seen you naked, and it's no contest."
I smile wickedly. "Let me be the judge of that."
"No fucking way!"
"How about just taking off your jacket, then?" I ask. "It makes you look like a boy."
Selina shrugs and unsnaps her jacket. "Alright, but that's all you are getting. None of that babysteps shit."
She's about to just fling the jacket away, but I raise my hand to stop her. "Slow down and turn around."
"Why?"
"You're in my place, and I'm the expert here, so just do what I say," I reply, and I kneel down in front of her, as though she was on a stage. "Show me."
She groans like I just don't get it, but her smile and willingness tells me otherwise. She turns around and gives me a slightly exaggerated hip pivot halfway through, and then tosses the jacket to me. "Okay, I'm done," she declares.
"Just give me the shoes," I say, figuring that should be easy for her, and I start to hum a song I must have heard in the club a hundred times: "Lady in Red."
Selina laughs and tries to kick off her shoes in a sexy way, but it's the most awkward thing ever. "Ok, enough," she says.
"Your shirt," I say.
"No!" she refuses, but she's still dancing around, and I know she just needs some convincing.
Never seen you look so lovely as you do tonight, I sing out of tune. I've never see you shine so bright.
"Oh, god, you need singing lessons," she says.
I laugh, but am undeterred. Never seen so many ask you if you wanted to dance, looking for a little romance, given half a chance.
"This song is so fucking corny!" she says, as she undoes the top buttons on her black denim shirt until her bra peeks through the cleavage.
"Don't stop now!" I say. I forget the next few words in the song, so I just hum it.
Selina sighs and figures she might as well finish unbuttoning.
The lady in black is dancing with me, cheek to cheek, I sing, changing just one word. There's nobody here, just you and me.
Selina bites her lip and slips out of the shirt, never breaking eye contact.
"Turn around," I whisper, then continue humming.
Selina waves the shirt above her head like a flag, and she shows off her bare back, then drops the shirt at her feet.
"Now the pants," I say eagerly.
"Fuck no!" she spits out as she stumbles. Her last drink is finally hitting her.
I keep singing, Never seen you looking so gorgeous as you do tonight...
Selina is dancing around in circles with an almost angry look in her eyes, but I keep singing and humming, and she keeps dancing until finally, her hands hover over her pant's button.
Lady in black is dancing with me, cheek to cheek, I repeat loudly, feeling excited
The pants shimmy down, revealing a surprisingly hot, pink bikini bottom, and I make a little whoop like the men do at the club.
"Shut up!" Selina warns, but she's turning around, and she pushes her pants all the way down to the floor. "Okay, I can't believe you got me to do this."
"Now, the rest," I insist.
I see the horrified look on her face, replacing the steel trap she always kept over her emotions, and I think maybe I should stop, but I'm too excited now, and I think she is, too, somewhere behind that wall of fear.
So I switch songs and pace.
You're too sexy for your shirt, I sing and clap in rhythm. Too sexy for your shirt, so sexy it hurts.
Selina laughs and dances quicker, and I know it's only a matter of time.
You're too sexy for your car, too sexy for your car, too sexy by far.
Finally, she reaches behind her back, unclasps the bra.
"Not too fast," I say, then continue repeating the same "too sexy" refrains over and over.
Selina turns around once, then twice, holding her bra to her chest, then dropping the bra, replacing the cups with her hands, and I start to sing faster. Then she throws her hands in the air, revealing two perfect little A-cups, and I yell out and clap, the way every stripper loves to hear.
Selina doesn't need any prompting anymore. She's totally into it, dancing in rhythm to my horrid singing, and after two rotations, her thumbs move under her panty straps and inch them down tantalizingly, then suddenly to the floor, revealing a perfectly landscaped pussy with just a tiny, reddish puff above the prize. For all of Selina's disdain for her body, she had kept it ready for a show like this.
I stop singing, and Selina instinctively covers herself with her hands and asks, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I say. "I told you that you are beautiful."
"Don't bullshit me," she says.
"I'm not," I say, feeling a little hot. "You're so sexy; you're giving me bad thoughts."
Selina's eyes open wide, but then she says, "Doesn't everything give you bad thoughts these days?"
"Not this bad," I joke.
She laughs uncomfortably, but drops her hands, letting me look.
I stand up and drop my bathrobe, to her surprise, but she doesn't withdraw.
We are just two five-foot-one girls with light colored hair, admiring each other.
Selina surprises me by reaching out and touching my tits with her hands, sending a shiver through my body that she must feel. "I wish mine were this big," she says.
I touch her tits, too. "I wish mine were as perfect as yours," I counter, then I slide my hands up to her shoulders and then to her biceps. "And you are much stronger than I am."
Selina strokes my skin down to my hips, energizing everywhere she touches. She says, "I can't believe how smooth you are. And you smell good. And you are so fucking nice. No wonder he likes you."
Frustrated that she still doesn't know what she's doing to me, I grab her hand gently and move it between my legs. "This is how you make me feel."
Selina gasps, but she doesn't pull away.
So I lean in to kiss her. "And this, too."
Her hands hang in the air as our lips meet.
And just as I feel her fingers and arms wrapping around my back, the door to the dressing room swings open, and a dark shadow darkens the door frame.
Selina and I jump back and cover ourselves with our hands.
A tall man dressed in black steps into the room and puts a hat on his head as soon as he crosses the threshold. I sigh in relief when I see his face. "Uncle Jervis!" I say excitedly, forgetting my checkered history with this man.
Right behind him are two very fat, large men. The Terrible Tweeds. The talkative one says, "Look, Boss, we've caught the Cat and Peril together, and ooh la la!"
"Nonsense, Peril is not her name," Jervis says to my relief, but then he touches my cheek and adds, "This girl is Alice, the very same."
He smiles at Selina and me with those deep, entrancing eyes of his, and he touches Selina's cheek with his other hand.
He looks us over then raises his pocket watch, showing us the time, and adds, "I'm grateful to interrupt, a moment so sure to corrupt. I pray that I am not too late, to protect your precious fate. There's only one Alice in my tale, and everyone else should be male. Yet what a lovely sight you two make; another look at this I shall take. "
I'm not sure what he says next, though I'm sure it's important. All I can hear now is the ticking of his watch, and all I can see is an infinity behind his eyes, and I'm pulled into the black hole within.
And then I disappear.
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Zoey In Distress