Selena

She was fifteen. Old enough to suspect there was a horizon of adult knowledge out there just waiting to be discovered, and too young to do anything with that knowledge, even if it were to suddenly be dumped into her lap. Oh she had dreams all right of becoming a super model. She was pretty. She recognized that in her smooth brown skin, short black hair that was pressed into straightness, her glittering green eyes that held no trace of humor in them. Are you serious? those eyes seemed to ask. The answer as far as Selena was concerned was yes. She was always deadly serious.

She lived with her mother who worked as a server at the local Hash n’ Slash. Her father “ …was a bastard who don’t know how to treat women,” and her mother left it at that. Selena never met him and wasn’t told much more about him. Dave, on the other hand, her mother’s current live-in boyfriend, Selena was all too familiar with.

“Hey there, Sweet-cheeks,” Dave said with a grin one weekday morning. He stood a few feet from her bedroom door. A thin and bony man with salt and pepper colored Afro and beard. “Your ma says you better get a move-on. You’re goin’ to be late for school.”

Sweet-cheeks? What era was that from? Eighties lingo? Seventies?

“I don’t have sweet cheeks.” Selena replied. Her bedroom was small and cramped with hot pink walls. There were posters of female fashion models taped at random angles. She bent down to pick up her book bag from the clothes strewn floor.

“Oh, yes you do.” His gaze settled on her loose-fitting jean covered ass.

Selena stood up immediately “You better fuck off.”

“Dang girl, I meant the cheeks in your face. What were you thinkin’? You nasty. You know that? You’re a nasty thing.”

She was overcome with that fantasy again. The one where she wielded a knife that was too large and too sharp to exist in any form of reality. While placing one arm on his shoulder, Selena plunged that knife into his forehead and slowly dragged it through his entire body. One side of Dave fell to her left, and the other to her right. Perfectly halved.

One day I’m going to kill him, she thought with fear and wonder. Going to kill him for real and end up in Gotham County. Fuck my modeling career.

Dave hadn’t reached the doorway yet, so she ran to it, wanting to dart to safety with her mother in the foyer. But Dave was faster and he blocked her exit with his tall, lanky body. She could smell his stench, a mixture of sweat, old dirt and lust. He still smiled.

“You want me to yell for Mama?” Selena asked.

The grin faded from Dave’s face. Reluctantly, he peeled himself away from the door frame, reminding Selena of a giant slug who sensed the salt shaker was coming.

She brushed past him.

Suddenly, she was lifted in the air from behind, Dave’s left arm crushed her midriff while his right hand went under her shirt firmly attached to her left breast.

Selena screamed. This was part of their morning ritual. Dave immediately set her down. The hand that had been underneath her sweat shirt now gone.

“Come on, gal. I’m just playin’ with you.”

Selena pierced Dave with her steady green gaze pinning him to the wall. She was tall for her age and was able to meet Dave’s six-foot height. His grin fell again.

She slapped him as hard as she could.

“Oof!” he said and rubbed his cheek.

Without another glance, Selena bent down and picked up her book bag.

“Sheesh. I’m just playin’ with you.” He sounded petulant as he followed her down the hallway and into the foyer. Dave was either grinning or frowning with guilt. Those were his only two expressions. A perpetual child. But he accepted his punishment. That was the payment. One slap for one grope. Their ritual was performed most mornings and sometimes evenings too.

Her mother, Maria Kyle, was dressed in her blue and green waitress uniform. A once attractive, dark-skinned woman, now worn down from work, and routine, and financial struggles. There were worry lines carved into her forehead.

“What took you so long?”

“Dave! He won’t quit … messin’ with me.” Messing wasn’t the word Selena intended to use. But her mother’s eyes constantly warned her not to say too much. If Are you serious? was the message in Selena’s eyes. Then Don’t was in her mother’s.

“I was just playin’,” Dave muttered. He stared at his feet.

“Alright, that’s enough you two.” Maria shook her car keys. “We’re gonna be late.”

***

Dave had some vague job description at Gotham’s power plant and Maria dropped him off first. Afterwards Selena climbed into the front seat of the Hyundai and Maria drove towards Blüdhaven High.

“So, how is school?” her mother asked.

Selena turned her head towards the car door window refusing to answer.

Maria sighed and turned on the radio.

Selena felt a stab of hatred towards her mother. The object of her knife fantasy now focused on her. Slicing that stupid, weak expression off Maria’s face. Fuck you, Mom! Don’t you know you’re supposed to ask, No Selena, how is school really? How is your day? How is your life? Are you tired of your friends having better clothes than you do? Are you tired of driving past public housing and wondering when we’ll end up there? Are you tired of Dave’s daily tit and ass grabs? Tell me, Selena, because I really do care about you. I’m ready to end our old life and start a new one. First step is to drop Dave’s ass right out the door!

Her mother hummed along with a R&B song, lost in the music. Selena slunk further in her seat.

***

Escape, she realized, came in only two options. One was to study hard, do well in school, go to college, and return to Gotham a wealthy and successful businesswoman. She could then rescue her mother from all those sad-sack men. Perhaps even become the next Bruce Wayne in the process.

The only problem with that choice was she didn’t make good grades. School bored her terribly. It was always a struggle to keep herself focused. Her mind drifted to other topics, like Thomas the boy who sat next to her with the curvy forearms. Or what would it be like to kiss Miss Grace, her sexy English teacher full on the lips.

That only left her with option number two. Becoming a supermodel. You didn’t need an education for that. She was tall, had a good figure, and an attractive face. But were those features enough? Selena didn’t think so. She lacked the maturity, the sophistication that transformed ordinary prettiness into beautiful.

All the lip gloss and belly crunches in the world won’t get me that kind of beauty, Selena told herself. It was something earned through adulthood and life experiences. Selena accepted she was not a woman yet, despite her height.

Meanwhile, there was Dave to deal with. And even after her mother tossed Dave to the curb, there would be somebody else, and somebody else, and somebody else. Most of Maria’s boyfriends turned on Selena sooner or later. She remembered one in particular, Saul? Sampson? What was his name? Something biblical sounding, and filled with the devil. He had stepped into the middle of her morning shower fully clothed, wanting to make sure, he stated in a curt manner, that Selena developed into puberty correctly. She was thirteen at the time.

Her screams had brought her mother into their tiny bathroom, who immediately attacked Saul/Sampson with a broom handle. After the the broom stick broke, she used her fists. The fighting rolled out into the family room, cursing, and yelling. A door slam and then poof! He was gone. Saul/Sampson never entered their household again, nor was his name ever mentioned. Selena couldn’t help but be impressed. Maria had been magnificent that day. Why couldn’t her mother be strong like that more often?

“When are you breakin’ up with Dave?” she asked her mother during dinner. Selena sat at the table, dressed in her usual baggy jeans and sweat shirt, a plate of pork chops and green beans in front of her. Dave was napping on the family room couch. It never occurred to either of them to wake him for supper.

Maria’s hair was in a tight bun and she wore leggings with a sweater. Her back continued to face Selena as she washed dishes at the sink.

“What kind of question is that?”

“I just want to know, that’s all.”

“You seem eager for us to break-up.”

“Because he keeps grabbing my tits!”

“Selena!” Now her mother did turn around, with a look of alarm on her face, Selena was breaking the ’Don’t’ rule. Selena kept her gaze on Maria, unblinking.

“Was his hands inside or outside your bra?”

“I don’t know.” What did it matter?

“Has he …penetrated you?”

Penetrated me?

“No, he hasn’t fucked me.”

“Selena! Language!”

“You’re asking the questions. I’m being honest with you.”

Maria nodded and sat down at the table with Selena. Sighing, she took both of Selena’s hands in her sudsy ones.

“You know we talked about this before. I thought you understood. That’s just how some men are.”

“Okay, leave me alone.” Selena knew what was coming and she attempted to rise from the table, but her mother held her fast by her wrists.

“You’re an attractive girl. So naturally men are going to want to touch you. It’s the curse of being pretty, I guess. But the important thing Selena is that he’s not hurting you. As long as Dave isn’t … penetrating you, it don’t matter. You understand?”

Selena yanked her arms away from her mother. “So I don’t matter? He can do whatever the fuck he wants to me and it don’t matter?”

“Of course you matter, sweetheart. You’re the Angel I prayed for. You kept me going on days when I wanted to die. You matter very much to me and I love you. But you don’t understand how this world works.

“I need him, Selena. He keeps me sane. He helps me function. And believe it or not, you need him too. He pays the rent. Keeps the lights on. Do you think the two of us could make it on my nine dollar an hour wages?

Selena spoke up, “I could get a job, ma. I could —“

Maria laid a finger tip against Selena’s lips. Selena swallowed the grunt that reflexively came from her throat. She hated when her mother touched her mouth.

“Your job right now is to be fifteen years old. I don’t want you taking on extra burdens in your life. Learn to put up with Dave, sweetheart. That’s how to survive.” Maria removed her finger. “Think about the good things he does for us, and not those stupid, annoying, man things. For example, he doesn’t beat me or you. He doesn’t run around on me. That right there makes him a better man than your father.”

How can you say he doesn’t run around on you when he’s constantly grabbing my ass?

But Selena had heard this argument before, was familiar with its beats and logic. It lulled and soothed like a lullaby, and was toxic too. There was a wrongness here. But Selena was too young to understand the nature of that wrongness. It was okay. Dave’s slap and tickle games were just an annoyance to be dealt with, like stepping barefoot on the cold floor in the mornings. Or the sight of the occasional roach in the kitchen. It was okay.

“Y’all talkin’ about me?”

And there he was, leaning against their kitchen wall in a sweat stained t-shirt, his big ol’ sloppy, Davey grin on his face.

“This has nothing to do with you, Dave,” her mother replied and stood up. Dave’s eyes shot back and forth between the two of them.

“Nah, I think y’all talkin’ about me.” He approached Maria with a fake menace, feet stomping the floor. “Whatcha all sayin’ about ol’ Dave?”

“Nah, we ain’t. Shoo boy, don’t bother me” But Selena heard the laughter behind her mother’s voice. Her her lips were ready to crack into a smile.

Dave leapt at Maria from behind, then lifted her high in the air, not unlike how he had attacked Selena earlier that morning. Selena stood up and headed towards her bedroom even as Maria’s giggles chased after her, like little, blind mice. When she reached the door, Selena turned to take one last look at the couple and watched Dave embrace Maria. One of his arms was wrapped around her back while his other hand was in her underwear caressing her mother’s ass cheeks. He stared directly into Selena’s eyes. Dave was no longer smiling.

She slammed the door.

***

Gotham’s bus-stops were a contradiction to the rest of the city. Gotham itself was run down, beat-up and drippy. That was the word that came to Selena’s head. Somehow always wet with mud puddles and weeping gutters and dampness sunk deep into the sidewalk and concrete buildings. Just like damp areas, it attracted its own species of roaches. There were rumors of a killer clown on the loose, for example, vying to become the next John Wayne Gacy. Also some crazy dude dressed in a bat costume imagining himself to be a vampire.

The bus stops however were well maintained, rarely damp and often accompanied by rows of poppy flowers, that lent a cheeriness to the atmosphere. Selena appreciated that. It harmonized with her dreams of becoming a fashion model.

She sat there now in her sexy, white dress emphasizing the blackness of her skin, long, shapely legs and brilliant green eyes. She had borrowed one of her mother’s wigs, the blonde one with the long length and curls. Then ran to the floor length mirror to examine herself. Selena was shocked by her appearance, hardly recognizing the fifteen-year old that was her reflection. The wig might have been a trifle silly, but the girl underneath the yellow curls, looked much older, an adult perhaps, cold, confident and merciless. You didn’t want to fuck with that woman. Funny, because she didn’t feel like that person inside.

She also borrowed seventy-five dollars from her mother and another fifty from Dave. No matter, because when she returned from New York later that evening, she would replace the money minus the four dollar bus fare. And if she were discovered by a talent agent and whisked off to a modeling agency, then it wouldn’t matter if she returned the money at all.

Across the street from the bus stop was the iconic Iceberg Lounge. It too filled Selena’s dreams because only Gotham’s most elite visited there. Now the windows were dark and concealing. But at night, the Iceberg came alive with glitzy glamour, women in high-heels and diamonds and men in tuxedos. Selena wondered what secrets were contained behind the glass. She closed her eyes and briefly imagined herself dancing, in the middle of the Iceberg party, her tight, white dress, revealing her creamy brown shoulders, hypnotizing all who watched. She was admired and loved.

When she opened her eyes again, there was a large man staring at her point blank from across the street. He stood directly beneath the dead neon lights that spelled, Ice in Iceberg Lounge. He was black, wore a baseball cap and had several, gold chains looped around his neck.

She tried not to make further eye contact, but it was too late. He was already making his way across the street, tipping his hat at the interrupted oncoming traffic. Goddamn!

“Hey there, baby doll,” he said while still jogging towards her, panting like a mongrel dog. “What are you doing in these neck of the woods?”

Now that he was close up, Selena discovered he was rather homely looking. She didn’t like how his beard and mustache combination reached twin peaks underneath his nostrils, as if he breathed in and out his own facial hair. His lips smacked noisily as he chewed something, most likely gum. The fruitiness wafted over her. She guessed him to be in his mid-forties.

Selena scowled. The ‘baby doll’ reference reminded her too much of Dave. Without even realizing it, her hand went hunting for the pepper spray inside her purse.

“I’m sorry. I see you’re not in the mood to talk.” This didn’t stop him from plopping his big butt beside her on the bench. He pulled out a stick of gum as if to present a business card.

“Want a refresher?”

Selena refused to even shake her head. She let go of the pepper spray and continued to focus her attention on the Iceberg Lounge across the street.

He chuckled and put the gum away.

“You know I’ve always been curious what your story was. I see you here every Saturday morning, always with a suitcase and dressed to kill. Hell, me and Bruce Wayne thought you—“

“You know Bruce Wayne?” She had been determined not to talk to him, but the mention of Gotham’s most famous, playboy prince caught her by surprise.

“Yes ma’am. He’s a good friend of mine. We both serve on the city council together. We also hang out over there.” He jabbed a thumb at the Iceberg Lounge. “He said you looked like a now-here in desperate search for a nowhere. What do you suppose he meant by that?”

But Selena was still contemplating the fact that Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne had noticed her and talked about her. He also belonged to that glittery world that represented success and safety. A good looking white man, with thick, curly black hair and always posed straight faced for the cameras.

“What else did he say about me?”

“Now you’re making me jealous.” He leaned back, crossing his arms behind the back of his head. “Don’t you want to know what I told him? I said that beautiful girl over there must be a professional model. Is that what you are? A fashion model?”

Selena’s gaze went up and down the man as if trying to decide if this were a real person talking or an escaped Disney World animatronic.

“My name is Terry Yeager. What’s yours?”

This time she took his offered hand. “Selena Kyle.”

His palm was rough and calloused, but he handled her fingers gently. “Nice to meet you, Selena. So, I’ll ask again. What is a beautiful woman like you waiting on the bus?” C