Title: Pricklewire & Batgirl

He never meant to fall for Batgirl.

He was chasing someone else — a girl they all called Pricklewire. Beautiful in a way that hurt. Razor-edged smiles. Hair like static. She was untouchable, and she knew it.

But Pricklewire had a shadow, a sidekick of sorts: Batgirl. Pale skin, dark eyeliner, heavy boots and band shirts three sizes too big. She hung at the edge of the crowd, watching everything with the kind of calm only chaos brings.

And she watched him.

“Why do you keep looking at Pricklewire like that?” she asked one night outside a squat party.

“She’s…” he started. But Batgirl cut him off.

“Dangerous. Addicted. Sad. You want to save her.”

He said nothing.

“You’ll fail,” she added, lighting a clove cigarette.

And then: “But you might survive me.”

**

It started as a joke. A rebound. A distraction.

But Batgirl — real name Faye — was funny, dark, and sharp. She read obscure poetry, wore too much black lipstick, and kissed like she had nothing to lose.

“I’m the cleaner version,” she said. “Still broken. But at least I pretend better.”

She was clever. She didn’t ask for anything. She stayed just long enough to feel close, then pulled back before either of them got burned.

And for a while, that worked.

Until it didn’t.

**

“I want to be normal,” she whispered one night, curled up next to him, shaking from something she didn’t name. “I want to be with you. For real. But it’s like there’s this magnet in me, and it always pulls me back to people who offer powder instead of peace.”

He didn’t speak.

She went on: “You’re the one I should choose. But that choice… it feels impossible. Like stepping off a cliff and hoping love catches you before you hit the rocks.”

It wasn’t the first time she cheated.

It wasn’t even the second.

Each time, the story was the same: a guy with a baggy, a promise, a night she couldn’t resist.

She’d come back every time, crying. Saying she hated herself. That she wanted to be with Jona. That she could change.

But wanting wasn’t doing.

And could wasn’t would.

**

He gave her chances. More than she deserved. Because somewhere in her, he saw the future she refused to reach for. Clean. Sober. Alive.

But that future stayed locked behind a wall of cravings, and eventually he stopped knocking.

The last time he saw her, she was dancing in a club with someone new — a twitchy guy with scabs on his neck and a constant sniff. She spotted Jona. Froze. Then looked away.

And kept dancing.

**

He walked home alone, hands in pockets, the streets hissing with rain.

Love, he was learning, wasn’t a fairytale.

It was a test.

And some people just weren’t ready to pass it.

End of Chapter Four.