***Real quick, I had uploaded this chapter before but decided after working on more of the story that it ended on a note that didn't feel like the end of a chapter so I added more to it. If you read it before you might be wondering why it looks familiar. That's why. Bon Apetit.****

CHAPTER 2

She loved going out with Bridgette. Bridgette would get too drunk and that's when the adventures really began. She was a wild card, hitting on guys or rejecting unwelcome pursuers shamelessly. Bridgette was the friend who would get wasted and dance on top of the bar, befriend the DJ to locate the after party, or end up getting the both of them invited to do cocaine in the basement of the establishment with the employees. Sometimes it was a little much but it certainly made for some interesting memories.. or occasionally, lack of, spending the next morning trying to put pieces of the night together over coffee, breakfast quesadillas, and Advil.

They were in the bathroom, Bridgette shuffling around, changing in the big stall. Mila leaned against the sink counter, taking sips of her beer. She was drinking too slowly. It was beginning to go flat.

She was finishing up telling Bridgette about her little interaction with Jim.

"Yeah, and then his girlfriend comes out and catches him hitting on me and locks him out!"

"Wow... Serves his ass right."

Her phone buzzed. Another blank text. Fine, then. She attached the image of her comment and pressed send, sliding her phone back under her bra strap with satisfaction.

Barely ten seconds later, her phone vibrated again.

10:14pm #: clown huh, look whos talkin

10:14pm #: u not getn the pics? wtf wuts w the gay lil rat?

Rat?

"Hey, Bridge?" Mila said.

"Yeah? I'm still here." Bridgette replied.

"So I've been getting these weird blank texts all day."

"...uhuh? You're not the only one who's been getting… wait.. did you draw this on the wall in here? With the gerbil?"

"Thank you, its clearly a gerbil, right? I just sent them a photo of it and they think its a rat!" Mila chuckled.

"So you called them an ass clown. And rightly so. Any response?"

Bridgette emerged from the stall in a black tank top and tight jeans with holes. She was a very curvy girl.. thick in all the right places.

"Here, I'll just show you." Mila held out her phone to her.

Bridgette looked it over for a few moments.

"...mind if I respond on your behalf?" Bridgette had a mischievous glint in her eye but Mila shrugged it off. Not like it mattered what she wrote to the a stranger.

10:14pm M: Its a gerbil, you illiterate lard.

10:15pm #: those r sum big words, Lox. better boss dont catch u slackn off drawin sum shit wen we got work 2 do

It was obvious by now that this person had the wrong number.

"Oh.. some kind of important pictures, huh?" Bridgette beamed with curiosity.

"Play along." Mila smiled, finishing off the last of her beer.

10:16pm M: You're right. Chill out. And no I didn't get any of them. Send again. Try a smaller file size.

10:16pm #: Lox i aint no fone expert. y u gettn all fancy on me? I no i found the right place, i took pics but idk y they wont send

10:16pm M: Send again please. Change the size.

10:17pm #: how do i do it

10:17pm M: Figure it out, genius.

After that, no immediate responses came. Bridgette lined her eyes heavily with makeup.

"What kind of name is Lox?" She asked. "I kinda like it."

"Oh I've already encountered a few people with strange names tonight... I wonder what the pictures are."

"Dick pics." Bridgette said all-knowingly.

"Yeah, you wish."

It was half past midnight and the bar was full to its limits, a line at the entrance visible through the huge window at the front. The music was louder and in the middle of the floor, to the side of the bar, a tight crowd of people had gathered to move to it. Mila and Bridgette were at the bar.

"You ladies want another one?!" Jeff had become friendly very fast, especially when Bridgette introduced herself. She was able to get several rounds of shots on the house for them already and they weren't counting how many beers in their were either.

"Only if you take one with us, Jeffrey!" Bridgette smiled at him flirtatiously. She seemedto be quite fond of him.

"Alright, but don't tell the bossman!" He said, leaning in. He lined up three double shot glasses and filled them with Jameson.

With all of them raised in salute, Mila said, "To dick pics!" Bridgette threw her head back laughing before they downed them.

"Did you get a text back yet?" Bridgette asked.

"You into that sort of thing?" Jeff asked, unaware of what they were referring to.

"I don't know Jeffrey, why don't you send me some and find out?" Bridgette was getting pretty drunk, as Mila could tell by her body language, being very suggestive and forward, not to mention her half-lidded eyes, trying to appear more mysterious and sexy. Mila herself was at that point where she had to begin pacing herself. Too many shots in too little time.

"Hey, juggalette!" A hand with black painted nails appeared on her right shoulder. She turned toward the voice. It was that goth girl, Amethyst, from earlier. "Wanna come dance with me? Give the boys something to jerk it to?"

Mila was intoxicated enough for that to sound like an appealing idea so she stood up and followed her to the floor, while Bridgette was busy scribbling down what was most likely her phone number on a napkin for Jeff. She wasn't generally a fan of dancing in public but with enough to drink, now she found herself doing just that. Amethyst took Mila's hands and placed them on her girthy waist, beginning to gyrate to the beat of Deadmau5 rumbling all the way up to her throat. They were near a large speaker and Mila felt the air blowing from it up her skirt and she soon found herself dancing in sync with her dancefloor kidnapper. All around her were sweaty people and deafening bass. Someone was behind her now, pressing against her back. She turned her head to see that guy, Hawk. He had septum, lip and eyebrow piercings, gauged earlobes and long black hair that was buzzed at the sides and slicked back.

Funny, she hadn't found him to be attractive when she first saw him but now she was liking the way he felt, pressed up against her. Back in high school, she was sort of into that kind of guy but she had changed drastically since then. She was young and never really indulged in anything sexual, being somewhat prudish back then. But a pang of warm nostalgia filled her and she found herself having an urge to embrace him, to finally get her long lost fantasy out of her system. She felt his chest and arms wrap around her from behind and his hands at her hips. Amethyst barely seemed to notice their presence, her faced turned toward the ceiling, eyes closed, focusing on the music and dancing.

"You're a sexy bitch, you know that?" She felt his face next to her ear, puffs of his breath making her feel ticklish. His hands moved forward and slid down her inner thighs. She pushed him back with her butt to try to keep him from going further, but he took it differently and thrust his hips forward into her. Amethyst's hands then cupped her face and she went in for a kiss. They made out briefly before Mila pulled back. She felt Hawk at her ear again.

"No, keep going, juggalette." He squeezed her hips tightly. They were both pressing against her so hard that she could barely catch her breath. As if on queue, that last shot really hit her. It almost felt as if the air around her became heavy. She felt it in her lungs, her stomach, her head and it was an all too familiar feeling… she needed fresh air.

"Excuse me, I have to go find my frie-." For a split second, she had passed out, but regained consciousness still on her feet as both of them had her pinned in place.

"Please, I need to go!" She inched her way out from between them. His hand grasped at her wrist and she yanked it away, turning to glare at him intensely before turning back and making her way to the bar.

Bridgette was gone, and Jeff was nowhere to be found. There were so many people at the bar that she wouldn't get the attention of any other bartender to ask. She looked around, trying to see if she could spot Bridgette anywhere but to no avail. Where was she? The room was spinning, her face was numb. It was so loud all of a sudden. Too loud.

" 'ssscuse me guys!" She slipped past people and out the front door, away from the chaos and walked over to sit on the curb. Her head spun and her stomach felt empty. She looked at her phone, and it just looked like a white blur of light. She blinked hard and her vision cleared just enough to make out '4 New Messages from Unknown'.

That wasn't her priority at the moment so she instead called Bridgette, and after six tries, there was still no answer.

"Hey, you need a ride?" She looked up to see a taxi driver had pulled up. She looked around once more for her friend and decided she couldn't continue her evening even if she did find her. She was far too drunk.

"Uh… yeah." She barely pulled herself up to get into the car, telling him the address and resting her head back for a few moments before forcing herself to snap out of it. Don't pass out in the cab, Mila. She opened the text app to send Bridgette a message but it opened directly to the exchange between her and the stranger.

The pictures came through.

There was a photo of her livingroom.

Of her bedroom.

Of her kitchen with that ugly wallpaper.

And her refrigerator with text underneath. 'he said its behind here but we cant rip it up with the girl here.'

"Wha.. wha- th'fuhh?" Mila slurred, her head shaking from side to side in confusion. Her fingers tapped at the screen frantically:

01:13am M: WOH IS THIS?

Then, darkness.

There was a strange scraping sensation on her nose… it moved to her forehead and back to her nose again. Mila's body tingled, her arms and legs felt numb. Her eyes opened with some effort, eyelids unsticking from one another due to her makeup which had practically glued them shut. When she finally did manage to open them, it was bright and blurry and she could see a small shadow in her face, moving around.

It was Elvis, lapping at her nose and forehead with his sandpaper tongue, but she could barely understand the feeling as her face was still desensitized. Her cheek was against hard floor, her arms trapped beneath her chest and cutting off circulation. Her muscles wouldn't do the work so she flipped her body to release her arms from the trap, feeling coldness, then sharp, unpleasant tingling as feeling returned to them. She took a deep breath and blinked a few times to see that she had passed out on the kitchen floor, right in front of the front door, knocking over Elvis's foodbowl in the process. Pieces of cat food surrounded her head and were probably in her hair as well.

The next things she noticed were nausea and a throbbing headache that gradually made themselves apparent.

"God… what the fuck…." With one hand on her forehead, she pushed herself off the floor and sat up, leaning against the lower kitchen cabinet. She then noticed her backpack on the floor near the front door, next to one of her shoes. With her foot, she hooked it and pulled it over, looking inside for her phone. It wasn't there. Where was it? What had happened? Oh yeah, she was trying to find Bridgette.

But she had some sort of strange feeling like something bad had happened. What was it? Did something happen with that guy?

She stood up, shakily, and searched the kitchen for her phone. Then her livingroom. She really had to pee. She walked into the bathroom and threw open the door, getting to the toilet. Oh that felt good.

She sat there for a few moment after she was finished, leaned forward on the toilet, eyes closed and remembered.

Her dry, reddened eyes shot open immediately.

The photos. The photos! They were of her apartment from the inside! Someone had been in her apartment!

Panic set in and made her head throb infinity worse. She stood up, her eyes searching desperately in the bathroom for her phone. Not in here. She flung herself back into the livingroom, eyes darting all over the area. She checked her purse again, and her couch and finally went into the bedroom to find it casually in the middle of her untouched bed. She froze.

She found 8 missed calls and 3 text messages from Bridgette. She skipped past them to look for the exchange with the photos and….

They were gone. HOW WERE THEY GONE!? The entire conversation had been deleted! Did she delete them in her drunken state?

She sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at her phone in disbelief, her mind blank. How can they be gone? How can they possibly be..

Oh my god… someone had come and deleted them last night while she was out.

"Hello!? Is anyone in here?" Mila swallowed anxiously. "Hello?!" There was only one room she hadn't checked so far. She walked over through the living room, around her desk to a door at the left of it and placed her hand at the laundry room doorknob. Pausing briefly, she pulled open the door. It was a tiny room, the size of a small walk-in closet, so she could see without turning the light on that there was no one there. Shutting it, she walked over to sit on her couch and tried to think what all of this could mean.

Who would be in here taking photos of her apartment, and why…. and when? Obviously when she wasn't home. They had her number and obviously accidentally texted her these things. More than one person was involved. And on top of that, the person said something about a 'boss'? What was this all about? Were they stalking her? And who had erased the conversation?

...And… why was her phone in the bedroom? She had clearly passed out right as she walked through the front door. Her bedsheets were untouched from when she had made her bed the day before.. Yes… someone had definitely been here again…...

She looked at her phone. Bridgette. Hey hands trembled as she picked it up. It was either from her nerves or her hangover, but more than likely a combination of both. She opened her texts. They were all of her asking where Mila was. She swiped to call her friend. It rang once.

"Mila?"

"Hey, yeah."

"Mila, where the fuck did you go last night?" She sounded angry.

"I couldn't find you and I felt kinda sick… I'm sorry. Where did you go? You weren't answering."

"I was gone for like five minutes in the liquor room with that bartender. Literally only like five minutes! God I thought you'd been kidnapped or something!"

"I'm sorry. I tried calling and I just... went home… listen. Something weird is going on. You know those texts I was getting?"

"Yeah?"

"Well first of all, someone erased the entire-"

BZZZZZZZZZ!

The phone vibrated hard against her face, interrupting her. The screen went black. Her battery died. Fuck.

Oh, her head was killing her. As calmly as she could, she got to her feet and walked into her room to get the charger from next to her bed and walked back to the living room to plug it in next to her couch. She knew it would be a few minutes before the thing would turn on again so she set it down on the windowsill.

As if sensing a presence behind her, she spun around to find no one but Elvis, sniffing around by the front door. She hurried over and shooed him away, peaking into the peephole. Turning the knob slowly, she opened it to examine the hallway. Empty. For a split second she eyed Jim's door, considering asking him to come into her apartment because she didn't feel safe but… she also knew that sort of invitation would be a regretful one in the future. Furthermore, god forbid that he felt like she should owe him something. Then again, was the risk worth it? She stared for a few moments longer and decided against it. Shutting the door, locking all the locks and the chain as well, she walked back to check on her phone. Not ready yet.

Her headache pounded and she was nauseous and hungry. She hadn't even bothered to check what time it was. The microwave said 9:02am. Two advils and a few cold leftover slices of pizza later, she was on her way to recovering. She checked her phone again. Finally.

She should call the cops but.. What would she say? The texts were gone. They would be able to access phone records some other way, wouldn't they? Would they even bother? The cops in this city were notorious for their incompetence. She almost felt like she had imagined the whole thing but… then why would the whole conversation be gone? Did she erase it by accident? She wasn't sure what to do. The least she could do was try to talk to the police, though.

Sighing deeply, she dialed 9-1-1 and pressed Call.

As she held the phone to her ear, she tried to think of where she would begin her explanation. She'd never called cops before. Hi, someone's stalking me. Hi, I got some anonymous texts and they were of pictures of my house. Hi, a wrong number texted me and my friend and I pretended to be someone else to mess with them and now it's all deleted and… Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

BZZZZ!

What now? She took the phone away from her face. It was a text from an unknown number.

09:06am #: I would hang up if I were you.

She stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded.

"911, What's the standing emergency?" A female voice answered.

09:06am #: NOW

Her finger tapped red button to end the call. Whoever this was clearly had installed some sort of spyware on her phone. If they could get into her house before, they could do it now. She had a sinking feeling that she'd be better off at this moment if she obeyed. With a deep sigh, she tried to remain calm so that her fading headache didn't come back full throttle. It'll be fine. Keep your shit together.

09:07am M: Who is this? Why are you doing this?

09:08pm #: What kind of name is Mila Yovenko? Russian? How many 26 year old Mila Yovenkos with family in the northwest suburbs of Gotham are there? Probably don't have to sift through too many to find the winner.

Turned out that her sinking feeling was right. Her breathing hitched as she read it. Fuck. They must have.. Maybe looked at her facebook or something. Of course. It wasn't that hard to get information these days which…. should have unnerved her to the core but also maybe meant that these people could be just regular people using resources that anyone could use by just looking at a smartphone.

This did however mean that these people wanted something from her. The breaking and entering was enough evidence of that but alluding to threatening her family felt like the next level. She hoped to hell it wasn't money they wanted because she didn't have much of that.

She knew one thing, however - the person writing to her was not the same one from the day before. This person could use complete sentences. She swallowed nervously thinking of how to respond. Halfway through typing "what do you want from me?", she deleted it and went with something else.. Something she hoped would elicit a more telling response. She knew this person wasn't the one who sent the photos and it was a mistake on someone else's behalf. If she accused this person of the stupid mistake, she might gain a slight upper hand by poking at their stupidity.

09:09am M: Why did you send me photos of my apartment?

09:10am #: A better question is… do these look familiar to you?

09:10am #: (A photo of several pairs of Mila's panties appeared, but stained in various places with dark red. There was no mistaking them, they were hers.)

Mila swallowed a sudden urge to throw up. She stood up and walked slowly to her bedroom, into her closet and opened the underwear drawer. Digging around, she confirmed that the panties in the photo were, in fact, missing. She stood up straight, her hand covering her mouth and sighed, letting her eyes shut and her head shake side to side slightly.

This was… this was too much right now.

She walked back to her couch and hesitantly looked at her phone to find one more text message.

09:12am #: We found them in Rocko's back pocket but.. Something tells me you don't want them back with all of his blood and… other mysteeerious crusty stuff on them.

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Mila shut her eyes tight as her head twisted sideways trying to erase that image. Disgusting. Immediately images of some nasty, bloated, sweaty pig-man huffing loudly as he unloaded himself into her panties which here wrapped around his blotchy penis filled her poor brain.

She cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. Obviously this fucker meant to get a reaction out of her and he wasn't going to fucking get it. At least not through text.

09:10am M: So what is it you want?

09:11am #: Straight to the point, aren't we? I want you to refrain discussing anything regarding this to anyone, and I mean anyone, if you care for their well-being. Probably in your best interest to delete this conversation to prevent the temptation. I don't need any more interference. If you don't, I will have to make another stop by your apartment to delete it for you and I won't be so.. Unintrustive this time.

Oh, the nerve of this asshole! Interference? Unintrusive? Breaking into her house and messing with her phone when one of his own people goes into her underwear fucking drawer and fuck knows what else? She'd have to burn everything in there now! And who the fuck texted who in the first place! She was seething! Another part of her, however, was terrified. This fucking city was so chock-full of fucked up people. They could be anywhere between common criminals to one of the new gangs. How could she know? So at that..

09:11am M: And who are you?

09:12am #: Don't do anything stupid and you'll never have to find out.

It… it wasn't worth it. Goddamnit. Getting in deep just to satisfy her own curiosity and quench her thirst to get back at whoever these people were just because she felt violated. Nothing had happened to her physically thus far and she preferred it that way. An alarm was going off in her head that it was a mistake not to contact the cops but she remembered all the online articles she'd read about their failures and tendencies to get duped by criminals or even be hired by them. So much that some mysterious guy was driven to take the entire city's safety into his own hands and in a goddamned bat costume. She wondered where he was now. Someone with such an intense need to protect the people of Gotham couldn't have just up and left, could he? Not after all that had happened already. He was probably holed up somewhere. She imagined it to be a labyrinth of sewer tunnels leading to a small room with a reading lamp. In one corner, his batsuit, in the other, a small mattress with dirty sheets and worn socks tossed at the side. A few changes of t-shirts and tidy-whities. No way he wore bunched up boxers under that tight suit.

Mila suddenly became acutely aware that her mouth way turned up in a smile, imagining Batman's undies. She immediately frowned and furrowed her brows in self-disgust. How was she smiling after what was going on? What the hell is wrong with her? Is this some sort of defense mechanism bullshit? Has she lost her fucking mind? Rising to her feet, the urge to shower away the filth and mental fog poured over her. She felt gross… oily and still in yesterday's dress. Makeup smeared around her face and hair in clumps with cat food dangling in the strands. And speaking of which, she shot an angry glare at Elvis who was eating stray cat food pieces off of the floor near his bowl.

"You little shit! Random people coming in here and you did nothing!"

Elvis looked up at her with a bored look and walked off to lay down under her desk.

"Unbelievable." She muttered to herself as she stomped to the bathroom, making sure to lock the fucking door behind her.