Tonight, You're Gonna Break Your One Rule

Another week had passed, and the Joker and I had reverted to our usual state of silence. The television I'd only remembered was there a while ago played nothing but snow, but, as the days grew only and I grew alone again, the soft hiss of static was oddly comforting.

Over the last day or so, I'd grown interested in the white room, and spent hours in there, staring at each weapon and familiarising myself with it. After a day in there I'd picked up a black handled knife, its blade shining silver, and it had captivated me, the way the handle, wrapped in black tape, had moulded to my palm.

I carried it everywhere, my knife, and now, I was sat staring at the wall to the right of the bed, and holding the tip of my knife in my fingers. I fling it forwards and it hits the point in the wall I'd marked. It started off with holding it by the handle, and trying to get it to stick in the wall, but now, I could control the knife just by thinking, it seemed, and I whiled away the hours by practising.

I'd just risen to my feet and was tugging the knife from the wall when the Joker stepped through the door and greeted me, since I was awake, "Hello Precious."

"Mister J," I say back, feeling unusually courteous today, my voice a monotone I didn’t recognise anymore.

"Mister J?" He questions, his voice full of glee as I sit back down and change my grip on my knife to throw it again. He waits for my knife to bury itself in the wall, wobbling slightly, before he pulls it out the wall and hands it back to me.

"Your new name," I say in my monotone again, licking my lips, my scars far less sore now.

"Fine with me Precious," He says, looking me straight in the eye. I toy with my knife, tossing it from hand to hand, occasionally nicking the skin, and I don’t react, slightly dull to pain now.

"Hmm," The Joker says, taking out his own knife and passing it from hand to hand, "Look at me Precious," His voice is softer and far more melodic than mine. I feel the tip of his knife under my chin and I look up, right in his eyes, and he smiles a little wider than usual, before nodding to himself, "Yes, yes, definitely something..."

He murmurs to himself, then sits at his desk, starts writing, and hums a tune. I smile to myself, confused at his comments, but they didn’t bother me, nothing bothered me anymore.

I stand up and take my knife with me, pushing it up my sleeve. I take a glance at the figure sat before the desk, and take a deep breath before walking through the white room and out the other side. I hadn’t been outside for so long, but today I felt something different inside me, something brave and dangerous. I exhale softly and avoid Adam's door entirely.

He must've heard me screaming when the Joker had carved my smile, everyone must've heard, yet Adam did nothing to help. I make for the kitchen, going to make myself a nice meal, or at least something to eat. I'd eaten during that time, often cold plates the Joker had bought in, sometimes half eaten, but I'd eat them anyway, my body not bothering what I was eating. I open the door and start looking through the cupboards to find something. I pull out random ingredients and pile them all together, somehow making something half decent.

I dump the plate full of something onto the table and sit in front of it, silently and carefully eating it with my right hand, feeling the weight of the knife in my sleeve. I finish quickly, dropping my fork onto the plate with a clatter than seems to echo round the silent room.

I sit there for a while, my scars throbbing dully from the exertion, and stare at the table, making patterns from the old scratches. I hear the door open behind me, and my heart jumps in my throat, someone was going to see me, see my scars. I hang my head and my hair falls forward too, and I realise how long it's getting.

"Pixie!?"

Oh Jesus, Adam.

I exhale and decide on the silent treatment, pushing my chair back and standing. I pick my plate up and turn round, keeping my eyes on the empty plate.

"Pixie?" Adams eyebrows furrow as I barge past him. I look up to dump the plate in the sink and Adam gasps, "God, Pix, what's he done to you?"

I start running the hot water and clench my jaw, starting to wash my plate up, "Carved my face up like a fucking pumpkin, what dya think?"

"Pixie? What's going on?"

My hands slip and the plate smashes against the counter. I don’t jump but Adam does, and the porcelain cuts my fingers. The blood drips off my fingers into the water, staining them a glorious red.

"Pixie?" I hear Adam bleating behind me, "Pixie? Pixie? Pixie?"

I hardly recognised my own name now, but his incessant questioning drove me insane.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I scream so loud my throat hurts and the corners of my mouth throb.

He shuts up and I take a step forward as he takes one back. It reminds me of Mister J and me, the little dance of predator and prey. I exhale again and my knife slips from my sleeve into my right hand.

"You left me." I say, monotone voice back again, and I lick my lips, "You must've heard me scream, hm?" I take another step and lick my lips again. Adam jolts as his back hits the wall and I raise my knife a little so he can see it.

"You're fu-"

His voice is so quiet it's easy for me to interrupt in my disturbing monotone, "Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh. I'm. Not. Finished."

Adam gulps as I raise my knife to his throat and rest the point a centimetre from his clavicle.

"You heard me screaming, heard him laughing, and the days, weeks flew by, nothing. Nothing. And these scars started healing," I point my knife at my scars before slowly lowering it to his throat again, "And nothing. You left me. End of."

Adam sighs, the fear flashing through his eyes, and for some reason my heart jumps at the sheer horror, "Pixie... I tried, I tried, but the goons wouldn't let me. I tried."

"No, no... no, no, you, you gave up on me. A true friend would look after me, but no, no you didn’t. You don’t exist to me. You're nothing..."

I got to move away, but he grabs my forearms and pulls me back towards him, "Pix, I'm sorry!"

"Let. Go." I mutter, but he grips my arms tighter, and says my name again. His voice just rattles through me and I suddenly cant control my anger. My right arm flies up and my knife slashes him across the forearm.

He cries out and lets me go, finally, and bends double, "You're just like him Pixie, just like him!"

I don’t listen, and walk out the room without a second glance, absent mindedly cleaning the blade of my knife on my sleeve as I walk back to mine and Mister J's room.

"Cleaning your knife Precious?" Mister J says, just walking from his still mystery room as I shut the white door behind me.

"I slashed Adam." I say in my monotone, without realising, then, I stop, and slump against the wall, "Cut him. Called him nothing..." I breathe in, then out, and the Joker walks in front of me, "Your fault." I hiss.

He looks at me, and I stand up looking him right in the eye. The weight of my knife seems ten times as heavier in my right hand, "You made me like this. It's your fault."

I push him in the chest and point my knife straight at his exposed throat. He looks right at me, right in my eyes, and he smiles, wide and happy, his teeth yellowing.

"Me? Precious?" He laughs hysterically, "You made yourself like this." He grabs my right hand and twists it round, pushing me back against the wall, "You did this. And you'll thank yourself one day, its far more fun."

"You did this!" I screech, my anger back and there's nothing to direct it at but the clown prince, "You did! God, I hate you!"

I scream and the coffee table finds itself upended as I storm round the room, tearing things down and throwing them around. The modified painting falls to the floor, and the table splinters. The TV crashes to the floor and the already ripped sofa crumbles in my hands and beneath my feet. I keep screaming and yelling obscenities until the room is trashed, and my chest heaves. The Joker watches me with interest from his seat at the desk. He rests his chin on his fist and raises his eyebrows.

"You did this!" My knees seem to collapse beneath me and I draw them to my chest, "I hate you Mister J," I breathe heavy, my scars throbbing from the blood pounding through my system, "I hate you..."