Tonight, You're Gonna Break Your One Rule

Suddenly, before I can blink or catch my breath, we're up, he's holding my hands and our feet are a flurry of dancing, like in the old movies, hand on each others waist, other hand clasped so tight it was like we'd never let go.

Our shoes make a soft slap on the carpet above our laughter, and I cant stop laughing. The bright coloured sounds slipping from our lips as we dance an almost waltz thing, but sped up so our feet are blurs and our legs are tangled.

My head starts spinning, God I felt so good, someone else's lifeblood covering my hands, my knife still in my sleeve. I'd forgotten how amazing it felt when you held a gun and pulled the trigger.

Our symphony of laughter is so loud that even the Gods noticed us now, and their blessings seemed to shine down on Gothams number one and his clown girl.

We keep moving, quicker and quicker, more erratic, crazier, until suddenly my feet get tangled up with themselves, and I fall forwards. His arms are suddenly round me, heat radiating from his chest. His heart beats so fast it almost bruises his ribs, and I know mine is doing the same. I fell so my head was buried in the crook of his neck. My lips parted against his exposed neck, and I stay there, breathing in and out. I hear him take a deep breath in, the air slowly rattling through his teeth and reverberating down his throat, and I move back a little. Our lips are almost touching, our eyes locked.

"Mister J..."

He clenches his black eyes shut, and I can see skin beneath the uneven colour. He clenches them a little tighter, and his hands, placed on my lower back, shake just a little.

Somehow, just somehow, I know he's thinking of her, thinking of Harley.

And somehow, I know what's coming next, and yet I'm still disappointed as his lopsided strides take him into his secret room, and the door shuts behind him.

My feet take blind steps back until they hit the bottom of the bed, and I fall backwards onto it, lying staring at the ceiling for a minute before curling into a foetal position. My body aches for him, though at this moment I hated him for treating me like this. Everything between us was so up and down, but I suppose that’s how it was destined to be when you force two psychopathic maniacs to live together. I close my eyes and take myself back to last night; God was it less than 24 hours ago?

So much had happened since then, and now I feel so much more alive. Everything was swimming around my head, everything I'd ever done or ever hoped to do.

Lying on that bed puts everything in perspective for me.

Now, I'd take life by the horns, and wrench them off. I'd take Mister J's gloved hand in my own and we'd destroy this city, loving and laughing every minute of it.

I nod to myself, yes that's what I'd do.

A bang on the door rouses me from my stupor, and I jump so much I almost fall off the bed. I just close my eyes, thinking the Joker would storm from his room and answer the door, but when he doesn't, and the person knocks again, I heave myself from the bed.

I walk through the white room, and pull open the heavy door. I see a goon, without mask, with ten or so bags at his feet. He's looking down, yet when I open the door he lifts his head up, "Bo-"

He meets my eyes and stops, his face falling into a scowl that makes me want to cringe. I stand my ground and decide to try and be nice.

"Yeah?" I say, trying to smile, but I realise from his expression that it probably looks more like a grimace thanks to my scars.

"Got the things Boss wanted. Where is he?"

"Not here." I say, crossing my arms across my chest as my mind wonders whether to divulge the existence of the Jokers secret room. I decide against it and shift so I'm a little comfier, my stance a little stronger, and I wasn’t quite sure why.

"Well where is he?" The goon clenches his fists and his face contorts as he grits his teeth.

I lean a little closer to him, my knife jostling against my sleeve, "Not here. Give the bags to me?"

The man makes a small noise, of disagreement, or disapproval at least, regards me for a second, before leaning down and picking up a few bags in each hands. He makes to go past me as I take a few steps back, blocking the door.

"Move." He spits, and I shake my head, standing my ground.

"Leave them here. I'll take them in."

He looks at me and almost laughs, a laugh that almost makes me slit his throat right there, "I don’t think so."

"Excuse me?" I stay, stepping close and licking my lips. Suddenly, he looks right in my eyes and fear seems to dance through his own. He takes a step back, drops the bags, and finishes bringing them all into the white room. He looks up as he drops the last bag, regards me for a second, then goes to walk away.

"Hey," I say quickly as I reach out and grab his upper arm, "What's your name?"

"Jamie." He says after staring at me a little, "Yours?"

"Does it matter?" I say, humorously, shrugging my shoulders. He fixes me with an icy stare and I shrug again, "Pixie."

"Well, Pixie," He spits, voice venomous, "I got some news for you, girlie."

I let him go and raise my eyebrows; dare he speak to me like that?

"You think you're better than us, eh? Just because you have those fucking scars?"

I tilt my chin up in defiance, and somehow, he takes it as a yes. His hand flies out and pushes me square in the chest. I react quickly and use the momentum of him pushing me to pull us both back into the wall, my hand grabbing a fistful of his shirt]. My weight shifts to my back foot for a split second before I push us both against the other wall, my knife now at his throat.

"No, I'm not better, just less stupid, Jamie."

When I let him go he stares at me for a while longer, either intrigued or disgusted. Then, suddenly, he pushes past me and is gone from my view quicker than I can blink. I heave a sigh then quickly pick up as many bags as I can handle and take them into the bedroom. I place them at the foot of the bed and go to collect the others. I resist the temptation to look in them, respecting the Jokers privacy, as it was obviously what he valued.

I sit on the edge of the bed, and decide he's spent enough time in his secret room. I know that he'll be in a bad mood if I disturb him, but he'd be even worse if I didn’t tell him these bags were here, and curiosity was killing me.

I get up and knock on the door, quick and loud, but he doesn’t answer. I take a breath then lean closer to the door, pressing my ear to the wood. I hear banging and the occasional grunt from inside, and furrow my eyebrows. I wait a few seconds then knock again, a little louder and faster.

Suddenly, every noise inside the room stops, silence, and what seems like an eternity passes before he opens the door. His breath is tearing his lips in heavy lungfuls, quick and gasping, and I see tinges of blood red against his hairline. I almost gasp, before biting my lip, and I see traces of blood round his mouth too.

What was happening in there?

I frown a little more as he licks his lips, my own tongue mirroring his of course, and then his lips curl, "What, Precious?"

His speech is ragged, and for the first time ever I see him not in control.

"Bags are here, Mister J, a goon bought them,"

"Goon?" He says humorously, his anger gone and blood round his mouth now swimming down his throat, "Nice to know how you see them." He takes one glance back at his room, and sighs, before, slipping out and shutting the door.

He pushes past me and leans down, looking in one bag. I try to see what's in there, but fail, and as he stands back up again his face is set in stone. I know what's coming, but somehow I don’t have the common sense to walk away anymore.

"Get out," His right hand twitches again, but, crazily, I want him to hit me. I want to hit him back, feel the pain when he hit me, somehow it made me laugh.

"Why?" My mouth forms its own questions, and I know I'll regret it.

"I have to do something." His voice is still as venomous, yet somehow a little softer. He wont hit me or shout, and I quickly leave, my footsteps light. I shut the door behind me and dither in the white room, realising I have nowhere to go. I sink to the floor and bring my knees to my chest. I see my reflection in a piece of metal across the wall, and stare at it maliciously for a second. I slide my knife from my sleeve and into my hand, throwing it into the wall opposite me. I growl as I pull it out, stabbing it now into the floor next to my leg, and I watch it reverberate in the carpet with a mild interest.

It seems like forever before the door swings open again, and the Joker almost falls over me, his face alight with amusement. He holds his hand out and pulls me up, right against his body, and I breathe him in again before we pull apart.

"New you," He murmurs, turning away to the bed and I survey the scene, "New look."

Pile after pile of clothes lay on the bed, hangers full of them also hanging from the four-poster frame.

"Mister J?"

"New look." He says firmly, taking my hand and pulling me closer to look at the clothes, they were all black and red, though there was the odd splash of colour. Though they were the same colours the fabric somehow held my personality, rather than Harleys, and I was glad.

"Where will I put them?" I say, looking around, still holding his hand.

"In the dresser. I moved the... other clothes," I squeeze his hand and say nothing more, but move forward and look at the clothes.

They were all beautiful, quirky little one offs, laid out on the bed with beautiful precision.

"Now," The Joker says, and I watch him with a smile as he moves and picks out what I presume he wants me to try on. He picks a few items up and stares at them intently before folding them again and placing them in my open arms.

I fall happily into the bathroom and don’t bother moving the hamper in the doors way, simply locking it this time. I strip off, folding the other clothes and placing them into the hamper, and I hold up each of the items of clothing before slipping them on. I make a mental note to ask the Joker if he'd also got me any underwear, though I avoid how embarrassing it would be to look the goon who did the shopping in the eye again. I tug on the clothes with a smile and run my hands down them before slipping on the boots the Joker had also given me, miraculously in my size. I smile at what I can see of my reflection, and when I open the door, I'm greeted with another blood red Chelsea smile.

"You look beautiful Precious," He says, leading me to the chair, "Let me do your makeup."

I expect him to go to the bathroom, though instead he roots through the one bag left at the foot of the bed, a smaller one, and he pulls out three cosmetic boxes, similar to his. I smile as he stands up then kneels in front of me.

"You have your own makeup now Precious."

I nod and smile, closing my eyes as he does my makeup, first foundation, then eyeshadow, then lipstick. He nudges me a little when he's done, and holds out a small, clear, plastic box. I smile and rise, to the mirror in the bathroom. I carefully apply the false eyelashes, smiling at their individuality, and I find myself staring at my reflection.

After so long, I realise, I'd found myself again.

When I emerge from the bathroom the Joker is stood smiling again, and this time he holds a black leather coat out to me. It's extremely like his, only more fitted, the hem just brushing my calves. He holds it out for me and I slip my arms in as he lowers it onto my shoulders. It immediately shrouds me in warmth and comfort and smells just a little like the man stood next to me.

I turn to him and our grins are identical, and we share a small laugh that lingers in the air and pollutes it with our madness. He holds up a hand to signal me to wait, and moves back towards the bed, pulling something from underneath. After a second I realise what it is, and frown as he props the frameless, dirty mirror against the wall.

He shrugs his hunched shoulders even more, and murmurs through his barely moving crimson lips, "I don’t like mirrors."

I nod and oblige as he pulls me towards him and stands behind me, arms round my middle, head on my shoulder, as I stare, shocked, at my reflection.

I don’t know how long it is until I've taken in all of it, but my eyes travel slowly down my body, every detail perfect.

My hair laid wavy and a far more dirty red round my face. My complexion is considerably paler from the hint of white foundation, and the circles of black round my eyes are more defined and almost cat like, lifting at the outer corners. The false eyelashes were tipped in green, linking me in yet another way to the Joker, and a few small jewels clung to the ends, lighting up my eyes even when they weren’t full of fire. My lips are still as crazy, moving with the contours of my scars, making my smile brighter and more sickening. I smile even more.

My shirt is red, with black lace over the top, the lace made of spider webs and lightening flashes. The neckline is a deep one, exposing my pale skin, and I see my clavicle convulse with my breathing. The sleeves of my coat hid the capped sleeves of my shirt, and I smile at every detail. I run my fingers across the lace until I reach the top of my jeans, black, skinny but not too tight, with small red pinstripes running down them.

My jeans are tucked into boots, black ones with a hint of red fur peeking from the top, fake of course, and I wriggle my toes inside their warm. My black coat seems to make me hunch over a little, just like the man stood behind me, and he starts swaying us, our coats leaving lingering shadows where we'd been. I smile and dig my hands in my coat pockets, feeling fabric stuffed into them.

I pull out a pair of gloves, blood red and elbow length, and both the Chelsea smiles grin into the mirror as I pull them on.

"Finishing touch," the Joker murmurs, his lips placing a kiss on the tender skin just behind my ear. I shiver visibly and his arms tighten round me. I take a lingering glance at my reflection then turn in his arms.

"I love it," I murmur, licking my lips, and so does he, "I love me."

He laughs, letting his cackle slip from thick red lips and into our poisoned air. I do the same, my hunched shoulders shaking in my new coat.

He runs a gloved finger down my cheekbone before grasping my blood red hand in his own, "Lets introduce you to Gotham Precious."