Tonight, You're Gonna Break Your One Rule

My dreams were for once peaceful, even though they were filled with carved smiles and screaming, our pretty laughter providing the soundtrack. Even though this was the stuff of nightmares I knew I was smiling in my sleep, and morning came with mixed feelings. I wanted to carry on my sick dreaming, yet I couldn't wait to see Gothams reaction to their new crime duo.

The next day, after I've gone to get some breakfast for the Joker and I, and I'm making my way back to the bedroom, a bowl of cereal in each hand, dressed in my new clothes, my smile is still there, my mindless humming decorating the still air.

When I open the door I see the Joker sat on the edge of the bed, watching the old television I'd never managed to get working. I identify the laughter as ours, and realise it's our video.

I place the cereals down on the table as the video ends and the reporters voice swims into my mind, "Now to our psychologist, Dr Martin. Dr Martin, what is your opinion on this horrifying video?"

I carry on pottering about, still listening intently as a deep voice overtakes the reporters, "Well, it is obvious this new girl, new partner, is very reminiscent of the Joker's old partner, Harley Qu-"

In a second, the voice is cut off, and as I look up in surprise the television crashes to the floor, and the Joker's dress shoe smashes in the screen

"Mister J..." I hiss quickly, placing down whatever was in my hand and moving over to him. Before I can reach him, to try and sooth his anger, he's lashed out and hit me across the face. I fall back onto the floor and screech at him, "Mister J, stop!"

He roars and leans down, pulling me up by my black shirt collar, "No!" He yells, his yellow teeth snarling, lips curled in disgust, "You're not her!" I clutch at his hands, now closing round my throat. His eyes blaze and his face is contorted into one of disgusting anger, the animal in him pure now, "You're not her!"

"Jack!" I scream, my voice barely leaving my lips as blue splotches patterned my sight from loss of oxygen. He roars again, and throws me away. My body falls from beneath me and my head raps on the bed frame. I fall into unconsciousness, blackened on the floor.

The animal in my own psyche is pushed to the surface as I come round later. I don’t know how long it's been since I lay there, the lump on my head throbbing horribly, but it seemed like a while.

My anger had not subsided over that time, only grown, it seemed. Ignoring my battered body and tattered mind I spring to my feet, running my hands through my hair as I do. I pace three steps towards the desk, then three towards the sofa, ragged lungfuls of wasted oxygen spat into the air by my curled lips.

I pace my jagged route a few more times, before spinning on my heel, in a simple black pump, and rush to the mystery door. My fists fall on it, nails curved to gouge crescents in my palms. I scream his name, crashing flesh against the door, anger mounting so much I couldn't see properly, wanting answers from my clown.

"Mister J!" I scream a few more times, before shuddering another huge breathe and clenching my eyes shut, "Jack!"

When I open my eyes again his face appears in my sight, sticking out from his mystery door. His eyes are blazing again, and for once his painted smile is scowling. His gloved hand reaches out and pushes me away. I stumble back a step, or maybe two, but my stance is strong, and as he pushes me back I spin on my heel.

"You can't keep doing this Mister J!" I pull on his arm and he spins, his fist meeting my cheekbone as he does. I'd built up to the pain; my slowly deteriorating sanity swapped for strength, so I just flinch back and steady my stance.

"I mean it Mister J, you can't keep pushing me about!"

"Shut up, Precious! Shut up!" He roars back, and as he grabs at my shirt collar again my own fist flies forward and strikes him across the face. He pushes me away and laughs. I go to punch him again but he catches my fist, throwing it to one side and following my falling form, his own pushing us against the wall. We trade punches, and I start laughing along with him as the ferocity of our punches slowly increasing. We're yelling wordless yells, punctuating our laughter with flesh on flesh and thuds into concrete and bricks. We're against the bed frame, then tripping over the broken television, against the wall. I grab hold of the green hair I often ran my fingers through and slammed his forehead straight into his mystery door, and as his skull ricochets off the wood he laughs harder, but beneath his veneer his mouth is set in a tight line and the fire is slowly dying in his eyes.

He backs me against the desk, and my spine arcs backwards so my head is against his goddamn notes. I scream up at him as his fingers tighten round my neck. I feel beside my head with a shaky hand and my cool fingers close round a glass. I bring it up and smash it on the side of his head, feeling more than hearing a roar leave his lips.

The fight steps up a notch as the knife slips into his hand. He hits me as normal, but the blade scrapes my white skin, and the blood seeps down past my temple and to the corner of my lips. Instead of my hand flying to the cut my own knife falls into my hand and I slice at him, across the forearm as he reaches for me. He jerks back and laughs, and the blood loss makes me a little woozy.

We're both yelling now, incoherent as our knives slice once intimate flesh and we laugh in rapture. We crash into the wall, knives at our respective throats, hollow eyes and burning, blood tinged lips.

I feel another piece of hard metal in the waistband of my shirt, and with my knife hand I push him away, hilt of my precious blade into his Adam's apple. In a second my gun is pointed square at his chest.

One quick, lopsided step bring him within arms reach, and instead of pulling the trigger my body freezes, and he easily knocks the gun from my hand. It clatters against the wall or floor, and my now empty, angry hand goes to push him away.

He grabs my wrist and pulls us away from the wall, turning as we stumble, until I'm backed against the post of the bed frame, my hand pinned above my head.

Our chests press against each other's so hard I can feel his ribs, and no doubt he can feel mine. Our eyes are locked and I'm pretty sure I can see the fire return to them even as I stare into their abyss.

I blink, then suddenly, our lips are locked again, in that fiery madness I'd missed. And God I'd missed him, his skin. I claw at his shirt and the buttons pop, flying everywhere. We shed our clothes quicker than the blink of an eye, no doubt ripping and tearing. My legs are round his waist and he releases my wrist from the bedpost. Both my hands tangle in his hair as his lay digging crescents in my thighs.

My head lolls mindlessly against the bedpost, my mind purely on those gorgeous feelings pulsing through every cell.

Sheet ice covers my body, and I'm aware of our makeup sliding across the icy sweat I'd missed more than I'd realised. I start laughing, the joyful, eerie, pretty tinkle slipping into the air along with our breathless lungs.

I close my eyes and every sense is flooded with my clown, smelling his petrol scent, seeing my face on his eyelids, hearing his moans, tasting his bitter lipstick, and feeling his beautiful skin on mine.

When we're done, breathless from our climax, blood wallowing in the crescents I'd dug in his back, he pulls away. I mew a little in pain as my legs fall from his hips and I stand there, naked and confused as the Joker gathers his clothes, shrugging on his bare essentials before taking his purple and green clothes with him into his mystery room.

I shrink to the floor and bring my knees to my chest, resting my head on my knees for a second, before I take a deep breath and rise.

I shrug on my clothes, quickly and calmly. I close my eyes again for a second, wondering why the Joker was being so confusing. One minute those beautiful, caring feelings crashed through us and soothed every cell, and I felt so perfect curled in his arms, but the next we were throwing punches, cursing and hating that skin we'd loved seemingly minutes before.

I was getting antsy. I needed to take my anger out on more than inanimate objects. I grab my knife and slide it into my sleeve, then retrieve my gun from under the table where it had been thrown. I place it back in the waistband of my red skinnies and adjust my black button shirt over it.

I stalk out the room and down the maze of corridors to the room where we'd kept Frank yesterday. His blood was still pooled below the old wooden chair, and as I spin the chair round that liquid spatters over my black shoes. I turn the chair so it's back is facing the wall, and sit on it backwards, legs either side of the back. My knife seems to leap into my hand, and I watch the door, ready for anyone trying to get in, as my hand carved angry scribbles with my knife.

After maybe an hour of laboured breath raging my lungs and nicked skin covering my hands, the door slides from its lock and I'm greeted with a clown mask. I identify the mask as Jamie's and I find my spare hand fingering the barrel of my gun.

"What're you doing here girlie?" He spits, and I stand, moving the chair aside with a delightful clatter.

"None of your business right?" I spit back, my lips smeared red as my blood throbs through my veins.

"Did Boss push you away?" He mocks, and even through his mask I can tell he's smirking, "Have a little tiff?"

I point my knife right at his throat and take a few quick steps towards him. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest, "Don’t push me." I hiss through my teeth and he just tilts his head back, watching me lazily.

He unfolds his arms and opens them out to me, leaning forward a little after a second, "Whatcha gonna do girlie?"

My gun is moulded to the curve of my twitching fingers as it almost flies from its holder and I point it square at him. His mask seems to portray his fear for a split second before I pull the trigger. He's pushed back against the doorframe from the force, and the knock back pushes my own arm back. I fight the pulse against my muscles and pull the trigger again. I take a few dragged steps over his body and pull the trigger a few more times, the bullets making blood pound through my system so hard I can hear nothing else, chewing away at the remnants of flesh and bone.

Soon, when my lips are curled in pure fury, and my muscles ache from exertion, another sound floods my ears. Running footsteps, hard and fast, until a figure appears a few feet away. I look up and it's Adam, the remains of my old friend long gone.

It takes him a second to take in the scene, then anger scars his eyes, and this time it's all at me. I'm stood over Jamie, blood soaking my shoes like so long ago, the gun smoking in my hand, my lips curled and snarling.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" He yells, fisting clenched in anger. Both hands twitch round the weapon in each, and I keep my snarl concrete.

"Hey? He was the one person I was starting to get along with around here!"

I move away from the body on the floor and go to get right in Adam's face, "Do I look like I care, Adam!?" I gesture at my own heaving chest with my still warm gun, "Do I look like I fucking care?!"

I move back, and go to walk past him, but he was stupid enough to carry on talking, "You're a freak you know, a fucking danger to us all!"

I don’t even bother to turn back round and simply growl a little under my breath, barely looking at him as I pause a second and fire a bullet right at his foot. It tears through his industrial boots and he screams out in agony.

The sound is music to my ears as I stalk away and find my sanctuary in the white room, sunk to the floor with my weapons around me. I lean back against the wall, closing my eyes, though the harsh white light still pierced my eyelids.

I stay there forever, until hours have passed, and I know it's the middle of the night. I hope the Joker is asleep and I wont have to deal with him until the morning at least, but when I gingerly open the door the bed is empty. I sigh and shrug on the faded shirt he'd given me, and climb into the bed, firmly shutting my eyes.

I was torn, I wanted him to appear to sooth me and calm my angered soul, but at the same time I knew I couldn't handle him right now.

He never appeared, and I didn’t sleep a wink.