Tonight, You're Gonna Break Your One Rule

Blackness envelops me, cold and calm, ice soothing every inch of my skin until I feel like I never want to wake up.

Slowly, like all the time in the world was mine, my mind starts working, piecing together pretty images of white, black and red, until steadily, they form my worst nightmare all over again, pale face, black eyes and red lips.

I open my eyes and coolness slips away, replaced with a growing heat inching its way across my body, a nervous sheen of sweat covered me. The first thing that strikes me is my head, banging and pulsing painfully. I look around and take in my views.

I'm laid, haphazardly, on a king size bed, a four poster one, surrounded by thick purple curtains, a plush duvet covered in deep purple sheets underneath me.

The curtains are pulled back, so I can see the rest of the room, a quite big one, with the bed against one wall, aligned to the centre. A door was to my left, dark wood matching the skirting and furniture. I look around and there's a desk, an old one, dark wooded, with a roll top like an old breadbin, a dresser in similar style either side.

My eyes travel warily, disguising the pain across my head, until I reach another door, then a picture, in an elaborate frame, of a battlefield, the angels and devils fighting over the lost souls. Chills run down my spine at the image.

Another door is on the paintings side, then a sofa pressed against the wall, a large three seater again in purple, with a table in front and a small television to the side. One window is to my right, and yet black paint covered every millimetre, blocking out any light and outside life. The only source of light was the overhead lamp, only half lit, illuminated the dark, wood panelled room with an eerie, yet somehow comforting, yellow glow.

I sit up and blink slowly, letting my body readjust to everything, and swing my legs to the floor, immediately realising how soft and comfy the bed was when I stood up. My head swims and my hand falls on the bedside table next to me to steady myself. I jerk my hand away when I see, sitting so perfectly still and innocently, a knife on the table. I look a little closer and see the remnants of blood, dried and brown nearest the handle. I jerk my hand away and step back. The door in front of my is closed, and I twist the handle a little and it swings open. I don’t know what to expect, my brain not quite working yet, panic not quite digging it's claws in yet.

I see a bathroom, white and pristine. The bath is right in front of me, the toilet to the right and the sink to the left, a wide-open medicine cabinet hanging above it. I move, on shaky legs, in front of the sink, seeing the items inside the cabinet lined with military precision. There's aftershave and all sorts of mens toiletries on the second shelf, all with the labels ripped off. The second row down sits only three items. I pick up the flat circular container and the lid falls off, not quite on properly. Inside lies white costume foundation, fingerprints scarring it's once neat surface. I put it back quickly and pick up a slightly smaller pot, but slightly taller. I unscrew the lid and see black costume makeup, fingerprints too scarring that, the pot nearly empty. I know what the next pot will be, and yet I pick it up, the small cylindrical container is cut in half as I lift the lid off and see the blood red inside. I twist the top and the stick is out of shape, bent and so badly used. I place it back as quickly as the others and close the cabinet.

The mirror is covered in dust and dirt and I lift a hand to wipe it away, and regret it as soon as I do. My own face is covered in the three items I'd just picked up. I yelp and run the tap, using the icy cold water to scrub off the makeup, my tears mixing with the water yet again. I stumble back when I've done, traces of the makeup still on my face and close the bathroom door behind me, back in the bedroom.

I move to the desk, a little quicker now, a little scared. A playing card is resting between the slats of the cover and I pick it up with shaking hands.

'Hello Precious. I hope you like your new look, and your new home. Treat it well, you'll never leave this place. Joker.'

I rip up the card and throw it down, watching the pieces flutter and come to rest on the dirty carpet. I make to the door on the left and go to open it, needing to get out of this place. I tug at the door over and over but it doesn't budge and I leave it with one last shove, before moving sideways to the painting. I look at every detail of the painting, and towards the bottom I see one of the souls is being dragged down by the devilish creature. I look a little closer and see the creatures face. It's face is contorted, with black eyes and red extended lips. I look in the corner and see the tiniest note, in the messy handwriting matching the note I'd been left.

'Gloriously modified by the Joker.'

I back away again and panic grips my very soul again. I needed to get out. I grasp the handle on the last door and go to rip it open, thinking this one too would be locked, but it falls open and I almost fall with it. The room is blindingly bright, white walls. As my eyes focus I see the walls are littered, albeit with again, military precision, with row upon row of guns and knives. I scream and slam the door shut, not noticing the white metal door opposite me.

I stumble back, my mind flashing all sorts of horrific images at me, the last the most terrifying. A room full of people, teens, all staring at me, all screaming, and the blood slowly pooling round my feet and ruining my new shoes. I fall back against the foot of the bed and bring my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms round them and resting my head on my knees.

I start crying all over again, feeling the blood ruining my shoes and spilling down my new dress, hearing the screams of teens burst my eardrums, looking down and seeing death itself, tasting the blood and the smoke in the air, smelling the fear.

I don’t know how long I cry for just sat there, but a while later I hear movement from one of the doors and hug myself tighter. A moment later the door to the white room is opened, and a pair of shiny dress shoes step into my vision. I look up slowly and see purple dress pants, a grass green waistcoat, a patterned shirt and loosened purple tie beneath it. A long purple overcoat and a pair of leather gloves are over one arm, and he smiles down at me.

"Hello Precious."

I ignore him and carry on crying, hanging my head again. He goes and throws his coat and gloves over the chair sat at the desk. He squats down in front of me, and smoothes my hair. I look up and almost see sympathy marking his scarred features.

He almost looks human.

I go to back away but my back is pressed against the foot of the bed. He goes to move a little closer, so close I can feel his breath, and my arms reach out of their own accord, strength from I don’t know where, and push him square in the chest. As he falls back, taken by surprise, I stand up and press myself against the headboard, wishing I would just disappear. He gets back up, all traces of humanity gone, and he gets right in my face.

"Never, ever, push me, Precious."

His voice is low and gravely, like it was the first time he had entered my world, and I push him away again. He only stumbles a little but I make to run. He catches me around the waist and crashes us both into the wall, the modified picture centimetres above my head.

"Get off me!" I screech, trying to push him away again, but he's strong once again and holds me there, watching my sanity slowly fall away, "You killed my boss and kidnapped me! I have every fucking right to push you, Joker!"

He chuckles at my outbreak, and I feel hot tears down my cheeks again. He laughs and lifts a bare finger to roughly wipe the salty tears away. His touch stings.

"Well, Precious," He takes my hand and presses it against his chest, stopping me pushing him, "I'm your boss now."