Tonight, You're Gonna Break Your One Rule

I wake up early, still tired, my sleep plagued by nightmares. I can tell it's early despite the lack of natural light, yet when I look around the room is empty, no traces of the Joker but his crumpled sheets.

I close my eyes and sit up on the sofa. I sit there for a while, propping myself against the arm, just in silence, slowly resigning myself to the fact I'm stuck here, and the Joker wont exactly be the nicest host. My almost comfortable silence is pierced by raised voices, like it has been since I ended up here.

"I don’t care," I place the voice as the Jokers and listen a little more carefully, "You aren't going in there."

"I'm trying to look after my friend!" I hear Adam hiss, and I smile. But I know he'll stick up for me, and my stomach clenches at what the Joker might do if he doesn't back down, "She's been here four days and hasn't eaten!"

Right on cue my stomach growls and I grimace. Has it really been four days?

"I'll take it," The Joker growls, and a second later I hear the white door open. His figure darkens the door until he moves forward and dumps a plate on the table before me.

"From your friend," he mutters darkly before turning away quickly. I fall forward and start eating, suddenly starving. It's scrambled eggs on toast, Adams speciality, but I don’t taste it, just shoving it down my throat until the plate is empty and I feel a little sick.

I throw back my makeshift covers, realising I'm still in the same clothes from days before. I take a deep breath and pluck up the courage, "Can I have a shower, Joker?" I ask, and the clown turns in his seat at the desk. I stand, uncomfy with my hands in my pockets, "And maybe borrow some clothes?"

He stands up and our eyes lock, "We're going out anyway. Showers in the bathroom, you can figure it out. And there are clothes in the dresser on the right. They should," His eyes shut and his tongue flickers across his lips. He raises his hands and traces a woman's curves similar to mine in the air, as if he's recalling a memory of someone. His hands falter at the girls hips, and he stops and suddenly drops his hands, eyes flying open.

"They should fit."

"Whose were they? I say, my own voice faltering, taken aback by his actions, how he's affected by them, almost as if he's showing emotion.

"The girl who was here before..." He almost stutters, holding my gaze. Shivers push down my spine and I visibly jolt. Why did his gaze affect me like that?

"Where is she now?" Words are tumbled out my mouth, and I notice we've got a little closer, and his breathing is a little laboured. He closes his eyes again briefly and exhales. He opens them again and I think I see the glint of a tear in his eye. His dress shoes spin on the spot and he turns away, quickly unlocking the mystery door and slipping through it. As the lock clicks into place I hear him whisper one word.

"Harley..."

I shake my head, the past few seconds rushing through my head over and over. Harley? Who or what was Harley? What was that room? Why did Harley affect him so? I shake my head again, and move forward to the dresser. To Harley's dresser, I'm guessing. I suddenly feel like I'm invading, and I almost feel sick, wishing again that I was far away from here, but I take a deep breath and look through each drawer. Everything was either black or red, and most of the things were split in half vertically, half black, half red. I find a pair of very skinny jeans, half red, half black, and a pretty sleeved top that showed a bit of cleavage, again red and black. I find underwear as well, knowing I'm just going to have to get used to wearing these clothes.

I'd been through worse than wearing someone else's clothes.

I take all I'd need into the bathroom and place them on the toilet lid. I do a full circle, familiarising myself with the room again, before shutting and locking the door. I don’t feel safe, so I take a second, then drag the heavy wicker hamper in front of the door. I switch on the shower after staring it out for a while, then strip while I'm waiting for it to warm up.

I shower quickly, not feeling very safe, dry myself off, then gingerly pick up the clothes. I pull on the underwear, feeling very weird, but shake the feeling off and pick up the jeans.

They take a lot of pulling on, and are very skinny, but they look alright, albeit a bit weird. I also pull on the top and towel my hair a little more. I take a deep, shuddering breath before moving the hamper and unlocking the door.

The Joker's head snaps towards me, then the pen he's holding falls onto his paper and he almost chokes on his breath.

"You okay?" I say, as he tears his gaze from me and looks blindly at his paper.

"You look like someone.. I used to know," He murmurs to his paper, before blinking harshly, and getting up. He claps his hands together, and a raging breath is sucked through his ruby lips, "Let me do your makeup."

I stand there, foolishly, while he goes and gets his makeup, and sits me in the chair. I start struggling when I realise he'll do my makeup just like his. I may be stuck here, but I'm not about to become a Joker groupie like the sick teens with their posters and fake Joker cards.

"Shh sh sh sh." He grabs the side of my head, "Come here, Come. Here."

I stop and look at him, my eyes filled with hate. He flinches just a little before he reaches for his black makeup and neatly covers my eyelids with them, then the surrounding area, so my eye sockets are as black as the night sky. He takes the red then, and I purse my lips a little as he covers them in red, and extends the line just a little, so it's like his but nowhere near as messy nor extreme.

"Done. Let's go."

I put on my black indie pumps, the only shoes I'd got with me, and follow the Joker into the hall, where the goons are assembled, each pulling on a clown mask. I catch Adams eye as he pulls his on, and he gives me a reassuring smile.

As we climb the steps I realise the hideout is underground, and the Joker and I are the last to emerge in daylight, round the back of a deserted warehouse. We're out in daylight, and no one is stopping me.

Run! My brain yells, but the Jokers cold fingers wrap round my wrist and suddenly something even cooler is there, metallic. I look down and the Joker is clasping the other handcuff to his own wrist. He jangles the chain and smiles his sick smile.

"Wouldn't want you running away Precious."

I scowl at him, but he just smiles, tugging his arm so I stumble. He starts walking really fast, over to a black van, smothered in dirt and dust. A goon pulls it open, and everyone gets in the back except the driver, who now has no mask. The back would be pitch black if it wasn’t for the holes in the piece of wood shielding the cab from us.

The Joker talks low and fast, from next to me, to all of us, making eye contact with each person.

"We go in, no one moves, we talk a little, scare a little, Pete you go and break the safe, Joe, disable the alarms. We get the money. Get out of there. Simple," His tongue flickers his lips again and he laughs just a little, "Any questions?"

Silence.

Questions scream through my mind again but I don’t voice them, and when the van pulls to a stop everyone piles out, the Joker tugging nastily on my wrist. He walks through the large glass doors first, and raises his gun. I don’t know what kind of gun it is, but it jolts his arm back and fires loudly into the ceiling as the goons pile in behind us. I find my footing as the patrons scream and the Joker moves forward, slowly, menacingly, ruined only slightly by my scared form tripping behind him.

"Hell-oh, dear Gotham citizens, how are we today?" He laughs, throwing his head back, lips contorted, "Good? Good. Good to hear," He murmurs, like a child as his uneven steps take him weaving through the frozen crowds. Pete and Joe move off to do their jobs, and Gothams number one still stalks through terrified customers, and I stumble behind him, the people giving our handcuffed wrists and my pained expression more attention than his painted face.

I hear movement behind me, as the rest of the goons hold everyone at gunpoint. One moves forward and I place his mask as Adams. He presses a gun into my hand and whispers, right in my ear, "Do it, shoot him and we'll run."

I raise the gun with my other hand, then, as I blink, my eyelids burn with far forgotten memories.

Suddenly blood pours from everywhere, the floor slick with blood, and teens are screaming again, this time the gun is smoking in my hand and death decorates the floor. I gasp, and drop the gun. The clatter attracts the Jokers attention and he whirls, yanking my arm across my body. I hiss and Adam quickly picks up the gun.

Darkened eyes flicker over my frame, and his reddened lips barely move, "Keep it."

Adam presses the gun into my hand again and this time I hold it, willing myself not to drop it or freak out. I couldn't hold myself responsible to what I'd do when I was holding a gun.

The last time had nearly gotten me killed.

I realise, when I pay attention to the hunched figure now moving another, petrified patron huddled on the ground, that he's slowly giving them all grenades, set so if they move their hands, the pin is pulled from it's place, and kaboom, we're all up in smoke.

A few let out terrified whimpers, and the goons shush them. I cant help feeling my pulse block my throat, and I smile just a little at how much fear one clown can inflict on a whole city.

"You think you can get away with this, Joker?" One customer suddenly yells, "The Batman will get you, you freak!"

In an instant the Joker has spun, and the trigger is pulled on that gun of his. A goon suddenly moves forward, just in time, so that when the mans arms slump, his grenade isn’t set off.

"No he wont, he wont." He emphasises the 'tuh' on the end of the second wont, and the poison spilling from his lips makes me shiver again.

The Joker spins on the spot, making eye contact with everyone, pulling me around with him, as I stumble and limp helplessly, still in shock from the body leaking life and death onto the marble floor.

"Anyone else want to try anything? Hm? Then feel free," He waves his gun in the air, and every eye in the room follows it.

"Boss," A voice echoes through the lobby and the Joker immediately has his gun trained on it's owner. He slowly lowers the barrel as he realises it's Pete, now clutching three holdalls full of money, "Got it."

"Good," The Joker says, and moves to the person furthest away from the door, and I hurry to keep up with his lopsided strides. He leans down, and swiftly pulls the pin from the grenade that person is holding. He hurries to the next person, though it looks like he has all the time in the world. The goons gather at the door, ready to run.

Panic stricken, wide eyed, I stumble along in his wake of fear, what if we don’t make it?

Seeming though he can read my mind, he speeds up, and I have to jog to keep up with the clown prince's strides. People are frozen to their spots, staring at their live grenades, their eyes spilling fear down their cheeks like the Joker's ruined makeup. He reaches the last person and arms his grenade. We all take an almost run at the door, and throw ourselves into the van.

"Go!" The Joker barks at the driver, and no sooner have we moved ten feet, the first explosion inside the bank fills the air and my mind, and screams fill my ears. We drive away, weaving in and out of traffic and leaving a wake of death and fear in our path.

For some reason I couldn't shake the sick happiness in the pit of my stomach.