I Can't Help You Fix Yourself

It had been over a week since the Joker had become the latest resident in Arkham Asylum. Yet, we knew no more about him than we had after our first session.

I walked into the therapy room where the Joker was sitting. He still wore his straightjacket, and he looked no different than he did the first day be arrived.

"Hello," I said, somewhat cheerfully. I had not completely warmed up to him; he still was my least favorite patient.

"Good morning," he said unemotionally.

"How have you been?"

"Same as I was yesterday, and the day before," he said sarcastically.

"Well, maybe if you answered more of your questions you could get out of isolation faster."

"Why don't you like me?" he asked, cocking his head and licking his lips.

"You made a bad first impression," I said plainly. I took out my notepad and started doodling. "What was your childhood like?" I asked.

He shrugged as best he could in the straightjacket. "I don't know."

"Did you like school?"

"Not really," he said, "I wasn't popular."

"Hmm," I said, still doodling. "Did you have any friends?" I asked.

"Yes, one."

"Who?" I asked, ignoring the glare he gave me.

"A girl," he answered. He watched my reaction carefully.

I was surprised on the inside, but my face stayed cold and unemotional.

"What was her name?"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p.'
"Did you have a relationship with her?" I asked.

"Yes."

I looked at him, jealous that he could remember his high school sweetheart. I was unsure if I even had one. "What happened to her?"

He looked at me, and whispered, "She's dead."

I nodded, breathing out deeply. "My boss said you've had good behavior," I explained, "He said I could reward you in some way. Is there anything you'd want?"

He shrugged.

"Well, I can bring in some food so you don't have to eat that nasty cafeteria food," I suggested.

"That's fine," he said.

"Okay," I replied. "What kind of pizza do you like?"

"Vegetarian," he smiled, "with extra pineapples."

I smiled nervously, walking out the door. As I paged the guard, I looked at the clown. He had described my perfect pizza, without hesitation, perfectly.