Will the Real Batman Please Stand Up?

The color I seen was red. Maroon, actually, if I wanted to get technical. Technicalities meant little in this life, especially in my position. As I opened my eyes they felt strange, almost sticky, as if they were infected and glued together with unseen mucus. They were abnormally heavy, although the rest of my body didn’t feel any signs of fatigue.

There was pain, though; throbbing hot pain, making my skin feel like it was cracking and burning, becoming ash and flaking away from me. I looked to the ground, expecting pieces of skin to litter the wood flooring I currently sprawled over but found none. It hurt to breath, my throat feeling constricted and chalky, as if I had spent my entire night screaming at the top of my lungs. I tried to swallow any saliva in my mouth, but found I couldn’t, the lump in my throat simply suspended and bobbing tiredly, throbbing with a dull roar of pain the entire time. My right cheekbone was aching, and any facial expression was restricted immensely because of it. My bottom lip felt swollen, as if I had bitten it too hard, and touching it gingerly it did feel tender. All sound in my right ear was muted, a persistent ring presenting itself, as if in the next room someone’s old alarm clock was ringing, and for whatever reason they refused from turning it off.

I exhaled, sounding like a deep sigh mixed with a pained groan (which in all fairness it was) and rose myself to my knees. My skin was pricked with the chill of early morn, an out of season shine spilling across the wall and flooring to my right, explaining the red painted across my eyelids when I first woke up. The legs I then stood on felt weak, like wet noodles as I willed them to move me across my room.

I laughed once without an ounce of humor and pulled open my door, simply standing there as I surveyed what had become the outside world. Across from me was a bathroom, which I took the liberty of using.

The mirror was broken, a large web engulfing the glass as I attempted to look in it. My eyes were red from broken blood vessels, looking like they were either infected or I was under the influence of illegal intoxications. I couldn’t help but smirk, wincing as my cheek began to throb. The color of it was a deep blue, looking almost gray, and stuck out greatly from my tanned skin. There wasn’t enough cover up in the world to mask it, either, so I decided with a heavy heart to let it be. I hated letting wounds go uncovered; no matter how hard you try to make the impression you were unfazed by events unfolded, the colored skin would act as a picture book, countering every word and remark said in defense. My fingers brushed around my throat, enclosing it as I stared at the purple skin outside the width of my slender fingers, shadowing his.

Again I sighed, walking back to the bedroom I claimed to be my own, and pulled open one of the four drawers. I looked down, not missing sight of my chest as I did, and gaped at how it seemed to pour out of this corset top. I couldn’t not laugh at the way it looked, and decided to leave it on for the hell of it all, and pulled out a pair of midnight black jeans, slipping the fitted denim over my legs. Grasping a rubber band I ran a hand through my hair, capturing half of the ratted curls and pulling them back to a half pony tail, allowing my bangs to fall out, as they would any way in a matter of time.

I didn’t even bother with shoes as I partially limped toward the main room, leaning against the wall down one flight of stairs and stepping over crumbled remains of knocked out walls in this renovated hotel. The purple couch was in sight, and with a restful sigh I plopped down on the overstuffed cushions, letting my body relax in to the piece of furniture.

There was no altercation in the looks of this place in the previous year. If anything, the only items different were the people, or lack thereof, roaming the halls and creating a constant buzz of chatter. A persistent smell of whiskeys clung in the air, seeming to hang from the walls to create some sort of familiar atmosphere. It failed.

To my left Biggy sat stiffly at the table, his eyes roaming me over as if he thought I’d never walk again the last time he saw me. And then a splash of color came in to view as Harley pranced out of The Joker’s room. She stopped suddenly, cocking her head and spinning slowly to view me, her lips gathered to the side as her eyes bored in to my own.

Harley was strange. Like, really weird. She had this aura around her that was so immaculate, it was as if she weren’t actually human; like a cartoon had just suddenly morphed in to reality and that was the only cause of her being here. When I looked at her again, I felt strange. This abnormal feeling was coming over me, a certain lust I haven’t felt for a while, and once I realized what it was I couldn’t help but feel this dance was something I’ve already performed.

She rose her hand, gripping one tassel in her palm and then the other, pulling off her jester hat with one easy tug. Her blond hair poured over her shoulders, settling in one large wave down to her chest and hung there perfectly, and with three steps she closed the gap between us, leaning her elbows on the arm rest beside me and placing her white chin in her palms.

“Morning, deary,” she chirped. I stared at her incredulously from the corner of my eye, the faintest of scowls on my face. “You know,” she sighed, taking a lock of my hair and twirling it between her fingers. “You look exactly like I feel this morning.”

“And how’s that?” I asked, not interested in her answer at the least.

The smile dropped from her black lips. “Like shit.”

I slapped her hand, and she dropped the piece of hair she was holding like it were on fire. “Get away from me, Harley. You’re – you’re so - ” I groaned, placing my hands around my head momentarily before I set my narrowed eyes on her again. “I can’t even explain how much I hate you.”

“Oh, well,” she hummed, slinking back like a snake would in to tall grass. “You know, jealousy in a terrible thing.”

I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest. “Oh, you should talk.”

“And you should listen,” she retorted quickly. My brows rose in both shock and confusion. I didn’t know Harley could think that fast. “Mister Jay and I are the new team, and you’re just out-side tha loop,” she hummed, making a circle with two of her fingers.

I frowned, rolling my eyes where I sat. “Harley, you and Mister Jay,” I mocked, “have been on a ‘team’ for the last, like, nine months. It’s nothing new, get over yourself.”

She clasped her hands behind her arched back, separating her feet until they were shoulder width apart and smiled, her black lips pulling in the corners as her blue eyes seemed to smolder. “Does Mister Jay know you feel that way?”

“Mister -” I sighed, grinding my teeth momentarily. “I doubt The Joker will care one way or another my feelings on the situation.”

“Just because I’m the one warming his bed at night doesn’t mean you have the right to be hostile,” she remarked with an innocent smile, twisting her body slowly away from me.

“You still have Sam to keep up at night. Oh, wait. You don’t. Do you?”

There are some things in my past I did to prepare me for this world I live in today. I think, subconsciously, I knew I would be on the ground running from police, that I would have to eventually punch my way from vice grips, or that I would have to vault myself from couches and tackle the people before me.

Harley fell to the ground flailing, me right on top of her as my fists reigned over her painted face. My knuckles roared with each hit I’d put on her, the vibration rolling to my elbow before it ended and I’d strike her again. Her hand came up, her knuckles rapping against my chin causing me to bite my tongue. The torrent of blood in my mouth was rapid, the liquid dribbling from my lips and I reeled my head back, spitting over her face.

The red slapped against her white cheeks and she froze, wide eyes and mouth agape in horror. I slammed her wrists on the ground, trapping her beneath me and leaned over her.

I could only imagine the way I looked, grinning like a mad man as blood coated over my teeth and dripped down on her, and I began to laugh. Deep gurgles rippled through me until they became screams of anger, and my fingers ran through her blond hair until they gripped the roots, and with jerked movements I slammed her head against the ground.

My shoulders were gripped then, and I was pulled away still laughing madly. Harley was brought back from her stupor, somehow, and did a backwards summersault, standing on her feet and running toward me. A whooping bellow of laughter was forced out of me as her arms wrapped around my waist, throwing me from the grip of my capture and instead sending me to the floor. My head knocked against the wood flooring, pain blossoming in the back of my skull and dazing me temporarily. Harley sat up, throwing back her fist and I saw my moment of opportunity. My knees met my chest, the bottoms of my feet pressed against her ribs and I pushed, sending her back. She stumbled, tripping over her own feet and sprawled across the floor.

I stood, making my way toward her when a gunshot sounded. The pain I felt was sudden, the wave crashing against my left shoulder and washing over the rest of me. I fell to my knees, feeling a sudden sense of nausea, and put a hand over the source of pain. Physical pain was something I was accustom to, at one point, but now this sudden jeer of torn flesh was too much. It felt as if someone had their hands on the base of my skull and was squeezing, all while brandishing a dull knife through the layers of flesh and muscles, scraping across the bone until they pulled out the weapon, repeating the process again. It was then I realized I wasn’t breathing, and the breath rushing in to my lungs was sounded with a struggled scream, escaping through my teeth with a metal on metal hiss.

Harley again came at me, her balled hand meeting my right cheek as she hit the already bruised skin. I caught myself with a bloodied hand, holding my shoulder with my unoccupied fist and looked up to her with smoldering eyes. She reeled back again, and a dull ‘thwack’ was heard suddenly. Her head fell back and she screamed, recoiling her outstretched arm to her chest suddenly.

There was a knife sticking from her wrist.

Curious I looked back, my eyes drooping as I smirked. I should’ve known. The perpetrator was standing in jeans, something I’d never expect him to wear, ever, the black color rich against the faded hotel making the background. They were tapered, fitting his legs loosely, if possible, yet matching every contour of his lower body. He wore a simple white wife beater, easily seen through to reveal his slim but defined stomach and chest, each adorned with slight scars burnt in to my memory. His arms were each outstretched, faint lighting small shadows across them from the folds of muscle beneath the skin, and in his one hand was a gun, and in the other nothing, although his fingers were curved as though her had just thrown a rather sharp object.

I was instantly reminded why it was I sought The Joker to begin with.

“Tsk, tsk,” he murmured through unpainted lips, his eyes narrowing humorlessly. He sucked on his bottom lip, dropping his arms to his sides and took careful steps forward, hunching his head on his shoulders. “Aren’t girls supposed to… play nice? What – what is this?” he laughed, snide snickers from his part. “Oh – uh, uh.”

I looked to where he was waving his gun, and Harley instantly stopped, steadying her wobbling chin and removing her hand from the hilt of the knife protruding from her wrist. “I wouldn’t do that,” he warned in a low voice. His bare hand, warm, laid upon my shoulder. With his fingers he flicked away mine, my hand simply dropping to the floor I was on and took over their place.

I clenched my eyelids together, wavering quick breaths escaping me as his finger pressed upon the bullet wound, slipping in. I began shaking my head back and forth. His breath tickled my skin as he began talking, his voice low in a guttural whisper as his finger began to pry, another finger prodding its way around the bullet hole as air stung the exposed meat. I could feel the blood leaking from the wound, rushing down my skin and funneling down the center of my chest.

I knew without having to see that this wound was in the exact location as his, and, in a self satisfying way he was getting his revenge for what I did when I tried helping.

This entire day felt as if it were stuck on repeat.

“I know,” he hummed, “what it is you’re trying to… gain by this – this extermination of the rodent,” he voiced with noticeable hatred. His lips moved to my ear, and I could feel him smiling as he pressed a hand between my shoulder blades, pressing us closer together. “In a way I even… understand - ” he groaned and I whimpered, a second finger piercing through the stringed fibers of muscles, breaking as they thrusted in to the wound. They left suddenly, ripping apart more skin as they departed and his fingers wrung themselves in my hair, snapping my head back. I could tell his teeth were clenched as he spoke feverishly, still in my ear.

“I need her!”

I’m gamboling with my life now, but there’s no other way to end this situation.

“That’s what you said about me.”

His hands switched suddenly, his left one tangling in my hair and pulling me back farther, his fist rising above me. The contact on my jaw rattled me to my core, a sickening smash residing in my eardrums. The pain was immense, paralyzing me and allowing him to do it again and again until I fought back. It was a silly thing to do, pushing his arm away suddenly and relishing as my own skin, slick and rough with anger, caught his nose and jaw in two separate fast strikes.

If it weren’t for the sudden flow of blood dripping from his nostrils, catching on his left arm and mixing with the steady river cascading down my shoulder, I would’ve thought time had stopped. He was breathing, though, heavy and audible gasps of air as his chest heaved above me, and mine below him. My sight was constricted, almost in a literal since. It looked as if someone had taken a picture and crushed it slightly, contorting the room awkwardly. The walls looked as if they were leering at us, straining to hear whatever thoughts were rapid firing across our minds. It was bowed and musty, like looking through a dirty magnifying glass with already damaged eyes.

He licked his lips, turning toward me, beads of rose water dripping from him and splashing across my skin. Just looking at him, his set jaw and smoldering black eyes, just seeing the pure anger burning through him, made it hard to breath. His fist tightened its hold on my scalp, burning, and he pulled me close to him.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked in a terse whisper.

I shuddered at the thought of a wrong answer, pulling away from him, and decided to lie.

“Yes.”

He let me go, and I fell to the floor beneath him and he stood. “Will you be back?”

I was shaking at this point. “Do you want me to tell the truth?”

He held the gun to my head, smiling slightly. “You can always lie.”

“Tomorrow.”