Protect Me From What I Want

“Wake up, Harley. Doctor Reed is waiting for you in her office.” I jumped awake as I heard an unfamiliar voice echo through my cell. My groggy eyes glanced towards the door just in time to see the window in the door slide shut. I’d been here for a month or so now and I still wasn’t used to the early mornings. Wearily, I pulled the white, cotton blankets off of me and placed my feet on the cold floor. There wasn’t much to the room, but it did the job. All I had was a bed, a toilet and a sink.

Luckily, I wasn’t a patient who was accustomed to wear a straitjacket in my cell, which resulted in having a little more freedom and I was free to leave the cell, but stay on my assigned floor. The floor I stayed on held patients that were female and more “stable” than the majority of patients that were in Arkham. Other floors held patients which were, shall we say, mental. They weren’t allowed out of their cells whatsoever. Their was also the floor that The Joker was once on. He was allowed out of his cell for sessions and to get cleaned up only.

Arkham has a way of labelling how mentally stable you are and thankfully, I was put into the most stable label. Even if I was on the stable level, I tried my best not to talk to anyone other than my psychiatrist. I didn’t trust any of the other female patients as I didn’t know a lot about them. Every one of them had a story and I didn’t want to be a part of it, so I stayed away from them. And you never know how they will react to you, so it’s best not to talk to anyone. Female and male patients weren’t allowed to communicate on the same floors unless they were in the food court, where they are all constantly under a strong watch by all the guards.

That’s enough about Arkham for now.

I slipped on the white plimsolls as I left my bed and the started for the door. I knocked on it and it was soon opened by the guard. He began following me as I walked down the corridor to Dr Reed’s office. It was hard to tell which office was hers when you walked down the corridor, because every door looks the same. It was like the background of an old cartoon, when they repeat the same background over and over as the character travels across the screen.

This time for our session, she was resting against the door frame of her office as she awaited my arrival. She knew that I had difficulty remembering which office was hers, so now she’d wait out for me so I didn’t get lost.

Arkham would be a nicer place if every doctor was like her. Unfortunately, they weren’t and there’s always the odd few doctors who are completely arrogant and ignorant. The kind who think that just because they can intern in Arkham they can treat their patients with disrespect and patronise them simply because they think they’re of a higher class than them. It made them feel better to make the patients feel worse about themselves. Arkham himself fell into this category.

Dr Brooke Reed on the other hand was different. She treated all of her patients as if they were her friends. This made the patients feel more at ease with her, so they were able to communicate and interact with her without any hesitation. She had a wonderful personality and delicate, good looks to boot. Her dark brown hair was always down reaching just an inch past her shoulders and her thick rimmed glasses managed to accentuate her dark brown, almost black eyes.

The only downside to Brooke was that she was so persistent with the questions about The Joker. It was very rarely that she’d ask a question about me in general and even if she did, it tended to lead back to talking about The Joker. It made me wonder if she was even trying to help me progress, but instead try and dissect The Joker’s brain and finally figure why he does what he does.

Brooke wasn’t the only one who asked questions about The Joker. From time to time, Commissioner Gordon and Batman arranged times to speak with me. It made me feel as if I was cared for, but at the same time I felt as if I was being used. They only wanted to get The Joker and that was the reason for the interrogation like questions. However, they still wanted to help me.

Whenever I was given a question about The Joker, I wouldn’t go into much detail. Simple one worded answers were all I’d reply with if possible. It wasn’t my place to talk about him. If the asylum wanted to figure out more on The Joker, they’d have to find him instead of receiving a second hand response from me.

“Hello, Miss Quinzell,” Dr Reed greeted as I neared the door.

“Please, Dr Reed, call me Harley. Everybody does.”

“I’ll stop calling you Miss Quinzell, if you stop calling me, Dr Reed. Brook is fine.”

“Fair enough, Brooke.” I smiled timidly as I entered her office and sat down on the couch in front of her desk. She sat down on her office chair, crossing her legs as she grabbed her notepad and pen majestically.

“So, Harley. How’s your morning been so far?”

“Well, there isn’t much to say really. I’ve only just gotten up this minute, so you could say I’m a little tired.”

“I’m sorry about that. I tried to schedule our sessions for a later time, but unfortunately my planner is completely packed with four sessions with three different patients every week. It’s very hectic,” she explained sounding very exhausted.

“Arkham’s got you working with three patients? When I worked here, I only had one.”

“Well, with the rate that Gotham’s inhabitants are losing their mind, we can’t afford not to. At the moment, every doctor has to have at least three patients to intern. It’s stressful for everyone right now. But it has to be done. A job’s a job and this is what I get paid to do. Anyway, enough about me and let’s talk about you. Speaking of your patients, let’s return to the subject of The Joker.”

“Please, Brooke, can we not? All we’ve been doing in these sessions is talk about him. One of the main reasons I’m here is to forget all about him. I need to forget him to help me get better. But I won’t be able to do that if you keep bringing him up all the time. I’m saying this without intending to hurt your feelings in anyway, but please can we not talk about him now.”

“I’m sorry, Harley, but the main reason you’re here is because of The Joker and the only way you’re going to be able to get over him is if you talk about him. Therefore I can pinpoint why he makes you feel the way you do and then I can help you forget about him. Is that okay, Harley? I know how much you want to forget about him and I know it’s going to be hard. But I will help you, I promise. I apologise for having to ask these questions, Harley. Don’t think that my only concern is to crack The Joker, because it isn’t. I just want to help you. So, can I ask these questions or not?”

I rolled my eyes in defeat. I knew she was right, but it seemed at that moment that my condition wasn’t improving with these constant questions focused on The Joker. “Fine,” I sighed pinching the bridge of my nose agitatedly.

And then ensued question after question after boring question about The Joker.