Just Paint Your Face

The next morning, which was the same as any other Sunday, Rachel and I met up at the coffee shop. I didn't really like coffee, but Rachel did and it was the quietest most innocent place in Gotham, nestled safely away from any of the usual bars or restaurants Maroni and his pals hung around. Any newcomer walking in would think Gotham was a friendly place.

Until night rolled around.

I sipped my tea, a light green color, while Rachel added sugar to her coffee, the dark brown liquid swirling dizzily in her mug.

"So..." she looked up, "did you enjoy the ballet?"

"Yes," I nodded, "Do you think the boys did?"

"I know Harvey's had a lot on his mind... there's the Bruce thing, the Mob, The Joker thing. The only thing we have going right now that's positive is the fundraiser coming up... you'll be invited."

"The Joker's been on everyone's minds." I didn't care about the invite. I probably wasn't going anyway. I couldn't stand being around the rich folks.

"I know, I know. Especially Gordon's. He's turning gray each day I see him. And of course, I'm certain he's been on Batman's mind, too."

"Psh. I haven't seen The Batman around much lately." I said bitterly.

"He comes out at night."

"I walk home EVERY night. And I've only seen him once. He beat up some skinny kid for me." I scoffed.

Rachel shrugged and looked out of the window, her eyes miles away.

"What are you hiding, Ray?" I whispered.

"I'll tell you when you tell me." She sighed.

"What?"

"I know you're keeping something, May. I can see it in your eyes. And you've changed. I can't place a finger on it, May, but you've changed."

I blinked. She stared.

"Well?"

"...You'll find out. Just not right now."

"Deal." She smirked, "So... this Jack fellow... are you two serious?"

(why so)

"I don't know." I said truthfully. There were moments when I thought he'd kiss me, moments when I thought he'd kill me. I frowned.

"He seems alright. Just... different. And he sounds kind of familiar."

I nodded, thinking of his voice on the tape.

"He said he was a chemist? That doesn't make sense."

"I don't know. He's kind of mysterious. Why doesn't it make sense?"

"Well, the nearest chemical plant blew up years ago. Some freak accident caused by the mob. There was another guy involved but they never found him."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Well, like I said. He's still new to me. And he is ...odd. But we get along."

In our own little way.

I piped up, "That chemical lab thing... when did you say it happened?"

"About five years ago. It was before you came. It was really big news. Some employee broke in with the mob to steal supplies but it went wrong. They caught the mob guys, but the one who'd gotten them in ran off or died or something."

Except he didn't die. But why the scars? How? I scowled.

"May... you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah." I'd spaced out again, "I'm just tired from last night."

"Oh?" Rachel smiled.

"Oh puh-lease. You're nasty." I rolled my eyes and laughed. I could hardly see myself sleeping with the man.

Other than the times he moves and springs up like some kind of strange animal...

Ew. Ew. Ew. Had to stop thinking that way. It was disgusting, it went against everything I stood for.

We gossiped and chatted the morning away, then parted. When I got home I talked to my plants as I painted, humming lightly. I painted a picture of him. But this time, it was of his face. No makeup. His eyes were a lovely brown...

"God. Now I think a sociopath is attractive." My plants shook.

"What, you think so? Ugh. You guys are no help, you know that?"

It was 10 at night when I washed the paint off my hands in the sink. I was in a good mood, I wasn't sure why.

"I really should watch the news."

I flipped it on, flopping onto the couch. My hair had traveled upwards again, for I'd washed it and let it dry naturally. I yawned as the pretty little newscaster boy looked grimly at the camera.

"Tonight's top story..."

"Blahblahblah Mob blahblahblah Money Politics blahblahblah Batman.. Joker..." I laughed. How I hated the news.

I stopped laughing when I heard something different.

"An amber alert has gone out for a young teenage girl who's gone missing in Gotham City..."

When they showed the picture, I jolted. It was her. The high school girl who'd dyed her hair hideous green, the girl who idolized him.

I got up, the ivy in my forearm shifting and writhing as my anger grew. It climbed my shoulder, covered my torso, my thighs. The little dress I'd put on for lounging was nearly invisible. It wrapped around my neck. As my anger hit its peak, the ivy had climbed gracefully up one cheek, it's leaves now spread in my birds' nest of hair.

I grabbed the gun I kept hidden in my nightstand drawer. Everyone kept a gun next to their beds in Gotham.

My body was moving so fast I could hardly process what I was doing through the anger. If he touched her, he was dead. Fucking dead.

I marched furiously through the alley, pulled my gun out when I entered the warehouse. This time I didn't stumble, this time I didn't hesitate. When I opened the door to the basement, I shot the first clown I saw. I fired three more times, not caring that I was wasting bullets. I didn't need those anymore.

The Joker came out when he heard the shots. He first stared dumbly, probably because of the way I was dressed, or maybe it was the way I moved, or the dead man lying at my feet.

"Where is she?" I demanded, wrapping him up with a network of vines.

"Uh, sorry? Who?"

"WHERE IS SHE? WHERE'S THE GIRL?!" I squeezed harder, my little web slinking around him like a bright green snake. He laughed. I shook him.

"Oh! The girl? She's uh, she's in that room right there." He cricked his head at a door far down the hallway.

I threw him over my shoulder, my arms hanging limp at my sides. He was giggling as he got up.

She was in the corner, crying. The room was empty, other than the rat droppings that littered the concrete floor. The black circles painted around her eyes running down her cheeks, make weird little patterns. Her green hair was sloppy, and she hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth.

I didn't know why I'd come for her. I think it was because part of her felt connected to me somehow. A fellow female willing to follow the darkness in the world. Part of it was because she was so young, and I felt that she didn't deserve to know any of this. She should be at home, worrying about what to wear at school the next day or the boy who she was hopelessly in love with who would never ever notice her. She cowered as I walked toward her, probably frightened by my appearance.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I whispered, "what did he do? Tell me."

"N-Nothing," she said, "One of the men found me wandering outside of the building... I-I ended up here. He came in and told me I would stay in the room for the night... to teach me a lesson--I just w-w-want to go home! It smells funny in here and the rats..." She sobbed. I sighed with relief. He hadn't played with her, hadn't touched her. I sat in front of her, taking her hands in my own, stroking the hair away from her frightened face. I needed to calm her down. I needed to calm me down.

"What color is it? Your hair." I asked.

"Red." She sniffled, "but not as red as yours."

"Get the dye out. Red's a beautiful color." The color of life, of love. Of war, of blood.

"Why are you ..the way you are?" She asked, now marveling at my appearance.

"He made me this way."

"You work for him?"

"I guess. So far I haven't been involved in much. Got my own life, you know."

The girl nodded.

"This place is really a drag." I smiled, "Let's do something with it."

The girl stared at me strangely. I shut my eyes, concentrating, not knowing whether or not I could do it. There were long moments of silence. A crack. The girl gasped. My eyes opened. There was small daisy between us, sprouting between the thick concrete.

Grow. I stared at it. It began to spread quickly, sprouting more little flowers along the way. They crawled across the floor, creeped up the walls. When I was satisfied, they stopped. I picked one and put it in her hair. For the first time, she smiled.

"You're lucky, you know that?" I said. She nodded.

"He said something about not playing with kids. Then he shot the guy who brought me."

"I see." I got up, "You wait here. Are you hungry?"

"Thirsty."

I left the room, pushing the door to his 'office' open. He sat on the desk, rubbing his face with the dirty rag, his make up coming off unto it. He threw it on the floor. His cheap purple coat was off and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up sloppily. He was staring at a large cut on his arm, now welling up with blood.

"You have thorns."

"I know."

"I didn't touch her."

"I know."

"That's the only rule I have. You don't mess with the kids." He then mumbled something like, "Better class of criminal."

I nodded. There was something I could cling to in this man. He stared at me. I stared back, then went over to where he kept the water.

"Let her go home." I said.

"There are men out there at this time. I won't."

Since when did he have a sense of empathy for people? Maybe it was because his make up was off. He was slightly less heartless when it was off.

"Kids.." he began, "Kids are different. Uncorrupted. Innocent. Ignorant. They can't help themselves. You leave them alone. You uh, you remember when you were a kid?"

(go down to the trailer park and pick flowers)

I stiffened. I remembered being beaten, I remembered getting raped. I remembered having to plaster a smile on my face when relatives came over to our little suburb home, acting as if nothing was wrong, acting as if no screams wanted to escape my broken body. I remembered leaving as soon as it was possible.

"No. Get a mattress for her." I snapped, and left the room.

I gave her the water. She splashed it on her face and rubbed with her shirt, then drank the rest.

"You've got to stay here till morning," I told her, "I'll make sure you're comfortable."

She nodded. There was a sharp, barking order in the hall. Seconds later, two men came in carrying a large mattress. They threw it on the floor, then stopped to stare at me strangely, looking around the room, confused.

"What are you staring at? Get out, and don't come back." I snapped. They left, shrugging, "Whatever you say goes, lady."

The young girl stared at me, amazed.

"See? You're alright here." I took a deep breath.

Relax. The leaves and stems unwound to their original position in my forearm.

My hair was still strange, but I didn't care. The girl yawned. I smiled.

"You go to sleep. If anyone comes in here besides me, just call." She nodded, standing for the first time on shaky legs and throwing herself onto the mattress. I'd decided I wasn't going to leave until morning, when I knew she'd be safe.

The Joker didn't notice when I came in. He was sitting indian style on the floor, staring at the empty syringe I'd used days ago to counteract the poison in my lipstick. I cautiously approached, sat next to him. His eyes were empty brown pools.

Unexpectedly, he grabbed my hand. He held it up to his face, running it across the scars.

"You want to know how I really got them?" He whispered.

I hardly believed how sane he sounded, "I... yes... I do."

"I worked in that chemical plant. That one in Bloodhaven. I was a normal human then, not a monster... not a... uh, freak. I didn't like my job. It was boring. At night, I tried my hand at comedy. Didn't work out. My jokes are bad." He kept running my hand across his face, as if pacifying himself.

"I had a wife, you know. Very quiet, very pretty." His eyes shifted to mine quickly, "Green eyes. Her name was Jeannie. We were going to have a... a baby. But she was sick. The cigarettes. They made her so sick. She needed treatment. I didn't have money. I had to. Had to do something... So I went to the mob, yeah? They wanted to break into the lab, wanted to steal something for drugs, I.. I can't remember. Before the plan, she died. I tried getting out of it, but they wouldn't let me. The explosion happened and they ran, leaving me for dead. When I came out of there alive, I was so depressed. So serious. I got sick of it and did this. I just wanted to be happy again, hm?"

I sobbed, suddenly aware I'd been crying silently. He slapped my face.

"Hey... hey!... you can't cry. You don't cry." He pinched my cheek, "That's why I kept you, you know that. Because you refused to cry and complain. Sh, sh, sh." He was now stroking my cheek, my hair. His face brushed up against mine.

"You were different, Ivy." I felt his lips on my skin and shivered.

I was different. Didn't I know the truth.