Just Paint Your Face

"You're different, May."

"You sure you're okay, May?"

"Ivy, Ivy, Ivy."

"You were different, Ivy."

The train of thoughts that came with his words did no help for my emotional state. In fact, the way he'd said it--so softly, almost gently--worsened it. I felt myself tremble as more tears fell, and quickly. It was as if all those years of fighting them back: during the beatings I'd recieved as a child, the assaults deep into the night, the boy who'd left me in high school and the baby I'd failed to keep alive. They rushed, making up for lost time. The Joker stared.

"Hey.... hey uh, stop. I told you to stop." He said in his awkward, slightly nasal tone. His face was changing. His mood was changing. From soft to hard. 0 to 60. I could feel his rage as it built, like a storm gathering over the horizon. Still, I couldn't stop. It was like those stories you heard as a kid, about the boy who'd been playing carelessly in the train tracks one summer day when his foot got caught. You could hear the whistle from faraway, but in your panic you could not free yourself. All you could do was stare at the oncoming black bullet and pray that little Bobby across the street kept your baseball cards safe for you.

His lip twitched and his eyes became dark. I could feel his hands enclose around my arms. He was shaking me.

"Hey c'mere... look at me. LOOK AT ME." He had me pinned against the cold hard wall, and pulled his knife out. He raised it high above me, a strange look in his eyes. His voice was shrill, demanding, with a hint of desperation.

"You stop, Ivy. I'll do it! I swear I will! Stop, Ivy. You're doing... things. Stop doing things!" I didn't understand. The tears had stopped. He had gone too far. He was beyond mad. I could've fought back, but I merely shut my eyes, bracing, waiting for death. Ready for it, even.

I hated him in that moment. Hated him for what he'd made me, hated him for what he was doing. I wasn't doing anything wrong. I didn't know what 'things' he was talking about, even. But it didn't matter. He was going to kill me. His hand squeezed my arm tighter and I winced.

After a long moment of anticipation, I opened my eyes. He was still against me, the knife hanging threateningly over my head. His hands were shaking. I knew he was fighting something, I saw it in his conflicted eyes. He screamed and released me, rushing over to the desk, his back turned to me. He began to stab the wood mercilessly, yelling at me with each violent move of his arm.

"GET. OUT. GET. OUT. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD!"

I slinked slowly over to the door, still shaking, deciding it was best not to make any quick movements. I felt relief when I grabbed the handle of the door, taking one final look at him. His teeth were bared, his eyes black. His scars were twisted menacingly.

As I shut the door, I heard a tortured, strangled sob.

I winced.

I headed to the girls' room, I didn't know anywhere else to go and I most certainly didn't want to go back in there. She was laying wide-eyed on the on the mattress.

"I thought he killed you."

I shook my head, wiping my eyes.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No... I.. I think I hurt him." I said quietly, amazed. I sat down on the mattress, she sat up with me.

We heard a scream.

A crash.

A bang.

Something like a metal chair being thrown.

He was trashing his room. The young girl, frightened, clung to me.

"Shhh." I said calmly, humming. I stroked her green hair.

"Do you think you'll ever come back here?" I asked her.

"No."

"Good."

"Will you?"

I sighed. I knew I would, and so did she.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because. He's the only one in the world like me."

"But you're not like him. Not at all." She objected.

"You haven't seen me angry, kid. Just because I'm motherly doesn't mean I'm nice."

She feel asleep a few minutes later. The noise at the end of the hall continued on, it could've of been 20 minutes, could've been two hours. Down in this dump, it was easy to lose track of the time.

I don't know what time it was when I fell asleep, but that night I dreamed vividly of mothers and babies, chemistry sets and baseball cards, and a sad, awkward man carving out his face in my bathroom, covered in leaves.

"Hey lady... flower lady. Wake up. Boss wants to see ya."

I woke up to a rough hand shaking me. I opened my eyes groggily. It was one of his men. He wasn't wearing a mask. I suppose they didn't need to unless they'd come back or were going to a job. He was tall and skinny.

I blinked. I recognized this guy. It was the guy who gave me back my purse.

I looked over at the girl, sitting up. She was sound asleep, curled up into a ball at the far end of the mattress.

"Where is he?" I rubbed my eyes.

"In his room. Back o' the office."

"Watch her. Any funny business, and I kill you."

He nodded in understanding.

His office was no longer an office. The desk had several large gouges in it. There was a hole in the wall where he'd thrown the chair, papers were scattered everywhere. I took a moment and glanced at some. Some were lists, some where nothing but scribbles. Some were pictures of the batman. Things like "RAT WITH WINGS" were splattered all over it. There were some of the newspaper articles, people drawn with his trademark black circle eyes and red smile. Some of them he wrote notes by, "XOXOXOXOXO". I wanted to laugh but concern overpowered it. I found a crumpled piece of paper that said, "Woodrue, make him squeal." And had some address. I shuddered.

My eyes spied a picture of myself. I had no idea how he'd gotten it. But written in his scrawling, scratchy red pen were the words, "Ivy, Ivy, quite contrary how does your garden grow?"

I threw it on the floor and stomped. I spied the door behind the boxes and took a deep breath.

He was sitting on one end of this ugly old bed, his back turned to me once again. He was very still and his shirt was off. There were a number of scars and bruises all over his body. I looked away, feeling like I'd walked in on him naked.

"What do you want?" I found my voice and turned my face even more, for I felt myself blush.

He stretched his arms out in front of him, scratching his dirty brownish hair. He turned.

"You looked like her. Your eyes. She was always crying." He muttered.

"Don't you dare try and fucking say you're sorry."

He chuckled, "I wasn't going to. I say what I mean."

I tapped my foot, "Then what do you want?"

"What do you want?" He mocked again, "I want you to help me."

I made a face, "With what?"

"Rob a bank with me. I... I uh, need a new suit."

I scoffed.

"Then, it's on to the new plan. I'm not taking an... aggressive... enough approach."

"You don't believe in plans."

"Oh, people do lots of things they don't believe in. Like pray."

He looked at me.

"What is it?"

"We're going to... kill The Batman. No more conning and robbing people. I'm bored. Let's have some fun. Make this city ours."

Let's. Ours. Why was he thinking in pairs all of a sudden?

"What makes you think I want this city?"

"Because you're mad at it."

I raised my eyebrows, shaking my head.

"When?"

"Hm. Ho hum. De dum...." He clapped his hands together, "Tommorow morning."

"But work..." I thought aloud. He jumped up again, in front of me in a flash. I blinked, thinking he was going to hit me for saying something back.

"Make up something. In a week or so, I'll be all you got." He kissed me then, which took me by surprise. This time I welcomed it, taking him in my arms. I felt the ivy on my forearm crawling over his bare back. He was surprisingly nice and gentle about the way he'd touch me.

We seperated, the ivy slinking back.

I left then, shaking my head and feeling dizzy. I was turning on myself, I didn't know why.

The girl and I walked out of the warehouse together in silence. It was near dawn, so there was just enough light to see, but not enough to be seen.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked.

"Maybe when I pass the school... or on the news."

"He loves you. That's why he wouldn't kill you last night."

"Sociopaths don't love." I said, biting my lip.

"Yes they do. Just... not the same way normal people do."

Kids and love. What did they know?

Then again, what did adults know?

We walked awhile in silence.

"Thanks, lady."

"No problem, kid. What's your name?"

"Jeannie. Jeannie Gimble."

Jeannie.

I smiled, "I'm May."

She smiled back. That daisy was still in her hair. I imagined her with red hair, suddenly noticing she had brown eyes. Could've been (our) my child.

I shivered and walked back to my apartment.