Just Paint Your Face

His hands shot out suddenly, grasping my pale neck. For a moment I was certain my time had come, and he was going to kill me with his bare hands since the knife was no use against me. I gasped, glimpsing pure madness in his dark eyes. But then I caught a flicker of something else, and I felt him draw me forward. He kissed me then, his hands tracing madly across each curve of my body. I followed, relieved he was showing his dangerous side again.

Our lips seperated for a moment, "I really wish I could kill you sometimes."

"Go ahead." I said bitterly, "I'm right here."

"I can't. You're worth too much."

I scoffed, "I'm only worth a bundle of ropes and the poison in my lipstick. Go ahead and kill me. I'm not anything."

He sighed, frustrated, "You don't understand..."

"Shut up." I snapped. His hands and mouth were upon me once again.

"I see you in my dreams..." he persisted, moving down my neck.

I ignored him.

"Jeannie doesn't talk to me anymore..."

"Jack..." I warned, wanting to get him angry again.

"And I like when you say my name."

I shuddered, taken aback. We seperated and he smiled at me. There was no madness it, no haunting playfullness. It was a genuine smile.

I'd never been so afraid in my life.

It wasn't that I didn't love him. That was undeniable. I just didn't want him to love me. I didn't want to form that mutual attachment. I didn't want to think of him as a person, deep down. He was a merciless, sociopathic clown. He wasn't supposed to feel and he wasn't supposed to let me live. And yet, here I was. Sitting on the cement floor of his bedroom, where I slept each night. And there he was, in front of me, his beautifully insane eyes watching me carefully and his tongue peeking out between his lips in that slightly reptilian way again. When I stared silently for a while he growled and took me up.

We became entwined again, hungrily kissing away at any bit of flesh. As soon as my breathing quickened however, he snapped away. I looked up as he stood, disappointed. He wanted me, it outwardly showed. I wanted him. Still, he walked over to the sink and began grabbing for his makeup.

He was teasing me, angered by my lack of responses.

"You're such a baby." I snarled bitterly.

"I have work to do. Got a promise to keep to Gotham."

I rolled my eyes.

"You want to come?"

"No."

He shrugged, turning. He was a clown again. He giggled.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, I'll be home later."

"I don't care."

"Oh, but you do, Ivy! You really do." He adjusted himself and straightened his tie, taking up his purple coat. On his way out he smiled at me sardonically.

"You don't care either."

"Ho hum. You're right, I just don't care about you."

I smiled.

"I love you."

I frowned. He cackled in my face, his laugh like acid. He pinched my cheek.

"That's what you get when you run away, Ivy. Things you don't wanna hear."

And he sauntered out, giggling, yelling for Goofy and some others.

I sat back against the cold hard wall and cried.