Just Paint Your Face

Daisy

We sat there for a while, watching tv. During a commercial for depression medication, he scoffed.

"Rather be crazy and be me than be sane and drugged up."

I smiled. I suddenly wondered what my friend back at school would say after watching this. Haha. I was right. And now she'd be sitting there, scratching her heads. She wouldn't dare come back of course. She was a coward. She had a good family and people that cared about her.

She'd already found what I'd been looking for.

But now I'd found it. It was crazy, warped, and slightly skewed but I'd found it.

Suddenly, the Joker snapped up.

"You... you uh, said you were bored?"

I thought to myself, "I guess. A bit."

He walked over the the door, gesturing wildly that I follow. I followed him back to my little room. His way of walking was kind of funny. He just shuffled along aimlessly like he didn't really know what the hell was going to happen five minutes from now but somehow he always knew. He had an air of awkward confidence in him that gave him the authority.

We came into the room.

I gasped.

Books. Everywhere. Piles and piles. Stacks and stacks. Brown, blue, green, purple.

"The judge had a library. Figure I'd... bring it home."

I rushed over to a pile, looking through them. I expected boring law things and stuff but there was much more. I picked up Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby.

"Oh, that one. That's... that one's shit."

I laughed. He snatched it out of my hand and began searching through them. We were like that for a long time. You could hardly believe he read. It wasn't that he was stupid. Hardly. It was just that he was so mad, you wouldn't think he'd snap himself out of it long enough to read books. But practically each one he picked up, he had something to mumble about it. Those he deemed unworthy he threw over his shoulder. Those he apparently cared for he set aside in neat little piles. I simply lay each one on the floor. Most of them were old. Like classics and stuff. No teen books of course.

"This one!" I heard him exclaim as he held up a rather large book.

"Wha?"

"Les Miserables." He looked at me like I was stupid.

"Is it in french or something?"

"No, no. Translated. But it's set there."

"Oh," I said, wondering why he now set it in my lap. We sat cross-legged across from each other. He was sweeping his brownish hair back and drumming his hands on the floor.

"So... what's the big deal?"

He seemed to ignore this question, going off on a little rant, "You're like Cosette. Abused, orphaned, picked up by a convict who's vowing to avenge the death of your mother."

I looked at him strangely.

"You grow into this beautiful thing, you see. Like your mother. She was beautiful but the men ruined her. And you find someone... you find someone... Someone who loves you and treats you nice. Someone who doesn't marry because he feels obligated and stays because he feels bad for the baby. Someone who knows how to pay your bills without breaking in someplace. Someone who doesn't feel the urge to strike you or watch you slip slowly into death... only to change his mind a second before its too late and take it back..."

He was staring through me, away at something else. I waved my hands in front of his face. I didn't want to hear it anymore. It made me want to cry. His voice was wild, conflicted. Chuckling one moment and on the verge of snarling the next.

"Stop!" I yelled, trying to snap him out of it, "Stop, please. I can't take it."

I jumped as his hands took mine and his disturbed eyes snapped to mine, "No one can. No one can. Look at my face. Hm? Look at my face, goddamit."

I shuddered, staring down at the hands that, not more than an hour ago, dripped with red. They were fidgety and callused.

He sighed, his tone suddenly turning tender, "I won't let that happen to you, Daisy."

I nodded solemnly. He reached out and patted my head, smiling, "Little Cosette."

He got up suddenly and headed to the door. I cradled the book in my hands and opened it slowly.

You grow into this beautiful thing, you see. Like your mother.

Ivy

I was sitting on the bed when I heard him come in, staring at the wall. I had been dreading the little Fundraiser he planned to crash tommorow night. Dreading seeing Rachel and Harvey stare at me in a different way. And then this morning. This morning he'd shattered everything I'd thought previously: that sociopaths, that clowns, that the men I loved--could have loved me back.

"I don't get a welcome home dear or a kiss or something?" He whined humorously.

"Why'd you have to do it?" I asked.

"Hm?"

"Why'd you say it?" I asked more impatiently. Always playing stupid. That was his style.

"Oh, ah. Hm," He paused, his eyes squinting, "Why'd you come back?"

"I have nowhere else to go."

"Not true," He sat next to me, kicking off his shoes, "Lots of places Ivy. Lots of people and lots of places. Loopholes. And, you stay here. You answer me that question, and I'll answer yours."

"I... I..."

I stared at him dumbly as he shed off his shirt.

"That's okay. I know the answer." He paused and looked at me expectedly, smirking that little mischevious smirk.

I scowled, refusing to respond.

"Quiet tonight?" He giggled madly and suddenly wrapped his arms possessively around my waist, "That's okay, I can fix that."

Ever since I'd gotten my gifts of communication with the plant world, I liked to think I had an advantage over him. That I could shrug him off when he got like this. That I could easily snap him like a twig and squeeze him dry. That I could wear the lipstick without his knowledge and watch him burn alive.

After all I was really Ivy, I was Ivy real.

But I didn't. No matter how much my mind objected, my heart took over.

Ah, weakness.