Just Paint Your Face

I shouldn't have followed him that night. The sensible thing to do would've been to scream, claw, kick. It was pitch black and I probably could've fought my way out quite easily. I could've rushed to the cops, trusted in other people.

But I didn't trust in that outcome.

I didn't trust the police.

I didn't trust me.

I didn't trust batman.

I didn't trust god.

All I trusted, all I had to trust, was chaos. Disorder. Because it was fair. It didn't discriminate. And whatever came of it, you knew it was a completely unbiased situation. Nature at its truest and most naked form. It was like catching a hurricane or tornado warning and refusing to leave your house, because you'd been with it so long, and without it, you were nothing.

He was chaos.

So I didn't fight. I let him drag me through that alley, mumbling incoherently. I let my shoes fall off and my feet get dirty. I let shards of glass cut through my skin and didn't cry out. I let my dress tear as it caught on a passing dumpster. I didn't flinch when he yelled at me angrily to hurry up.

Whatever happens, will happen, and I will accept it.

I'd decided. Even if it meant having my body tossed into one of these dumpsters, my limbs mutilated, and my face smiling as the sun rose over this shithole of a civilization.

As long as it's not a "magic trick", I thought, don't let it be one of those. I suddenly got a vision of Harvey and Rachel identifing my body at the morgue, standing over me, crying, because they couldn't tell if my hair was soaked with blood or it was just my normal color. In my vision, a novelty magic wand was sticking out of my eye.

I let a giggle escape my mouth. I felt his head turn to look at me, but nothing more happened.

I became aware that we'd entered some old building, it smelt cold and damp, but no lights were on. He banged open some door and I was led down a steep set of stairs. My worn feet registered that the floor was cement. My wrist felt numb, as was my spirit. I blinked hard as he led me through another door and flourescent lights flooded all of this basement-thing.

We passed a few men staring, but the clown didn't seem to notice. One tried to ask him a question. He shot the guy, point blank. No emotion passed through him.

"Sit." He said when we entered the same room I'd woken up in not too long ago. He shoved me onto the hard gray ground like I was something repulsive; went over to number of boxes that were piled up in the back of room, rummaging through them as he spoke. I crawled up into the chair in front of his desk.

"I was going to kill you tonight." He explained nonchalantly.

"But I thought--"

"SHUT UP!" He roared. My blood seemed to freeze. His 'angry' voice held all the black, passionate hatred in the world. Truly psychotic and more feral than human.

Don't ask questions, I scolded myself, thinking back on the one henchman I passed. I bit my lip.

He continued as if I hadn't said a thing, as if he hadn't burst into a short rage, his voice returned to that whiny gruffened banter, "I figured you wouldn't go out and do what I asked, or be very good at, so I figured I'd... play... around with you a little." He took out his knife again, fiddling with it.

My blood became icy again when I heard the word, 'play'. Not that word.

"But then!" He smiled, holding the knife truimphaintly in the air, "I had a brilliant thought." He half giggled.

He was now rushing towards me with the knife. He stopped as suddenly as he'd come, lowering his face again, brushing some hair out of my face with the blade. It brushed softly against my forhead.

"It was your eyes that did it," He spoke very softly, "they're so pretty you know, couldn't think to let the light fade from them..."

His eyes slinked slowly down, up and down, and he snapped up suddenly, flourishing with his knife and circling me like some ridiculous circus pony.

"That's a nice dress, you know. Very nice. Your face though... too pretty to not have any color on it..." He suddenly grabbed my jaw so hard I thought it was going to shatter. I saw him reach into his pocket and replace the knife with a case of lipstick. His hand moved down to my neck.

"You stay still, or I'll break you." He spat. He popped off the cap, twisting it up, watching it with a sort of wild look that left any trace of sanity behind. I felt him grip my pale neck tighter, I almost couldn't breathe. My nose desperately drew up oxygen as he applied it generously to my lips.

"There." He smiled at his handiwork and grabbed a dirty mirror off of his desk, holding it up for me to see, "You're beautiful."

I was, and although it'd been applied messily, the color was perfect, as red as my hair. Red like blood against my white skin. It tingled oddly on my lips. In fact, it... burned.

Oh no.

"Unfortunately," His smile widened as he watched the horror grow in my eyes, "It's poisonous."

I felt my throat tighten suddenly as I breathed in the vapors, my blood turned from ice to fire. My muscles tensed. I couldn't control myself, I let out a long, bloodcurdling scream.

He laughed in my face. It was blurry. Everything was so blurry.

"Tough costumer. Oh, what to do... what to do.. It was so pretty on you. Oh wait! I've got a surprise... Don't move!" He laughed wildly and skipped over to the boxes.

He'd better kill me, I thought, cause if not, I'm killing him. I felt my eyes flutter and roll wildly into the back of my skull. I fell from the chair, struggling to breathe, my muscles tensing and spazzing uncontrollably.

"I told you NOT TO MOVE," He groaned and hit my face playfully, I could hardly make out the syringe of green liquid in his hand, could barely make out anything at all as he straightened my right arm and bent over it. Everything was fading. I was seconds away from death. I could hear my heart struggling, fighting.

He made a swift movement.

He stood up.

I could hear my heart jumpstart. I could breathe again, but I was so weak, I still could not move. He was now bent down over my face, inspecting my face and wiping off the lipstick roughly with a rag.

"Didn't even cry," He pinched my cheek, "that's my girl."

(his girl)

I sat up feebly, the strength slowly returning to my arms.

"Why?" I croaked.

"Because." He threw a water bottle at me. It hit me in the head, but I did not complain. Nothing after that experience would ever make me complain.

I drank. Greedily.

"You're different, Ivy. You and I are going to get along. I can feel it."

I got up slowly, using the chair for support. My legs felt strange and rigid. The Joker now pulled out a small briefcase from behind one of the large boxes. He released the gold clasps. Inside were three more of those syringes holding the green liquid. They glowed mysteriously.

"You'll shoot one every night." He answered the question in my eyes, "You'll come back when you're done. I'll give you the lipstick, no antidote. If you haven't done 'em, I'll watch you die. If you have, you'll be... better." He smiled wickedly.

I didn't understand all of this, didn't understand even half of it. But I'd agreed inwardly beforehand to go with whatever was to happen that night. So, I took the briefcase in my hands then.

"Go home, Ivy." He said.

I ran home, as fast as I could.

The sensible thing to do that night was to run from the start.

The sensible thing to do was to turn the briefcase in to the police, call Rachel, and get out of the city.

But I wasn't a sensible person after that night.

I didn't trust reason.

All I trusted was chaos.

All I trusted was him.