The Moonstruck

Bijou

“Daydream…I fell asleep amidst the flowers…for a couple of hours…on a beautiful day.” My voice danced lazily on the balmy evening breeze, tenderly shattering the warm silence of the backyard. “Daydream…I dream of you amidst the flowers…for a couple of hours…such a beautiful day…”

I was lounging in the pool, having left Jack to toss and mutter in bed. I never wanted to wake up next to him; he was always cranky before breakfast and he thought it amusing to kick me from the mattress. Like a little boy. Instead I’d done some exploring and finding an old tire half buried in the dry soil of the yard, I’d decided I would go for a soak.

My strength had surprised me as I dragged my make-shift float from the knee-high weeds towards the pool; it hadn’t taken much time to recover. Just the week or so that we’d stayed here in this miserable house.

The days had been spent in near pleasance. Jack, like myself, had needed rest and nourishment. We slept for long, obscene hours, watching the sun climb up and down the walls and making petty guesses at the time; just breathing one another like junkies, hungry for their fill.

He ate more than I’d ever seen. I’d even cooked once in a while, temporarily forgetting my distaste for the disgustingly spousal act. But our time unattached was short-lived; on more than one occasion, we’d abandoned full meals for the bedroom, opting to feast on one another. We would find the lukewarm food waiting for us in the morning and we’d have a good laugh.

It felt good to laugh; like stretching an old muscle. And yet…the house was doing things to Jack. He’d been right about the ghosts in the walls. He’d taken to whimpering in his sleep, something I knew he thought I didn’t pick up. I’d lie in bed and watch him grimace and clutch at the dirty sheets, as if trying to wring out his demons. I knew better than to console him; I tried once and he briskly smacked me away, whether unconsciously or not I would never know.

An ugly green bruise had greeted me in the morning; he’d eyed it sheepishly but hadn’t apologized. That was fine; I didn’t expect him to. I never expected more of him, never asked for more than he had to give. It was when he gave too much that I began to worry.

And there’d been plenty of that. Glances where I could catch more than madness in his dark eyes; kisses that rang of something more than chaos; a caress that was more than fleeting affection.

I knew he did it on purpose, out of boredom, to rile up a reaction. We both did it. We were time bombs, each of us detonation to the other; we were human physics. And we never reacted within prediction. A kiss for a slap and vice versa. I would never return his affection when he gave it freely; I was much too proud. Too scared of what it would mean. And all I could think of was Jeannie…

So I’d done something a little vindictive: I’d slipped into one of his mother’s dresses.
He’d found me in front of the mirror. And his sentiment had done a sweet little one-eighty. The garment was musty with the stench of cigarettes and so long as I had it on, he was belligerent and moody; he was himself. I always liked him more with a grain of salt and a glare.

I wore the dress now, as I drifted lazily amidst the wild-flowers, the fabric grasping at my legs. Closing my eyes, I hung my head and sighed; the setting sun felt glorious and the cool water felt even better seeping across my skull.

And yet for all my pleasure, for all my relaxation, for all the sex and all the food and all my wily manipulation, I was bored and aching for some action; for some chaos. I felt myself going soft. And I knew I wasn’t only one – Jack had begun to pace the house like a wild cat in captivity, muttering, growling, knocking the furniture around. What was worse, he’d found a mess of restaurant matches in a kitchen drawer and had taken to lighting each one, finding entertainment in watching each one burn down. A part of me worried he might torch the house in the middle of the night and forget to tell me…

“Aren’t cats supposed to hate water?”

My head snapped up at the sound of his voice. He was in the doorway to the kitchen, squinting blearily in only his trousers. His hair was a mess.

“Aren’t self-proclaimed agents of chaos supposed to do something other than sleep?” I returned, letting my head fall back and hit the water once more.

“I don’t just sleep,” he yawned, shuffling over to the side of the pool, “Why just yesterday, I can firmly recall getting laid.”

I let a low chuckle roll out of my throat, not bothering to shoot him the glare of distaste he so deserved. “Piquant, Jack. Very piquant. ”

“I’ve even been known for a few grand magic tricks,” he drawled and I heard the slap of his bare feet on the ground, “Watch closely…”

I felt the tire give a jolt and before I could open my eyes, I was in the water. He’d flipped me.

Bastard.

Joker

“Taaadaaaa!” I shrieked, my voice shaking with laughter. I watched her flounder, her willowy limbs flailing wildly. When she emerged, her hair was slick to her head and a few flowers had caught in the tangles. She stood like an idol amidst the tossing water, those legs holding her high above the meager waves; her face fixed with a glare that would make the devil flinch.

Too bad I wasn’t the devil.

“C’mon, c’mon!” I chirped, beckoning her onward, “Make me some eggs.”

She rolled her eyes and spit a bit of water from her mouth, but I saw her make her way to the edge of the pool and hoist herself from the water with that bizarre feline grace. Fuh-reak…

That ugly dress slapped wetly against her legs as she followed after me into the kitchen, not bothering to dry off. I hoped maybe some of the dirty water had soaked away the stench;
Bijou thought it smelt like cigarettes, but to me, it’d always reek of bitter almonds.

Or to be more chemically correct, cyanide.

I’d helped my mother do it, because she asked me to. She’d been so sad and I just wanted her to smile again…

“Go to the kitchen, Jackie” she had muttered, wilting in front of her mirror; her eyes were as grey and lifeless as her skin. “Bring me my collection.”

I’d known exactly what she meant: the jam jar full of peach pits. She’d only recently begun to save them. They’d been dry and shriveled and grotesque; like tiny brains. She asked me to grind them up, an impossible feat for my seven-year-old mind to behold. But I’d done as she asked, pounding the little pits to bitter dust with my father’s hammer. And then into her glass of water went the brown bits, just as she commanded.

“Mix it up real good for mommy,” she cooed, “My little chemist…you don’t know how much good you’re doing, Jackie…”

And I’d believed her.

She’d died in that dress. I wondered if I should tell Bijou…

“Jack?”

I blinked. Bijou was staring at me, holding a plate of eggs. She set it unceremoniously before me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Something wrong?”

I licked my lip, giving my head a shake, turning to snatch a semi-clean fork from the sink; I was sure to clear the ghosts from eyes.

“We’re leaving,” I muttered, tucking into my breakfast/dinner.

“Finally,” she sighed, wringing out her hair and sending a shower of dirty water droplets spattering to the floor. “When? And don’t give that ‘soon’ shit.”

I chuckled, chewing sloppily. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Hasty are we?” she observed, idly examining her nails; her eyes leapt to meet mine and she smirked. “What are you running from, Jack?”

Damn her…

“Nothing in particular,” I snapped, smiling down at my fork, wondering whether she would read me so well without her eyes.

“Are we Gotham-bound at last?” she asked.

I smacked my lips. “No, not yet. We need to make a quick stop…something little, on the way. Got a friend who owes me favor.”

She looked at me dubiously. “Whatever.” And as she sauntered from the room, I followed after her, forgetting my eggs.

“Miss the city that much do you?” I called, trotting after her into the bedroom.

“No,” she shrugged, shaking out of her wet clothes. The dress fell to the floor with a wet sound, “I just hate this house.” She made a funny gesture with her hands. “It does things to you.”

She stood at the window, without a stitch and without a care. Even for the bruises and the bullet-shaped scars, her skin made me cry; it was liquid porcelain. I ambled over to her and she turned, the light bleeding in from the window rippling over her bare shoulders.

She was almost too beautiful. It was horrifying. And to think she chose me. With my moldy hair and my bad teeth and my tics…and I couldn’t fathom for the life of me why I’d made the promise I did.

I’d never figure that much out…

BAH!

To hell with it.

Bijou

He was staring at me, in the way that made me uneasy; when his eyes got all mellow. As if all he wanted to do was look at me.

He touched me then and I settled, molded to his touch. But as his hands moved to grasp my neck and pull me closer, I tensed. And the softness of his eyes turned in an instant.

“What are you thinking?” he hissed, his fingers curling around my neck, “What’s in that head of yours?”

And he found his answer. He saw it in my eyes: fear. And he knew the reason why instantly. Could hear the words unspoken and read the thoughts passing through my head.

“But I said I wouldn’t,” he muttered, his warm breath crashing over my face, “I promised.”

He was so close, I could feel the mounting anger radiating from within him. “But you did, Jack. You already have, remember?”

His fingers grasped harder and I winced. His eyes were wild, moving across my face, searching. “That was different, Bijou. We need to get out. You were our ticket out.”

We. Our.

“You would do it again, Jack…You would kill me again, if you had a good enough reason,” I muttered, staring back as I fought the fear shaking in my bones.

He was quiet for a moment, still glaring at me; his hands were still closed around my neck. I didn’t dare breathe. He could break me in half and we both knew it.

“Who – what…put these ideas in your head?”

I tried to ignore the hurt in his voice, disgusted by his emotion, and then ashamed at my disgust. I wanted to apologize; I wanted him to leave me be.

“Sometimes you just get to thinking…” I murmured, my eyes falling away from his face. And after a few more moments of silence, his hands did the same, uncurling from around my neck and lingering at the ends of my hair. He turned abruptly and strode from the room.

A gush of air rolled past my lips and the blinds gave a rattle as I fell against them. I felt sick and angry and tired all at once.

I’d let Jeannie get to me. I’d let her talk through me. Animate me, light the fear in my eyes, and coax my unspoken fears, my stifled misgivings from my mouth…I felt weak for buckling to my own panic.

Jack’s love was a luxury I thought I could still afford; it gave me power over him, that I could wield such emotion. But his power over me was stronger. I’d never admit it, but I felt it. I felt my sureness slip when he held me. I felt like Selina Kyle, under my mother’s thumb, suffocating on my own guilt, on my own-

There was a crash from the kitchen. The sound of a plate shattering against a wall.

I didn’t even flinch.

And as I slunk into bed like an animal with its tail between its legs, as I let myself drift from my shame and into sleep, all I could think was that I’d made those eggs for nothing.

~~~~~
I was awoken some time later by a hard nudge in the ribs. Groaning, I opened my eyes to find a familiar, much darker pair staring back down at me.

“Time to go,” he said simply before stalking back out of the room. My eyes jumped to the window, glowing faintly with morning light. Without a sound, I rose and dressed, fishing another dress from the closet. I found Jack in the kitchen, greedily helping himself to a box of Cheerios tucked under his arm.

“What’re we waiting for?” I sneered, refusing to show that our tiff had had any lasting effect on me.

He raised his eyebrows dramatically and drew out his arm, beckoning grandly at the door. I sauntered past him, my head high. I could feel his eyes follow me from the room.

Outside, the air was cool and damp, not yet soured by the heat of the day. It was then, sifting through the wet grass of the front yard down toward the car, that I realized I didn’t have shoes; I hadn’t worn them for all this time. Giggling lightly, I settled into the passenger seat, twisting my hair idly.

Jack was quiet as he slid into the driver’s side. And tossing the cereal into the backseat, he placed his hands carefully on the wheel; I watched his knuckles turn white and red then white once more. He was staring thoughtfully at the house.

“Should we burn it?” I asked, glancing up at the house and then to him. A small part of me, not dominated by pride, still wanted to please him.

He was quiet for a minute or so, just gazing up at that house. It looked empty and hollow, like skin shed from a snake. But I knew now the poison remained, steeping in the walls, hanging heavy in the air like some kind of noxious gas…

“No,” he replied shortly, swiftly ending the silence, “I’m the only one left to remember the ghosts in that place.” The engine rolled over with a cough and I felt the car shutter beneath me. He looked at me then, eyes bearing deep into my own. “And who knows how long I’ll be around to keep them alive.”

I opened my mouth to object to such morbid talk but simply clicked my jaw shut. There were so many words, thoughts, fears, wants building up inside of me I felt they could simply spill out and drown me. I couldn’t have that now. I had to wait. There was a pressure sliding against my ribs; excitement or fear or maybe a little of both. Everything was heightened, waking up.

And I knew, as the car jerked away from the curb, as we rolled down the street, picking up speed, that things would change again; Fate would pull a slight of hand and throw us back into the wind. I could see it coming just as clearly as the house, growing smaller and smaller in my mirror.