Give Me a Smile

He didn’t come back for a week. I started watching TV obsessively, searching for any sign that he was out there. I was sure that news of his capture or death would be broadcast all over, but there was nothing. I barely slept, cause when I did I had nightmares. The thought of him being gone forever made me feel hollow.

He came home, though. I was on the couch when he came through the door, stumbled over to the couch, and collapsed on top of me. His breathing was harsh and he was shaking. Something warm and wet dripped onto my palm.
“Joker?” He just lay there with his head pressed into my collarbone, green hair tickling my skin. “Joker!” I rolled him off me, wincing when he hit the floor and yelped. There was blood everywhere-on my hands, my clothes, all over him.

I could finally see where it was coming from. There were three large cuts across his chest. Whatever had done it had cut his clothes to shreds with just a swing. Blood bubbled up from his skin as I bent over him, hands waving helplessly.
“Oh shit fuck what do I do?” I whimpered. His eyes slit open and he smiled at me, forcing himself up to his elbows. “Hey, Quinnie. How’s it going?” “You’re bleeding!” He set up further and tugged his shirt off, exposing his skinny white chest. Scars and bruises dotted every inch of skin.
I focused on the three large gashes that split from shoulder to his lowest rib. “Get me the suitcase, Quinn,” he ordered. I hurried to it. Joker cracked the suitcase open and pulled out a needle and thread.

He didn’t allow me to see what else was inside. “Ever learn how to sew?” he asked me. “N-No.” He glanced over at me and rolled his eyes. “Calm down. S’not like I haven’t been hurt before.” He smiled and touched the scars around his mouth. “I’ll teach you how to sew later,” he promised, threading the needle.
I watched as he pushed it through his skin, in and out until all the cuts were closed. Then he leaned his head back against the couch. Sweat beaded his forehead, making the makeup drip. We were quiet until his breathing softened and he stopped shaking. The room smelled like blood, which made me feel sick.

“Miss me, Quinn?” he said. His voice was low and raspy. “I watched the news for you every day,” I said, trying to ignore the blood drying on my hands. “Was I on it?” “No.” “Too bad.” Joker shifted until he was pressed against me, probably for my body heat.

“Wanna, ha, know what happened?” “Yeah.” “I met up with Wolfie. Got a, ha, got in a little fight.” He spit blood onto the floor and rubbed his mouth. “And I got a pretty new set of scars for it. The beastie has nasty claws.” “What happened to The Wolf?” Joker shrugged.
He was still bare-chested, so I could feel the bumps of his scarred skin. “Got away. I’ll kill him eventually. Somehow.” He fell asleep in front of me for the first time, head on my shoulder. I felt intensely fond of him right then, as I fell asleep myself.