Give Me a Smile

I woke up on a cot. My head ached and I was hungry, but I didn’t mind. The Joker sat at a table a few feet away, staring off into space. The suitcase lay on the floor beside him. I glanced around and realized we had moved again.
The place was small and dark, with just a light bulb dangling from the ceiling. As I watched something rumbled by and it swayed back and forth, flicking shadows around the room. There didn’t appear to be any doors, which worried me.
“Quinn,” Joker looked over at me. “Hi. Where are we?” I said, struggling off the bed. It was a pointless exercise. My ankle gave out and I fell over. He giggled and stood up. “New place. The, ha, Guano Man was getting nosy again. He, ah, wasn’t happy about a few tricks I played.” I nodded, still trying to stand. He just watched me and laughed.
“How long was I out?” “Just a few hours. You’re resilient, Quinn. Comes in, haha, useful, eh?” “Yeah. Did you get Clayface out?” He frowned and threw a knife at me. It hit the mattress right beside my head with a thud. I closed my eyes and tried not to scream. “No. I didn’t. Shut up.”
I leaned back against the bed and sighed, accepting that I wouldn’t be able to stand without help. He was quiet for a bit, his only noise the crunch of food. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in days. “Uh, Joker? I’m hungry.” He looked at me with cruel, mocking eyes. “Then get up and get something. There’s food over there.”
He gestured at the farthest corner of the room, eyes never leaving mine. I forced myself to crawl there, wincing at the rough boards against my knees. He’d taken the jacket back, so I was only in my underclothes. I wondered if he even noticed that part. Probably not.
I was a foot away from the food when I put a hand out and felt empty air. It was too late for me to stop. I fell forward onto a ladder and tumbled to the ground below. I landed so hard the boards bent and creaked under me.
When I made my eyes open I saw the Joker looking down at me with a huge grin on his face. “Oops! Guess I forgot to tell you that, ha!, we’re living in an attic.” I groaned and rolled over on my stomach, feeling new pains all over. “Quinnie?” He climbed down the ladder and knelt next to me, poking my ribs. I decided I was too hurt to respond.
“Quinn. Get up,” he said impatiently, turning me over. I put an arm over my eyes and huffed, “That hurt.” He laughed, leaning down to kiss my scars. “You’ll be fine. I knew it wouldn’t actually kill you.” He helped me up, throwing my arm over his shoulders. “C’mon, Quinnie. I’ll give you some food.” I smiled, pleased he was in a good mood again. It’s not like I was hurt that bad.

We ate at the table with the TV on. When I was done he leaned over and nudged me. “They sent out another search party for ya while you were out. Seems like someone’s been making a big fuss about ya still being gone.” I looked up, feeling interest grow. “Who?” “Your, ha, mommy.”
I swallowed hard and pushed the food away. “What? Why?” It wasn’t like her to care. “I dunno. I recorded it for you. Maybe you can, ah, explain it?” He flipped the TV on and sat back, smiling. My mother was on the news, wearing her familiar ratty coat. She looked low down and used up, as always.
“I miss my daughter, my little Quinn. It’s been two months since he took her, and I want her back. We were always so close. She’s my precious daughter,” she whined into the mike, smiling smugly down at all the cameras. So that was it. She wanted the news, she used me to be famous.
I hissed and picked up a spoon, ready to hurl it at her lying, attention whoring face. Joker beat me to it. He flicked a knife at the screen, leaving a crack right where her head was. The screen flickered and went black. “Y’know, Quinn, I could kill her, if you want. It would, haha, be pretty easy,” he said casually, getting up and taking his knife back.
I stared at him in horror. “Uh, no. No. You can’t kill my mother.” “Why not? I killed that other guy for you. I kill people all the time.” “But she’s my mother,” I said. He shrugged. “Never really saw the importance of mothers. I didn’t have one.” “That’s not possible,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Well, I had one, but Daddy killed her when I was young,” he told me.
I forgot about my mother and focused on him. “That’s....sad,” I whispered. “I don’t remember it,” he said cheerfully, tossing the knife from hand to hand. I felt sad and a little proud, proud that Joker would trust me enough to say something like that. He made me feel special. His face sharpened, like he was coming back from memories.
“You’re not wearing anything, Quinn.” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. “Huh. You really do have, eh, scars all over.” “Can I have some clothes?” I snapped. He narrowed his eyes at me, but I was lucky this time. He handed me pants and a button up shirt. They smelled like him. They were too big, but I didn’t mind. It was better than the hooker dress or my underwear. When I was changed he put me back on the cot.
“Stay there. You’re useless until you can walk,” he told me. “Ivy and Scarecrow want to meet up again. There’s books and food nearby. I should be back soon.” I waved goodbye as he descended the ladder.