Give Me a Smile

Joker went to join his men after that, and I got bored. I was slightly tempted to open the suitcase and take a peek, but I didn’t dare. I sat on the bed, kicking my legs back and forth, daydreaming until my eyes caught the spinny chair. I grinned.
It suddenly felt like a long time since I’d had some good, legal fun. I turned the TV on, letting the news be my soundtrack, and wheeled into the hallway. The floor was tiled and pretty easy to roll down. I spun around and around through the maze of corridors I’d never seen before. Walls and doors passed dizzily by, and I started giggling.
It was just so much fun. I felt four years old again, unscarred and carefree. I turned a corner laughing, only to stop suddenly. I glanced down to see pale hands wrapped around the arms of the chair, holding me in place. I looked up into Joker’s grinning face. “Uh...hi,” I mumbled, hoping he wasn’t angry.
“Was I, er, not s-supposed to do that?” His eyes danced and he kissed my scars. “No! No, Quinnie, play all you like. I haha, I sometimes forget how young you are.” I giggled and gently tapped his nose. “You’re not much older than I am!”
He shrugged and tugged me out of the chair, sat down, and pulled me into his lap, spinning us around. “Ha! I don’t know how old I am,” he said in my ear. That made me sad, but I didn’t say anything.
We played around with the chair for a while longer, until I was gasping with laughter and near sick from spinning. It was about one in the morning, not even close to day, so I wasn’t sleepy. I felt impatient and excited.
I kept jumping up and down, babbling on about random things, clutching at his arm. Eventually Joker got annoyed, so he backhanded me across my chest. I tumbled to my bum, overcame the pain, and stood up. “Calm down, or I’ll break your ankles,” he growled. I gulped and nodded. He relaxed and seemed to drift into thought. “Hey, Quinn.” “...yeah?”

“You still have the knife I gave you that night I killed a security guard?” “I don’t think so. Why?” He rummaged around in his pockets and produced a knife, which he gave to me. “Keep this. You, ha, might need it soon.” “Okay...” I tucked it carefully into my pocket. “Why will I need it?”
“Eh. Just in case,” he said, wrapping his fingers around my neck. “Quinnie, do ya want another tattoo?” I looked at him from the corner of my eyes. “Are you going to knock me out for it?” “Do I have to?” I sighed. “I don’t actually have a choice, do I?” He chuckled. “Nope.” “Why do you need me to have one?”
“Reasons.” I huffed and crossed my arms. “Fine. Whatever. Just get it done with.” He sprayed a gas at me and my eyes fluttered shut.
I woke up with a pain in my side, just under my boobs. It stung. “Joker?” “Eh?” We were back in his room. Joker was lounging in the chair, idly spinning. “You didn’t have to fucking gas me!” I snarled. He was up in an instant, hand over my mouth.
“I don’t like to hear a woman swear,” he said quietly before removing his hand. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Do you want to see the tattoo?” His fingers snaked up my shirt to brush the stinging I’d felt before. “Sure.” He tossed me a mirror and waited as I lifted my shirt up. The tattoo was bigger than the one on my neck, colored with garish ink.

It read ‘Smiley’ in jagged letters. I touched it, searching for another tracking device, but all I felt were the bumps of my ribs. “Why’d you force me to get this?” I asked, deciding not to mention the gassing. “Wanted to make sure you never forget who you are,” he said, then traced my neck tattoo, “or who you belong to.” I blushed, couldn’t help but smile. “Oh. Thanks.” “Good girl, Quinn.”
He stood up and walked over to the table, splaying his hands against the wood. “Catwoman is back. Dunno what side she’s on anymore,” he told me. I perked up. Everyone knew about Catwoman, everyone wondered about Catwoman. She was a celebrity, and not a feared one like the Joker.

We had idolized her at my school and in the Narrows, where she often left jewels. To me, she was a heroine, a sort of sexy, feline Robin Hood who never picks good or evil. “Will we see her?” I asked, trying not to show my excitement. He caught it though, and laughed.

“Are you her fangirl, Quinn?” I shook my head but he kept smirking. “I dunno. We might meet up with her for a little. It depends how she’s feeling.” He kicked at the table leg. “She’s not exactly fond of me.” He looked up and grinned evilly. “Likes Bat Brain too much to accept my...unique treatment of him.”
“Oh.” I stopped thinking about Catwoman and lay on my back, letting my fingers rest against the new tattoo. Smiley. It felt nice, a mark that I belonged. “Are you going to get me any more tattoos?” I said. “Probably. I like them. Almost as good as knives for leaving my mark.” He flipped me over and walked his fingers up my spine. “I’m the world’s only homicidal artist,” he said softly, “so I might as well make you a work of art, too.”
I melted into his touch, which was a welcome gentleness. I forgot to ask who had done them, or why I had to be unconscious. “Mkay.” I might have drifted off into sleep, but there was a crash downstairs and the sounds of fighting. Joker rushed from the room, knife already in hand. I followed.