Smile for Me

Joker did something to Scarecrow that made him limp for days, and I felt safe. I belonged to Joker, who had given me tattoos, marked my skin with scars and my mind with his addictive, vicious personality. He hadn’t fucked me since the night he broke my nose.

It was swollen and painful, but I smiled for him anyway. The cut on my back was scabbing over, too. He left on a job, promising to be back in a week or so with presents. I wandered alone around the compound, making sure the guards didn’t see me too often.

Mostly I stayed inside the room, reading, watching the staticy TV, and sleeping. It was boring. I wanted to go outside, see the side of Gotham Joker had shown me. I was twitchy, ansty. When Joker finally came back I jumped on him, pleading, “Can we go out somewhere? Do something? Please?” His mouth turned up in a pleased smirk.

“Sure, Quinnie. You, ah, wanna join me? Have a, ha!, an adventure?” I nodded eagerly as he spun and opened the door for me, bowing low. “Lady Quinn, your, aha, bullet-riddled chariot awaits.” I stepped in front of him and giggled as we headed from the building.Joker could be really, really fun when he was in a good mood.

Almost normal sometimes, a young man with scars on his face grinning gleefully down at me. It was dark, probably late at night, so we didn’t bother with disguises. He took my hand and tugged me along, telling snarky jokes about everything we passed. I was happy.

Joker swung me onto a ledge and hopped up to sit beside me, kicking his legs against the brick like a child. He never seemed to get tired, body humming with pent up energy. “So, ah, Quinnie, I got you a, haha, present or two,” he told me, slipping an arm around my waist.

“Yeah? What?” I perked up, leaning into him. He must’ve been doing something especially violent before he came to me, because his usual smoky scent was mixed with blood. I didn’t mind. “Well, I got, hoo!, some new books. I’m gonna fix the, haha the TV.” He paused for a second. “Nah, I’ll just steal a new one.”

He started fishing around in his pockets. “Got you...hm....another thingie.” He took it out, grinning. “Ha!” He held a knife out to me, hilt first. “Here it is, Quinnie! Your own knife!” I took it from him, weighing it in my palm. It said Harpy, and after messing around for a bit I figured out how the blade worked.

It wasn’t a pretty knife. Clunky, rusting in places, wickedly sharp. I beamed up at him. “Thank you.” He smiled and spun, coattails swirling around his legs. “C’mon, Quinn. Let’s go, haha, get a drink.”