‹ Prequel: Give Me a Smile
Sequel: Smile With Me
Status: Finished

Smile for Me


Joker left me crying, telling me to do whatever I wanted as long as I didn’t leave. I nodded and pretended it didn’t terrify me to see him go. I curled up against the bed, tapping my fingers on the floor. My head hurt from when I’d hit it against a wall. My clothes-a uniform of pants and t-shirt-were dirty and stained. I had been barefoot when I left Arkham, so my feet were cracked and bleeding. I stared at the wall across from me and tried to ignore the voices in my head.

I’m not sure where the voices came from. They weren’t there until I went into Arkham. A lot of stuff was done to me there, so that could be why. Shock therapy, fiddling around with my mind through chemicals, lots of pills, therapy where they tried to brainwash me from myself, weeks spent locked alone in my cell. The voices told me things. Made me hear people and sounds that weren’t there. Kept me up at night as they hissed in my ears. The voices don’t scare me as much anymore, though.

I must have fallen asleep, because there was darkness, then someone shaking me awake. “Quinnie.” I looked up into the Joker’s green eyes. He was sitting on my knees, holding my shoulders down. I had somehow rolled halfway under the bed. The material underneath was tattered, and I could see knives hidden among the slats.

Joker smirked down at me, leaning closer to lick a tear from my cheek. “You’re, you’re crying again, Quinnie. What did I, ha, say about CRYING? Only smiles,” he said slowly, breath hot on my skin. “You were, ah, thrashing about. Got nightmares, Quinnie? Still, haha, afraid of monsters like me? Still closing your eyes and, aha, hoping we’ll go away?” I shook my head.

He kissed the side of my mouth once and put his head on my shoulder, letting his body fall on mine. The bumps of his knives were vaguely uncomfortable, but I didn’t mind. He was here with me, warm, chuckling softly in my ear every few seconds. Eventually he slid a hand up to rub my short hair. “I really, ha, really like the hair, Quinn. Feels, feels all bristly.”

I frowned. All my hair, except for my bangs, had been cut off for one of my shock therapy sessions. They’d attached electrodes to my skull and buzzed me until my eyes ran with sparks. It didn’t change me. Joker caught the look on my face and grinned, stroking the greasy bangs away from my forehead. “Don’t like your new hairdo, Quinnie? I think you, ha!, look lovely. As beautiful as ever.” I beamed up at him and forgot about the shock treatment.
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The Joker: That's great, Harley. Really, but you've forgotten the first rule of comedy: if you have to explain the joke... THEN IT ISN'T FUNNY!