The Price of Living in Chaos

Three days later

Everybody died- well, not me, but you get the idea. Fifty-eight people lost their lives, and it seems as though, I’m responsible for the aftermath. Gotham City seems more down trotted as Mayor Garcia ordered the flags to be flown in half-staff, but the solemn aspect did not discourage the media from bombarding me with questions, phone calls and emails about that night.

My patience is being pushed to the breaking point as I can almost feel myself being retracted from the outside world. I just want peace and quiet as I try and wrap my head around what happened. The world must suspect that one can immediately bounce back after seeing a slaughter take place. It’s unfortunately not that easy.

But even after everything I have remained truthful no matter how pushy and impolite reporters were, and I’m shocked to say that the media is painting me as the culprit. Newscasters are now turning on me –though, I never really trusted them in the first place- and is questioning my integrity. They are now spewing falsities such as: “Is Charlotte Kingston survivor of the Friday Massacre working for or with the Joker?” and my personal favorite because of how outlandish it is, “Is Charlotte Kingston the new Harley Quinn?”

The fact that they would even compare me with the doctor-gone-crazy is eccentric at best. I don’t want to bang Joker; I want to punch him in the face. However, I’m going to go to the police station and give them my official statement today so that their worker-bee minds don’t get confused with the lies on TV.

It’s early morning, five am to be exact and I’m watching the sunrise over Gotham. Since the shooting, my already-bizarre sleeping schedule has been ruined and I find sleep even harder to come by. Contentment flooded through me as the pretty orange and pink sun rays appear on the horizon but that was broken as the faint sound of my cell phone reached my ears. Strolling off my petite balcony and shuddering just a little bit as the cold linoleum floor met my bare feet. Maybe I should put on a pair of socks…

I didn't look at the caller ID before I answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Lottie? Oh Lottie! Hi! How are you? Are you okay?” It was Tessa; her voice seemed worried since I had only got to talk to her for about ten minutes after the shooting. It was good hear her voice.

“Morning Tessa, I’m fine a little tired but overall peachy. How are you? You seem…tense.”

“I’m stressed because of you! I've barely talked to you since the shooting! I need to make sure you’re okay; you’re like family to me. If you need to talk to anyone, ya’ know I’m always here for you?"

“Of course, Tessa and thank you it means a lot. So, have you been watching the news lately?” I want to make sure that Tessa doesn't believe in what she might hear of me on the news.

“Yes! I can barely turn it off. Have you heard that they’re talking shit about you, saying that you’re the “new and improved Harley Quinn?”

“Unfortunately yes-“

“Well if you’re going out stay safe because some people actually believe that shit, people actually think that you helped kill those people and they’re probably angry at you.”

“It’s not the first time someone’s been irate with me, Tessa. I think I know how to handle myself. I hate to cut you short but I have to get ready or I’ll be late for my meeting with Commissioner Gordon at the police station.” I lied; I actually had plenty of time. Three hours to be correct.

“Commissioner Gordon? Why are you going to talk with him? Are you in trouble?” Tessa’s voice raised an octave, and the apprehension was clear as an undertone. She’s always one to jump to conclusions.

“No. I’m going to give them my final statement of what happened that night, so that those idiots don’t believe what they hear on the news. The last thing I need is some cops thinking I helped the Joker.”

Tessa was quiet for a while as if she was debating on saying something before finally saying, “True, well I don’t want you to be late so bye, and stay safe.”

I gave a simple, “good bye Tessa,” and hung up the phone. That conversation left me with an unpleasant after taste, which almost hollowed me out. It felt like I was missing something that I just couldn't place my finger on.

Oh well, it was time for a nice long bubble bath.