The Price of Living in Chaos

I don’t know how long I was out but when I finally woke up, I wish I didn't. My head was pounding like a drummer during a solo, even touching my head made searing pain erupt. What happened? My vision was blurry and I couldn't focus on anything. Is this a concussion? Thankfully, my vision cleared after a few minutes and I could finally see where I was at, because it certainly wasn't my bed.

It was a square room, about twelve feet by twelve feet, with hickory wooden floors-in desperate need of a polishing-,and the walls were painted a dull, lifeless beige- some paint was chipping in places. There was a window that was boarded up to the right of me, only small cracks of light shone through. A wooden door was across from me- a bathroom perhaps?

The next I noticed- though I couldn't really miss it- was the bed I was on. Definitely not comfortable. It was probably a full or maybe a queen judging by the size. It had shabby sheets that looked like they were from a motel- smelled like it too.

Gently and slowly I rose to my feet, the floor squeaking from my weight; I was a bit wobbly but I didn't fall. Turning the knob that had a thin layer of dust on it, I opened the door to a bathroom. It was plain and outdated, but at least it looked clean. The tub had some rust stains around the faucet, but other than that there were no visible signs of mold or mildew.

Then as I about to leave the bathroom I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the sink.

"Holy Shit," escaped my lips as I saw my face. The first thing I noticed was the dried blood. It was everywhere, on my face, on my neck, on my clothes, on my arms and hands, and in my hair. Then I noticed –though it you couldn't miss it if you tried- the huge gash on my forehead. It had to be about three inches long, and it cut diagonally from the lower center of my forehead to my eyebrow. There were a few other less important, littler cuts on my forehead but I ignored them for now. At least I didn't have any broken glass in my head.

I need to clean myself up, and then I need to get the hell out of here- wherever “here” is. First, I started back in the bedroom and looked into the dresser that was to the left of my bed. All I found in there was a box of bullets, a pair of socks, a pen and some duct tape. Useless, useless,useless.

I was getting frustrated, and I was hungry and I felt like crying all at the same time. Trying my best to stay level headed, I searched the bathroom with better results- not great, but better. A small first aid kit was under the sink next to a small roll of paper towels.

Opening the first aid kit I found some gauze, a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Band-Aids, and a bottle of ibuprofen- pretty much everything I need. Closing the door and locking it, I stripped from my blood soaked clothes. Should I take a shower or should I just wash up from the sink? Would the Joker or his cronies hear me if I took a shower? I decided the sink.

Tearing off a few paper towels and wetting them, I started washing myself. It wasn't very effective but it was better than nothing. The blood was coming off, and I was relieved. It was hard standing after a while; I was wobbling, and nauseous. Am I dehydrated? Forming my hands into a cup I took a drink of water, it tasted metallic and coppery, definitely different then the type I had in my apartment, but I wasn't complaining.

Things got a little hard as I neared my cut. Needing a delicate hand, and some pain tolerance, I cautiously washed it. Though when it came to the hydrogen peroxide, I couldn't help but letting the tears that welled up flow. It stung so bad, I felt like screaming.

Now, how am I going to cover my cut? The last thing I need is an infection. After a few minutes of thinking, my plan was to use the gauze and as the bandage was secure it with a little bit of the duct tape. I felt like MacGyver, I looked like an idiot.

I didn’t want to have to put back on my disgusting bloodstained clothes, but I didn’t really have a choice. I’d rather not walk around with only my bra and underwear. Just as I was done buttoning up my pants, I heard the door to my room creak open. Throwing on my shirt and poking my head from the bathroom door, I saw that the Joker was in my room carrying a plate of food. How odd...

“You’re finally awake.” He stated upon seeing me, he cracked a smile –well, more than usual- when saw my stupid forehead bandage. I watched as he sat down casually on one of the edges of the bed. He wasn’t wearing his normal big purple coat just his usual blue toned, hexagon button up and green waistcoat. He looked more streamlined…more lethal.

“Yeah, no thanks to you. If you wanted to kidnap me, you could have just asked nicely.” I said dryly, coming from the bathroom and leaning against the wall. This space was so much smaller than apartment, I felt claustrophobic being in such proximity to him. God, my blood’s probably all over my apartment. That’s going to be difficult to clean…

“Well, I had a feeling that if I did… ask you nicely, you probably wouldn’t have said-ah yes, pumpkin.”

I eyed the paper plate of food, god I was hungry. The last thing I ingested was a cup of coffee; I can’t remember the last thing I ate. I’m neglectful to myself like that…

“True. So… how did you get me out of my building? The elevator? Down the fire escape?” I inquired, thinking about the horrified expression of the front deskmen seeing my seemingly-lifeless body, and Joker. I chuckled at this thought.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” He replied, his tone was light but his eyes seemed so harsh and dark, then after a second he added, “Come here.” He licked his lips in a reptilian fashion and patted the space beside him. I studied him carefully… this better not be a trick. Reluctantly, hesitantly, and slowly –like walking up to a sleeping tiger- I went to the bed and sat on the corner next to him.

He shoved the plate that was on his lap into mine, a few chips fell onto the floor. I look at the sandwich and potato chips incredulously, then back him.

“Eat- you look like a skeleton.” It’s true, my diet is messed up- I rarely feel hungry-now would be an obvious exception. I am hungry but that gesture is awfully nice of him… it has to be poisoned.

“Did you poison it?” I questioned scantily in a sigh.

He busted out laughing at my question, deep from-the-gut type of laughter. Confusion hit me- my question wasn't remotely funny at least to me; but yet again, I’m not crazy like he is. After a couple minutes of intense laughter he calmed down enough to answer my question.

“No,” He said shaking his head- his limp green curls bouncing with him- and holding on to his sides for support, “Toots, if I wanted to kill you trust me- it would be a lot more creative than simple poison.” Well that’s a good thing…?

Shrugging, and then taking a tentative bite out of the sandwich -turkey and provolone cheese- it tasted alright. It wasn't really the type of food that I usually ate, but yet again, even millionaires –like myself- won’t turn down a simple sandwich.

He watched me while I ate with a lazy stare, it made me question whether or not he was telling the truth about poisoning me. He didn't like lairs, so maybe that means he doesn't lie in return. Popping a chip into my mouth, and ignoring my last thought I continued to eat.

“You know, I got big plans for you,” He declared suddenly, making me jump in response. I almost knocked the plate off of my lap.

“Oh really, like what?” My temper quickly flared and I sent an angry glare in his direction in return.

“Murder, madness, mayhem, chaos- the usual.” He said nonchalantly waving his hand while standing up and walking to the door.

“Hey, wait!” I called back and standing up. He stopped and turned slightly, like he was an exasperated mother and I was a defiant child.

“You can’t leave! How long am I going to be here? How long are you gonna’ keep me here?” I yelled uncertainly crossing my arms over my body and stomping my foot a little on the ground. He then turned around to face me and I knew I was dealing with a different Joker, the one that bashed-my-head-into-the-table Joker. It was like a flip of a switch… maybe he’s bipolar? That would explain a lot. His eyes seemed almost black due to his makeup. His posture was hunched, but even then-he stood a good couple inches taller then me.

I was frightened by the person in front of me -as I should be- and I really didn’t want to do something that’ll set him off- and you know, I didn’t want my head to be bashed again. I cautiously took a slow and small step back.

He stalked towards me, slowly, with his head tilted slightly. This can’t be good. He crossed in the small distance between us in only a few strides.

He had one of his gloved hands clamped around my throat, with a knife to the corner of the mouth. The lack of air was almost instant to my injured body; my brain and head was started to get cloudy and stars pepper my vision.

“Let me go!” I rasp out pushing against him and trying my best to claw at his fingers. He’s a lot stronger then he looks. The Joker’s face was so sadistic and harsh; I could see in his face that he was enjoying choking me. His disgustingly wide smile plastered on his face proved that. We were inches apart; the closeness reminded me of the first I met him at the ball. Thinking back it’s hard to believe that it was only a few nights ago. He added more pressure to the knife in the corner of my mouth.

Please don’t break skin… I really don’t need another injury….

“I don’t think you get it,” He said coldly and in a calculated way, “You’re here because I want you to be. You’re alive-ah because I want you alive. You’re going to stay here till I get bored with you. Got it, princess?”

But I didn't get it, my head was swimming and I couldn't breathe. I only picked up every other word, but I understood what he was saying- I wasn't leaving this place for a while. Suddenly the pressure from my neck was relieved, and I dropped to the floor.

I didn't move once I was out of his grasp, though. I sat on the floor and glowered- God, how could he be so nonchalant about choking me- at him, and he was doing the same- he was waiting for my response.

“No.” I whispered mordantly. I said it softly but I knew he heard me. I wasn't going to stay here like some caged bird. “Do you honestly think that I’m that spineless to just go along with what you say because you’re “The Joker”?” My voice wasn't loud but it carried weight that I think even the Joker could notice. Hopefully, at least.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, that’s a real shame. Oh well, some just take longer to learn.” And with that Joker proceeded to grab a handful of my hair while pulling me up, and slammed my head twice off of the nearest wall.

My head felt like it was going to explode, so much so, that I couldn't even put up a fight or protest against him. I fell to the floor and gingerly put my head in between my hands- trying to stop the spinning. After a minute or two of collecting myself, I looked up to see that I was all alone. I didn't even hear him leave.

Crawling over to the bed, I hoisted myself up and under the covers. At first the tears came sporadically, then the flood gates opened and I was quietly sobbing.

God, why did this have to have happened to me?