The Price of Living in Chaos

Have you ever felt yourself slipping? Or felt yourself going off the deep end into a place where you don’t know where the bottom is? Cause, that’s how I feel. Unhinged, exposed, raw. Sinking.

I’ve been in this warehouse -this damn room- for approximately eighteen days. Eighteen long, boring days. My brain feels like it’s being squeezed dry like a grape. Or like the butt of a cigarette being stomped out. Everything around me is hopelessly lackluster and it’s hard to not let your mind wander for hours at a time. I. Need. Mental. Stimulation. I crave it like an addict.

The closest thing that I have for entertainment is sleeping, and trying to listen in on Joker’s goons’ conversations. Though they don’t have the most three-dimensional, worldly, and intellectually intriguing talks, it is fun to snoop.

All of my wounds that I got when Joker took me have been healing nicely though the big gash on my forehead is still scabbed. At least I don’t need for it to be bandaged anymore, The Joker would laugh hysterically whenever he saw it. I’ve begrudgingly accepted that it’s going to be one nasty scar when it’s all healed. Though, at least when I tell people how I got it, it’ll be a good story.

Knock, knock, knock

Who on Earth could that be? I looked towards the bedroom door quizzically, when it didn’t open immediately I called out lamely, “Come in.”

No one has ever knocked on that door as long as I been in this room.

One of Joker’s men who I’ve never seen before walked in; he was handsome. Though he wasn’t handsome in the stereotypical way which I was used too, this guy was handsome in the, I’m-a-bad-boy-I-have-a-shady-past type of way, and that intrigued the hell out of me.

I studied him as he walked into my room and set down a paper plate of two pieces of pepperoni pizza and a bottle of water on the dresser across from me. He didn’t fit the mold for the guys who I’ve seen in the Warehouse either. The male was taller than average- at least 6’2, and super fit. His muscles were well-defined in the tank top he was wearing. If he wasn’t obviously working for J and had a death wish, then he could without-a-doubt be a model.

“You’re new,” I stated while straightening up a little from my sitting position on the floor.

He looked down at me, his chestnut brown eyes studying me intently. I saw that he lingered on my cut forehead for a couple seconds longer than necessary.

“I am. Is it that noticeable?” He replied sincerely. His face held a mixture of concern and guilt.

“Buddy, a blind person could see that you’re not the usual guy Joker employs. Unless you’re secretly crazy and you’re fooling everyone. But I kind of doubt that.” Waving away his concern, when I stood up my vision blurred, wobbling a tad, I grab my pizza and water and sit on the edge of the bed.

“What? You don’t believe the saying, “the hot one are always crazy?”” He lightly joked and leaned against the wall by the dresser. He had his tan arms crossed over him, but it didn’t seem defensive.

Chuckling for the first time in more than two weeks I retorted, “Not in this case though that would explain a lot in relation to me.”

“Possibly,” he tilted his head back in forth as if weighing his options: his manicured hair flopping along with him.

Damn, he's cute when he does that.

Dropping the light tone, “What’s your name?” I asked while taking a bite of pizza- it was cold to my displeasure.

“Just call me, Fahim. And I know that you’re Charlotte Kingston.”

“In the flesh,” I say as I gesture to myself, pizza still in hand. “Fahim- that’s an interesting name. Where does it originate from?”

“Well, aren’t you dying to know-” He cooed slightly straightening his posture.

“I’ve been stuck in this warehouse for almost three weeks with no company other than The Joker, and as of late you, so yeah I am.” The malicious tone in my voice was harsher than that I wanted, Fahim didn’t seem bothered from it.

“How about this, if I don’t die from the job that Joker has planned for tonight, I’ll tell you.” He threw a wink in my direction as walked for the door.

“Sounds like a deal, pretty boy. You’ll know where to find me.” I say as I gestured to my bed and room: a grin on my face. It felt weird to be smiling over something as trivial as a conversation. If The Joker wants me to go crazy he’s certainly on the right path; As Fahim left I heard the too-familiar sound of my bedroom door being locked from the outside.

What I had to do was obvious- I had to befriend Fahim. I need a friendly person in this hell-hole: one that doesn’t want to kill me. It’s a simple enough task, but it seems near-impossible when I remember that I’m being held hostage by The Joker and that I’m surrounded by murderers.