‹ Prequel: Smile for Me
Status: Ongoing
Smile With Me
Haiti
I wake up to someone’s hand over my mouth, the scent of chloroform. Fear flies through me, and I make a grab for the gun under my pillow. He’s quick to take my hands, hold them near my head. “Tsk, tsk, Quinnie. You’ve, ha, been a very bad girl.”
It’s him, it’s the Joker, it’s him and he’s holding me down and the world’s going dark as he chuckles in my ear.
I wake up in the dark with my hands tied behind my back. I’m lying on the ground, grit in my mouth. I smell smoke and greasepaint, a smell that, after two years, still gives me nightmares. The smell of the Joker. I whine low in my throat and struggle, but I’ve never been strong.
Someone laughs in the darkness, low and familiar. It’s him. Joker looks the same, makeup garish as he grins at me with smeared red lips, the scars around his mouth matching my own. He gave me so many more when I was with him.
“Hey, Quinnie.” I’m so, so scared. I’m not insane anymore. I can’t be like that, be his fucking pet. I don’t want to be like that again.
“Please…I’m sorry.” The begging doesn’t work. It never does.
“Shut, haha, shut up. You, ah, ran away. I didn’t like that,” he says, getting up to sit crosslegged in front of me. He’s holding a crowbar. The room is totally silent, no cars, none of the nature sounds I’ve gotten used to. My stomach churns. I swallow back vomit.
“Where are we?” My voice is even more gravelly than usual.
“Near Gotham High. You remember Gotham High, Quinnie. We met there.”
“You kidnapped me,” I hiss, finding some of the backbone I’ve managed to regain since I left him. He grins and stands, shrugging, then slams me across the face with the crowbar. The world flickers as my jaw explodes with pain. I think my teeth are loose. I should see a dentist, I think blearily, brain trying to distance me. I’ve always been good at that.
He hits me across the face again, on my back, my arms, my stomach. I feel ribs crack, curl up.
“Please…I’m sorry….please…” It feels so familiar, his eyes gleaming madly down at me.
“You’re not goddamn sorry yet, Quinn. But you will be.” He gets another good head to my head, and I’m out.
It’s him, it’s the Joker, it’s him and he’s holding me down and the world’s going dark as he chuckles in my ear.
I wake up in the dark with my hands tied behind my back. I’m lying on the ground, grit in my mouth. I smell smoke and greasepaint, a smell that, after two years, still gives me nightmares. The smell of the Joker. I whine low in my throat and struggle, but I’ve never been strong.
Someone laughs in the darkness, low and familiar. It’s him. Joker looks the same, makeup garish as he grins at me with smeared red lips, the scars around his mouth matching my own. He gave me so many more when I was with him.
“Hey, Quinnie.” I’m so, so scared. I’m not insane anymore. I can’t be like that, be his fucking pet. I don’t want to be like that again.
“Please…I’m sorry.” The begging doesn’t work. It never does.
“Shut, haha, shut up. You, ah, ran away. I didn’t like that,” he says, getting up to sit crosslegged in front of me. He’s holding a crowbar. The room is totally silent, no cars, none of the nature sounds I’ve gotten used to. My stomach churns. I swallow back vomit.
“Where are we?” My voice is even more gravelly than usual.
“Near Gotham High. You remember Gotham High, Quinnie. We met there.”
“You kidnapped me,” I hiss, finding some of the backbone I’ve managed to regain since I left him. He grins and stands, shrugging, then slams me across the face with the crowbar. The world flickers as my jaw explodes with pain. I think my teeth are loose. I should see a dentist, I think blearily, brain trying to distance me. I’ve always been good at that.
He hits me across the face again, on my back, my arms, my stomach. I feel ribs crack, curl up.
“Please…I’m sorry….please…” It feels so familiar, his eyes gleaming madly down at me.
“You’re not goddamn sorry yet, Quinn. But you will be.” He gets another good head to my head, and I’m out.