Smile With Me

“We have to go,” Hood says as he walks in the door, voice muffled by his helmet.
I’m sitting on the couch eating chips and I stare dumbly at him. “What?”
“We have to go. Riddler’s been seen sniffing around here.”
I laugh. “Are you kidding? Riddler? He’s so pathetic the police barely bother arresting him anymore.”
“Quinn. Let’s go,” he says flatly, so I shrug and stand.
“Whatever. I’ll grab my pillow.”
I peek at the door in the lobby, watching people go by. “I’m scared, Hood.”
“Aw, man, okay. You don’t have to do this, then.”
“Really?”
“Fuck no, get your ass out there.”
“Hate you.”
“Hate you, too.”

It’s daytime, around noon, and I squint at the light, feeling exposed. Hood sent me out alone, telling me that he’d bring everything to another base before collecting me. I clutch at the bundle of clothes that Hood gave me and look side to side. I’m in the Narrows, familiar and ugly. I’m scared and nervous and almost unsurprised when someone grabs me from behind, because something about this move has felt wrong from the start. As I hear Joker’s cackle in my ear, hands around my waist, I realize that Hood just used me as bait.
I don’t scream or struggle, because I’m a pushover and also too scared to move. “Please, come on, please lemme go,” I say instead, but his fingers only get tighter as he laughs.
“Shut, shut, ha, shut UP, Quinnie.”
“Please, I’m sorry…”
He casually breaks one of my fingers. “I said shut UP.” I go silent as he chatters on. “Took your, ah, tracker out, Quinnie. Clever, clever Quinn. Lucky me, to be walking by when you popped out.” He rubs a thumb along the back of my neck and I shudder. “Gonna, heh, gonna kill you. Then, then Hood, gonna peel the, haha, the skin from his bones.”
There’s tears and snot running down my face. “Joker, come on, please.”
“Fuck, Quinnie, what part of shut up do you not get?”

He brings me to another fucking warehouse after hitting me over the head several times, and I blearily ask, “Do you own every warehouse in Gotham?” He’s tugging me along by the wrist, but he looks back and grins.
“Was that a joke, hah, Quinnie? Not. FUNNY.” He shoves me to my knees, ties my hands behind my back. I can hear his henchmen moving around in nearby rooms. He pats the top of my head and leaves, still cackling.
There’s no point in struggling against the ropes, this isn’t some movie and I’ve never been a hero of any sort. I’m cowardly and ugly and still a little insane, probably. I can hear the Joker laughing and I shut my eyes tight because I don’t want to die, not really.

When Joker comes back he’s not smiling, which is…weird. “I’m almost, eh, gonna miss you, Quinn,” he says softly, crouching in front of me. He traces the scars around my mouth with a knife, like he has a hundred times before. I would fall asleep to his touch around my mouth, wake up to, “Give me a smile, Quinn.” He touches a thumb to the bottom curve of my lip. “Such pretty scars.”
“Shut…shut…shut up about the scars.” I’m expecting him to cut my face open, slap me so hard that everything goes dark, but he just smirks. He’s wiped the makeup off, and I can see the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and I wonder how old he is now. Mid thirties, definitely.
He’s shaped my life, twisted it around his fingers, and I haven’t changed him at all. He’s still laughing and insane and evil. I’ve done nothing to affect him. He stands when I start crying, leaves the room with a jaunty step.

When Joker comes back some hours later, I’m thirsty and hungry and I’ve already pissed myself once. “Maybe Batman will save me,” I blurt out.
“Why would Batman care about a criminal like you?” he asks bluntly.
“Because he’s Batman!” Joker’s laugh is even nastier than usual.
“Batsy couldn’t save Harley.”
“Did you love her?” I ask incredulously.
He laughs for a solid minute. “Nooooo. No. Nope. Pretty Harley, haha, pretty Harley ran away.”
“I thought she was dead.” He grins and pats my knee.
“I did, too, Quinnie. But Poison Ivy decided, hoo, to give ha ha Harley a bit of a nudge back to life.” He surges forward to grab me by the throat, bending me backwards and making the old scar down my back burn.
“Harley’s alive?” I wheeze, grabbing onto his wrists.
“Fuck yeah she’s alive. Harley Harley Harley is alive, and I can’t, haha, find her.” My mind is spinning, cause if Harley got out, got out for good, then there’s someone else out there like me, someone who escaped from him. Then again, I think as my vision fades, I’m not best friends with Poison Ivy.