Author's Note: Gee, I'm a real big fan of the one-word titles, aren't I? So...this is basically just a tester. I'm not going to lie--this is definitely a "whim" fic. I just saw the possibility, and thought I'd give it a trial run, see if it interests anybody else, and hopefully continue if it gets pretty good support. As always, I appreciate con-crit: feedback in general is always nice. But, anyway, I do hope you enjoy this!
I kind of changed my mind about where I was going with this, but I like it. Though each chapter will be short, there will be a twist in the scenario--the Joker's role will change--but each will exist as a possible moment in his past. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: They're not mine. The quote at the beginning of the story is from "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley.
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She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
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Shatter
for the love of me.
She cowered against the headboard, holding the comforter tightly against her body like some vain shield. Her pretty blue eyes were a mess of mascara and eyeliner and sweat, and they pleaded with him for mercy. The loud, painful moans of the man on the floor made her cringe; even at this distance, he could see the hair prick up on her arms. Her skin crawled with goosebumps; her eyes strayed for a moment to agonized form, and her entire face drained of color.
"For the love of God--"
"For the love of who?!" his voice scaled the octaves, reaching some ghoulish note that made her shiver. He took a step forward, gripping the chair at her vanity and flipping it to the floor. It landed heavily on the man's head; he grunted and was still. "What about for the love of me, Gina?! What about loving me?!"
She attempted to steady her nervous breath as black teardrops began to slide down her face. "I do love you, baby. I do. I love you. Just please, baby--please don't hurt me. I love you. I swear I love you. I swear--"
The gunshot interrupted her, and she let out a little scream of surprise. She hadn't realized that she'd squeezed her eyes shut until she opened them to see what had happened. Joe stood there, right where he'd been standing before, with a .45 still aimed at the lifeless body on the ground. She took in deep, wheezing breaths, grappling desperately to make sense of the mess surrounding her.
"Baby--"
"Shut up! Just shut up! If you say another goddamn word, Gina--"
He shifted the aim of the gun over to her. She stared down the barrel, and he watched her chest rise and fall faster and faster and faster and faster. She was afraid to look up at him, afraid to move, afraid to blink. He saw her lips trembling uncontrollably, saw her shoulders wracked with sobs. But she didn't make a sound.
His jaw clenched and he blinked heavily several times. And even though her eyes were steady on the gun, she must have noticed his glare faltering, because she dared to whisper:
"Baby..."
Something in the pit of his heart exploded. Rage clouded his eyes. "'Baby'? Always 'baby.' Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, BAY-beeee! Come on, baby. I love you, baby. There's no one else, baby..."
She closed her eyes, a few tears sliding past her eyelashes. "I'm sorry," she barely managed to mumble. "I screwed up."
"Oh-ho-ho, baby, there's no doubt you're screwed, or...were screwed," he chuckled, his voice straining. "Have been screwing--"
She looked at him, and something in her blue depths was no longer frightened. She was angry, infuriated, boiling. The sound of his laughter tapped on her nerves, and he liked the hatred in her eyes.
"What is this? Some kind of sick joke?" she demanded hoarsely. His handsome face broke into a wide grin that would have been a strange relief to her, had it not been for his eyes. They were too bright, too buggy, too...empty. They lacked something human that she had been expecting when he looked at her.
"Yeah," he muttered, tossing the gun to the floor. It skidded across the hard wood and knocked into the wall. "I'm just kidding."
She sat up a little straighter, a confused frown skewing her pretty features. He crossed the room, tripping a little over the body on the floor, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She watched him reach to touch her leg, but she shifted it away. He met her eyes, and she was glaring at him.
"What's the matter, Gina? Don't like my joke?"
She swallowed, casting a glance at her dead lover. "What is wrong with you? You're acting like a lunatic."
He shrugged, raking a few locks of his dark blond hair out of his face. He chuckled under his breath, but his eyes gleamed with tears. He ran his tongue over his lips and slipped his hand into his jeans pocket.
"Guy comes home early from work one day and finds his wife in bed with another man. Guy says, 'How could you? Haven't I loved you better than anyone?' She says, 'Not better than him.' So he takes out a gun and shoots him dead. Then he looks at his wife and says, 'How could you? Haven't I loved you better than anyone?' And she says--"
"Shut the hell up. We don't have time for this," she muttered. He shrugged, allowing it.
"That'll work. So he pulls out a knife and slits her throat."
