"In all it's misery,

It will always be what I loved and hated,

And maybe take a ride on the other side,

We're thinkin' of,

We'll slip into the velvet glove,

And be jaded." ~Jaded, Aerosmith

As a child, I remember spinning around and around again just to feel some sort of head rush. Tables and walls would blur around me until it was just a painted canvas of swirled and mashed colors. And just when it would climax to a mind numbing point, the world of the downward spiral would collapse until nothing was left but black. That is what love is like. That is what life is like. Love is something we come back to over and over again just to feel some sort of rush. To feel something besides an emptiness. And in this emptiness, we find something in ourselves that only that can teach us. How to stand up, wearily and with dizziness like no other, and move forward one shaky step at a time.

My father always said that human kind is always at it's finest when the odds are against them. I find it funny how I'm sitting here and thinking the very opposite. What a bunch of pigs. I thought, a dull headache thudding in the back of my head. It felt like a razor blade was being rocked back and forth near my spine as my frown deepened. This was my normal diagnosis during my time in school. I could stand the words, the ugly words that cut like knives. Nonetheless, it was the stares that got to me. It was like an unruly heat that burned at my skin or even a stone being thrown at my head, only to leave a trail of blood or a purple and blue bruise. That is what the stares were like. They irritated and irked me like no ones business.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my head nonchalantly beneath my tightly wound fist. My indifferent glare was on the teacher as I tried to ignore the attentive eyes on me. His eyes were brown I knew that enough, but I didn't dare to look further into them in fear that I would snap. He sat back in his chair lazily staring me down and though I wanted to make a witty comeback or even glare back at him. I didn't. I just acted like nothing ever happened. Just like I always did. Minutes dragged on like hours, time inching forward ever so tantalizingly slow. But I knew that for me, the only way to stop the stares, were to get as far away from them as possible.

"So what are you doing this weekend?" Said Sam as we waited eagerly for the dismissing bell to sound off our freedom.

I looked down at the discolored Chuck Taylor's that had once been white, but were now a hodgepodge of soot and black ink. "I don't know." I said simply.

The fact was that I did know. One; because I had been doing the same thing since the beginning of the year and two; because my "friends" were too busy with their own lives to even consider spending it with me. "Well, you are coming to the party, right?"

I could feel a snide remark well up in my chest as I looked over to the bland teenaged boy who I called a "friend". Ha, some friend. I thought glaring at the boy who was about four inches shorter than me. Just then, the bell rang. Nonetheless, it was the first time I had smiled the whole day.

I started to walk out of class when Sam called out my name in protest. Looking over my shoulder at him, I sneered. "I might. But don't get your hopes up, Kapish?"

Sam scoffed and shook his head. "Yeah, I got you Jack."

I would have ran out the doors with the rest of the crowd if it wasn't for the lustful stares of the adoring women that lined the lockers one by one. I couldn't help but feel like they were trying to sell themselves to me. Though it was tempting to tell them to work it somewhere else, I simply wanted to go home. With my bag tucked underneath my shoulder, I nearly jogged my car.

I wasn't surprised to find my house uninhabited for it almost always was. I kicked open the door and threw my keys on the table right next to the door. My old shoes squeaked over the polished hardwood floors as I bounced up the winding stairway to my room. In the beginning I hated the level of quiet that had settled in my parent's absence, but as time went by I got so used to it that I actually preferred it. I opened my door easily and collapsed onto the queen size bed in the middle of my room. It felt good to stretch out my limbs and as I worked my feet back and forth I felt a sweet pop give away. Small amounts of sunlight fluttered in from the cracks of my windows, just barely illuminating the chipping paint of my off white ceiling. It was then when I let my mind drift off, for it was the only place I could escape to that wasn't half as bad as reality.

Ice lined the streets of Gotham. It covered and unraveled itself over everything, leaving nothing but cold concrete and unforgiving steel. I didn't know why I was walking through the Narrows; let alone where I was going. But no matter how hard I tried to stop myself from walking too far, I just kept walking. Snow fell lifelessly to the ground. The sound soft and barely audible, yet somehow beautiful. It was then when the beauty was shattered as soft sobs mixed with pained moans were poured out into the night. "S-stop!" She cried, her dainty little hands flying up to protect her face.

"YOU LITTLE BITCH! We wouldn't be flat broke if you weren't alive!"

His hand quickly turned into a fist just as it made contact with her cowering body. With one small grunt she whimpered back into the trash that was lined against the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I'm alive."

She sobbed harder, her back arching as tears raked through her body. His face turned sour as he grunted in satisfaction, leaving her among the trash. I watched her in odd fascination as she sat there for some time. Isn't she cold? I thought, remembering just how bitter the weather was. I watched as her dark curls shook around her shoulders, but as she looked up. I realized just who she was. Leila Wellington.

You know how sometimes people say you wake up gradually after dreaming? Yeah. No. That isn't what happened to me. Right after I woke up from that dream I was wide awake to the point where it was scary. Why was Leila Wellington of all people in my dream? That was one of the questions that swam through my head, though there were many more. I did not want to think about it though. So, I shoved the thought aside and made my way to the bathroom down the hall. Stripping down to nothing, I turned on the shower, making sure that it was steaming hot.

I didn't know why it was getting to me so much, but all I wanted was searing hot shower. One that would make me forget about the cold frigid air of that dream.

I got out of the shower with my skin an unforgiving shade of red. My hands worked fast to find a towel from the rack as I wrapped it around my waist. However, as I picked up my dirty clothes, I stopped and stared at myself in the mirror.

The boy in the mirror gazed over me with one eye brow raised. His chocolate colored eyes looked glazed, his chiseled jaw line almost flaccid from the harsh lights. His long blonde hair fell limply around his shoulders as his gaze fell over the scar over his arm where his dad had threw a knife at him. Even so, I was still thinking about my dream. I kept replaying its contents over and over through my brain. That is when a sickening thought came to mind. Maybe I should go to the party. I thought watching as Jack sneered at me in the mirror.

"Alright Jack." I said staring at the man in the mirror. "Time for some fun."

Hello everyone! So I decided to write another fan fic but this time it is Jack's POV in its entirety. Now, this is the story of the Joker before he got his scars and then afterwards when Leila left. I had some really good ideas and I just starting writing. I couldn't help myself. If you just found this please take a look at Heart of Darkness. It's not my best work (because some of it is rushed) but it's still a good story. Enjoy/ comment. Thank you! ~ELA