No, no I don't have anything. Tears.
Please, I don't want that. Stop!
What are y-
Ah! Stop!
You're hurting me-!
Screaming.
Please, I'm begging you!
Why aren't you listening?
You have to lis-
Agony. Screams drowned out all sensible thoughts. A rush of hot blood surged from the injection point.
No!
It hurts so bad!
P-please!
Clouds. A shadow somewhere in the distance.
Please?
Less of a person. Wild. That is what they always said.
Please…
Black, creeping in. It was in the walls now, itching to get out.
No more….
Awake.
Awake…
No more.
Falling.
Who will catch me?
Falling faster.
Is this how it ends?
Concrete.
You didn't catch me.
Stained concrete.
Why?
Harley jumped awake, her mind already in full alert. The dread and paranoia were so paralysing, she swore every shadow in the corners of the room were alive and ready to devour her. She looked around, her labored breathing distracting her from hearing any potential threats. Her head was pounding with the toxic blood that encouraged her to get ready for a fight. But the fight never came. The fear evaporated into the air of the night, and she breathed a sigh of relief that her reality was not being spent in that cell at Belle Reve. She looked down at her hands, where her fists were wrapped into the white, silk sheets; she released them slowly, surprised at her own fear. By now, the details of the dream were escaping her mind, but the emotions and feelings were vivid and still pecking at her fragile psyche. She did not immediately notice the man lying next to her; he was completely still and nearly buried under all the blankets. The recognition came quickly along with relief, and Quinn gently shook the man's exposed arm.
"J," she whispered, "please wake up". Based on previous experiences, she knew he would not. It never stopped her from trying. The creature did not stir a muscle, even when she intertwined her delicate fingers with his ghoulish hand. She sighed again and smiled to herself, gently admiring the scene she had created. Mentally, she wanted to believe perhaps he had grabbed her hand out of his own free will. The thought was nice, but a darker thought interrupted.
He didn't catch you.
It was simple enough, but it had weight. Harley slowly unwrapped her hand from his, and brought it up to run through her platinum hair. She surveyed the room again, her eyes now better adjusted to the dark. A faint, orange glow poured through the glass into the bedroom from the city below. It illuminated the thick comforter on the bed, letting the silk folds shine within the dim room. The only furniture in the room besides the bed was two nightstands on each side of the frame. They too were struck by the light, accentuating their wooden curves and polished finish. The quiet whir of the ceiling fan diffused a serene breeze around the room, making the hairs on Harley's exposed skin stand on end. She looked out of the window from the bed, and made note that there was no moon tonight, which seemed to be hiding its bright side from the lonely blue planet.
You really are alone aren't you?
She closed her eyes in defiance and drew in a breath. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she reached down and plucked the shirt that had been tossed haphazardly on the floor. The soft fabric quelled the coldness on her skin, and she prepared to step out into the wilderness. She looked back at the figure behind her, still turned away from her and not showing a single sign of awareness. Some obscure microexpression pulled at her lip, but she turned and stepped off towards the door. The door handle was freezing to the touch, and another wave of chills rippled up Quinn's arm.
You're so cold. You are, aren't you?
"Shut up." She whispered as she wandered out into the hallway, focusing on silence with each step.
The living room was just as cold, as though ice could form on the window frames at any time. The warm mug of tea in Harley's hands kept the frost away, but she grabbed a fleece blanket off the couch just for good measure. Looking out on the sleepless city, she leaned against the enormous pane of glass that reached from the floor to the ceiling, her knees pulled tight against her chest. Something about the hard, wooden floor seemed more appealing than a comfortable couch for the moment. The tranquil, orange lighting gave the city a certain warmth under all the snow, and the streets and walkways were alive as if it were not two in the morning. Cars and trucks hustled through the brightly lit main streets, the occasional horn interrupting the muted scene. Some cars turned onto smaller back roads or alleys, their drivers likely exhausted and coming home from a late shift. Harley could not help but wonder if that might have been her in another life.
Coming home late, she sipped her tea, warm vanilla swirling across her tongue, to an empty apartment. Thoughts of grad school flew through her memory.
Her eyes flicked to an LED billboard situated on the outskirts of a highway leading into the metropolis. Giant, mobile advertisements for health insurance, sketchy law firms, and "gentlemen's" clubs played on the screen.
Making money on a corrupt hellhole, I see. Smart. Harley quipped to herself, satisfied to add some levity to the truth.
Maybe if people like you did not oppress the city in fear and unpredictability… A voice joined in, one Quinn remembered.
Well, not everyone can be perfect, Harley raised a brow and finished off her tea. Setting the cup beside her on the floor, she rested her head against the glass, gaining a better view of the streets directly below. The traffic light followed a pattern of allowing the main street to go freely, while the cars on the sub-street Summit Blvd were forced to wait for ten minutes at a time. She always hated that traffic light, it always made her late. Two teenagers paused briefly at the corner before running across Summit, waving at the stationary cars as a sign of trust. The corner of Harley's mouth twitched.
What are you doing? The voice of Dr. Harleen Quinzel returned. Hushed, but calm as ever.
I don't understand, Harley's present self replied. She realised the aberrance in fueling her own inner dialogue, but she was alone and no one was watching
Is this where you're supposed to be? The Doctor questioned as though reading off a clipboard, adding no emotion or interest in the words themselves.
Here? In this room? In this life?
Yes. A pen tapped against said clipboard.
How am I supposed to know? You're the doctor. Quinn frowned, her brow furrowing as she continued to stare at nothing out the window.
Is this what is best for you?
You didn't answer my question. The other voice went silent, leaving Harley with the residue of the provoking conversation. She drew in a breath, allowing it to sit and build pressure in her lungs before releasing slowly through her nose. She contemplated the questions, deciding if she liked them or not. They made her uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she asked herself why she was in such a position, and what kept her here. Since leaving the prison, the thoughts had become more frequent and sometimes she considered their weight. She looked down, still at nothing, still searching for answers. She found nothing except the chipping white nail polish that began to flake onto the floor. She frowned again. These small imperfections resonated with the Doctor's words, and suddenly she was thrown into the summer of a time long past.
She was sitting in the family room of her parent's suburban house. On the freshly vacuumed carpet, she was playing a game with her stuffed animals as her mother watched television on the couch. At the time, she saw nothing wrong with the glass of wine held loosely in her mother's fingers. It was only her third one of the night after all. Her mother looked on at the screen with a vacant stare, but little Harleen was caught up in her own imagined world where the lion and the rabbit - two very different beings - fell madly in love with each other and were planning their wedding. The turtle was not happy about this, as they wanted the rabbit all for themselves, but the lion would never allow this and promised to keep the rabbit safe. The lion and turtle fought fiercely, as Harleen acted out every roar and wrestle. The lion did manage to scare the turtle back into its shell, and the rabbit and lion had their happy ending. It never crossed her young mind that lions eat rabbits.
"Hey, sweetie." Harleen's father walked through the back door, carrying some bags and a suitcase. He immediately eyed her mother on the couch, who only returned a bitter stare. The interaction flew over Harleen's head as quickly as she threw her toys on the ground. She ran up to her dad, giving him a tight hug around his legs. He only patted her on the back, and broke free to walk towards the couch. Snatching the wine glass from her mother's hand, her dad started in on their routine.
"Are you kidding me? You can't even stop for a night?" A fight ensued, and little Harleen reverted into her shell, picking her stuffed animals up and carrying them upstairs to her room. She shut the door just enough, but the yelling and name-calling was impossible to drown out. She crawled into her pink floral-themed bed, and tried not to think about mommy and daddy and what they said to wound each other. She clutched the lion and the rabbit to her chest as the tears rolled down her cheek, wetting her flower-print pillow case. She promised she would keep them safe.
Harley lifted her chin, realising she was nodding off. Her blanket had fallen from her shoulders and was crumpled around her seated figure. The coolness of the room did not seem as overt as it did earlier. From some corner of the living room, a sleepy figure noticed Harley's movement and crept over to her. It was Lou. His hunched silhouette looked like a shambling hellhound, with red eyes and all, but as he got closer to the window, his appearance became clear. Harley gave him a single pet, starting from his large muzzle down the thick, spotted fur on his shoulders. He yawned and curled himself beside his owner before stretching his limbs with another yawn. Harley thought back to when Lou and Bud were just cubs. It was a fairly routine day when Joker came home with the babies, who whimpered and grunted in their little crate. She never asked where they came from, and never cared, but as soon as Harley took them from the crate, she never put them back. For the first two years, they were closer to death than they ever would be in the wild. Hyenas do not make good pets, and they spent their entire youths chewing, tearing, dismantling, scratching, eating, and peeing on whatever they could get their oversized jaws around. The Joker was constantly looking for an excuse to throw them from the balcony, as they paid extra detail to make his life a living hell. On several occasions, Harley had to foil his plots to "dispose of the mongrels". With time, and saintly patience, they became somewhat tame under their mama's tutelage. As they grew older, aggression came with and that was advantageous. The Joker began taking them on his crime sprees as shock troops, letting their natural instinct run wild and hoping they might dismember some fool in the process. Only then did they earn their keep in his household, and with a steady diet of fresh meat and chaos they never made a mess of the apartment or their adoptive parent's lives again. It made Harley smile, knowing their unconditional love could not be bought.
Or questioned.
Let's talk about your relationship, the voice began again, just as professional as before.
Let's not. Harley thought.
Are you happy?
I said I'm not doing this.
Is he good to you? The doctor still never looked up from her notes; pen tapping away.
If you already know all the answers why are you asking me?
Does he really love you, Harleen?
Harley pressed her head into the glass, allowing the cold to seep into her mind. She hoped that cursed doctor might freeze in there. She bit her lip, unable to make up her mind.
We're not perfect okay, Harley thought. She thought about the years of toxicity. The things he's done to her. The things she's done to him.
So what? I'm not stupid, I know it's unhealthy, I live it everyday!
Do you want to talk about it? It was exactly what she would have said to a patient of hers.
Not really, she raised and eyebrow, unhappy with herself.
What about your previous boyfriends?
Harley frowned at that, surprised at her own question. Her past relationships were never quite successful, but of course they could not amount to her current one.
What about them?
I think you are attracted to the wrong people.
Sounds like a cheap shot.
Trey, Adam, Dylan…
Trey wasn't even a bad guy, he just had a shitty family life. Dylan was high school so whatever, old news.
Adam…
Harley rolled her eyes, not wanting to go back to that time.
Honestly, I'd rather be here with a psycho than with him. Adam was just… an asshole.
You stayed with him for three and a half years. The Doctor looked up through her thick, fake glasses. Harley stayed silent and pushed some hair from her face, refusing to look this mirage in the eyes. She was pensive for some minutes; the Doctor stayed still as a statue, giving her patient time. Harley clenched her jaw a few times and tried not to relive those torturous years of manipulation, constant self-doubt, and needless beatings. She had no scars to prove it, but they were there, all over her mind, still bruised. She forced back a pained grimace.
I-I thought I loved him. She whispered into the open air, letting the words float around and sink into the pristine walls. If the walls were listening, she only hoped they would never repeat what they heard. Lou's ear perked at her voice, and he looked at her with a curiously thoughtful expression. The pretentious Doctor said nothing.
J isn't like that, she added, keen on salvaging this loss, he's done bad things but he's not like that. Besides, I've changed since then. I'm not who I was, I'm not afraid of him. He gives me crap, I can dish it right back.
That does not make it okay, Harleen.
And what do you know? Her blood began to simmer, her breathing becoming more noticeable in the hushed room. Everyone lives in fear of him - my Puddin'. Not me. I know what I bargained for. You lived your life in fear, look where that got you! Dead! Harley almost let out a laugh, but quickly remembered this was only a conversation between herself, and she needed to relax. But the pounding in her chest would not stop. Her blood only got faster. The lights outside became blinding and erratic.
Oh no.
She began to lift herself, her legs shaky and threatening to drop her. Lou staggered to his feet, surprised a her sudden movement. He shuffled away into the next room. Leaving the blanket on the floor and knocking over the empty ceramic mug, she made her way to the fridge, grabbing a glass to fetch some water. Her hands shook with panic, and her thoughts made it difficult to complete such a simple task.
Water, Harley. Focus. Breathe.
She sipped from the glass slowly and deliberately. The chaos within her would not ease up, and now the ice water sent an electric current through her throat and stomach, amplifying the frenzy into a storm. She closed her eyes as the breathing got worse.
She was hyperventilating.
She was having a panic attack.
She crumbled to the floor, slow enough that she did not hit the marble countertop on her way down. With her back against a cabinet, she focused on one thing at a time. Breathing, blinking, staying still; all of them became impossibly tedious. She wished someone - anyone - would come to her rescue. She had a brief flashback to an attack as a kid; her father wrapped his huge arms around her as she sobbed into his shirt. As a child she thought she was having a heart attack, which added to her panic. But her dad knew better, and only smiled. He suffered from them too.
This time was different. No one came to her rescue. No one would be there to wrap their arms around her. The person she desperately wanted was blissfully unaware of her struggle, asleep in some dream world, and after her exchange, she was questioning that thought too.
So she sat. And she breathed. And she wrapped her arms around herself, and cried, and cried until there was nothing left.
From where she was sitting, she could see the rooftops of other buildings through the glass. She turned her head, unable to do much else. A couple was on the roof of another apartment complex. They had two cheap lawn chairs and seemed to have lugged an expensive-looking telescope up there and were looking out into the space beyond the Earth. One of them pointed into the abyss of the sky, talking to the other figure as they gestured more. They laughed, obviously enjoying themselves. The tears flowed but a spark was set ablaze.
Some minutes passed, and Harley realised her legs were not as useless anymore. Her blood still felt like it was pressing at every vein, but her breathing was steadier, and the tears felt dry on her cheeks. Cautiously, Lou shambled around the corner of the cabinet and entered her space. He licked her arm and cheek, probably wondering why his mama was leaking saltwater. Harley could not muster a laugh, but she wrapped her arms around the wild animal's thick neck, burying her face into its fur. She sobbed some more, but this time with a smile, and Lou lapped up those tears too. Using him as a support, Harley lifted herself off the ground and reached her hands up through her hair. The grand motion spooked Lou, who hopped back in typical hyena fashion and sniffed the air. Harley felt like a mess; shattered and on the edge. She did not know if she would be able to hold all the pieces together this time, and looked around at her life. The living room, cast in the dim lighting from outside, was so unfamiliar to her. The ivory furniture and gold accents seemed out of place, and for a moment she wondered if she was even at home.
Where is home?
The television was off, but she knew if she looked into that icy black mirror she would see something she dreaded. The symbols and patterns on the oriental rug were writhing under the coffee table, threatening to snake out and wrap around her legs, pulling her into the depths. She breathed, she closed her eyes.
You should not resist, Harleen. I know what's best for you. You know the truth.
I do. You're dead to me.
Her limbs were still tingling with electricity as she slipped under the covers. The bedroom was just as it had been, but the looming shadows were no longer, and all was peaceful. Both Bud and Lou were on the floor next to the bed, no doubt setting themselves up to be tripping hazards in the morning. Harley sunk into the foam mattress, letting it swallow her whole, and taking the weight off her buzzing bones. She stared at the ceiling, still trying to wrap her head around the past hour. Was it real? Maybe I'm wrong about it all. Maybe I'm overthinking things. M-maybe it was just a call from my fucked up childhood. Maybe it was that weird cake I had before bed. She went through every possibility, hoping the ceiling fan would share its answers. To her misfortune, it stayed quiet except the passive whirring of the blades.
Maybe it's all in my head…
She sighed and closed her eyes.
A few minutes passed as Quinn's mind began to slip away. A slight shift in the mattress threw her back into reality. Before her groggy mind could process, a heavy arm was thrown over her waist, limp and pale. Her unconscious mate was now facing her; his hair hung loosely around his face and his mouth slack. A sudden jolt of butterflies fluttered through Harley's stomach. Hesitant, she thought about earlier. She revisited all those fundamental questions. She wondered if she was making the right choice.
She realised she could not help herself. It was her truth right? Her reality was the only one that mattered.
Right?
As smooth as possible, she snuggled up closer to the sleeping beast. His breath was hot on her neck, and it sent chills across her skin. She placed her hands on his inked chest, and strategically snaked a leg around him. She had to be gentle, and slow. God forbid she woke him in the middle of the night, or the whole fantasy would be ruined. Once comfortable, she stopped moving and soaked up the moment. The smell of his bleached skin, the neutral aroma of his breath, the way his hair color was discernible even in pitch darkness. Despite his unconscious state, the Joker seemed to know how to pull all the right strings with her. Harshly, as though an automatic reaction to the pressure, his limp arm pulled Harley in closer, holding her tight against his chest. Harley's eyes fluttered, perfect. Somewhere in her mind, this was wrong. Somewhere that Doctor sat, tapping her pen, tapping her foot, scrutinising her through those thick glasses and that boring, tight ponytail.
But that was not an image of her anymore. Harley's hair was wild, and fell around her shoulders in tones of pink and blue. She never wore it in a ponytail anymore. And she had not worn those fake glasses in almost a decade.
Harleen, he'll be the death of you… The voice reminded her, as if she did not already know.
You're right.