This is my first try on writing a fanfic
This is my first try on writing a fanfic. I have no experience, so Id like to be highly criticized! Also, if I have grammar or spelling mistakes, please let me know, because Im not an English native speaker...
The Joker created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger. Nora created by me
Part I: "The woman in the mirror"
- Put that on
- How did you know my size?
- Put that on! - And he soundly walked down the stairs
Silently, she picked up the clothing from the floor where he'd thrown it. It was an exquisite black ballet outfit, with long brocade sleeves, stretched in the elbows and wider in the shoulders, so it really looked more like a clown suit. Once she was ready, she went down the stairs to an almost empty room, where only a mirror dared to fit as furniture. He was standing by the window, starring at nowhere.
- Well, how do I look?
He slowly turned around, sticking his smoked eyes into hers, melting all the words she wanted to add to that childish question she'd made. Then he walked by the room, stepping strongly enough to produce an annoying sound, surrounding her till she began to feel as uncomfortable as a bug under a microscope, shrinking her shoulders in a useless attempt to protect herself. Then he looked at the mirror.
- The question, my dear, is not how you look, but how do you feel.
He used that amused bouncy tone to remark the last word. The silence that followed was very unpleasant. She needed to say something, she knew it, but she wasn't able to do anything else but keep looking at her own image in the mirror, he behind her, grinding.
- Has the cat eaten your tongue? Come on; don't be shy, not with me. Move a little bit, so you can tell me how it…feels
At that point, she couldn't resist the view any longer and she shot her eyes. She felt his strong hands shaking her arms, forcing her to move all over; she seemed nothing more that a puppet, a floppy doll ready to be tried, clay in his hands. His face was so close she could feel the greasy touch of his hair and cheek, but somehow it wasn't bad, not at all… was she letting herself go on every feeling he could possibly deliver?, moreover, was she wanting for it?, but of course she couldn't even imagine what was the answer for that questions. Finally, she managed to speak. Her voice was a whisper, but then it grew stronger. She opened her eyes.
- I-I feel… I feel good
"Good?!" he said, pretending being disappointed "Just good?! Girl you should feel the way you look… ssstunning". Now his lips were closer to her left ear, his words flowing in a non – stop road right through her head. An ice-cold shiver went up to her back and was stopped by his hand near the neck. Her legs, two jelly-gums.
- See, I love giving presents to people. Presents of all kind. Sometimes I give temporary presents and sometimes more… everlasting ones, like these…
He passed his gloved fingers by his scars, bowing the head just a little bit so she could have full view. He continued.
- I've got another present for you
He kneeled over a bag in the floor, on the left side of the room. After a while, he stood up and faced her for the first time in their conversation; he was holding a little purple box on his right hand. Softly, he took her hand and placed it in his cheek, pressing hardly onto the white make-up. She took the box and opened it. Inside, there were two pots of artistic make-up, black and white, and a red lipstick.
- You know – he wandered around the room- One of my favorites spare time activities is looking at people's face and imagine them wearing my make-up – he flirted his hands on front of his face- When I was in Arkham, I used to spend hours looking at the inmates in the yard, trying to figure out who of them would look better… but none of them made the cut!
The pitch of his voice was increasing as he recalled, compulsively making gestures in the air. It seemed as he wouldn't be able to talk if one could tie his arms up. He continued
- Then, when I managed getting the hell out of that filthy pit, I had the whole Gotham City as my Guinea pig. But see… it seems like this city doesn't like to grind anymore, they're not very good at smiling… they won't catch the joke, not even if it was on front of their stupid little faces!, because they like explanations, and when you have to explain a joke, it becomes unfunny!
She listened to him, not a single word coming out of her mouth, for she understood: he didn't want a comment; he only wanted to be heard, he wanted to teach her how things were going to be for now on. The box was still on her hands. There was no furniture where she could put it, so the only place was the floor; she put it down very carefully, glancing at him while she stood up and recovered her initial position. He didn't notice the movement, so concentrated he was, wandering by the room. Suddenly, he approached to her so she could feel his warm breath all over her face.
- But then… I saw…you. A righteous young cop who can really smile.
Grinding, he put his index finger under her chin to make her look right at him. With his teeth, he removed the left hand glove and passed his fingers by the painted face, then smeared the painting on her forehead till the cheek, brushing her lips just a little bit.
- Now my dearest one, I want you to put a sssmile on your face!
At last she was able to understand. Or so she believed. But the feeling was not clear in her mind yet… she had left her job as a cop by her own will, disappearing to all the people who had ever known her, looking for an explanation for her behavior, the righteous young police woman as he had called her, Detective Stephens's second hand…all wasted by an obsession, an obsession for a psychopathic mass murderer clown with no empathy... how could she ever be clear at her own feelings?. Her lips were trembling as the words came out.
- Bu- but, but… why? I mean, I don't know about your intentions, I don't know if you're gonna hurt me eventually… I mean, youv--
The phrase was replaced by a choked scream. In a rage, he took her by her hair behind the nape and pulled it forward, so their faces were at one centimeter each other. He made a quick movement and a blade appeared between his fingers; she could feel a dead cold running into her insides… His fury was the scariest thing she had ever seen, and she had front tickets to watch it. Her eyes wanted to be shot so badly, but now she wasn't in control… and all of a sudden, he put his lips onto hers, in a hideous yet delightful kiss. He stuck his tongue onto her mouth, deeper and deeper, till she thought she wouldn't be able to breathe anymore. If something could be horrible and delicious at the same time, his kiss would win the prize. He grabbed her up stronger against his body, making his way to the mirror, until she felt the hit… her back had cracked the crystal and the pieces were falling to the floor. He was still kissing her when she started to fight back, her hands pressing his arms with all their strength, the fingers tensed, the nails sinking down as hard as she could… nothing, nothing was enough to pull him back and made him stop… but, was she really wanting him to stop? He bite her lip so roughly she almost passed out. And then, the blood. Warm, salty and metallic taste digging violently into her throat, intoxicant yet fresh and calming. He rudely knocked her down to the floor. It all had ended.
After that, silence. The night had slowly taken the city alleys as if they were yearning for some shade, for some reason to get wicked. She was shivering on the floor, trying to deal with the painting in her shocked face, her nails broken, her hands clumsily drawing black spots in her eyes. He was standing at the same place where it all begun: by the window, starring at nowhere. She could almost hear the distant biting of her heart, still putting his pieces together… was it a dream? Did he really mean to kiss her or just make her suffering? No, neither suffering nor delight, just the perfect mixture between the two opposites. And she had the feeling, yes, she couldn't deny. Suddenly, she looked into the broken mirror, her face cracked in more than seven parts, and what she'd expected to see was not there… Nora wasn't there anymore, because if that woman were Nora, she would be crying, regretting for her horrible luck, blaming herself for being so weak, feeble as a little stupid child…no, the women in the reflection wasn't Nora, for the woman in the mirror was… smiling
- See? I'm smiling, smiling at last! Look at me, J, look at me, look at me look at me! HAHAHAHA…
He started a slow clapping, walking towards her. A certain expression was grown into his face, something she couldn't define at the first moment… was he pleased? Was he proud of her? Finally she had broken through into what he wanted her to be, a free person, a smiling girl eager for more experiences, good or bad, pleasant or painful, dangerous or safe. Nothing was important now, nothing at all… she had become more like him, and she was sure it was just the beginning. And he was so damn right: madness is like gravity, it only needs a little push.
But the night had just begun.