Her Favorite Patient
A.B. Trerron
Part 1
Dr. Harleen Quinzel smiled to herself as she opened his case file and gingerly adjusted her glasses. She had only been at Arkham for two years, but in that time she had contributed to the full recovery of eight (count them – eight!) high-risk patients, which had earned her the uncompromisable respect of her colleagues. Today she was proud to be the youngest (only twenty-five years old!) psychiatrist at Arkham to be assigned to such a special case. And the sociopath known only as The Joker was certainly a special case. Multiple homicides, torture, highly intelligent, theatrical, severe mutilation of the face - possibly self-inflicted, no apparent motive, no known identity. He definitely looked to be her most interesting case, if anything. She chided herself for her excitement.
She heard a knock at her office door. It opened and two armed guards escorted a tall, lanky man in a straight-jacket to the chair opposite her desk. His greasy, faded green locks fell in curls over eyes that stared at the floor. His stark, shadowed figure contrasted severely with the pastel violet walls, soft cushy chairs, and low gentle lights of her office.
"Thank you." She smiled at the guards. "You can leave now."
They shut the door behind them, but remained just outside.
She smiled at the man, and told him, "I like for my patients and I to get to know each other before we 'officially' begin our sessions, so I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and I've worked at Arkham for two years now. When I was a girl I wanted to be a model, but eventually realized I wasn't conventionally attractive enough for that to happen. I was disappointed at first, but came to realize I had the brains to do whatever else I wanted and that would be more rewarding anyway. I took a psychology class in college and loved it, and long story short, that's how I got here."
He kept staring at his loafered feet.
She took a peppermint from the jar of candy on her desk. "I have a bit of a sweet tooth. Would you care for one?"
He shook his head no, but didn't look up.
"It says here in your file that you're a very intelligent man. So it looks like we have something in common. But I'd like to hear more about you in your words."
He raised his head slowly, dingy curls falling back to reveal a startlingly handsome face. His cheeks were deeply scarred, but rather than detract from his good looks, they gave him a kind of intrigue. His sleepy brown eyes wandered over her round, girlish face and thin torso. The edges of his full lips curled into a slight smile that played against the mock grin carved into his cheeks.
She blushed at his gaze.
A nasal voice came from the scarred mouth. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Harleen Quinzel. My name is Joker, and I kill people."
Her blue eyes lingered on his shadowed brown eyes for a moment. Then she hastily adjusted her glasses and recrossed her legs.
"But that's not your real name, is it?"
"Maybe it is."
"Well, suppose your parents really did name you 'Joker'. You must also have a last name."
He shook his head. "Huh-uh. Just Joker."
"So if we were to take a look at your birth certificate, it would read 'Joker'?"
His smile broadened. "Nope."
"Uh-huh." She jotted on her notepad: Does not appear to indulge an alternate reality. Enjoys head games. "So Mister, ah, Joker, I asked you to tell me a bit about yourself and you said you kill people. Surely this isn't your only defining trait?"
He smirked. "Well, Miz Doctor Harleen Quinzel, it does seem the most pertinent."
She frowned. Something about his smirk was unsettling, yet vaguely familiar. "Well, I already know that from your file. I was hoping you'd tell me something not in your file, something unique about yourself."
He raised a brow. "What, grown man in an emo clown get-up not unique enough for you?"
"It's in your file."
He rolled his eyes mockingly, but the unsettling smirk lingered. "Ugh, fine, you win. My favorite food is sushi, and when I'm not slitting throats I like to take long, soothing strolls in the cemetery."
She took more notes. "Okay. You're not ready to open up yet. That's fine. But I already know something personal about you."
"Yeah?"
She smiled at him. "You've got a good sense of humor."
"Good thing that shrink school gave you such insight." He winked at her and clicked his mouth.
She put her chin in her hand and leaned forward on her elbow. "I happen to enjoy sarcasm, Mister Joker, so feel free to indulge yourself."
Their eyes met again for a moment. He was still wearing the smirk. She felt her heart start to pound and quickly looked away.
He narrowed his eyes in thought. Then he said, "Let me ask you something, Dr. Harleen Quinzel."
"You can call me Harleen."
"Harleen," he spoke her name like a caress. "Your goal is to get into my head, to pick me apart like roadkill because I'm 'abnormal'. But everyone knows that most shrinks are crazier than their patients. So I can't help but wonder, what's your baggage, toots?"
She blinked several times and readjusted her glasses. "I don't know what you mean."
He nodded toward her notepad. "What have you been writing about me?"
"It's just a few notes for my own reference."
"Come on, Doc." His voice became husky. "Indulge me."
She uncrossed her legs and cleared her throat. "Okay. Sarcastic sense of humor. Does not appear to indulge an alternate reality. Enjoys head games."
"Uh-huh. And yet you, Doctor, are the one sitting behind a desk, attempting to dice up my brain." He gave her that irritating smirk again.
She crossed her arms. "But of the two of us, I'm the one who isn't a threat to society."
His eyes lit up. "Ah, so that's the dividing factor. I kill people, but you don't, so that gives you the right to fix me, even if you've got a whole trunk full of your own neuroses."
"I never said I had neuroses." Her voice was flat, but her cheeks paled.
He leaned forward and raised a brow. "Sweetie, everyone is fucked up. The question is, do you fuck other people?" He paused and let the corners of his mouth slowly twist into the smirk again. "Or do you wait around for them to fuck you?"
All color drained from Harleen's face.
The Joker leaned back in his chair, a triumphant smile spreading through his scars.
She stared at him, her lips parted.
"Tell you what. I'll make you a deal, Harleen. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."
Her heart raced. She could feel sweat beginning to form on her brow. Her fingers shook. She hadn't felt this nervous since she was a little girl. She wanted to tear her eyes away from his face - the green curls that framed a cruel, lacerated smile, carved across deceptively handsome features – but couldn't. The room was suddenly cold.
"Excuse me?" she muttered.
"I'll tell you everything you want to know about me. But for every chunk of my head I gouge out and hand over, I want a piece of your puzzle."
She continued staring at him.
"Don't worry – I'm good for my word."
She crossed her legs and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Then she looked at her watch and cleared her throat.
"I'm sorry, Mister Joker, but that's all the time we have for today."
She got up and knocked on the door, signaling the guards to come back in. He stood as they entered and took their places on either side of him.
He looked into her eyes and smiled at her with a strange sincerity. "I really enjoyed our session today, Harleen. Thank you for your company."
She averted her eyes and nodded.
He glanced over his shoulder at her, still smiling as the guards led him from her office. When he was finally out of sight, she looked down at her hands. They were clenching her skirt.
Part 2
Harleen flipped through the Joker's file, preparing herself for their next session. He was due in five minutes. She pulled her hair into a tight bun and straightened her red blouse. She needed to look as collected as possible. He didn't need to know he had gotten to her. She scowled. Of course he knew he had gotten to her. It was his self-made profession. He made it his business to know which buttons to push. Given the chance, he could probably even push all the best buttons... Okay, that kind of thinking had to stop. She was a doctor and having sexual thoughts about her patients was, aside from disturbing, completely unethical. She crossed her legs and put on her best smile. Arkham had trusted its youngest professional to help this man. She could do this.
The familiar knock announced his presence. He took a seat and smiled at her. His curls were combed and tucked neatly behind his ears. And it looked as though they had actually been washed.
"Afternoon, Harleen."
She folded her arms on her desk. "How are you feeling today?"
He pouted. "Right to business then?"
"That's what we're here for."
"Aw, I was hoping we'd have some more small talk, like we did last time. You're really the only person I do that with. It's kinda nice." He batted his eyelashes.
She nodded. "If that's where you want to start, then we will."
He grinned. "Oh goody!"
"So what would you like to chat about, Mister Joker?"
"May I start off by saying you are looking very lovely today, Harleen? The color of that blouse is perfect for you."
"Thank you." She hoped her stiff smile would disguise the blush she felt in her cheeks. "I noticed your hair is looking... clean."
He shrugged his shoulders and licked his lips. "Well, I had to look my best if I was going to be seeing a pretty girl today."
Her smile was, in clear defiance of all rational thought, no longer stiff. She cleared her throat and reached for a peppermint.
"Oh I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. Sometimes I'm too honest for my own good."
"That's okay. Let's, um, keep it professional though," she said, still smiling. Keep it cool, Harleen. He's just winding you up.
"Yes, ma'am."
She opened up her notepad. "Joker, today I thought we'd talk about your scars. I'm curious as to how you got them."
His eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth tilted, but he said nothing.
"May we talk about your scars?"
"You're the only person who's ever actually wanted to know how I got them," he said slowly and ran his tongue over the scar on his lower lip. "I'd love to tell you all about it."
She glanced up from her notes and gave him a reassuring smile. "Please do."
The corners of his mouth tilted back down and he shifted his eyes toward his feet. "Dr. Quinzel, you know the rules. I tell you something about me when you tell me something about you."
Her reassuring smile faded. "Mister Joker, we're not here to talk about me. We're here to talk about you."
"Then I guess we'll just have to sit here and stare at each other for the rest of our hour." His eyes shifted up toward hers. The unsettling smirk returned. "Not that I mind that."
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and hastily popped another peppermint into her mouth. "According to your file, you've given several very different accounts of how you acquired your scars. One story points to an abusive father, another to self-mutilation over a disfigured wife. Clearly only one of these, if either, can be true. How do I know what you'll tell me won't be a complete fabrication?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I already told you, I'm a man of my word. I never fabricate."
"So you claim that both stories are true?"
He grimaced. "No, that would mean I'm delusional. And your handy dandy notebook has already established that I don't indulge in alternate realities."
She scowled. "Mister Joker, you realize it is a logical impossibility for you to claim you never fabricate and yet at the same time claim that the stories you previously told are not true."
A smile began to spread over his face again. "Ah, but I never said those stories were fabrications."
She held her forehead in her hand and let out a frustrated breath.
"Quite a pickle, ain't it?"
She cut her eyes up at him. He had that infuriating smirk again. She grit her teeth.
"Give up?" He twitched his eyebrows.
She sighed and shook her head at herself. "Fine. What is it you want to know?"
He licked his lips. "Why did you want to be a model when you were a little girl, Harleen?"
She frowned at him. "If I tell you why I wanted to be a model, you'll tell me the truth about your scars?"
"You have my word."
She felt cold again. Her fingers curled into little fists. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly in and out. A small, almost childlike voice finally crept from her lips. "Oh, you know, every little girl wants to be adored by men."
He pretended to consider this for a moment, then raised his brows. "I guess. The ones who get fingered by their step-dads anyway."
She glared at him. Her voice dropped down to her normal tone again. "That didn't happen."
He shrugged. "So you wanna know how I got my scars?"
She adjusted her glasses and put her pen to her notepad. "Yeah."
"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, Harleen, just between you and me. Look at me."
She did so.
He looked her dead in the eyes. "Never tell an outright lie. You'll always be caught in it. But take the truth. Give it just a little twist, and no one will be the wiser. Or at least they'll be left guessing."
"What does this have to do with your scars?"
"Everything. My father was an abusive drunk and I hated him. I had a wife who was horribly mutilated by the mob, and ended up offing herself. Both left scars. But these--" He licked around his mouth. "Are definitely not those scars."
"Then how did they happen?"
He grinned at her. "Huh-uh. That's for another day."
"Mister Joker, we had an agreement--"
"We still do. But you didn't tell me the whole truth about you either. So until you're ready..."
They heard feet shuffling outside the door. The Joker stood up and made his way toward it.
"Joker."
He glanced over his straight-jacketed shoulder at her.
"Just for the record, I was not molested by my step-father."
He grinned at her. "See there? You're catching on."
He walked, escorted, down the hall and out of sight.
Part 3
Harleen had been seeing her patient for three months now, and during that time the subject of her childhood had not come up again. But it was always in her thoughts. She felt jittery when she walked alone to her car after hours, and even when she was in her own shower. The slightest noises made her jump. The area around her eyes was beginning to darken from the sleep she had lost. Every time she was on the verge of drifting off, the Joker's unwelcome smirk forced itself into her head, leaving her nervous and on edge the rest of the night. One night she had even allowed her shaky fingers to trail down and stroke her clit while her mind wandered over his round chin, his strong jawline, his sleepy brown eyes, his deep lacerations. She hadn't reached a climax, but at least she had fallen asleep.
Today Joker traipsed into her office wearing his purple suit and a pair of brown dress shoes, de-knifed. His handsome, scarred face was clean and his washed hair was neatly combed. He took a wide-legged seat and thumbed his jacket collar outward, smiling at her. "Privileges."
"I see that." She nodded her approval and covered a yawn.
"I been a good boy." He leaned forward, as if letting her in on a secret. "I hear they're even going to give me extra cookies at lunch."
"So, you've been following the rules and that's been working well for you."
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Eh, fair to middling."
She put her chin in her hand, more to rest than to think. "So you're not satisfied with the privileges you've earned?"
"Oh they're well and good. I mean, who doesn't want extra cookies?"
Her sleepy eyes looked more in his general direction than at his face. "But you want something else. What do you want, Mister Joker?"
"Well, I want a bed that doesn't feel like a pair of train tracks. I want to wear my make-up." He stared at her eyes. "I want to ask a good friend out to dinner."
"Oh so you've made a friend. That's wonderful." She suppressed a yawn. "One of the other patients?"
He shook his head and smiled mock-sheepishly. "She's this beautiful, brilliant doctor I've been seeing twice a week for a few months."
Her pasty cheeks gained a slight tinge of pink. "Mister Joker, even if you earned outside privileges, it would be inappropriate for me, as your doctor, to accept a date from you."
He waved his hand dismissively, shooing the idea like a bothersome fly. "Forget the doctor part then. What about as friends?"
She blinked her eyes heavily as she considered it. "I suppose it depends on what sort of an outing you had planned."
He got up and pushed his cushy chair over to her desk, then leaned forward on his elbows. "We'd start off with dinner at a top-notch place. A place where we could dance. And while we danced I'd tell you how thankful I am for how much you've helped me, Harleen, for the better man you've made me. Then I'd walk you back to your place and, if I was a very lucky boy, maybe get a good-night smooch. On the cheek of course."
He licked his lips.
She didn't answer. She gazed over his features with heavy eyes.
"You look tired, Harleen." He gave her a concerned look.
"I just haven't been sleeping well."
"Boogey-man been making racket all night?"
"Something like that."
He gave her his creepy smirk. The one that had been keeping her awake. She sat back in her chair, crossed her legs, and folded her arms.
He took off his jacket and leaned further toward her on the desk, the smirk still on his face. "You don't like it when I smile at you like this, do you Harleen?"
"No, Mister Joker, I don't."
"I'm sorry." He paused and leaned in further. "I just can't help smiling when I'm around you."
She uncrossed her arms, but held her hands on her lap.
He got up from his chair and moved around her desk. "You know what would make you feel better? A hug."
She stared at his outstretched arms. They weren't muscular, by any means. But his forearms looked toned and strong, almost safe in a way. She let him take her hands and pull her to her feet.
"I don't think that would be appropriate," she said in a rehearsed monotone.
He squeezed her small hands in his. "Come on, it's just a hug. From a concerned friend."
She let him wrap his arms around her small waist and pull her into his vested chest. He wasn't wearing cologne, but he smelled manly and comforting.
He trailed his fingertips down her spine to the small of her back. His voice was low, almost a growl. "See there? Don't you feel better?"
She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing herself closer to him, letting him soothingly rub her lower back. She felt as though she could drift off to sleep in his arms.
He whispered in her ear, "Does my smile remind you of someone, Harleen?"
She drew back, fully awake. "Like who?"
"Like your step-dad."
She crossed her arms. "Mister Joker, I already told you I was not molested by my step-father."
"So who touched you?"
"I never said anyone did."
"Ah. But you never said they didn't." The smirk crept back into the corners of his slashed mouth.
"And I'm not going to. Because we're not here to talk about me. We're here to talk—"
"About me. And we will. But first I want to know why my sweet little smile gives you the willies."
"Because it's not sweet. It's devious. And I don't appreciate devious men."
"That's an awful big projection you're putting on me, Doctor. Do you project the cat that felt you up onto every man?" He twitched his eyebrows. "Or am I special?"
"We are not going to talk about this." She sat back down and popped a peppermint into her mouth..
He perched on the edge of her desk. "Well okay then. I was going to tell you more about my scars today, but if you're not interested..."
She ignored his bait. "Why don't we talk about why you're unhappy with your privileges?"
"Because I'm not five, Doctor Quinzel. I'm not dazzled by cookies. Now, if they were handing out fireworks..."
"What about getting to wear your own clothes? Being allowed visitors?"
"Oh yeah, because I have a whole line of people clamoring outside my door. No, Harleen. Why should I have to follow all of society's little rules just to crap when I want to? And even if I do follow all the rules – go to church every Sunday, pay my taxes, adopt an Asian kid – none of it matters. Because next year I could come down with the Hiv. Or the Russians could drop the A-bomb. Hell, a stray comet could blow us all to bits. Now ask yourself, Doctor, where is the sense in following society's quaint little rules when we live in a world we can't control?"
She adjusted her glasses. "It's true, we can't control what happens to us. But we can try to make it as good as possible."
"Yeah, let's just make this as good as possible." He leaned down toward her and narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you were thinking when he raped you?"
Her heart beat hard. She gritted her teeth and glared at him.
"I'm sorry – bad joke. But don't you see? All of this - the government snooping around people's business, Arkham's mission to stabilize the unstable, hell, even the make-up you cover your pretty face with, any attempt to exert control in a chaotic world – is just one big, sick joke. I mean, I could change my ways, take up stamp-collecting or racket-ball, really become an asset to society, just to get hit by a truck the next day. Now where's the sense, where's the order in that?"
He stood and walked toward her. "I'll tell you what's really fucked up. On the day my parents married, my father made a promise to take care of me and my mom. And we deserved it, I mean really deserved it. She always had the house spotless, dinner on a perfectly set table at five sharp every evening, real June-fucking-Cleaver. I was this cute little tyke that made straight A's in school and always said please and thank-you. And instead of taking care of us, that bastard came home piss-drunk every night to beat the snot out of us. And I'm sure you didn't do anything to deserve getting raped. I can just see you – little girl, cute as a button, blond pig-tails and a lollipop in your mouth, watching cartoons on a Saturday morning – bewildered as hell when he touched you. I mean, you had made your bed. You had fed the cat, just like you were supposed to. What had you done to deserve that? Nothing. What a cruel fucking joke."
Tears began to form in her blue eyes. His stance, his unnerving smirk frightened her. But what frightened her even more was how much sense this psychotic man made.
He knelt in front of her and squeezed her forearms tightly. "Harleen, if there's anything I've learned, it's that following the rules rarely gets you what you want. The world is one sick, twisted joke, and the only reasonable way to deal with that is to laugh along with it. Me and you, we're the same, kid. And I'm not saying there's some magical God up in the clouds that brought us together – there's not. But we were lucky as charms to find each other here. You remember how I told you not all scars are on the outside? You of all people outta know that. And I sure as hell do. We can help each other with that. Now I may not be a good little sheep that follows all the rules, but unlike my drunk fuck father, I am a man of my word. And I promise you Harleen, when you decide to open up and tell me what happened to that dumpling of a little girl, I'll tell you exactly how I got my scars."
He took her hands and, looking up at her eyes, placed a gentle kiss on each. She slowly brought a hand up to touch his scarred cheek. He let her caress him for a moment before rising. He pulled her up from the chair.
"May I kiss you, Harleen?"
She nodded.
He licked his lips. He kissed her button nose, her cheeks, her eyelids. Then he softly kissed her mouth, letting his tongue wander just over her lips before breaking away.
Someone knocked at the door.
He gazed down at her with his sleepy brown eyes. "Time to go."
"Joker," she breathed.
"Call me J," he told her. "It's what everyone used to call me."
"J." She smiled at the intimate initial he had given her.
"Maybe you'll come visit me, Harleen? You know, since I got privileges now." He squeezed her hands.
"Harley. You can call me Harley. It's what everyone used to." She sounded like a small child. "And of course I'll visit you, J."
His smile spread into a broad grin. "I look forward to it."
He put his jacket back on and walked out the door, leaving her flushed and bewildered.
Part 4
On a particularly chilly night Harleen came to a difficult decision. She was allowing the Joker to get too close to her. She had tried to convince herself that she was just doing it to help him, that the end justified the means. But she knew the truth – that it was her who wanted to be close to him. And as a medical professional, she couldn't allow that to happen.
She folded one of her fuzzy, red blankets under her arm and walked through the high-risk ward of Arkham. She knew the halls were stark and poorly lit, but it hadn't really dawned on her just how depressing it must be to exist there until the moldy cement walls held captive someone she cared about. An occasional voice gave out codes over the intercom. She wondered how the patients, one in particular, could sleep through the noise. A few armed guards trailed up and down the stark prison-like hallway, nodding obligatory hellos as she passed them.
When she reached J's cell, she peered through the small window at the top of his door. He was splayed out on his metal bunk, a thin, ragged blanket barely covering his long limbs. He was wearing his violet trousers and button-down shirt and vest, most likely to keep as warm as possible in his dank cell. He stared blankly at the ceiling as he shuffled his deck of beat-up cards.
She sighed. She hated to do this on such a cold, dreary night, but it had to be done. She unlocked his door and stepped inside. When he saw who was in his cell, he sat straight up in bed and smiled broadly. His eyes lit up.
"Harley. You came to visit me."
She gave him a soft, sad smile and nodded. "I thought you could use an extra blanket."
He rose and gave her a hug. He was shivering. "Thank you. I thought my nuts were going to fall off."
She smiled, but did not return his hug. He lowered his arms and she handed him the blanket. He sat with it on the bed and patted the spot beside him.
"Warm me up?" He batted his sleepy brown eyes.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't. That's what I came to tell you."
His eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I can't be your doctor anymore."
He winked at her, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "Oh, I get it. The higher ups caught on. That's fine. We can still be pals. You can visit me."
"No."
"Why not?" There was a trace of anger in his voice.
"Because I let you get too close. It was unethical. I was supposed to be your therapist, to help you, but instead I sat back and allowed you to play one of your mind games."
He stood up and lumbered toward her. He stopped centimeters from her and bent his head down. He towered over her almost menacingly, his wavy locks falling over his scarred, masculine face. His eyes plead with her, but there was a darkness in them. He touched a gloved hand to her cheek.
"Harley, it wasn't like that. I wanted you to find something true, I mean really true, in yourself. I... I care about you."
She pulled his hand from her cheek and shook her head again. "I care about you too. But we're not good for each other. We take each other to a very dark place, a place I don't want to be."
A voice blared over the intercom. "All armed guards report immediately to Level 3. We have a possible Code Orange. I repeat, all guards to Level 3."
"Shit," Harleen muttered. "That's an escape attempt."
She moved toward the cell door, but the Joker clutched her roughly by the arm.
"Harley, please don't go." His words plead, but his voice was a growl.
She furrowed her brow. "I have to, Joker. And please call me Harleen."
She tried to squirm out of his grip, but he grabbed her other arm and pulled her harshly against him. His brown and green locks fell wildly across a livid face she had only seen in the news.
"We had a deal, Doctor," he growled.
"The deal is off." Her voice stood her ground, but her body trembled.
The voice sounded over the intercom again. "Code Orange on Level 3! I repeat, Code Orange on Level 3! Prepare for automatic lockdown!"
Sirens began to blare. She jerked away from him and moved for the door, but a second, windowless steel door fell in front of it, locking the sound of the sirens outside. She pounded frantically on the door.
"Someone help! Let me out!"
She screeched as a sharp pain gripped her scalp.
"You know the beauty of these cells? They're so airtight, no one can hear you scream."
He jerked her by her blond pony-tail and shoved her roughly into the wall. He gripped her wrists and pinned her torso tightly against the cold cement with his. His eyes were narrow and furious, and they bored into hers.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was small, her eyes wide.
"I told you, Harleen, I'm a man of my word. And I will hold up my end of the bargain. But first, you've got to hold up yours."
Her lips trembled and she spoke in a soft, childlike voice. "Please don't do this."
His voice softened, but his grip didn't. "Who touched you, Harley?"
"Please, J, I can't--"
He shouted in her face, "Tell me who touched you, Harley!"
He glared at her and bared his teeth. Tears welled up in her soft blue eyes.
"Okay then," he growled. "We'll just have to do this the hard way."
He held her wrists with one hand and tore open her blouse with the other. She could feel his clothed erection growing against her belly as she tried to squirm away.
"Did he pin you against the wall, little Harley?" he whispered huskily into her ear and ran the tip of his tongue along her lobe.
She whimpered against his Adam's apple. She could smell his sweat.
"Answer me."
"No! He didn't!" She sobbed.
"He was rough though, wasn't he?
She sniffled. "S-s-sometimes."
"S-s-sometimes?" He mocked her sniffles and giggled.
She glared up at him through tear-soaked eyes.
"Oh boo hoo hoo, poor little Harley." He stuck out his scarred lower lip in a mock pout. "All she has to do is give her rapist a name."
"No!" She spit in his face.
And the corners of his mouth slid into that horrifying smirk, the smirk her first attacker wore when he forced himself into her unready body. She shuddered as Joker slowly lapped her spit from around his mouth. He panted through a broad grin.
"That's okay. I can at least find out which positions he preferred."
He grabbed a fist full of disheveled blond hair and dragged her over to his bunk. He pushed her down and hastily unzipped his violet trousers. She struggled to get up, but he pushed her onto her back and pinned her arms and legs with his sinewy limbs. He reached down with one hand to lift her skirt and breathed against her neck.
"Tell me, little girl, was he a biter?"
He nipped at her neck, and when she didn't answer, he bit down hard.
"Ah!" She half-shouted, half-moaned.
"You better tell me before I rip your throat out," he growled and pushed his teeth over her gullet.
She could feel his very hard cock rubbing hotly against her inner thigh.
"He wasn't," she breathed.
He climbed further on top of her, so that his knees now pinned her shoulders and his large cock brushed against her cheek. She could smell a slight musk on his balls. She felt a soft, familiar rush in her pussy. Even her own body betrayed her, just as it had when she was a girl.
Joker brushed the head of his cock over her panting mouth and chuckled softly. "Did he make you do this?"
"Not always," she murmured against his warm head.
His eyes widened in mock surprise. "So he fucked you a lot then?"
"Yes," she whimpered.
"Who would have guessed? Little Harley the Harlot, two years short of a decade and already versed in the music of the dick-flute."
She shut her eyes.
"Look at me," he said in a sing-song voice and patted her cheek.
She kept her eyes shut tight.
"Look at me!" he barked and slapped her.
She opened them slowly, tears spilling onto her flushed cheeks.
"What if I want you to do it?"
"Please, J, don't--" she began to sob again.
"Tell me his name."
She closed her eyes again. "No."
He gritted his teeth and jerked her head back by the hair. "Have it your way."
He shoved his cock deep into her moist mouth, shivering when she made little whimpering noises against him. He groaned when he hit the back of her throat and felt her gag reflex. After a few thrusts he pulled his length out of her mouth and smiled at the little trail of saliva that still joined his head to her lower lip.
"That was fun. But I bet I know what he really liked." He turned her onto her belly and moved behind her, pulling her hips up with his lightly muscled forearms. "Upsy-daisy."
He lifted her skirt onto her back and jerked her white cotton panties down. He whistled. "What a nice little round tush."
She glanced back at him, her lips quivering.
"Now now, until you tell me what I want to hear, you may as well kick back and enjoy the ride." He trailed a fingertip slowly around her asshole. "Did he touch you here?"
She cried softly.
"I'll take that as a yes. So, back door man, huh?"
"J-just f-fingers," she managed to say.
"Aw, that's nice of him. But what if I'm not that nice?" He brushed his dick over her asshole.
"Not there, please!" She sobbed loudly.
"Oh sh-sh-sh!" He tugged playfully at her pony-tail. "What about here?"
He rubbed his warm dick against her moist, parted pussy lips. His erection felt strangely comforting as it pressed against her already relaxing slit. For a moment she actually wanted him inside her. She whined and moved her pussy against him.
"We have a winner." He snickered and pushed the tip of his head inside her.
Suddenly, she panicked.
"No no no no!" She tried to wriggle away, but he held her hips tightly in place.
"You better make up your goddamn mind!" he ordered, teeth tightly clenched.
She looked back at him, her glassy blue eyes pleading with his cruel glare. The soft voice that came from her was that of a frightened little girl. "Please don't. Pretty please. I'll be good. I promise."
He slowly shook his head no, his green locks dripping sweat onto her back. "You know what I want."
"I can't tell you," she whined. "I'm not supposed to."
His voice was gruff. "You better snitch, young lady, or you're going to be in so much trouble."
A few tears dropped onto the dingy mattress. Then Harley pressed her face into the pillow and held perfectly still.
He sneered at her. "So that's it. You'll just lay here and let yourself get fucked?"
She didn't respond.
His dark eyes narrowed and his teeth were gritted. His voice was eerily low and calm. "You know why I think you won't rat him out? You want me to fuck you. Just like he did. You want to keep letting people fuck you. Because it's better than feeling nothing at all. Because as long as you can hold those scars deep inside, you don't have to admit that you're anything less than a sweet little girl who never grew up. But the truth is, everyone would rather be the one doing the fucking, and that includes sweet-toothed, cartoon-watching, pig-tailed, tight-twatted, eight-year-old Harley Quinzel. Well, sweetie-pie, I'm a fucker. And I'm gonna give you everything you want."
He spread her cheeks unceremoniously and shoved his full length into her. Over and over and over. He fucked her and it fucking hurt. Just like it did when she was a little girl. In fact, it had hurt so much she hadn't had sex since then. She wasn't even sure what normal sex was supposed to feel like. She was twenty-five years old and had never had a pleasurable sexual experience. All because of one sick bastard that she couldn't even find it in herself to rat out in her adulthood. And for what? So she could keep her false sanctity or spend her career feeling superior to people who were, in reality, exactly like her? So she could somehow reach age twenty-five and never have had an orgasm? Fuck that.
"His name was Ryan," She raised her head up and gasped.
His dark eyes were still narrowed, but the corners of the Joker's mouth twisted upward. He slowed his furious pounding to soft, sensuous thrusts. He leaned over her back and ran his tongue along her ear. "More."
"He was my step-brother. Ten years older."
He pulled her shirt off of her and unhooked her bra. Once he had moved her bra away from her soft flesh, he slid a hand around to lightly kneed her breasts. She sighed and put her own small hand on his, moving as he moved, letting him fill the emptiness she was used to with his wonderful velvet warmth. A soft moan escaped her full, parted lips.
"More," he breathed into her ear and licked his lips.
She spoke in a little girl's voice. "He said he'd hurt my mom if I told anyone. Then he smirked. Just like you."
"Bet he never did this." Joker let his fingertips wander from her breasts, caressing her gently moving ribs, her soft belly and light tuft of hair, all the way down to her clit. He rubbed it in small, gentle circles, eliciting a soft cry from her open mouth. He moved his fingers to caress her labia, leaving his palm for her to rub her clit against. After a moment, he reached back up.
She whined and pushed her ass against him.
"Sh-sh-sh." He chuckled and grasped her little hand, pulling it down and placing it so that she could feel where they were joined. He moaned when she moved her fingers over her wet folds to the base of his languorously moving member. "More, Harley."
"He used to call me Harley Quinn. Said I was his little harlequin doll."
"You're not," he told her and stroked her clit again, firmly this time. "You're my Harley Quinn."
She gasped. She had never felt this good. She could feel his sweat-moistened curls brushing back and forth over her shoulders as he thrust into her slickness. His hand rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts. The feeling, the whole situation, was intense. But then, she couldn't imagine it being any other way with him.
"More," he rasped.
"That's it. Please, J..."
"Please what?"
"Please say I'm yours again."
His voice was low and husky. "Harley Quinn, you're mine. You're my little harlequin doll, and I won't share you with the other boys. Do you want to keep playing, little harlequin?"
"Yes," she breathed.
He grinned and raised up, moving his hands to her hips. He slowly slid most of himself out of her, leaving only his head inside. Suddenly, he thrust his entire length into her, hard, slamming into her cervix.
"Ah!" she cried out in pain, and pulled hastily away, leaving him kneeling over his erection. She backed up against the cold metal headboard bars and stared at him with wide eyes.
A sly smile spread across his face as he pulled off her shoes, skirt, and panties. He crawled dominantly over her. She was wholly and completely naked beneath him.
"You hurt me," she muttered.
He put on a sad face and stroked her hair. "I didn't mean to. I would never hurt my little Harley Quinn."
He slowly slid himself into her again. "I'm sorry about all this. You were going to leave me, and well, I just don't know what I'd do without you. Everyone sees the make-up and the scars and they gawk at me like I'm some carnival side-show. But you – you never did."
He kept talking as he moved himself gently in and out of her. "But how's a socially-awkward guy like me supposed to get a sweet, pretty girl's attention? I just thought that if I could show you what I see, make you feel what I feel, then maybe, just maybe, you'd love me too."
She gazed up at his eyes and stroked the curls that fell over his face.
"I just want you to love me, Harley."
He took her hand in his and kissed it. Then he pinned both her hands above her head and stared into her eyes, licking his lips. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I want to make you feel good now."
He kissed her deeply, letting his tongue slide sensuously over hers while he filled her with his hot length. He sucked her lower lip and loosened his grip on one of her hands to reach down and rub her clit.
She closed her eyes and sighed, leaving her free hand above her. His love-making felt good again. She wrapped her legs around his still-clothed waist and lifted her chin to expose her neck.
He chuckled as he nibbled and sucked her presented flesh. "Can I go deeper, Harley?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He pushed all of himself deep inside her.
She whimpered. Her pussy ached, but at the same time it felt incredibly good. A strange sensation began to wash over her.
"J?"
"Open your eyes."
She looked up at his strained face. His damp green hair fell over his furrowed brow; his usual smile was replaced with an open, panting mouth. She felt a rushing in his cock.
He groaned as he came inside her. It sent her over the edge.
"Oh, J." She felt her pussy tighten around him as he gave her the best gift anyone had ever given her: her first orgasm. Nearly twenty years of frustration exploded in waves between her legs. She softly moaned her gratitude into his ear.
Still inside, he rested his full weight on her and panted against her cheek. She wrapped her arms gratefully around his neck.
When his breathing had slowed, he raised himself a few inches above her and slowly pulled out. He looked into her eyes. "Harley?"
"Yes, J?"
"Do you want to know how I got these scars?"
Her lips parted as she stared into his eyes and slowly nodded.
He leaned in, brushing his warm, deeply slashed cheek over her soft skin. She could feel every wonderful indention. And then--
He told her.
Her skin crawled at his terrible, lurching whisper. He was a demon who had taken her hand and was leading her through the tenderest parts of hell. And even though his words were truly horrifying, the corners of her mouth slowly spread into a wide, delighted grin. He had told her. His second gift, all for her.
When he finished, he brushed his face back over hers and met her eyes. He smiled as she lovingly caressed his scars. He was beautiful.
Part 5
Harley Quinn paced back and forth in the alley he said would be their meeting place. Her heart raced as she excitedly swung around a small suitcase. She was a definitely a new person – he had seen to that. She set her suitcase down and adjusted one of her blond pigtails. She couldn't believe she had actually managed to help him break out of Arkham. She had never felt so daring – it was exhilarating. She grinned proudly at herself, something she had been doing a lot lately. Now she was always smiling, just like J.
She checked her watch. He should have arrived twenty minutes ago. He was probably just running late. He'd be here any minute. She took a make-up compact from her pocket and glanced in the mirror. Her blue eyes were smudged with thick black rings. Her dark blood-red lipstick was still perfect. She smiled at her new face, then closed her compact. She sat down on her suitcase to wait.
Hours passed. The smile had long ago faded from her face. She had frantically searched the alley for a note or a sign or anything, but found nothing. Darkness was beginning to creep across the sky as black clouds rolled in overhead. He wasn't coming. A single tear ran from her eye, dragging a black trail down her cheek.
Why hadn't he come? Had she done something wrong? She thought back to their last conversation.
"After I get out, you're gonna go to the alley behind Harry's Hardware. I'll come for you." Then he had given her a strange, dark smile. Just before she had given him a last-minute blow-job.
Her lips parted and her breathing shallowed. I'll come for you. And he had. All over her stupid, grinning mouth. Never tell an outright lie. But take the truth, give it just a little twist, and no one will be the wiser. A twisted truth. Just like everything else he had said. Sweetie, everyone is fucked up. The question is, do you fuck them or do you wait around for them to fuck you? Her fists clenched as the cruel reality of the past four months exploded in her head. Sweetie-pie, I'm a fucker. He had fucked her cunt and her head. He had played with her like a toy, like a harlequin doll, used her to escape, and then left her in his hell. It had all been one sick, twisted mind-fuck joke, and she was the punchline.
Thick drops of rain crashed from the sky. She picked up her suitcase and stormed into Harry's Hardware.
The Joker strolled away from his midnight murder scene, hands in his pockets. He whistled cheerfully. It was good to be back in his make-up, not to mention his habits. He had done well. When the Gotham Police Department got a load of what he had just done, they'd be on their knees begging Batman to come back.
He heard footsteps behind him and stopped whistling. He turned his head slowly, narrowing his eyes and pulling his knife from his sleeve. The footsteps stopped.
"I know you're behind me, asshat."
No one answered. Suddenly, a cat squalled and ran between his legs. He jumped a foot in the air and yelled, "Shit!"
His heart raced, but his breathing slowed. He laughed at himself. "Fucking cats."
Just when he was about to put his knife away, a hard blow met the back of his head, landing him flat on his back. The last thing he saw before he passed out was a pair of blackened eyes and a smeared red mouth above him.
"Wake up, sunshine."
The Joker blinked his eyes open and groaned. His head was pounding. He glanced shiftily at his surroundings. He was gagged and tied in a fetal position in what appeared to be a little girl's bedroom. An assortment of stuffed animals, one of which was missing an eye, stared at him on the bed. A petite girl wearing a red and black leather corset, thigh-high boots, and high blond pig-tails faced a dresser with smiley faces painted all over it. A mallet with the words "Harry's Hardware" printed on it lay beside her.
Harley Quinn turned around and grimaced at him. "Hi-ih."
He made a muffled noise that sounded vaguely like, "What the fuck?"
"What can I say? You were my favorite patient, but an even better teacher." She sounded like a little girl.
She held something behind her back, and skipped over to him. Then she sat on the bed and smiled down at him. Her face was smeared white. Thick black rings lined her blue eyes and dark red lipstick formed an extended smile in mockery of his own likeness.
"It's not very nice to toy with sweet little girls' hearts. " She made a pouty face.
He shifted his widened eyes down to his bonds, frantically trying to figure out some way to get loose. Then he noticed what he was wearing: a white nurse's dress and -- oh God -- no underwear. He made protesting noises through his gag.
"Yeah, the gag is for you, so you won't make too much noise. And the nurse's dress..." She shrugged her shoulders and gave him an innocent look. "Well, that's for me."
He glared at her and grumbled through the gag.
"Oh sweetie, I'm only doing this because I love you. Isn't that what you wanted?" She grinned at him and reached for the one-eyed teddy bear. "What do you think, Mister Winky? Does Nurse Joker need a taste of his own medicine?"
She nodded the bear's head yes and spoke for him in a cartoon voice. "Yes, Harley! Why don't you give him an injection!"
"Oh Mister Winky, you're so funny!" She rubbed her nose against the bear's and set him back down. Then she took her other hand out from behind her back and revealed a very large purple and green candy-striped dong. She held it in front of the Joker's wide, panicked eyes.
He looked up at her and made more frantic, muffled noises. They sounded something like, "Wait! Lemme explain!"
"Gee whiz. This thing is awful big. Sure hope I have enough spit." She cuddled up against him and lifted the back of his dress.
He glanced back at her with wide, black-smeared eyes and whined pitifully through his gag.
She spread his cheeks and pressed the dong roughly against his asshole. Then she leaned down and ran her tongue slowly along his ear. Her childlike voice changed to a low growl.
"Dare you to laugh now, fucker."
End.