"I'd never sing of love, if it does not exist.
But, darling, you are the only exception."
- Paramore

I was free, naive, careless and uncaring. I will never be like that again. Never again will I trust a stranger or put my faith in something I shouldn't. I will never ever love any other man besides him. Even after all he has done to me; my love remains the same. Remembering the first few weeks feels like someone punching me in the stomach.

I was always that kind of a loner type person. I wasn't an extremeist and always wanting to be in the spotlight, but I was most certainly carefree and naive. Uncontrollably naive. Maybe that's what got me into so much trouble, trusting anyone and everyone.

I was, to add to my loner mantality, a quiet-looking person. My long, dirty blond hair was mousy and always stayed perfectly straight, refusing to curl or be crimped at all, to my dismay. My eyes are hazel, shaped perfectly to my satisfaction. My lips weren't full like Angelina Jolie, normal and modest. I had a slim frame, and I didn't much like to show it off. At Gotham High School, I chose to be modest despite all the girls around me dressing like skanks for no apparent motive. I was an addicted artist, sketching and drawing in a sketch book while all the girls ran off to me cheerleaders and get their butts spanked by the football players. I had a few meaningless boyfriends in high school, but none of them even came close to comparing to him.

It happened a night I was walking down an alleyway that served as a shortcut towards my inexpensive appartment in Gotham City. After getting home from a successful interview at the Gotham MCU, I was exhausted and ready for bed. Jim Gordon told me I would start my job starting next month, August. I had scored the job as a Criminal Interrogator, and at the young age of twenty-one, I was surprised I had gotten it. I had gone to college at New York University, and back to Gotham, my home city. My parents lived all the way in Washington State, and I was alone in the big city. At least supporting me with their help and friendship was Rachel Dawes, Harvey Dent, Bruce Wayne, and Jim Gordon.

We were starting to be good friends, and Bruce even offered to take me out a few times. I accepted, however I knew he was a womanizer and I was completely unlike him. But for once it was nice to have people who wanted to associate with me around myself. As I was saying, I had been walking through an alleyway towards my appartment. Not the safest way to go about in Gotham, but go figure. Continuing on, I hurriedly walked. I felt feelings of vulnerability and as though someone was watching me. Maybe I was imagining it, maybe I was paranoid. But I kept walking.

I recalled footsteps echoing behind me, and I must've twirled around four times before I finally saw his slim but muscular figure come from the shadows. I had heard so much of him, from Gordon, Rachel, Harvey. But I never imagined I'd come face to face with him without any safety to rely on. And I gulped. He wore his traditional apparel; a faded purple trench coat and pants, a purple shirt with a emerald green vest and a tie, purple leather gloves accented his clothing. His face was smeared with white, red and black makeup, almost as if it had been applied in a great haste. His scars were jagged and intimidating, just as I had heard of. His eyes were almost lifeless and one would describe them as deep pools of black ink. His hair was a greenish-blond, regularly blond, but spray-painted some green. He was a fairly lanky and muscularly built man, yet the shimmering potato-peeler knife made me want to scream for help. Yet I didn't.

"What is a beautiful young lady like yourself doing out in an alleyway so late at night, eh?" He smacked his lips, his scars lining them to be almost a perfect, jagged smile. "Dangerous, don't you think?"

"I don't have any money," I managed to say, "What do you want from me?" He grinned, revealing a ferocious look on his unwelcoming face. I knew I was in trouble as he stepped closer and closer to me. I managed to also say to please let me go, but he wouldn't leave me.

"Please," I had begged, "Let me go."

Before I knew what was going on, he had his knife pressed up against my face. I couldn't say anything; I stared up into those dark eyes in shock. A few hours ago, I was safe at Gotham's MCU. Now, I was up against a wall courtesy of the Joker. "You look upset, Evan. Why so serious?" He snarled, and I blacked out.

How did he know my name?

I woke up on something uncomfortable. I was in an uncomfortable position, too. I ached everywhere, and I was incredibly confused. My eyes took a little while to flutter open, adjusting to the faint light of the room. I was in a very bland bedroom, with a simple bed and bedside table, a chest at the end of the best. There was a closet, a mirror and that was it.

A door to enter the room was there, and it seemed to be locked. I tried desperately to remember the events previous, but nothing came until I sat up and rubbed my temples. I finally realized the Joker had cornered me. Wait, so where was I? I looked at myself in the mirror in the room. I had a few bruises on my face and my lip was bleeding. I ran towards the door and tried yanking at the knob. It wouldn't budge, and I started to scream. Voices were heard outside the door, voices of men. I swear I heard someone say, "Boss, the chick's yelling!"

I stepped back away from the door as it started to open from the other side of the door. The Joker swung open the door angrily, no patience on his face. He was dressed in the same apparel as before, except no trench coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his purple leather gloves still on. Everything was happening so fast. How did I even get in this situation?

"Well, well," He licked his lips and chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes darting everywhere. "Look who's awake."

My eyes blinked up at him, watered with fear and confusion. I was so much smaller compared to this powerful man. He was at least twenty-five, maybe a year or two older than that. His face was young, yet very intimidating. "Please," I begged, "let me go. I haven't done anything. I don't have money, I don't have anything." A few tears fell from my eyes.

"It's...uh, not about whether I want something or not, dollface." The Joker grinned crookedly, then smacked his lips, "The, uh, fact of the matter is," He let out a sigh then a half-smile, "You're mine."