If you have reached Part III before having read Part I and II, please check them out:
.net/s/4460474/1/Mad_Love_Series_Part_I_Burn_Me_Down
.net/s/4840639/1/Mad_Love_Series_Part_II_From_the_Ashes
Mad Love Series, Part III: Inside the Fire
Prologue:
You may think you've defeated me
But you're dead wrong
Don't you dare believe what you see
I will pick myself up from the debris
And put myself at risk again
I will be stronger than before
I won't let you break me down
I won't let you stop me from achieving my dreams
You may think I'm gone
But you're dead wrong
I have got my allies and I have got my enemies
You'll be so sorry that you did this to me
You thought you could kill me
Underestimating your opponent is your demise
I've got poison on my side
And I've got the night.
You'll never see the light again
I'll see to it.
You may think I'm weak
But you're dead wrong
I'm stronger than you'll ever be
I'll never forgive you
You thought you killed me
You sick son of a bitch.
I will be back for you.
And I'm going to see to it that you're dead.
You'll meet the cold steel of my bullet
You can taste the flames of hell
And throw yourself inside the fire
Because I'm here to live, and I'm here to stay
Chapter 1: Inside the Fire
Give your soul to me for eternity
Release your life to begin another time with her
End your grief with me
There's another way
Release your life; take your place inside the fire with her
"Inside the Fire," Disturbed
My heart beat is slow. My breathing is shallow. My thoughts…are slowing…down…and down…I am dying. I suppose I know now. I know now…that it has to end…
I knew…it would come to this…
My lungs were collapsing.
Dizziness is consuming me.
What…is…hap…?
…
Light; there's a light above me.
The sun; I can see the sun.
There is a voice speaking to me.
I don't recognize it.
"I'm going to get you out, honey, hang on." The voice is saying. It is a woman.
Once my eyes have adjusted to the light, I see the bright red of her hair, vibrant against the beautiful colors of the sunset sky.
"Oh, you're alive, thank God." She looked relieved, "Do you need help getting up?"
"Who…" I was too weak to speak.
"Don't ask questions right now, honey. I am going to help you." She was kicking and shoving away the debris from my body, "Do you think anything is broken?"
I shook my head, the smallest gesture I could make.
"That's good, just hang on…" she was a beautiful woman; sun-kissed, long red hair, almond-shaped emerald eyes, and pouting lips. Her curvy body was dressed elegantly in a forest green halter gown, and it, of course, hugged her in all the right places. She looked as if she just came from (or was going to) some kind of fancy benefit.
"Ok, just one more minute…" she said, voice strained, hauling stones and pieces of plaster.
"Alright," she said to herself, "I think I can get you out of here now."
"I…" I tried to speak, but coughed violently because of all the dust.
"Hang on a minute, sugar, I'm going to need all the strength you can give me." The woman grabbed onto my arm, and my body limply fell out of the pile.
She clapped her hands together in joy, "Yes! Alright, now that that's done…" She surveyed my dirty, ripped costume, "We're going to have to get you a new outfit."
"You…know who I am?" I coughed again, voice weak.
"Of course, all of us villains know about each other," she laughed as if it were obvious, "Competition keeps us on our toes."
"Villain?" I asked.
"Ah well, I will explain that later." She said dismissively, picking me up, "Goodness, you are light as a feather!"
"I haven't eaten much recently," I explained, feeling the hungry pinch in my stomach.
"Well, that's going to change." She put my arm around her shoulder, "My car is parked around the corner. I'll take you back to my place."
"Aren't you…going somewhere?" I was fading fast.
"Yeah, well, I was going to crash a party, but that can wait." She smiled, "And my name is Pamela Isley, but you probably know me better as Poison Ivy."
"Oh…" I said quietly, "I saw you on the news."
"I look so damn fat." She made a face, "They always pick the worst angle."
"You're just…curvy," I tried to make a smile, and I'm still not sure if it worked.
"Well, thank you, Miss Quinzel," she beamed, "Or should I call you Harley?"
"Harley…is fine," We made it to the car, which was, fittingly, green and sleek. It reminded me of my beautiful red Ferrari that the Joker misplaced. My heart felt it like it had been stabbed with a blunt knife. Oh yes, that motherfucker who thought he could kill me. He was on my list. I had been so close…ugh; I was getting tired just thinking about it.
"Are you ok?" Pamela's voice broke me from my inner monologue. She was putting me into the passenger seat of the car, and buckling my seatbelt.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I cringed, feeling the pressure of the belt against my chest. I wondered vaguely if I had broken any ribs. Being the daughter of a doctor will do that to you…
"Oh, you poor thing," She bit her lip, "I'd better hurry."
She got in the driver's seat, and sped off. The sky was darkening rapidly as we drove through the city. I was reminded of when the Joker and I had spent our nights this way. I shook my head, trying to push those nagging thoughts away. Ass-hole tried to off me. Well, he was in for a real fucking big surprise the next time I saw him.
I drifted off to sleep, and was wakened what seemed like a few moments later by Pamela gently rubbing my arm, "Harley, we're at my place. Do you need help getting out?"
"I think so," I said, attempting to sit up, and then biting my lip because the pain wouldn't allow me any further.
"I'll be right there." She said, and I heard her car door slam, and mine opened a minute later. She held out her arm, "Grab on."
I nodded, and took her hand. She pulled me upright, and slung my arm over her shoulder, "You're in bad shape, honey." She closed my car door, and I heard the clicking sound of the car locking. She fished for her keys in her purse, which was considerably harder because I was hanging my weakening body off of her other arm.
I looked up at the building in front of me. It looked like a hotel.
"You live here?" I asked.
"For the time being, yes," She smiled, "I move around a lot."
"You have enough money for that?"
"My parents were pretty wealthy. They died a few years ago, pretty tragic, I guess. Anyway, they left me a substantially large trust fund." We were in the lobby now.
A few people stared at us, and Pamela grinned spectacularly and said, "She's just had a little too much fun tonight."
Let's equate my pain to being drunk. Good plan.
Apparently, they bought it, though; they left looking more relaxed.
"You're a quick thinker." I remarked.
"Comes with the territory of being a feared villainess," she laughed as we went into the elevator. She pressed the button for the top floor of the building.
"Penthouse suite," I said. I suddenly missed my place. It wasn't like I could ever go back there again, especially with the police still after me.
"Of course, only the best for me," Pamela said proudly.
"I lived in one. My parents' actually," I said, "They died 8 months ago."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she looked down at me with complete sympathy, "As I mentioned, mine are gone, too. It's rough."
"Yeah, you aren't kidding," I smiled weakly.
"Were you guys close?"
"Near the end, yes, but throughout my teenage years and early 20's, no, not really. I did everything I could to get away from them." I sighed.
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped out.
She pulled out her key. Penthouse A. The same one I had lived in before.
"Why didn't get you along?" she inquired, pushing the door open with her high-heeled foot.
"Eh, it seems so stupid now…my parents were wealthy, too, a doctor and a lawyer. My dad came from old money, actually…"
She set me down on the couch, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Water would be wonderful." I said, suddenly feeling an intense thirst in my throat.
"I'm on it." She went into the kitchen.
It was not the same set-up as my penthouse, but it was still reminiscent of it. The kitchen was on the opposite side (mine had been on the left of the living room, hers was on the right), and there was a bathroom closer than mine had been. The décor was obviously different. It was a little too luxurious for my taste, but I tended to be simple colors rather than patterns, like the hotel seemed to overindulge on.
"I know it's not perfect, but it is home for now." Pamela said, noting my surveying eyes. She handed me a glass of water.
I chugged it, and put the empty glass down on the table.
She stared at it for a moment, "Would you like another?"
"No, that was perfect. Thank you." I settled into the couch.
"You were saying?" she leaned against the pillows.
"Oh…yes, my parents…" I said softly, "Well, I always felt like they expected so much out of me, considering their backgrounds. I was kind of an awkward girl for a long time, insecure; I had braces and everything." I cringed at the memory, "I didn't date much, and I wasn't athletic. I was smart, but I wasn't brilliant. They always seemed disappointed."
"I get the feeling." She said, somewhat bitterly.
"When my younger sister was born, I guess they got the golden child they always wanted. She was gorgeous from birth on, really smart, a fantastic tennis and volleyball player…I just resented her. She was popular with girls and boys, and was always going out and having fun. I was always stuck in my room with my books. When I went to NYU, it was the greatest thing that could have ever happened to me. I met people like me. I got a boyfriend. I supported myself all through undergrad because my parents refused to let me rely on them." I said, my eyes narrowing instinctively, "I guess, in retrospect, they wanted me to understand what working was like, and I don't regret it now. It just really sucked at the time."
"My parents weren't that bad," Pamela admitted, "I was an only child. They spoiled me rotten, but I thought they always wanted something more from me. I was a straight A student, I had friends – not very many, but I had them – I was pretty enough, I could play piano…but it seemed like none of it was enough. Maybe they were upset about not having any more children, I guess."
"Why didn't they?"
"Complications from my birth," she explained shortly, "I think that might have been the thorn in my side, so to speak."
"Did you grow up around here?"
"No, Seattle. My father was a corporate mogul, and my mother was pretty much just a trophy wife." She laughed.
"Oh, come on," I laughed with her.
"Ok, well, she was a model at one time. She had her share of money to bring to the table. I don't know; she was just the typical housewife. She did nothing, and expected to get everything from it. She didn't cook or clean; she just sat by the indoor pool all day."
"I never really saw my mom." I said, shrugging, "She worked a lot. She still did up until she died."
"And your sister…where is she?" Pamela asked.
My face obviously fell, because she bit her lip, "Something bad happened to her."
"She died, too." I stared down at my hands, which was still covered with soot.
"I'm sorry," she put a hand on my shoulder.
"It's alright. It's been over a year now." I said dismissively, "May I use your shower?"
"Of course, take as long as you need," she helped me up, and into the bathroom.
"I've got it from here." I said, when she still stood there, staring at me.
"Oh, ok," she smiled, and closed the door.
I took off my costume, and left it in a pile at my feet. There was an imprint of dust where my mask had been, like it had been etched onto my face forever. I stared at myself, and then wiped at it fiercely, tears falling down my face.
I put my hands on the counter, breathing heavily.
This is what he did to me.
I gripped the counter tightly, looking up at myself, a sad, dirty shell of a girl.
I knew at that moment that I was never going to escape being Harley Quinn.
And I was never going to escape him.
He was going to die.
I mean it this time.