Reflection
Stand in front of the mirror in the motel bathroom. Look yourself in the eye. Go on, do it, admit it to yourself. This is you.
This is me.
This is who I am and everything I wanted.
This is your life.
Stained eyes. Smeared white facepaint. Black mask, discarded and hanging off the edge of the sink. Red eyes, black lipstick, bruise on cheek. Tear streaks making everything muddy.
Wash your face and the blood comes off along with the makeup. Stand in the shower to wash your hair and it gets rid of the mud. Leave the jester outfit in a heap on the tile and stay under the water until its ice cold and teeth start to chatter.
This is what you wanted.
Harleen Quinzel, this is your life.
Leave the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Makeup's mostly gone, hair is ratty but clean, body is a patchwork of cuts and bright purple splotches. It hurts to sit down on the couch, to reach over and turn on the TV, the lights burn your eyes when the picture flares to life.
News programs are just a reminder. Gotham in smoke, Gotham in ashes, the city rebuilt and in ruins over and over again. Find a cartoon show, bright colours and happy smiles. Stare blankly.
Fix a drink. Smoke a cigarette. Get dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans. Take the pills you stole from work to clear your head.
He doesn't love you.
He never loved you.
Was this ever love?
Sit on the couch, look out the windows at the city skyline. Try not to search the patterned streets for the road to Arkham Island, try to focus on the present instead of the past.
Look down at the cushions. There's blood.
This is what you wanted.
Instability. Chaos. Polarized reactions. One minute a smile, the next a fist.
Order a pizza. Watch the TV. Try not to move so the bruises don't sting. Try lying down on the bed because sitting hurts. Try not to remember.
'Idiot! Look at the damage you've done this time.'
'I'm sorry Mister J, I didn't mean – I only-'
CRACK.
'I'm sorry! Only ever-'
CRACK.
'Teach you a lesson-'
'I Only-'
CRACK.
"Only wanted to make you happy." The words are a whisper, another tear rolling down a cheek.
It's the only way you'll learn.
Fall in and out of sleep. Debate calling Ivy at sunrise, debate going back to the apartment, but no, the cops are always swarming that place.
Ivy'd just say what she always says.
'Why do you keep going back to him Harls? He's not worth it!'
He isn't…
"He isn't?"
Stand in front of the bathroom mirror again. Look yourself in the eye, don't feel ashamed as you remember his face, his manic smile and eager hands, his voice, his pain and desperation, his suffering. The warmth of your hands together, his laughter, the glee of success, of companionship. The mishmash of madness that became your relationship with this man, this madman, this genius, insane, cruel, complicated, compulsive, brilliant, man.
This is your life.
What are you gonna do with it?
Makeup bag. White face. Black lipstick. The harlequin suit feels like a second skin.
He didn't mean it.
He never means it.
How else will I learn when I do things wrong?
Mask to cover the eyes. Hat to hide the blonde hair. Red and black to match the blood drying in the sink. Watch the TV. Eat some pizza. Wait.
You've been here before.
This is how I learn, and this is the part where I try again.
Knock on the door like clockwork, sundown. Open an inch to greet the delivery boy. Take the box and forgo a tip.
Twelve long stemmed black roses, a note signed with nothing but a scrawling 'J'. Ten minutes later, the honk of a horn outside and a mad dash to the window reveals a stolen convertible in the sunset, the madman with a broken clown smile at the wheel.
This is your life.
Take the box, close the door. Acrobat flip down the stairs and slide onto leather seats next to the man, the madman, the clown, the sadist, the tortured soul. The bleach-faced green-haired monstrosity who owns your heart, whether you like it or not.
Nothing is said. He grabs the back of your neck, administers a kiss that's full of both punishment and pleasure. Pull out of the parking lot and take off down the highway, back towards Gotham.
"Don't go running off on me next time." His eyes are on the road, never shifting. "Otherwise I won't be sure you learned your lesson."
"Yes mister J." Eyes on the road winding ahead. Stomach twisting with fear and excitement.
"Did you learn your lesson?"
"Of course I did Puddin'." No hesitation. The pills are wearing off. The wind makes the bells on the jester hat jingle cheerfully. "I learned it."
"Good."
More silence as roadsigns fly by. He speaks again when they hit the main streets, stern but affectionate.
"Never forget you belong to me."
Turn and stare, eyes filling with tears again, sickly earnestness. "Never," a breathless whisper. "I could never forget."
Drive through the dark and empty streets. Catch your own eye in the rear-view mirror. Take a good hard look. Fear is gone, all you see is love. Devotion. Desperation.
This is it.
Everything you ever wanted.
Harley Quinn, this is your life.