So, obviously I don't own the Joker or anything, and I don't honestly expect anyone to read or enjoy this. I'm not trying to create art; I'm just amusing myself. If I don't stay true to the character, so be it. I'm not interested in constructive criticism. That said, if you like it, feel free to review or comment or whatever. K, bye 3
When I got back to my dorm room after my English class, the last thing I expected was to find someone sleeping in my bed, but there he was. A skinny mound of man with my sheets pulled all the way up so that all that was visible was some bright green hair. After I stood staring for a few seconds, I walked over to my bed and pushed the motionless figure.
"Hey, what's the idea? Get up and get out," I said. I heard what sounded like laughing from under the sheets. "You think this is funny?" I asked, "Get up." I yanked down the sheets and was shocked by what I saw. The Joker, Gotham's most wanted, peered up at me through parted fingers, laughing to himself. Then he covered his eyes again and rolled over.
"Turn off the lights, would you darling?" he asked, his voice muffled by my pillow. I stood frozen in shock, waiting to feel the terror that I knew I should. The facts simply would not register.
"You. What…what are you doing in my bed?" I asked. He turned back over and propped himself up, pulling the covers up with him and holding them to his neck.
"Well see, hehe, I was just poking around in this dormitory and when I found your room I decided I'd wandered into friendly territory," he said.
I swallowed, and attempting to be rational I asked him, "And how's that?"
"I found your little diary," he said, looking down at the floor. I noticed for the first time what else was amiss in the room. A usually well-hidden scrapbook lay open on the floor, the scrapbook I had filled with pictures and newspaper clippings, all detailing the criminal known as the Joker. I turned pale and stammered, searching for an answer.
"It's okay, pumpkin, I'm not mad. I'm flattered, to be honest. I never thought little old me would have a fan club. Now if you don't mind, I'm a little bit tired. I'm going back to sleep," he said. He rolled back onto his stomach again. When I was reasonably certain he was actually asleep, I picked up my scrapbook and put it carefully back into place.
For a long time I just stood there watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful. I was having a hard time reconciling this sleeping man with the Joker I had read so much about. I carefully examined his face, committing to memory every curve and every little scar. His skin was the palest I had ever seen, but it wasn't the paper-white shade I had expected. His lips, chapped and full, were red, but not in a way that seemed overly unnatural. I thought about how memory can be deceiving, and little details can become blown out of proportion, which accounted for the eyewitness accounts which I now knew exaggerated his features. However, I couldn't understand why the pictures I had seen were so deceiving. Maybe I had only been seeing what I had expected to see. I was extremely tempted to take a picture of him then, in all his vulnerable beauty. I couldn't bring myself to do it. It would have felt like I was taking advantage of him in his time of need.
The hard part was not explaining to myself why I was sheltering him. I had long known that it was only a matter of time until my obsession led to more dangerous activities than scrapbooking. The hard part was convincing my roommate when she returned that the figure asleep in my bed was anyone but who he really was.
"Calm down, Brit. Let him sleep. He's just a friend who got exiled from his room because his roomie is having sex," I explained.
"Amber, he has green hair!" she exclaimed.
"I know him, it's just Jack. He's just a punk who's not from Gotham and didn't realize that green was such a touchy hair color here. Please, just calm down and study or something. He won't be here for long," I said. Looking only slightly more convinced, Britney muttered something about meeting up with friends and left. I didn't bother pointing out that she had only just gotten back to the room. As soon as the door slammed shut "Jack" began laughing.
"How long have you been awake?" I asked.
"Just long enough to hear your little lie. Hehe, I've been called many things, but punk is a new one," he murmured.
"Well," I sighed, throwing my hands in the air. I wasn't sure whether to be irritated or pleased. He sat up again suddenly and stared at me intensely, causing me to blush. It only got worse when I noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing a shirt.
"Why did you call me Jack?" he asked.
"I don't know, it's just a name I like," I told him. This sent him into a loud fit of laughter that I didn't understand, but I felt strangely proud for causing it. Someone in the dorm next door pounded on the wall and yelled at him to shut up, which only made him laugh harder. It was only when he stopped that I realized I'd been laughing with him. He was staring again and I stood in silence, noticing the bruises and shallow cuts all over his pale skin.
"Did Bats do that?" I asked. He pounced up from the bed. I was relieved to see he was still wearing his pants, although they were slashed and in need of replacement. He walked towards me so quickly I stumbled backwards in surprise. I was up against a wall when he pulled out the knife. I didn't see it before I felt it on my neck.
"Don't call him that," he commanded.
"Yes, sir," I whispered. He looked into my eyes for a moment and then he was laughing again. He walked over to my closet and pulled it open, knife still open and shining in his hand. He glanced over my clothes and grabbed an oversized shirt that I usually wore as pajamas. He threw it on and stormed out the door. As soon as he was gone, I missed him, almost unaware of the fact that he had basically threatened my life. I hoped that I hadn't annoyed him too much, and that if he needed a place to crash again, he would return.