Light, harsh and cold, fell across my closed eyes, creating a kaleidoscope of red and purple splotches on the inside of my eyelids. I lifted my hands to block out the glaring rays of fluorescent evil shining from above and realized that I could not bend my wrists; they were bound tightly, from wrist to elbow, in something stiff and scratchy. I rose to a sitting position and opened my eyes, which were almost crusted shut with mascara.
White attacked my eyes with unsympathetic ferocity; a wild animal biting and clawing at my unsuspecting corneas. The world around me was a white blur, which then began to settle into shapes and shadows. Everything, I mean everything, was white. White padded walls, white padded flooring, a cushioned white door with a round, white handle. Hell- even the bed I lay upon was bleached into a colorless perfection. All this lack of color and generous padding meant only one thing to me; Arkham Asylum.
Memory flooded my head like liquid lightning, and the events from the past day saturated my brain in a mixture of colors, feelings and sounds.
"Fired?" My voice was an incredulous combination of anger, sarcasm, and disbelief. My knees felt like jelly, threatening to give out at any given moment, and I felt my eyes sting with hot tears of embarrassment.
"Don't put it so harshly, Nicole. You're not being fired, punished, or whatever is running though your over analytical head. I just can't afford to keep you here anymore. I'm sorry, truly, I am. And, with the state of our economy, I'm sure you'll understand."
I knew he wasn't sorry, because, quite frankly, money-hoarding bastards like him never were. To him, I was too much of a risk. Poking my nose where it shouldn't go…into places where any woman shouldn't go, with all of the sadistic rapists and psychos out there. I knew he didn't want my death on his hands, so his way out of the situation? Leave me jobless, that little coward.
"I'm sorry Nicole," Mr. Benson sniffed without an ounce of compassion, "but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
My face, if not already red, darkened with anger and humiliation as he took my elbow and led me over to the pretty, new assistant's desk. She looked up from her papers and, with big, doe-eyes, gave him a look of pure, unrestricted adoration. I tasted bile in the back of my throat, knowing in the pit of my stomach that he was going to have a fling with this girl nearly 20 years his junior. Her gaze flickered to me, and then to my elbow where his hand rested lightly. She didn't even try to hide the frown that crossed her perky lips, and it disgusted me. She coughed softly and Mr. Benson released my arm.
"Lily, would you please escort Miss Beaufort out, thank you." He gave her a warm grin.
She sprung to her feet, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, all while looking at my ex-boss.
"I believe that I know where the door is." I seethed through clenched teeth.
I spun quickly and stalked out, leaving a spray of papers in my wake.
I stomped away from the building, blinded by rage and mortification, and paused around the corner to regain my composure. I ripped my hair from the neat bun it was secured in and let the long, chocolate locks fall against the sides of my cheeks. Exhaling deeply, I attempted to release my pent up anger out through my respiration. Some of the emotion dissipated through my breath and into the frosty air; creeping out of my nostrils as steam. But most of the fury remained, waiting to release itself in the form of a scream. It coiled at the back of my throat, like a snake waiting to strike, and tingled on my tongue. I bit my lower lip and held it between my teeth, waiting until the scream lost its potency. Eyes shut tight, fists clenched rigidly at my sides, I didn't even sense the man approach me until it was too late.
A hand snaked into my hair and twisted into a fist, which then shoved my face against the rough, grey wall of the alleyway. My eyes glazed over, from a mixture of pain, shock, and, surprisingly, rage. I swallowed thickly and felt the tip of a blade, cool and pitiless, press into the soft flesh just in the hollow under my jaw. Today just wasn't my day.
"Such a pretty lady," a gruff voice growled from the thick mess that was my hair. I could feel his moist breath against my ear, his scratchy stubble stabbing into my scalp.
"What you doin' in a place like this…alone?"
I grunted as he pressed my face harder into the cement wall, the overwhelming warmth of an unwanted body pressing against my back causing a light sweat to break out on my forehead. Despite myself, a lone tear brimmed over and slid down my cheek. I hated Mr. Benson the lecherous old man, hated Lily his whore of an assistant, I hated myself for not saying more, I hated this lowlife for ruining my day further, and most of all…I hated this city.
My mind swam, groping for anything that might get me out of this situation. I had no weapons and I've never taken a self defense class in my life. Well…shit. Then it dawned on me, my positioning was perfect, as was his.
I brought my knee as high as it would go, tensed, and shot my high-heeled foot out and hit him square in the groin.
Immediately the knife fell away, as did the fist in my hair. He groaned and doubled over, giving me just enough time to escape.
I ran like a freaking Olympian, even in my heels; taking the pavement two squares at a time. I ran for two or three blocks, my feet screaming at me as sharp blisters formed and burst on my heels. I skidded to a stop in front of a bank, collapsed on the wide steps and slipped my heels off. The backs of my feet were wet with blister juice, the skin stinging and throbbing in protest to my sprint. My lungs were dried gourds; brittle and dehydrated. It took a few good minutes until I regained a normal breathing rhythm, my mind a mess of hot, white panic and numbing relief.
I stood shakily, high heels clutched in one hand, and began my short walk home, barefoot. I puffed my cheeks out and blew a tendril of hair away from my face, keeping my eyes focused on the sidewalk disappearing under my sore feet.
I reached the shack, my little pet name for the crap-of-an-apartment that I'd managed to scrape up enough money to rent, fished through my purse or the keys, and sighed heavily. As if life couldn't get any worse, the keys were gone. They probably fell out when I did my Olympian stint, and there was no way in hell I was walking all the way back there. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes, trying to concentrate all of my stress into a lightning bolt that would strike me dead. After a few minutes of no electrocution, I decided to check the windows to see if any were unlocked.
By some act of God, the kitchen window was unlatched, though still closed. I pressed my palms to its grimy surface and pushed upward. It stuck fast for the first couple of seconds, and then with an annoying grating sound it slid open. I hauled my body through the window and fell into the sink which, of course, was full of dark, scummy water and dirty dishes that I'd forgotten to wash a week or so ago. I let out a small shriek of frustration, swung my legs over the side of the sink, and fell onto my tender feet. Swearing to myself, I trudged off to my room, stripped, and tossed my dirty clothes into my hamper. I pulled a ratty, baggy t-shirt over my head and threw myself upon my bed. Now that I had time to think, the prospect of being jobless and without financial stability sank into my brain. I let myself cry freely, out of anger and annoyance mostly, burying my face into my favorite, under-stuffed pillow.
I was done.
I ghosted into the kitchen, to the tool drawer, and snatched up the box cutter that seemed to gleam with a sort of sinful allure in the dim light. I slinked back into my bedroom, inhaled, and without hesitation I took one quick, hard swipe at my forearm; ripping the flesh from wrist to elbow. The pain was blinding, setting an array of white and black fireworks in front of my glazed eyes. I inhaled sharply, and tasted the heavy, tangy aroma of blood in the air. I cradled my wrist into my chest without looking at it; little torrents and rivers of hot blood coating my pajama shirt and soaking though my skin, trying to crawl back into my veins. My world was fading, the colors mixing together and blurring. My breathing was heavy and labored, and I felt my lids begin to droop. I switched the box cutter into my numbing left hand and slashed at my right arm. I doubled over, feeling the hot, tight grip of nausea strangle my throat. My fingers were stupid lumps of what they used to be; all of the feeling drained from them like the blood gushing from my arms. Like a heartbeat, my world thumped in and out of focus until a creeping darkness at the sides of my eyes overtook everything, and I passed out.
I blinked and remembered my little "date" with my sister. We were going to meet up for dinner, and I guess she figured something was wrong when I didn't show up. Like the nosy little bitch that she is, she must've snuck into my apartment and found me, panicked, and called the police. Well, the police don't give a shit about the suicidal, seeing as how less people in the city would mean less crime, so she must've hauled my bloody ass up to Arkham herself. On the day where nothing goes right, why should my suicide attempt be any different?
I laughed bitterly to myself, and nearly jumped out of my skin when the vault-like door swung open to reveal a man that could not have been better described as anything but a troll. He was huge, in height and weight, with a short bulbous nose, a caveman-esque forehead, and eyes like tiny pieces of coal.
He grumbled something at me that sounded similar to "lunch," threw a hideous pair of blue scrubs at me, and tossed a yellow-toothed smile at me along with it. It took me a minute to register what the smile was for, but when I saw his eyes repeatedly flicker from my face to my legs, it became clear.
"You have a better chance of landing a lunch date with Bruce Wayne than watching me undress, buddy." I spat at him, with as much venom that I could muster.
His smile grew, revealing a few missing teeth and he loped towards me, arms extended.
"Trent! Tre-ent!" A woman's nasally voice trilled, coming closer.
The beast of a man skewered his head around, caught in the act, as a short but sturdy red-head marched around the corner.
"Trent! You know that female patients are under my responsibility! Now scoot!" She chastised him like a mother would a child, and that disturbed me.
She turned her gaze upon me and smiled a smoker's grin.
"Sorry 'bout that hon, he's a little slow." She said casually, pointing to her temple to emphasize his slowness. "Well, since you're new here, darlin', I'll let you know what life's gonna be like for you. This is your new home, it lacks a woman's decorative touch, I know, but you'll made do with what ya got. Every mornin' you'll wake up at 6, eat at 7, do your little therapy groups and such till noon, eat, have recreation time till 6, eat, then individual time till bedtime at 8. Clear? All of your staff is female, includin' therapists, though you will get to have groups and rec. time with some of the other male inmates. All integrated interactions are supervised, even if you can't see us, we can see you." She paused to let out a raspy laugh that was almost a cough, then continued. "So no shenanigans! Now, Miss Suicide," she eyed my arms disapprovingly, "it's about lunch time, so get dressed and let's go! I'm starving!"
"The name is Nicole." I corrected her, smiling impishly.
I really liked her. Well, as much as you could like an Arkham staff.
"Well I'm Barb, Nicole, swell to meet ya."
I stripped and re-dressed without feeling much discomfort and let Barb lead me through the many white, well-lit halls of Arkham. From what I saw, I might as well have been in a prison, because all of the women in the cells we passed were big, burly, and extremely butch. Barb saw my eyes widen as we passed a particularly masculine monster-woman, and I felt her warm, meaty hand on my shoulder.
"Dontcha worry, suga', we place our inmates in groups dependent on weight so that if you get yourself in a fight you won't get too beaten up before we can get to ya. You're what? 110? 115? You're not going anywhere near those 250lb she-thugs." She croaked a laugh, the smoker's wrinkles around her lips creating a cobweb of lines around her mouth.
I smiled at her easy manner and we rounded a corner that lead to a large, bright room. Barb led me to the food line that lead to counter that reminded me of my old high school cafeteria. I couldn't help but stare at the woman in front of us, and I also couldn't help but feel a twang of jealousy in the pit of my stomach. She was tall, with a thick mane of curly red hair and mile-long legs. She was conversing with another beautiful woman in front of her, though the other woman was blonde, shorter, and a little more curvaceous than the slight redhead.
I felt their eyes shift to my petite form and averted my gaze to the speckled linoleum. I could feel it, their eyes appraising my long dark hair, freckled pale skin and most importantly, the bandages securing my forearms. I heard a sniff of laughter and a swish of hair as they continued their former conversation.
"Ignore them, suga', they think they're all that because of who they were on the outside, but now only good behavior can give them power. You know who they are?"
"Bitches?" I said loudly and innocently, eliciting a glare from the blond who was facing my direction in order to talk to the redhead.
Barb clapped her hand on my back and wheezed out another laugh.
"No, well…yes. Their real names are Pamela Isley and Selina Kyle, also known as Poison Ivy and Catwoman. And-"
"And, dearest barbieeee dollllll…who might that little, mmm-girl be?" A scratchy, drawling voice rasped from behind me.
Barb and I turned simultaneously, her arms extended backwards as if to protect me. I brought my gaze up from the floor, though knowing the voice before seeing his disfigured face. Everybody knew this voice, though in person it seemed so…surreal. Raising my eyes, I laid them upon the scarred visage of the Joker.
I felt an audible gasp leave my lips when I realized that he didn't have on his makeup. He looked –almost- normal, if it hadn't been for the two puckered, pink scars that lined his cheeks like a cartoon smile. He had a very pleasant natural tan, jade eyes, and blonde hair without the disgusting green tinge of filth. He was almost…handsome.
"Oh!" He laughed harshly, jabbing his finger at my chest, "My mistake, missy, you're no, uh, little girl. Whatcha in for, sweetcheeks?"
He leered forward at me, and I gave him my best "are-you-retarded" look that I could.
"So much for being some criminal mastermind! Are you really so ignorant?" I laughed in his face, raising my forearms as evidence of his stupidity.
A wicked grin stretched across his lips, and his tongue ran itself across his straight, yellowed teeth.
"You're a feisty one…I like that-uh."
Too fast for me to register, he snapped his arm forward and twisted one thick strand of my wavy hair in his fist, yanking me closer to him.
"Hey, pal, knock it off!" Barb warned fiercely, grasping his free wrist with her fleshy hand. I could feel her eyes notify the guards standing by the double-door entry of the cafeteria.
His breath was warm on my cheeks and lips, cloudy eyes piercing into my own grey ones. He raised his dirty-blond brows and his cheeks lifted his eyes into a violent smile.
"Are you trying to seduce me?" I chuckled, narrowing my eyes in a challenge.
He grinned and opened his mouth to release some witty retort, but instead he flew backwards with the force of the guard tossing him to the side.
"Since when did he get out of solitary confinement?" Barb shrieked at the guard, who upon further inspection turned out to be Trent.
The Joker elicited a string of hoarse laughter, rubbing his head where it hit the concrete wall. Without missing a beat he hopped back up to his feet and raised his hands as a sign of surrender to Trent. He scooped up his spilled lunch tray and skipped back to his empty table, giggling to himself.
"Next…next!" Called a whiney woman's voice, urging me to stop looking after the madman and get my food.
She plopped some sort of chili on my platter and as I walked by she threw a hunk of cornbread at me. It hit me square in the shoulder, and I turned around to give the rude bitch a piece of my mind but Barb grabbed my shoulder as she walked by and dragged me along to a table that would've been empty except for one particularly beautiful…man.
He didn't look up as I sat, though I'm sure he felt my eyes on his face. He had pale skin with a spray of light freckles across his nose and cheeks, and thick, dark hair, like me, though I'm sure it looked a million times better on him. His cheekbones were so high that they could've scraped the sky, and I could tell he had thick, dark lashes, though I couldn't make out his eye color.
"Nicole, this is the anti-social and infamous Jonathan Crane." She gestured towards the man. "Jonathan, this lovely suicidal lady is Nicole uhh…"
"Beaufort." I helped, not taking my eyes off of Jonathan.
He finally raised his eyes to me and, man, were they blue and clear and…frosty. It was like looking into the eyes of a porcelain doll, completely void of any emotion or life. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or through me, but I blushed as if he were interested.
With that, he went back to silently chewing his bread and prodding the steaming chili with his plastic spoon, eyes trained on the mushy substance.
"He's not much of a talker, as ya can tell. Thinks he doesn't belong here. Don't they all, Jonny?" Barb said with her usual zeal, digging into her chili with such animalistic ferocity that I almost lost my appetite.
I felt a rough tug on my hair and heard a mischievous cackle from behind me as the Joker walked past in plastic handcuffs, the man escorting him out covered in the scalding chili.
"See ya in group, sweetcheeks!" He called though his laughter.
I turned to Barb, with a smirk playing on my lips.
"Group therapy with the Joker?
"At least you won't be bored," She mumbled though a mouthful of beans and beef.