Prologue

I always hated the privileged area of Gotham. Everyone turning up their nose at you, like you were the fresh dog crap left on the sidewalk that just ruined their brand new expensive white shoes that could have fed hundreds of the starving homeless people roaming around the slums of Gotham. They send their children to the most expensive schools and parade them around like toy poodles. I should know, I was one.

My parents married for status and money, not for love or companionship. My father hired escorts and spent his nights with prostitutes, while my mother bought the newest Coco&Chanel bags and gossiped with the other greedy wives. The only reason they had me was for my father to marry me off to some wealthy family and a new dress-up doll for my mother to march around, it also helped with the happy family facade.

I've always been different though. I hated designer brands and elite parties. My parents didn't have to bribe my teachers, because I've always excelled in all of my classes. I was always forced to go to the 'charity' balls and 'fundraisers' and I never mingled with the other people my age. They enjoyed this life, they indulged it, embraced it. I never understood the greed and selfishness of people, especially my own parents.

At night I would sneak out, wearing torn skinny jeans, combat boots, and an Alice in Chains t-shirt with my long blonde hair braided down my back. Even though it was nighttime I wore aviators to hide my blue eyes and hopefully my identity. I would always sneak into bars or tattoo shops with my fake ID and try to forget what awaited me when I got home.

When I turned sixteen I snuck out of my party, like they were really celebrating my birthday, and I got my first tattoo. They've slowly added up since then. I now have a tattoo sleeve on my right arm and wings coming out of my back, but of course I bought some tattoo covering makeup. If either of my parents knew about them they would make me get them removed.

When I turned eighteen my parents told me of my arranged marriage. I was distressed and it was the first time I had ever yelled at my parents. Of course they told me I would get married whether I wanted to or not and grounded me, even though I was eighteen. I would have runaway if I had anywhere to go, but I've seen the homeless people around here and I don't want to end up like that. Though the grounding didn't stop me that night when I went to a local bar to drink my sorrows away.

I met my husband the next day. As soon as I seen him I hated him. He was the embodiment of everything I've ever hated. From his fancy expensive shoes to his fake tan and perfectly styled hair. He leered at me and I put on my fake smiles while cringing in disgust on the inside. His father was a lawyer and he was going to college to get his degree so he could follow in his father's footsteps. They had their own law firm, Johnson&Johnson, a father and son law office and it was very successful. My father was a plastic surgeon who had worked on Mrs. Johnson and they had arranged our marriage there.

Within a year I was also Mrs. Johnson. Though I hated my husband, I was numb on our wedding and any other night he was having needs. When he walked in on me while I was showering and seen my tattoos he was livid. He beat me and yelled at me for 'ruining' my body. He then dragged me into the kitchen and grabbed one of our fancy kitchen knives and sliced at the wings on my back.

Once he was done ruining my back he called my father and told him the situation, but of course my parents didn't care about my well being. My father rushed over and stitched me up and scolded me for the disgusting markings on my body. What a great father I have, even though I was in pain on the floor surrounded by blood, he won't forgo his fatherly duties in disciplining me. They left me on the floor, without any pain medication and I eventually passed out. When I woke up my husband was nudging me with his foot, telling me to clean up the mess I made in his kitchen. I struggled and after a few tries I got up and cleaned the mess.

I started to go to bars again and one night when I returned I caught my husband in our bed with a prostitute. I told him I needed to speak with him when he was done with his whore and closed the door behind me. I waited on the couch ignoring the scantly dressed woman as she eventually hobbled past me. My husband eventually walked in to the living room and stood, glaring at me. I told him I couldn't do this anymore, that I couldn't just stand and look pretty for him anymore. He beat me again. I got sick of it and ran that night, while he was asleep. He found me eventually.

A police officer recognized me in the park and drove me to our oversized house. My husband thanked him and I hid in the guest room closet. He found me though and told me he couldn't stand me anymore. He put me in Arkham Asylum under the name of Jane Jones, like he couldn't have picked a better name. He told them I had schizophrenia and any other mental illness that would insure that I was in here for a long time. He then had Victoria Johnson, proclaimed dead from eating something she was allergic to and I was able to watch my own funeral from the television in the corner of my room. My parents were good actors at playing the role of grieving parents. He probably payed them a good sum of money to forget I even existed, though it probably wasn't hard for them anyways.

My doctor soon realized that there was nothing wrong with me and as long as I agreed to keep silent about who I was really was she would let me go on good behavior. Of course I agreed, I didn't want my old life back anyways.

I am currently living in the slums and have a job bar tending next door. I love my life now and don't miss my past in the slightest. No one bothers me and I keep to myself like I always have. Now I'm twenty-three and enjoying the seclusion and quiet of my home and the rowdiness and loud music of the bar. Though, apparently, I'm not supposed to have a quiet and uneventful life.

Author's Note: Joker's going to be in the next chapter. I just wanted to kind of describe her personality and what made her that way.