After a long and embarrassing venture and then an even longer hiatus... I might be ready to give writing another shot.
I just emptied out my e-mail of so many follows and favorites it broke my heart.
To be honest, I've never been good enough for anybody, but just... Even at my worst and most pathetically mediocre, you guys are still here.
And that blows my mind.
Here's my first baby-step. A (hopefully) one-shot to get me back in the game, and possibly to edit my other stop-starts.
And now, with no forethought or planning or pre-determined plot, I reveal to you this adorably short snapshot:
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Drip. Drip. Drip.
She let it soothe her, numb her. The sound. It was late October in Gotham, and if it wasn't raining, it was dripping.
She knew she should move. A vague, half-formed thought of hunting down something to eat crossed her mind but didn't stay.
The drips were hypnotic. They were distracting. They were illuminating.
In her barely-lucid state of mind, the cold rainwater dripping from the broken tiles in front of her held the secrets of the universe.
In her blank distraction, Holly took no notice of the whisper-quiet plop plop plop of thick-soled, well-worn boots approaching.
Holly took no notice of the dark man behind her until his colorless form loomed over her. She tipped her head back until the water that dripped onto her thin hair fell into her face like tears.
She looked at him, and though he was upside down and she was exhausted to the point of sincere delusion, Holly recognized him. She managed a small, tired smile at him.
His gloved hands reached around and, in an uncharacteristically gentle move, draped a gray blanket over her soaked shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered, clutching the folds closer to her chest.
"Come inside," he murmured low into her ear. "It's warm. It's dry."
Her love had always been so good at tempting her. Her snake in the garden.
But she knew now that his fangs held venom far more deadly than mere knowledge.
"Mm," she breathed, and gently shook her head, ignoring the sloshy feeling it left her with.
His warm breath was on her neck then, his soft gloves caressing her face, wiping her cheeks, smoothing her chin, tightening around her throat...
She gasped and arched into him as his long finger slid tighter, tighter, until his whole hands curled around her like the cobra he was.
The burn, oh God her lungs were burning. Though she was lost in the thick haze of her own mind before, her body's panic sharpened her focus onto her desperate need for oxygen. She arched and floundered and shuddered and clutched at his hands, but it was as though she was watching from a distance.
It did not take him long. Little Holly was only 97 pounds then, though she had been a slim but healthy 122 when they had met. That wasn't just from living with the monster, but from loving him all the same. She had pegged it all for a bad decision early on, but hadn't realized that one night of impulse would lead to a 13-month long, hazy, hellish blur of guns, sex, fear, hunger, sex, and running.
All the running.
She was so tired.
It was not hard to give up.
He knew it was because of him. All the little changes, all the corruption that had eaten the insides out of the limp girl in his hands. It happened every time. She was not new. She was not special.
He knew he would forget her name by Tuesday, as he had already forgotten his own.
With a quick turn of his heel he stalked away. The tiny, hunched form of Holly Steward would stay draped across those concrete steps, drenched in rain water, until some good samaritan took it upon himself to report it. Anonymously, most like.
This was the Narrows, of course.
Only he, the Joker, would know what happened to her.
Only he would remember the night they met, guns blazing and silk dresses and a whirlwind of glorious chaos at Wayne Manor.
Only he would remember the nights spent rough and vicious, bites and slaps and growls. The nights spent close, comfortable, safe and even... loved.
Or the mornings, oh how those mornings tortured him in the most incredible way. He always woke to something - whether it was to a warm bed, a hot breakfast, an even hotter shower... It was always a new surprise, what he woke to, but it was always to her.
Weeks, he mused. Months, even.
And after all that, all the adventures and shenanigans, the laughter, the passion, the fear and the pain...
He ended up a bit ahead of schedule.
He forgot she had even existed by Monday afternoon.