A Challenge
Clearly I don't own Harley Quinn or The Joker; I'd be a lot richer if I did.
Angry noise. My heart beats at the same pace as the frenzied drums, sweat beads trailing down my forehead. Hard rock is essential for a workout; it's energy feeding me, egging me on. As another guitar riff screeches I flip head over heels in cartwheels, throwing daggers at my targets. Heart,head,heart,head. "I'm getting good," I grin to myself.
I realized I had to start training as soon as I broke the Joker out of Arkham. I mean I did gymnastics when I was young and recently went for jogs, but that seems laughable now. A bit of running won't help you keep up with one of the most wanted supervillains in the world, especially with Batsy always getting in the way. So I started to do weights, weapons training and more fitness with religious devotion. If I wanted to stay alive I had to become lethal.
The door was kicked in as I was preparing to do another set of knife-throwing. "HARLEY!" he growled and stalked towards me, clenching and unclenching fists. His eyes black coals burning with rage and all I can think is "Not again". In the beginning I thought it was because I messed up plans, or I stole his spotlight, or even because I'd done something right but he wanted to be the one to do it. In a way I thought I deserved it. I should know better than to make stupid mistakes. But now I was his punching bag whenever he felt like it, whenever he needed to let off stream. It wasn't as bad in the beginning either. Maybe he was trying to make sure he didn't scare me; a slap here, a push there, but now there was bruises and blood. Stained skin and floors. Red and black were my favourite colours, I cackled mentally, it was funny in an ironic way.
A vicious yank on my ponytail sent me sprawling across the room. A sudden sharp pain in my stomach indicated a swiftly following kick. Hands clawed into my shoulders, lifted me up and threw my head to the concrete with an audible crack. My vision hazy but I can still make out his glare.
He does love you. You can't expect him to express his emotions in the way a normal person would, you were his psychologist for a reason. He's just working through something and-
He lifts his fist and something inside me cracks. Shatters because love can only allow so much leverage. I feel my eyes darken with fury and my mouth curl into a snarl. With a strength I didn't know I possessed I send a kick flying to his chest. With no time wasted I pounce on him and rain down punches, barley noticing his mouth wide with shock. I'm out of control. It's fantastic. Now he will be the one peppered with bruises, he will be the one who will have to pretend everything is fine. I'm going to make him suffer.
After the first initial moments of disbelief he begins to fight back. They say anger can make you see red, can blur your vision but I had never seen with such clarity. High definition vision. I dodge his swipes and punches easily while continuing my assault, I'm like an animal. He finally gets lucky and throws me off.
I roll into a crouch and hiss, "Keep going J. This is the most you've touched me in ages. I'm not a beaten-down housewife, I'm going to give as good as Iget! So let's go!" I was screaming by the time I finished, practically deranged.
I expected another attack, rage; so the laughter really surprises me. Echoing off the vast metal walls, he grins at me, "Finally some fun! There's the girl that argued and threatened me in therapy!"
It all made sense. How could I have missed something so obvious? As much as Mistah J loves causing pain, he loves a challenge more. That's why he's so obsessed with Batsy, he's a worthy rival unlike others he so easily disposed of. I used to be a challenge in therapy, which was probably the reason he took a liking to me. He could have broken out on his own sooner or later but he wanted to get me to pull the strings because it was more fun that way. I lost my entertainment value… until now. I just proved I was still a challenge.
He closes the distance between us deliberately, slowly; to make sure I don't lash out again. One lean arm encircles my waist while his other hand tips my neck back and he kisses me. Not the gentle kiss I got in Arkham before the breakout or the harsh, quick crush of jaws to try and fulfil my wants for affection; but the first real kiss he's given me. He's rough sure, but his hand isn't crushing my neck. It's the first kiss motivated by want, not tactics. It's perfect, I've never wanted to be treated like a porcelain doll anyway.
I bit his bottom lip lightly and whisper "Round two" with a devilish grin as I slip away.