Tearing

Strawberry: Think it'll just be the one-shot. I have a good idea for the rest of it, but I don't think I'll get around to writing it any time soon. Let me know your thoughts, and warning: violence and strong sexuality. Please be warned.

To clear things up: This coincides with the story about the Joker's wife. Here he is married to a woman named Lorelei. As an added background (ties in with my running story, Why So Serious?—details are there if necessary) I incorporated two other "scar" stories, including one where his mother was responsible. I also added the story of his drunk father, and equated it to him having been cut at the mouth twice already. Hopefully, this is understandable, and if not let me know! I can explain as much as necessary.

In utmost reluctance, he ignored Lorelei's frivolous attempts to lure him up to their bedroom. He wanted to call it his bedroom and his alone, not because she didn't matter, but because he never had any time alone in those days. Everywhere he went, she could easily be found, sliding her hands around his waist, down his thighs and between. It wasn't fair, he decided, the way she used her mindless and loveless sexual tactics to seduce him. Sometimes he just wanted to be next to her, watch a sitcom and grin alongside her. But she could never be the woman to give him that, because each day—sometimes more than once—she would pose that same question in the words he now found so painfully familiar:

"Are you in the mood?"

Lorelei was bent forward toward the chestnut coffee table, the one that had taken him weeks to decide on. Still, it didn't add to the charm of their whitewashed house with a shoddy paint job she'd insisted on doing by themselves. He recollected the day they had done the living room in an olive green and cream, where they might have really bonded emotionally for the first time. She ran the paint on the roller up and down the wall sloppily, laughing every time she lost control of it and splattered some on herself. Each time her laughter fell upon his ears, he smiled fondly at the fact that she might have been human and might have wanted something other than what she normally did. That day had been the best of his life, he gathered, and she had waited until midnight had come when he was leading her upstairs with his fingers linked in hers. She was still smiling and laughing, causing him to do the same. At the top of the stairs, he kissed her, and immediately, as if the floodgates had been opened, he regretted it for the way she needed him instantly.

She was under his complete control, but what she wanted to give wasn't all he ever wanted.

"No," he said dully in response, noticing out of the corner of his eye the way the crest-fallen look appeared on her face. "No, I am not in the mood." Lorelei huffed and crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch.

"You're not even watching that stupid show," she muttered, her bitterness resounding in her voice. "Can we at least go upstairs?"

"Nope," he replied, taking a swig of the alcohol he was handling. He drained the glass and immediately she took up the bottle of the stuff and beckoned for his glass. "You're…trying to get me drun-k," he said dryly, half inclined to oblige but more so to ignore her. Biting down on her lip, even as it was already swollen from her consistency, she leaned over to him and rested her head on his shoulder, setting down the wine and curling her arms around his.

"But I have to…tell you something," she pleaded dully. She shifted violently and wrapped her arms around his neck, but he continued to ignore her. He was tired. Always tired, and he could do without her adding to it. "Mm, you're so sexy," she breathed tauntingly in his ear. But it had no affect on him; she'd used that trick one too many times for it to even work anymore. "Come on, you jokester, throw a girl a bone…hah!" Lorelei had the specific way of cracking herself up right in his eardrum when nothing was funny. To her, everything was funny, on the contrary, and her incessant giggling plucked his nerves on several occasions. She continued to laugh, her body shaking against him and even as her laughter was so musical, he wondered what made her think there was anything to be so happy about all the time.

She never stopped smiling.

"Why…do you call me that?" he asked gruffly.

"You've asked me that three times in the last week, hun," she pointed out.

"I know." He racked his brain for what she had answered with until he remembered with a shrug what she had said. He could hardly agree with it, but it didn't make the statement any less interesting. Lorelei's eyes were piercing, their icy blue burning through the skin of his face. "Tell me…one more time," he said. As if he had asked her whether or not she wanted a diamond bracelet, she positively beamed at his words.

"Just because I like to shake things up," she told him. It was not the definition she had given him before. "It's just about the complete opposite of you. You have kind of a…dry humor, I guess. If you ever make a joke, it's…it's morbid. I love it." He sneered and averted his gaze, staring fixedly at the bottle of wine on the coffee table—his coffee table. "So," she said, forcing her lips into a darkened smile. "We're getting off subject."

"Lori," he sighed as he massaged his forehead with two fingers. "Can't we do something else?" Immediately her smile faded and a look of upset understanding fell upon her face.

"It's because of my face…isn't it?"

"Lori," he said again, more firmly. "Lorelei." He knew that she was aware of how seldom it was that he used her full name. "How many times…do I have to tell you? I don't care about the scars."

His obnoxious compassion landed him up against the dresser with Lorelei gracing his neck with countless kisses. He simply leaned his head back, letting her have her way and keeping his drink steady. "Remember…'member how I had to tell you something, babe?" she said breathlessly. He nodded shortly, fully aware she could not see. "Well…I was thinking. You know how pain just…just feels so good sometimes? I'm not…happy anymore." He stretched his jaw as his brow knitted together. "And…and I want that. And I know you want me to be happy, too. Oh, I love you so much…" She rested her head on his chest and breathed very slowly and strongly. "I just want to be happy again, my little jokester, and I need a happiness I can't get with just pain…"

By that point, he knew where she was going.

Lorelei took a different approach once he saw her awareness of his understanding. She pulled away from him and wrenched the hair tie from her shining black hair. "I don't want the pain anymore," she snarled, looking out of her mind, " as much as I love it…no…no, no, I want death, because it's the only damn thing in this world that I can't have."

"You don't want that, Lorelei," he warned her, widening his eyes. He tried to think of something that could convince her otherwise, stop her from even thinking the way she was. It threw him into a shock, and all he could do was stand there as calmly as he could to attempt to reason. "Look, I'll get you whatever else you want…you're not allowed to do this." He knew she would succumb to what he told her, but the way her eyes glinted with such ferocity, he doubted even himself. "I swear, Lori, if you—"

"Be with me," she interrupted, her voice tinted with longing as she pulled open her shirt. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair as her black-lined eyes stared back at him lustfully. He sipped at the wine she had poured for him; the third cup she had offered. "Be with me when I do it…let us be making love…and I'll do it right then and then I'll be happy. I'll shoot myself…right then." He tried to avert his gaze but before he knew it she was pressing herself against him back into the dresser. "Please do this for me," she begged, catching the piercing gaze he only gave unwillingly. "Don't you want me to be happy? Listen…I can't take having this face…I can't keep looking like this or I'll shoot myself anyway. Come on…"

That was when he felt it: that airy feeling of everything moral and right spewing out of his head like a flood. He had always looked at Lorelei with care, whether or not it had anything to do with love. But in that moment, he had never wanted to see her blow her brains out more than he did then. She was demeaning the emotional scarring that his physical scarring gave him. She was telling him that she couldn't live with hers, when his had been redone once already, and he was perfectly capable of living with his. That was okay, he decided. He'd prove that his mattered more.

He could make them great.

"I got something for you," he whispered to her, the idea having hatched. "I'll be right back. You stay…right here…" He kissed her forcefully and pushed her away, walking to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. Looking around briefly, he caught sight of the razor she had kept in the cabinets. Smiling at it, gazing at himself in the mirror, he twirled it in his hands before sliding it between his lips. Oh, the feeling of the blade, the way it sent sparks down his spine when he remembered his mother and father…such good people…

Wicked, heartless bastards, those good people were.

He pulled at his face with the razor. It took a moment before it penetrated and his mouth split yet again, just where the previous scars had been as if marked in a trail. He had to stop to laugh, the blood pouring into his mouth and into the sink. And he wasn't even finished yet! He continued to slice his face further and further up at the side, the blade feeling ice cold but easily warmed by his hot blood. Before he knew it, the whole bowl of the sink was coated with the sticky red pouring out of him. Next it was the counter, pooling around all of her countless hair products and the porcelain powder she swabbed on her face every morning. He started on the other side, watching himself determinedly as he ripped and tore at his face. He considered how much a monster he must have been to have been standing there, re-scarring himself with a completely straight face.

It was on the floor, on his shoes, sliding down the front of his shirt and soaking through to his skin. When he decided he was finished, he set it on the counter gently and pulled his undershirt over his head. It was more red than it was white now…

He dropped it at his feet and reopened the door no more than a crack. There were black and white dots swarming in his head but he shook them away to say, "Are you ready?" He received a near frantic, "Yes," from Lorelei. He grinned, making his face sear with the pain of the fresh wounds. The handcuffs were on the back of the door, silver and glinting. He had never seen such hope in them before when he had removed them for her. Along with those, he took the ravels of thick, scratchy rope with him when he opened the door as wide as it would go.

Lorelei was standing there, half-naked. Her skimpy underwear and lacy bra were all that was left. She wasn't the most appealing thing, especially not after her jaw dropped lower than he knew her mouth could open.

"Surprise…" he sang to her, approaching very slowly and cautiously. Her eyes briefly dipped to his bare chest, thin and ribbed, but for the most part, she could not tear her gaze away from his face. "Now I'm in the mood," he hissed, letting a plan swarm in his head as he saw her backing away as he drew closer. He slipped his belt from his waist. "Should I shoot myself, too?" he offered generously with a nod. "Hey, hey, it's o-kay," he cooed, nodding yet again. Shivering slightly, Lorelei pursed her lips and allowed him to get closer and closer until he could feel her now frigid body brushing against his chest. He let his lips scan her neck, soaking in the scent of sex. "It'll be a fun ride…"

Without any further warning, he took her by the arms and rushed to the foot of the bed, her tripping sloppily as she was pushed. He shoved her backwards onto the mattress of freshly made up sheets. She looked thunder-struck, as if she didn't understand, as if she didn't want it. He climbed on top of her, caging her useless body between his legs as he dropped the ropes at her side and fiddled with the first set of handcuffs. He got her wrist secured in the first one, locking her to the right bedpost. He then proceeded to the second one, with the same level of ease as the first one had given him. She said his name once, twice, and stopped speaking when he did not respond. Now locked to the bed by both arms, Lorelei let out a shriek that urged him to slap her commandingly across the face. He stared at his hand once he had done it, having never struck her before. The absolute silence that overtook her blind-sided him to the point where he might have already been satisfied. He licked his lips, the metallic blood tickling his taste buds. Her eyes were widened in shock, disbelief, desperation…he loved it.

With determined strength, he leashed her ankles to the poles toward the center on the either side of the bed. He reveled at the irony of the fact that she had been the one to install them there for the specific purpose of what he was doing. Her legs were wide open to him, begging him to touch her, but he ignored it, wanting to tease her for longer.

He slithered over top of her, gripping her waist with enough force to bruise her. Lorelei's eyes were still as wide as a deer's in headlights. He shot forward and allowed their lips to crash together as he had his way with her, forcing her to kiss him even as she struggled. There wasn't anywhere she could go; nothing she could do to escape. She would have to face the fact that she didn't deserve all the sympathy. She had practically asked for her scars… He had never wanted his. His blood rushed onto her face and into her mouth, leaving him with a grin. He knew she had been caught completely off guard with his conduct, but that was what made it so important. He relinquished her mouth and started at her neck, sucking and biting at her skin. He could feel her heart racing. When he looked up, he could see his blood smeared across her skin.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked nervously as his hands slid under her bra. He changed course at her words.

"Giving you what you want," he answered honestly. His hands danced down her stomach and over her hipbones where she made a jumping movement and a strained noise as if she were pretending she wasn't enjoying it.

He yanked her underwear away from her body. The ripping sound they made traveled to his ears like music when he tore it away from her. He rose up on his knees and started undoing the fastenings of his jeans. Her eyes fell upon him when he was exposed, but she looked away almost immediately, as if she had not expected it.

"Not…not this way…this…this isn't what I wanted," she gasped, her voice shaky. He leaned down again, positioning himself.

"It is now," he whispered.

With that, he thrust into her, harder than he ever had, not even wanting to but wanting her to hurt. He wondered, since pain and sex were the two things she loved most, would she have acted oppositely and appreciated him for it? He didn't want her to. At his second motion, her lips quivered and she let out a blood-curdling scream. Rather than kissing her as he usually did in bed, he slammed the palm of his hand over her mouth, silencing her as he went. It only made him penetrate her more forcefully and with less feeling, his breathing coming in gruff whispers. He shook several times when he noticed the blood from his mouth dripping onto her chest. He caught sight of the pocketknife she kept on the table, the one she used only when she was at her most desperate. Reaching for it, pausing outside her of her for a split second, he flicked it open and returned to his actions once more. He cut the front of her bra between her breasts, then the straps, taking care to slice a part of her skin as he went. He pulled it off of her and buried his face in her cleavage, sucking at the skin. She started to unleash a series of yells again.

As spitefully as he could manage through his raging pleasure, he managed to say, "Shut up and let me finish."

And she did. Given, when he stopped, she was crying, but he ignored her completely and got to his feet, pulling himself together. He journeyed straight to the dresser, reaching in the top drawer for the key to the handcuffs. Returning to the bed, he unlatched her on both sides, starting to untie the ropes next. She looked completely frozen as she stared up at the ceiling. He narrowed his eyes when she was freed and waited for her to move or at least say something. Was she happy or was she upset?

Before he could think any more about it, Lorelei shot up from the bed and pushed past him to the pile of clothes she had left on the floor. She made to kneel but her legs gave out under her and she fell to the ground, scooping up her shirt and jeans. In a frantic wave of motions, she had pulled her shirt over her bare chest and had begun working the pants up her legs, still shaking. She hadn't even bothered with undergarments, he noticed as he watched with his hands calmly at his sides. She eyed him nervously, her mouth trembling, and whirled around him again, pulling something from under her side of the bed. It was a duffel bag, and immediately, she was throwing everything she could find of hers inside of it.

"Are you going somewhere?" he questioned innocently. Tears were still staining her face and pouring into her mouth as she tried to speak.

"Yes, I'm going somewhere," she spat in response. When she looked around at him once more, Lorelei looked as utterly horrified as he had ever seen her. She let out a lazy sobbing sound from the back of her throat, instilling a feeling of completion within him, whereas he normally would have wanted to comfort her. "I'm going somewhere far away where I can go back to the way things were and you'll never find me!"

"It's be-cause of my face…isn't it?" He could tell that she noticed his repetition of her own words. Feeling fulfilled, he smiled at her, the caked blood cracking apart as he did so, causing the newer to slide down his neck.

"You're crazy," she accused spitefully.

"Oh, no," he drawled. "Just a little happier."

Finally she had stuffed everything in her duffel bag and cocked the gun she had meant to use on herself. He didn't know where she had retrieved it, but he tried to ignore his curiosity. He smiled at her as she directed it towards him, cradling her belongings under her arm and doing her best to steady her trembling arm as she aimed. He stood perfectly still and nodded to her, letting him know that he wanted her to do it. After all, death was the most satisfying method of endless pain he could have ever asked for. It was the least she could do for him.

She fired the gun once and instantly he looked to his right, where the bullet had gone past him at quite a distance away. Chuckling, he said, "You missed. That's okay, doll face…I'll let you have another try." Lorelei's hands fell as her head dropped back in her sobs and gags. The gun slipped from her fingers and she clawed at her neck, where she could not see—but he could—the countless purple marks left by his mouth, the red liquid smeared around the bruises. He recalled having bitten her, but he didn't bother to remember where. She turned and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her as her feet bounded down the staircase. He stared at the doorway momentarily, trying to decide if he was regretting the decision; he was missing her already, but he could see the better side of it. The morbid funny side that he supposedly had always seen; the reason she had endearingly called him a jokester.

He strolled casually to the French doors at the opposite end of the room, the stinging of his mouth overwhelming him with pleasure. Stepping through the doors, he approached the balcony and leaned against the bars when he did. The iron was rusted and it did not look as beautiful as it might have in better condition. He waited a moment, knowing well she would be nearing the sidewalk below his view. The icy air pained his cut face, but it only made him feel warm inside.

A streak of black hair fell into his vision. As if she had expected his location, Lorelei turned her face up to the balcony and gave him one last accusatory look before streaking off down the road. For a second, he thought, I'll never see her again. Then, changing absolute full course, he let out three gentle, "ha's", until he was leaning over the balcony, booming with laughter of all kinds. He knew she could still hear him; she hadn't made much progress. His stomach was aching with the worth the sound gave him, having not laughed with such power in his entire life. It was completely liberating and a sort of safe-haven.

"Who's laughin' now, sweethear-t?" he called after her strictly, having much difficulty letting out any words at all. Having his face stretched in a smile tore the reopened scars further up his face, but it only made him laugh harder. "Who's the jokester now? You know…you know something?" He could tell that her pace had slowed and she almost looked to have been considering stopping altogether. "You're the jokester!" he hollered. "Don't you worry about me finding you…I'm not looking. No, you'll never find me, actually because I'm done with the past. I'm done…with being the weakling and I'm done with you. I ruled over you and I always will, no matter where you go. I don't have a name anymore." He spotted a playing card left on the ground from when they had played cards the night before. Reaching down for it, he held it in his hands and saw that she was no longer moving. He flipped the card over in his hands and smiled. "Jokester, huh?" he said to himself. "No…" He tossed the card over the balcony railing and he smiled as the wind carried it to the sidewalk, right behind her. "That's who I am," he told her blatantly. "Pick it up." She remained frozen only a moment more before turning around and staring at the ground. It had landed face up.


Lorelei looked up at him. "He's always smiling," he mused to her. "And so…am…I. From now on…" He smirked and left her standing there on the sidewalk, returning to his bedroom, his house, his abode. He looked in the mirror at his bleeding face. The blood was clotted as it made to sew him back together as best it could. It curved upwards in a red smile; he had never seen what the wound had looked like before, when it had been fresh… "From now on, I'm the Joker," he told his reflection. "The sm-artest of the cards…"

He slammed his fist down on the picture of he and Lorelei on their wedding day. She had worn some wild, multi-colored dress with green ribbons in her hair. The glass broke against his skin and sliced his hand open—he was happy.

That was what he remembered. And that was fine, because that moment was all he remembered, and he would never need anything more than to be liberated from the feeling as he let it soar from his mind through the window out of which he peered.