i ; seven up
Look at that stupid little pretty blonde. Playing dress up as a Doctor. Dreaming of breaking into the iron hold of a psychopath's mind. What is it now? A book deal? A TV movie? Fame that lasts a moment in the ever fastidious eye of Gotham.
"Tell me, why did you do it?"
Really? Was that the best you had? Utterly pathetic. Trite. Ordinary.
"You killed a lot of people… You killed him…"
It brought a smile. The memory. Puddin was so proud…
"Does it make you happy?"
Happy? Only one thing brought happiness. And that was love. Realizing all your miserable flaws while someone accepted you for them. Good love was empowering. The wrong love was demeaning. And their love, well, it was mad.
"Harleen Quinzel," came the Doctor's voice.
Harley looked to him with wild eyes. Her arms twitched beneath a straitjacket.
"Why don't you tell me why you killed Robin?"
Harley felt the heat rise in her chest. Because puddin wanted it. Because it made puddin happy. Because puddin killed her best friend. Because puddin pulled the moon from the sky and set it ablaze just for her.
The Arkham shrink was displeased and Harley could tell.
"You know it doesn't work that way," she blurted out. "Winning the trust of your patient is always first. And I don't trust nobody these days. How can a girl?"
The psychiatrist jotted down some notes. Harley smirked.
But then… it reminded of her of someone. A pretty little girl playing as a Doctor. Hands sweating. Knees weak. And a man with bleached skin and lime green hair whispering in her ear.
Harleen Quinzel, a voice echoed in her ear, I'm so pleased to finally meet you, Mister Joker…
"Is there something the matter, Harleen?" questioned the man.
"Oh, you know. Just the voices," she tittered as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"You were a psychiatrist. A promising student," he said changing the subject. "You had a life. Family. Friends. A paying internship here. What happened? Please. I'm only curious."
Harley smiled, "curiosity killed the cat, Doc."
"It doesn't need to leave this room."
Harley paused for a moment. Even the quiet seemed to scream since he turned her life upside down. But she was once different, somehow. It seemed like remembering a memory from a past life. Yet it was still clear, only foreign and alienating.
It made a glimmer of sense to her why he could never pin down one narrative for his past. She found the edges blurred as well.
Maybe, she thought, she ought to tell someone before the memories were gone for good.
"Do you pinky promise?" she asked childishly.
"Yes" he said with baited breath sitting up in his seat.
"Well then," she said in a sing-songy manner, "once upon a time…"