The chair was cold, the room reeked of rubbing alcohol. I blinked, forcing my eyes to adjust to the artificial brightness of the tiny room.
Standard procedure, they told me.
The rat-like man behind the desk glanced up at me for the thousandth time in the fifteen minutes I had been sitting there. Our eyes met for a brief, awkward second. I jerked my head towards the bookshelf leaning against the wall and decided to scan the titles for anything I recognized. I was vaguely interested in mental health, and read more than a few books on it in my time. I figured he and I must've had at least a little overlap in reading material, but all of these books looked like they were written before life itself began on Earth, and I was somehow not too shocked me and this guy literally had nothing in common.
He peeked his black eyes out from behind the papers, "you passed, surprisingly." The last word was more mumbled than spoken. I raised an eyebrow. I'm sure I did as well as any seventeen year old in the system could do. Gotham had a lacking social services department, to say the least.
"Well," I brushed a lock of yellow hair out of my eyes. "That's a relief." My forced laugh evaporated into an awkward silence as the good doctor studied me with obvious concern.
"Yes, well, I suppose it is."
Okay, this guy clearly had something against me. Not my problem.
I looked down and distantly noted that my nail polish had chipped already. When I looked up, Dr. Rat-like was standing and motioning me to the door, clearly eager to have me out of his office as soon as humanly possible. He practically pushed me out the door.
"Here's your evaluation," he shoved the papers into my hands. "Show them to Shannon and she'll take care of you from there."
He disappeared back into his office without another word.
I looked down at the papers, now a little crinkled thanks to the good doctor. The top page was a cover page, only stating that this was the mental evaluation of Bonnie H. Marrant. My fingers practically burned with temptation to tear off the cover page and read the inside. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, only to meet the eyes of Commissioner Gordon.
Of course.
He smiled and waved me over. He was standing by the front desk, where a middle-aged woman, whom I'm assuming was the mysterious Shannon, was seated behind the wall of papers and office supplies.
"Big day, Kiddo," he shook my hand. "You ready?"
I nodded, a grin spreading across my face. Ready? I'd been waiting for this day pretty much my entire life. I've never been more ready for anything. I eyed the manila folder in his left hand. Anticipation flooded into every fiber of my being.
Suddenly I remembered the papers, "you want these?"
The commissioner's eyes widened, "oh, yes, thank you." He peeked under the cover page, smiled, and looked back up at me.
"Shall we?"
He most certainly heard my pounding heartbeat as we went to a little conference room. If bringing a kid to Arkham Asylum to tell them who their parents are didn't get the heart rate up, the kid is probably dead. My stomach twisted itself into anxious knots, threatening me to re-visit my breakfast. He settled into a hideous green chair, me plopping into an identical one across from him. I practically bounced up and down on the over-stuffed cushion.
I'm gonna know my paaarents, I'm gonna know my paaarents! I'm gon-
"Okay, Bonnie, I need your full attention."
"I'm listenin', sir, I promise." My cheek muscles were starting to cramp from all this wild grinning. I couldn't help it. The commissioner just looked at me with sad eyes before reading the paper he slid from the manila folder.
"Mother: Harleen Quinzel."
What? Wait. What?
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
"Father: name unknown, generally known as 'The Joker'."
I just sat there, staring, not looking, just staring.
"Bonnie?"
It was like the commissioner was a thousand miles away on another planet, underground, and underwater. I hardly heard my name over the sound of blood pounding in my ears.
Then I threw up.