Beating Bat,
He's black and blue,
Black and blue,
an e,
Damp blonde hair stuck to her face, painting streaks across her vision. Three guards pushed and pulled — pushed and pulled — her down the grimy hallway, down to the special room reserved just for her.
Jay is mad,
He's leaving you,
Leaving you,
!
A scream bubbled in her chest, clawing it's way up her throat and sitting just behind her teeth.
Jay i d,
He's leaving you,
My s w e e t Harley !
The yelling of prisoners burrowed under her pale skin, infecting her blood and pumping through her veins. Rough hands pushed her into familiar confines — metal walls, metal floors, metal bed — home.
Finally, a chance to breath.
The small amount of fluorescent light that leaks into her cell, dribbling onto the ceiling in a pale white, forms a shadow — two dark eyes and one smiling
.
His mouth on her mouth, red on red.
Red. Red. R e d.
Ivy should be here, she thinks. The r e d head got caught stealing plants, or planting plants, or being a plant? Harley can't remember.
She thinks it probably has something to do with plants, as that's what usually lands the woman in Arkham. Well, that and mass homicide.
A laugh escapes from her mouth, along with the long awaited scream, echoing off the four square walls and snaking through the thick bars of her cage. Scream melting into laughter melting into more
g .
She is alone and no one wants her and no one needs her and she is alone and d and by herself and someone won't stop sc ream ing!
It burns her throat, and it's only when she hears a voice that she stops. It is deep and melodic — like a soothing water over the sweet fire in her head.
"I know who you are." The voice whispers.
She walks to the corroded bars and pushes a soft cheek against them, searching the heavy darkness for the voice in her head. A smile tugs at her lips when she spots the green light —
n like his hair,
like the cuffs of his suit,
Green, green light, pulsing from the cell in front of hers. Dark fingers wrap around the bars of the
n cell, and a feminine face pulls closer to the slats.
"I know who you are. Do you know who I am?"
The calm voice urges and tugs.
"Are you the devil?" She asks, because that seems like a reasonable assumption.
Quiet laughter answers her, emanating from the
cell like bubbles to the surface of a thick swamp. She pulls her face harder against the bars, eager to glimpse more of her neighbor.
"My name is June."
June. .
It's June
In January/
But only because
I'm in love with you/
Harley bit a pink lip between her teeth. Maybe this June lady wanted to take Jay from her, maybe she was the devil is pretty wrapping.
"I can see you don't trust me. That's alright. I just though maybe you'd like a friend?"
Maybe you'd like a mallet to the temple?
In her mind, the green light illuminated streams of blood around the witches cell. Red r e d dripping down the walls, staining her skin the color of crushed berries.
Maybe you'd like a friend?
Maybe, maybe she would. She had had friends before, she thinks. Before her life had any meaning; when she was a g shrink who had to listen to g patients talk about their
g lives -
The only person she even considered a friend was a woman with cherr hair and a penchant for deadly seduction...
Everyone else was too fragile - like china dolls. Little dolls she would bring home to Jay, only to have him disapprove, (Harley Girl, am I not enough for you? Why must yo the joke?), and
they went.
Maybe she'd like a friend?
Two grey eyes watched her from the green cell.
Harley curled her pale fingers around the chilly bars, tapping out the tune to a David Bowie song and grinning. What was one more pretty doll, anyway?
"Sure, honey. Let's be friends!" The word sent shivers up her spine.
Fri end s.
The woman – witch? devil? – curled her lips into a thin, pink smile.
Harley smiled back, a soft giggle dripping down her chin.
Friends.
Maybe this one wouldn't die?