Okay, so I said the Joker would be the only DC character...I lied...Sorry.
DC Comics own everything and I am truly sorry for the long gaps between updates
I woke up and became aware of my surroundings but did not yet open my eyes. I had that weird feeling, that blissful moment when you don't quite know where you are in your own timeline, all you know is you are warm and cosy and deliciously sleepy. It was about the last time I felt that content, not ever, but at least until I was a much changed person. I savoured the feeling, dozing, as if my subconscious was trying to protect me inside my drug induced dream world for just a little longer.
Then I started to remember, in a flood I could not stem; the crash, the glass, the blood. I screwed up my face and began to stir as I went to open my eyes. I became aware of several things at once, the alarmingly unfamiliar landscape of my face, my inability to open my right eye, the blindingly white light that assaulted the eye I could open and the screeching pain the waltzed up and down my whole body, dancing particularly agonizingly across my cheek. I made a desperately small and pitiful noise with what little will I could muster, the response is immediate and a gaggle of tender nurses' flock to my side
"You've been in a terrible accident my dear" – I'm not your dear I thought and nor am I twelve years old just tell me straight what's going on
"It's all going to be alright," – oh gee thanks that's really helpful, please, just help me open my eye and stop pandering.
"You're going to be okay" – Oh shit, that's bad, that's what they tell people when they are dying or at the very least are badly maimed .I tried to speak, but everything felt swollen and tender and my throat seemed to have undergone some sort of terrifying Alice in Wonderland shrinking act. They saw my feeble attempts and pushed me back into the pillows. I was overcome with panic. I was utterly helpless to resist them and it made me want to claw and kick and scream. It made me want to vow never to be so helpless again. It made me want to fight.
"You were on that bus. Your face is busted up real bad" – well, wasn't that the most honest thing I had heard all day, not exactly reassuring but still refreshingly honest. I leaned forward and tried to focus on the face of the person who had spoken. After a few seconds of straining I caught the blurry outline of the boy in the adjacent bed at whom a large matriarchal looking nurse was glaring and shushing. The effort was too much and I let my eyes roll back to the ceiling, then roll back again, to the lawlessness of my own confused mind.
When I awoke next, the world, like the pain was just a little harsher. My parents were peering down at me with simpering smiles plastered on their perfect faces. – Nice of them to turn up, I thought savagely before mentally chiding myself. I tried to return their synthetic comfort with some kind of facial expression but I was met with a spasm of pain and the coppery taste of blood so I abandoned the trial movement. The pair of them immediately moved to coo over me but it was hard to mistake the flash of disgust on my mother face as presumably she took in my marred visage. I took a deep breath to ask the stream of questions that were swirling in my head but they pre-empted me.
"The bus, on the way to the collage, it, well it lost control and it cr-" My mother here broke into sniffles and sobs and my Father put him arm round her and continued.
"Nobody knows why, because the driver, well he didn't make, but your coach came off the motorway and it rolled down the embankment. Now everyone is pretty much okay, other than the driver, God rest his soul-"
God clearly didn't think very much of mine-My brain spat. I shushed it and zoned back in
"The thing is," My Father was saying "you've had quite a rough time of it and the glass..." He tailed off masking his discomfort with a façade of pity "It cut your face a little bit." He winced as he, like my mother. took in my unbandage head.
I was worrying now, racing through the possibilities, how bad was it really? A novel idea came to me through the haze of medication. I lifted a relatively undamaged hand from my side and trailing wires carefully made it to my swollen face. I came to the smooth if puffy skin of my left cheek. My mother was protesting now. Then I progressed across my lips. Then the corner of my mouth then to an agonising mass of flesh, prickly with a multitude of stitches and tacky with semi dried blood. It was unrecognisable under my finger tips and against my will I let out a little gasp and silent tears began to leak from my left eye. The fact I couldn't even cry properly made it all the worse and my shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. - Sod it one side of my brain whispered but all the same my heart ached for the person I used to be.
My parents left shortly after this with excuses of errands to run and people to meet. I didn't blame them. I had always been a little bit of a disappointment to them and this was the icing on the cake, I had never been pretty but now I was hideous. I guess it should be said now that they were rich and well to do and wanted their little princess to follow along in their foot prints. I did okay but my lack of social ambition niggled them and now, well, just think of the gossip I had caused.
I was awake now and recovering strength after days of asleep, I shifted my gaze and my eyes locked with the boy in the adjacent bed, he had pretty brown eyes that blinked in a sea of mottled purple bruising.
"How yah feelin?'" he asked good naturedly
"Ugly" I responded knowing he could only see my right hand side, my ruined side.
"Mmm same here" he replied with a shrug and a wince.
I asked him what had happened to him knowing it was impolite but feeling too sorry for myself to particularly care, I mean he had seen my at my absolute worst so we were beyond formalities.
"Oh, I ummmm" he began breaking eye contact and squirming "I got beat up." He paused before saying "I mean I'm just such a pacifist it would be against my teachings to even try and defend myself" he said sarcastically rolling his eyes. Despite myself I laughed. His humour was uplifting and pleased by his efforts he flashed me a smile through his double black eyes and reached and arm across the gap between us to shake hands.
"I'm Joanne but most people just call me Joe" I volunteered closing the gap between our outstretched fingers. They touched, just about.
"Harley" he said "Harley Quinn"