And in my best behaviour
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floor boards
For the secrets I have hid
- John Wayne Gacy, Jr. Sufjan Stevens -
"Crane? Jonathan Crane?"
He looks up from the Reader's Digest magazine he had been absently flipping through for the past forty five minutes and sets it on the coffee table in front of him. The waiting room is eerily still; bland off white poorly painted walls and rough carpet frayed at the corners of the room.
There is a man in the corner with an anxious bouncing knee and a woman wearing red rubber boots, as though it had recently poured in the city of Gotham. He had gathered enough information over the past twelve appointments to deduce the nutty middle-aged man still lived with his mother and a woman in her late twenties was in constant paranoia of rain. Of course observing them could have been enough, but Jonathan always went the extra mile with his work, recording notes off of their confidential patient folders. Not too interesting. They were just everyday crazies that would serve their purpose eventually.
But now was time for his monthly check-up, he would have to wait. Jonathan follows a nurse to a familiar room and sits on the medical bed, the crinkling of paper beneath him and the ticking of a clock on the wall piercing through the otherwise silence. It was always like this. Nurses did not speak with patients, and most of the time patients would wait for Doctor Canning to proceed with the appointment. It was strange to be associated with fellow mental illness patients, who were so pathetically controlled with their crippling diseases. Sometimes he felt as if he was one of them, sometimes he did not.
A few minutes pass before the Doctor comes in. He is in his fifties, a man with a full head of grey hair and a thick moustache. His eyes are always soft, almost like speaking with family. He starts with a predictable welcome, "How are you, Jon?"
They were well past the first session stage. He didn't need to avoid or lie about trivial things. No more questions revolving around his family history or trauma and abuse involving past and current relationships. He came for meds and that was all he required. Not some waste of time therapy session. But still, to avoid raising suspicion he always played along.
Jonathan breathes in and puts on his best front, "I'm doing pretty well. Nearly done my studies and hopefully I'll be moving on to a co-op at the Asylum…and my knees are feeling a lot better."
He has always had bad knees. It got worse when he started playing racquetball and jogging regularly, usually he opted for less social interaction, but it was the occasional game with others that would earn him the trust as being somewhat normal. But the problems with his knees started long before that, he resented his second foster family for being the religious hacks that they were and forcing him to spend an hour each morning and night praying to every fucking saint imaginable. He had easily transferred himself when he told them the man he was talking to was Satan.
It wasn't. He was much worse.
Dr. Canning flips through his note book and skims through some notes, "I'm glad to hear about your knees. Now how stable are you feeling mentally?"
He shrugs, "Fine."
"The voices?" Dr. Canning asks as he skims along some personal notes he has made over past appointments.
"There are less of them." He's not lying. The truth is the medicine he's on now has caused some changes. There are less shapes and faces in backgrounds, and less sounds or voices to listen to. The only thing is that one particular voice has yet to be affected, Jonathan wonders if sometimes that voice is just who he is, his alter ego. With the way he is so vivid and always seemingly there.
The doctor raises a brow, "What do they say?"
"The usual. But I've found ways to calm them." Jonathan says, though right now his mind is somewhere else. Now thinking of the chemicals he will need to improve the toxin he's been working on. He also has Leanne on his mind, the woman with the rain boots.
"What exactly do you do to calm them?"
Killing mostly.
"Sex. I sort of have a girlfriend." He says with ease.
Dr. Canning looks a bit surprised, Jonathan the urge to slam his head into the wall. He scratches his chin with thought, "What do you mean by sort of?"
Jonathan licks his dry lips, now his mind is twisting around images of Maria, Leanne and the screams of past and future victims. "We haven't exactly labelled anything. She comes over and cooks for me sometimes. And we study together...along with the whole sex thing."
The older man smiles a proud smile, "I'm glad for you Jon. But please tell me you're using protection."
"She's on birth control. I'm not an idiot." He retorts sharply.
The psychiatrist raises his hands in defence, "Alright, no need to get upset. Now is there anything you need refilled or prescribed?"
"Now that you mention it..." Jonathan almost grins at how easy this is.
After his appointment finishes he says his goodbye and walks out the office a free man. It's dark out and still cool, even though spring has just started. Jonathan stands against the wall of the building and pulls out a cigarette, leaning against the hard bricks and takes a deep drag. He's nearly done his smoke when the heavy doors open and Leanne emerges from inside. She's frail and skinny, her blonde hair is bleached and straggly. The perfect look.
When she approaches her car he makes his move. Stepping out from behind his own vehicle parked next to hers, he inhales and gives a sweetened smile. "Leanne right?"
The woman looks a bit shaken with the encounter but replies nevertheless, "Y-yes...how can I help you?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
He is already standing next to her, eyeing her trembling hand, wondering if she's brave enough to try and make a move. He flicks his cigarette on the ground before saying, "You know I've always found those boots simply irresistible."
"Oh well th-thank you." Leanne stutters out anxiously, dropping her keys by accident. She doesn't expect the syringe in her neck when she bends down to retrieve them. Jonathan is swift; he catches her limp body in his arms and pulls her into the passenger seat of his car. Turning on the ignition, he drives down the street with unnatural calamity. The sedatives are weak; she will wake up in a matter of minutes. He parks in a quiet alley in Old Town, one of the poorer neighbourhoods of Gotham, and leans her against the wall behind a dumpster.
"Wake up bitch." He backhands her and smiles as she groans and finds consciousness.
"Wha...where am I?" she sputters out pathetically. He can almost taste her fear.
"Shut up." He hisses. He's close now, soon Jonathan will take a back seat and he will begin his games. There was no use in fighting it, he stopped trying in vain to stop the urges, now finding them to be a necessity he looked forward to. Besides, it was hard to revolt against it, especially when that particular person was so convincing. Threatening to rot what was left of his mind happened to be so persuasive to Jonathan.
"You're so silly Leanne. Afraid of a little drizzle." He mocks cruelly. Her body is still limp; he assumes that the paralysis hasn't worn off yet. It makes him giddy, to know that all she can do is watch, he can't wait for her much anticipated screams.
Tears are rolling down her eyes, "Are...are you going to rape me?"
He laughs out, "Oh God no. Your purpose is much more significant than sexual gratification. What do you take me for Lee-anne?" Maybe it's the way he pauses in-between the syllables of her name, all he knows is that her crying is music to his ears. "It's looking a bit stormy out tonight."
She visibly pales, "Please...please don't...I'll do anything."
"But you're doing everything I need right now." he chirps while skipping off to his car. He pulls out a tin watering can out of the trunk that he had previously put inside and places it next to her. "We're going to have so much fun."
"I'll scream!" she exclaims through sobs.
"I'll gag you and then leave you out in the rain." He teases while inserting a barrel of transparent mixture into a small needle he's pulled out of his jacket. It's such an empty threat, but he knows her biggest fear, he knows she will succumb to terror. They always do.
Her eyes widen, "My parents...please...oh please. I can't, they di-"
"Died in a horrible car accident during a heavy rainstorm when you were six." He interrupts voice deeper now, almost in a whisper. "Drove into a ditch and you waited in the back seat for hours until someone finally saw it and pried you out of the mangled 1994 blue Ford Mondeo. Had to sit with your dead parents while the rain went pitter-patter all night long."
She's wailing now, the mixture of tears and snot on her face is disgusting yet encouraging at the same time. "H-how? How did you know?"
He raises a brow, "I read through your records. Please Leanne, I know you're crazy not stupid."
"You bastard!" she screams out.
"Now." The voice in his head orders.
"You shouldn't have done that. All I wanted to do was talk." He mutters. Without warning Jonathan grabs at her jaw roughly, squeezing her cheeks in painfully and jerking her head to the right. He takes her arm and stabs her quickly with his new needle.
Her eyes roll back into her head as she begins to foam at her mouth. He tentatively watches, his thin fingers wrapping around the handle of the watering can. He raises it slowly above her head and begins to pour. "Rain, rain go away, come again another day."
She gurgles and begins to twitch. Then she starts to scream, shrieking and convulsing from fear. Within thirty seconds or so she finally stops, this time going completely limp, now lifeless and drenched. Looks like another junkie overdosed in a Gotham back alley again, he muses while tenderly brushing hair out of her face.
He gets up and gathers his belongings, before squirting hand sanitizer into his palms he then enters his car and makes his way home. There are more notes to be written, his research is not complete yet. He hopes that perhaps his next batch will not be lethal. Though he wonders if that would take the fun out of it.
Probably not.
Later he turns up at Maria's apartment. Even though it's nearly eleven he still knocks at the door. Danielle is the one who answers; she greets him with little interest. She knows him as the boring and shy boyfriend of Maria, even though he's never introduced himself as that to her. There is no doubt that Maria has talked about him, wasn't it a girl thing to talk about personal affairs and brag about men they've slept with? Jonathan speculates that she's made him out to be a lot more ordinary than he actually is.
"She's in the shower right now." Her roommate comments while running a hand through her choppy indigo hair. He takes in her various piercings on her face, most likely for some absurd rebellious statement of some sort. She steps aside, "Why don't you have some tea while you wait for her?"
"Well why not?" he asks back, this time giving her a half serious look, "You're not going to poison me are you?"
Danielle gives a humourless laugh, "Caught me, psycho-boy."
"Psycho-boy?" he questions while following her into the kitchen.
"Yeah. Maria said you wanted to be a psychiatrist." She says while pouring tea into a mug.
He nods, "Mmm hmm... what do you do anyways?"
"I'm interning at the Daily Gotham Post. Hopefully I'll get hired as a writer for a column or something. You know journalist shit." She takes a sip of her blueberry tea. "So what's up with you and Maria?"
He's not really sure what she's asking.
"Well we're good. We hang out... we don't argue much. I guess we're fine." He confirms with a slight shrug.
"Cool." She replies, though it's obvious that she does not think their relationship is cool at all. Jonathan can't blame her, she has no idea how either of them work. Her phone vibrates on the counter and she picks it up to read the received text message. She then stands up abruptly, "I'm going to leave now, I've got a party to get to. Hope you kids have fun."
"Bye."
It's only a few minutes of Jonathan sitting in the kitchen drinking horribly sweetened tea. Finally he gives up and pours it down the drain, then leaving to the main hallway. He enters Maria's bedroom quietly and sits on her already made bed. The room is neat, primarily made up of a pastel cream colour scheme. There are few personal decorations, two picture frames of her family and a vase full with a slightly wilted flower arrangement. Her bed is softer than his, he lies back and melts into the comfy mattress, all while listening to her shower run from the bathroom next door, and he is reminded of rain.
Oh Leanne.
Finally the shower shuts off and he hears her footsteps approach the door. She steps in and makes a small surprised gasp. He leans back on his elbows and looks up at her, "Your flowers are dying."
Her eyes move to the vase and then back to him, "Oh. Yes, I guess they are."
There is still water on her skin from not being properly dried off; she only wears a light pink towel wrapped around her body. He gives her a small smile while patting down the free spot next to him on the mattress.
Maria always gives him space and tends to her needs, telling him once that she's too busy trying to survive this shit hole to deal with anyone else's problems right now. He wonders if she knows how she lies to herself, the way she takes care of him, drops everything she's doing with a snap of his fingers. All she thinks about it is how to stop her infatuation with him, how he's sick and out late every night. She's addicted to a man who will probably be the death of her.
She joins him on the bed, "It's nice seeing you. You don't visit often."
He slowly undoes her towel, peeling it open and placing a hand on her hip, drawing her closer to him, "I should...your bed is comfier than mine."
She giggles when he nibbles at her neck, "How was your day?"
He hesitates for a moment before answering, "Boring as usual."
"We'll have to change that." She breathes against his skin while crawling on top of him.
There isn't a single thought devoted to Leanne or rain as he fucks Maria.
When all movement ceases they are left sweaty and tangled within sheets. She has lifted her hips off of him, rolling to her side of the bed, leaving him exposed and suddenly so cold. There is tension, he feels it and hopes it's not some stupid foreshadowing of sweet nothings and affectionate bullshit. He takes his briefs from the nightstand he's folded them on; even in the seconds leading up to sex he was always a well organized man. Possibly a result of his obsessive trait, always leaving clothes colour coordinated and neatly folded or hung. He pulls them on and rests his head back on the pillow, exhausted from the busy day he's had.
Maria's soft voice cuts through the silence, "I'll do anything for you... but I need to know you're not using me."
He looks at her incredulously and asks, "Are you trying to manipulate me with sex?"
"I need to know if...if this," she motions to them both, in very compromising positions, and continues, "Is because of what you want, not what he wants."
Other than to cause chaos and destruction, Jonathan wonders what exactly he wants. Without further thought he throws her body against the bed, now a wild look on his face. Something inside of him has snapped, almost like he's left the door in his mind open since his little escapade with Leanne. He hovers over her and watches her serene expression, suddenly he's sickened of her cool calm and collected act.
"You want commitment?" he asks into her ear, squeezing her wrists tightly in his hands.
She tries to mask the pain, but fails miserably, "I just don't want to be used."
He is using her.
"Consider yourself privileged." He retorts, a dry grin on his face.
Maria gives him a scolding look, "Jonathan please...this hurts."
"I need you." His voice is flat; logically he needs her, unless he wants to risk finding a new subject and restarting months worth of data. But he can't afford that, not with Falcone's men constantly on his ass...not with the splitting migraines he gets from fight with him. He needs her.
She gasps out and he realizes that his hands have found their way to her neck, suddenly the sight of her under his grip sends him back to the memory of his shower episode months ago. He is disturbed, but also aroused. What he does not expect is for her to kick him hard in the gut. He falls off of her and lands on the floor.
"Aghhh..." He moans out. But before he can recover she's already flown off the bed and shoved her foot into his side.
"Don't fucking try that again!" She yells while grabbing her cotton robe and twisting crookedly around her body in haste. Jonathan only sees red now, his heartbeat has quickened and all he wants is blood. He pushes himself up and turns to her, almost smiling at her trembling knees.
"Am I making your knees weak, Maria?" he taunts while moving closer to her, well aware of the fact that he is still nearly naked.
Her chest is heaving, "Get out. Get out Jonathan. You're sick."
"I AM FUCKING SICK!" He roars, grabbing a lamp off of her nightstand and hurling at the opposite wall. After taking a second to clear his head he runs his hand through his hair in hopes to collect himself.
"You...you need to fight it. Fight him." She begs while backing into her dresser. "Please."
Please. Please. Please. Just like Leanne. Just like the others.
"I think hers is overdue Johnny."
"We're going to teach you some respect." He says out loud, if he could look at his reflection he would only see a blue-eyed semi nude lunatic.
With another step Maria yanks the top dresser drawer open and pulls out a small handgun. The moment almost freezes as she points it directly to his head, mere feet away from her. He is still, but the twisted smile on his face doesn't waiver. It's not the first time a gun has been pointed to his face, and it almost certainly won't be the last.
She's still quivering when he raises his hand to her in defeat, "You're not going to use that. Put it away before you hurt yourself."
"No. You need to get out." She shakes her head. "Don't think I won't. I've used this before."
"I'm scared." He says sarcastically, before asking with slight curiosity, "Who did you use it on?"
"Shut up Jonathan."
He raises an eyebrow, "Ohh why don't you tell me? How can I trust you if you won't tell me things?"
"You're not well. You're not you right now." She pleads.
"This is who I am!" He clenches his fists before continuing, "I told you that from the beginning! I didn't lie to you Maria! You can't change who I am!"
"Why not?"
He takes a step towards her, "I've been so good to you. The times when he told me to destroy you, I persevered. All for you. For us."
She shakes her head, her still slightly damp hair flinging from side to side. "Don't move. I'll shoot. I promise I will."
With a roll of his eyes he says, "Promises, promises dear."
With another step he hears the trigger click and half a millisecond later the gun goes off. For the first time in years he feels fear. He didn't really think she would do it, that's why when he feels the sharp sting in his shoulder he is actually caught off guard. With his opposite hand he pats the now bleeding wound. He is in disbelief; he can barely manage to say "You shot me."
Just like that, he is gone. Jonathan is back in control, though he is a bit ashamed things got to where they did, he doesn't apologize. Because the truth is he meant what he had said. This was who he was. He had never lied to her about that.
Maria's still recovering from the shock apparently. With graceful movement he steps to her and pulls the gun out of her shaking hands. So easy, so willing. She collapses on the floor with what he assumes is a panic attack. Anxiety. He almost feels bad. She's panting for air desperately, "I...can't...breathe..."
What a sad sight indeed.
The adrenaline from getting shot still keeps him from fully feeling the pain of the bullet lodged into his flesh. He realizes it's the effects of fright, what a marvellous thing. He puts the gun on the dresser and kneels down to her. Wrapping his good arm around her shoulder he rocks her body lightly like a mother consoling her child. "Shhhh shhhh."
Jonathan kisses her on the forehead and rubs her back until her breathing slows down. When she is alright he gets up to grab his keys on the nightstand with the rest of his belongings. After dressing himself he helps her off the floor, though she still seems to be in quite the comatose state. He takes a small towel from her closet and presses it to his shoulder and hands her his keys, "I don't think I'll be able to drive. But we need to get to the hospital."
He waits for her and watches as she fiddles with the button on her jeans as she gets dressed. After pulling a sweater on, she leads him out of her apartment door, he follows in silence. Maria says nothing on the way to the hospital, he's okay with that. Instead they listen to the radio, he hums the tune softly and within a couple minutes he finally says, "I didn't want you to see me like that. I don't know what happened."
She just bites her lip, perhaps to refrain another anxiety attack.
He accepts her non-response and continues, "You don't deserve this. I think we should stop whatever we've been doing."
They say nothing for the rest of the ride.
After being escorted through the emergency room, Jonathan finds himself being cleaned up by a doctor. The solution burns his skin, now he feels all pain that was repressed. Maria watches from a chair in the corner of the room, she has still said nothing.
While stitching him up, the doctor begins, "What happened to you both? Do we need to get police involved?"
Maria says nothing; Jonathan knows she is waiting for him to answer. So he does with great confidence, "We got mugged near Divine Street, the son of a bitch took off with her purse. She's still shaken up about it."
"My God, I'm so sorry. Do you need to get a hold of police?" the man asks with concern.
"No...We didn't get a close look at him; you know it was dark and all." He says evenly. "It's okay, we'll be okay."
He's not really sure what had compelled him to say so, especially when it obvious that they would definitely not be okay.
Due to the light pain medication he was given Maria ends up driving him back to her apartment. She doesn't say much, other than he's too drugged out to drive home, and though she shouldn't give a shit whether he ends up dead in a ditch or not, she'd feel awful if he got into an accident and hurt someone. Oh the sentiment. But it's when she tosses him a comforter and pillow in the living room a strange feeling fills him. Almost sadness.
He wearingly settles on the couch, cold and too small for his body. She's about to leave to her room, he wonders if she'll lock the door or even sleep at all. But before she goes his heart throbs again, he's not sure what's wrong with him. All he knows is that he shouldn't care, but there's still something tugging at his heart. He is growing soft.
It's like he's two different people.
"Maria...I..." he trails off, words almost lost in his throat. It's hard to think with her standing there, closed off from him. There is a sinking in his stomach; he looks away from her sad eyes and hunches over, placing his head in his hands with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I really am."
She doesn't move, but he knows she's thinking of something to say. Finally she replies, "It's too late."
When he looks up from his hands his eyes are wide like a child's with confusion, "Too late for what...to apologize? To try?"
"No." Her voice is hoarse and heavy.
The bandages on his collar bone are too tight, but he barely notices. Instead he gets up from the couch and takes her hands in his. She doesn't flinch, instead he feels the lightest brush of her thumb on his hand. They both understand now. It's too late for either of them to leave one another. He hates himself for growing attached, but at the same time she has yet to disappoint him. Sometimes when he is with her he forgets that he is sick.
She wraps her arms around him; it's a weird platonic embrace. His own limbs just stay limp at his sides, but he presses his cheek against hers. He hears her whisper, "It's too late for me to forget you."
"I know."
That's the first time they sleep together without sex involved. Jonathan holds on to her tightly, every time he hears him begin to awaken he just repeats her name over and over in his head. Like a mantra that will make all the bad dreams go away. He knows she won't cure him, but for now he feels at peace.
Let me know what you think!