III
"Ms. Balafré? Ms. Balafré, can you hear me?" I open my eyes slowly and blink the blurriness out. The nurse's accent makes it difficult to understand her in my already muddled state. "My name isn't Ms. Balafré. I'm married. It's Mrs. Williamson." Her brow wrinkles with confusion, "Ma'am, you're only eighteen. Your name is Elaine Balafré. You have no marital history." I cringe when I begin to sit up, "I'm married to a Derek Williamson. We eloped yesterday."
It's the first day on the job. Oddly enough, I feel excited: as one would for any new occupation. Maybe it wasn't because I had a new job, but because I knew my thirst for chaos would soon be quenched. Either way, I'm being productive while pleasing myself. Altruism never hurt anyone, did it?
I sat staring at the reflective metal of the table. I saw my live portrait, but I didn't see me. Part of me recognized the woman staring back; the other half saw the monster for the first time. So, go ahead, call me Schizophrenic. Blame it on Manic-Depressive Disorder. Tell me the source of my problems are insecurities. Let me tell you: it's bullshit.
"You're delusional right now. You were in a car acci-." "What?! Is he okay?!" My face contorts with concern. She looks at me with sympathetic eyes, "I-I'm sorry." She leaves.
Everyone has a dark side. You embrace it or allow yourself to go insane denying it; either way, it will be acknowledged. In a way, we all have multiple personalities. Think of it as your shadow: it lingers over you as a black silhouette until the dark completely consumes you like the cloak of midnight. Then, you are unified. I stopped looking for the monster under my bed when I realized it was inside of me.
I sit in the hospital bed, my eyes fixed on no particular point; however, they are unmoving. The empty void where my heart once was becomes a black hole, sucking in every bit of humanity I have left. Within a couple of hours, a doctor comes in. "What happened?" I ask bluntly. "Well, you see, I don't feel it appro-" "I want you to tell me everything vividly without excluding one detail." It was a command more than a request. My voice was frigid and distant, like a solitary glacier floating in a melancholy ocean.
The egregious vibration of a chair scraping the ground interrupted my thoughts, "Hiii." "I have to go to work," I said blandly, for the familiar pain in my temples began. "Oh, but you're here." "No, at the asylum. I'm still a psychologist." "Don't talk like you're one of them. You're not," His face expressed a tinge of worry. "Look," I got eye-level with him, "We have a lot in common, you and I. I just haven't gotten caught. I'd like to keep it that way." He leaned back, "Ohhhhh, I see! You maintain a socially acceptable life whilst entertaining your inner demons. I like it." "I have leverage this way. They have no advantage." He smiled menacingly, "How does the duality take affect on you?" I stand up, "I'm going to work. I'll be ho-…" He lifted his eyebrow, "I'll be back after work," I turned and left. "Stop looking at my ass, I'm not Harleen." The door slammed shut.
He sighs and begins to speak, "You were driving down the free way when an eighteen wheeler lost control. The van was completely flattened," his volume lowers, "and he was dead when we arrived on scene. You were out cold and it is a miracle you're alive. You only sustained minor injuries to the head, but we've taken care of it. You should be out of here within a couple of days." He bows his head, "I greatly apologize for your loss." He leaves.
"Hello, Ms. Balafré! How are you?" There was that smile. For a moment, a glint of guilt shined in my heart. I opened my mouth to confess all that had taken place with The Joker; to confess that I have a problem, but hesitated. The guilt was brutally ravished by the darkness. "Great, actually. So, who will I be evaluating today?" The day went by in a blushing blur of
confusion, exhaustion, and even a touch of… romance.
Parked outside of my apartment, a mist of loneliness tainted my skin. I began to sulk. My eyes filled with the sting of repressed emotion. "No…" I grit my teeth. I exited the car and slammed the door: the vibration shook my skull. I entered the apartment building to frivolous faces. I kept my head down. I tried to avoid them all, but the paranoia was so intense; they just stared. The voices arose from the dark corners of my mind: Stop… You are worthless… Stop trying… Let it happen… Go away… Kill them…
I arrive at my room, rip open the door, and slam it shut. "STOP!" I fell in a heap on the floor. I held my head in my hands. After I had my fill of self pity, I looked up to meet his face, "Oh, having a little Schizo episode, are we?" I stared in disbelief, "How the hell…" I let my voice trail off with hurt and disdain. "What the fuck is it to you? Why are you here?" He stared, "I could ask you the same thing." Every bit of agony I was previously suffering from melted away into the corners of my mind. I smirked, "Aww, you're an over-protective boyfriend already. I like you."
He was taken aback, "No. I just do what I do best." "Which is?" "I took your little plan and turned it on itself."