Chapter Four
When I opened my eyes some hours later I was pleased to see the delicate gold gossamer above me and feel the softness of silk sheets on my skin. I stretched my arms above my head and arched my back, which sent me into a blissful reverie of the night before when my muscles screamed in protest as they were still sore from all the fun we had.
I rolled out of the bed and as I stood up I noticed a small box wrapped in silver and black wrapping paper with a big purple bow on top sitting on the nightstand. There was a tag attached with a messily scrawled "M" on it. My cheeks warmed over as I reached for it, setting the bow aside and unwrapping the paper delicately. Inside was a red leather jewelry box from Cartier. I shook my head, letting a full grin spread across my face. I eagerly lifted the top of the box open and was rewarded with a pop of confetti and glitter in my face. I shook my head, laughing as I wiped the stray bits off my face and plucked what was left out of my tangled hair.
Only J... I thought with affection and finally looked at what was inside. It was a thick black band of velvet with a delicate silver clasp at the back. A diamond encrusted "J" dangled from the front of it and it was sparkling brightly from the light of the afternoon sun that was pouring into the room. It was a gorgeous, and completely lavish choker. I shuddered to think what he must have paid for this trinket, but it was the first nice piece of jewelry I had even been given in my life. I ran my fingertips over the pendant before closing the box and making my way to the bathroom.
I was surprised to see that all my shredded and discarded clothes were no longer on the floor, and neither were J's.
I wonder if he has a housekeeper. I thought to myself and laughed at the idea.
Where do crime bosses and evil masterminds even find them? I bet they get paid a fortune...after signing a serious NDA and probably taking some sort of blood oath of course. I laughed again and tiptoed across the marble floor of the bathroom to the tub. I turned the water on hot and looked around for the things I would need to get cleaned up.
As the water ran I finally took a good look at myself in the mirror and blushed a deep red. I looked a little worse for wear. The "J" that was carved into my hip had scabbed over but bits of dried blood were smeared across my lower stomach. I had a faint cut down my neck, and an indention from J's silver teeth that had already turned into a purplish bruise. The corner of my mouth was swollen and bruised from where he had hit me. I could see the imprints of his fingertips on my throat and my hips, and when I turned around there were angry red scratches that ran down the length of my back. I smiled deviously into the mirror and started digging around for bubble bath, soap, shampoo, and conditioner.
His bathroom had a double sink, and as I searched through the drawers and cabinets of the left one I found nothing but men's toiletries. Shaving razors, after shave, delicious smelling deodorant, and the like but nothing that I could use. I sauntered over to the right sink and felt my stomach drop. As I opened the drawers I saw the evidence of her everywhere. Red and black hair ribbons, perfumes, makeup, lotion, wadded up panty hose, expensive face creams and hair products. I cringed, my displeasure quickly turning to anger.
This is bullshit. I grabbed the things I needed from her side of the bathroom and slammed the drawers shut, dumping them into the wire shelf that hung off the side of the claw-footed tub. It was halfway full of steaming hot water by then so I dumped some expensive French bubble bath in and threw the bottle all the way into the bedroom. Quickly, I dunked myself into the tub, gritting my teeth together as the water stung all of my cuts and raw skin.
I sat there, turning the water off once it was full, and seethed. It had been months since she left. MONTHS. Yet he was still keeping her things around like some creepy, obsessive shrine? Not if I'm here. I roughly scrubbed my skin off, washing away all the filth of last night. Once the water was murky with dirt I let it drain out, rinsed out the tub, and filled it back up again so I could wash the tangles and sweat out of my hair.
After everything he said and did to me, all the twisted promises, and I find this? And that gaudy necklace he gave me! Was that supposed to distract me? Did he honestly think I wasn't going to find all of her shit everywhere? My mind was racing a mile a minute as I scrubbed my hair clean and coated it with conditioner. Once I was finished I drained the tub and stepped out carefully onto the floor, tracking water as I went, looking for a towel to cover up with.
I took one of her old brushes, still matted with her tacky blonde hair, and yanked it through my own - ripping out strands as I tried to rid the tangles from my thick, brown mane. I found a hair tie in one of the drawers and piled my hair up into a messy bun. When I was finished with that I put some toothpaste on my finger and buffed my teeth with it. I wasn't about to use her toothbrush, or his for that matter. I rinsed, spit, and immediately began collecting her things from the drawers.
I walked back and forth from the bathroom into the bedroom with piles of her things, throwing them on his bed. Once I was sure everything that belonged to her was gone from the bathroom, I began digging through J's bedroom. I found her lingerie, her pajamas, t shirts, and jeans. Hell, there was an entire dresser of her things in here! Pistols and knives stashed in each drawer - I chucked those on the bed as well and went to clear out the closet. To my utter frustration I saw that there were two separate closets which made me groan. My face was hot with anger. I opened the first closet and saw all of J's shiny shoes and tailored suits and slammed that door shut, my eyes honing in on the other closet door beside it.
The inside was massive, of course, with cubby holes filled with shoes and purses, and rows of pretty dresses, blouses, skirts, and jackets hung neatly along the walls. There was a row of small, rectangular shaped drawers and I opened them to find masses of beautiful jewelry inside each one. I used one of her many purses to shove all of it inside and began grabbing as many things as I could carry to add to the growing pile on top of his bed. When I had finally cleared everything out I sagged against the closet wall and let out a scream, crumpling to the floor and hugging my knees to my chest.
I was seeing red, I had to get the fuck out of there before I started tearing up his things next. I went into his closet and grabbed one of his many silk robes and wrapped up in it, leaving my wet towel on the floor behind me. Before I left his room, however, I grabbed the Cartier box off the nightstand and set it neatly on top of the large pile of Harley's belongings on his bed.
I stormed out of the bedroom, letting the heavy oak doors slam behind me, and started to prowl around the apartment. It was clear that no one was home. I passed the piano, the fireplace, and that bullshit bear-skin rug he probably fucked her a hundred times on, and ended up finding the kitchen. I was starving. I pulled open the refrigerator and found it fully stocked. I grabbed a bottle of water, and a cluster of cold grapes, slamming the door shut when I was finished. I kept walking, popping grapes in my mouth as I explored the rest of the sprawling apartment.
I found two more bedrooms bare of any furniture save for a four poster bed in each, an office that was so chaotic inside that I was sure you could never find what you needed, and lastly a door with a giant red "X" painted on it. I shoved the door open and it was pitch black, but when I stepped through the doorway the inside lit up to reveal what I could only assume to be a training room.
There were targets painted on some of the walls, with deep groves and indentions from years of use, punching bags hung in the corners, weight lifting equipment was scattered about, thick black mats for hand-to-hand combat were laid out on the floor, ropes hung down from the ceiling, a balance beam stood in the center of the room, and there were rows and rows of weapons hung along the farthest wall. I was at home instantly.
My father was a con artist, a thief, and at times a hired hitman who taught me all the tricks of the trade - including how to fight - starting when I was only a little girl. While most seven year olds were playing with Barbie's and getting their hair braided, I was learning how to box, throw knives, how to crack a safe, lift people's jewelry - everything my father knew, he taught me. It's because of him that I've survived this long on my own.
My instincts started kicking in as I approached the wall of weapons. I pulled down ten throwing knives and a pair of boxing gloves from the corner. There was a cabinet full of all the necessities for training nearby, including some black leotards and even a blindfold. I rolled my eyes knowing full well who all of this junk belonged to, but grabbed one of the leotards and some athletic tape anyways. Quickly, I changed into the outfit, realizing that the leotard was a size too small. It rode up in between my ass cheeks, looking more like a thong bathing suit than anything suitable to train in, but it was all I had. I wrapped my heels and ankles up for the balance beam and set the athletic tape aside, I'd need it to wrap my hands when I decided to hit the bag.
I noticed a laptop plugged in and sitting on one of the weight lifting benches to my right and went to flip it open. Thankfully there was no password so I logged into Pandora and put on my favorite station - jumping a little when music began blasting through speakers that were hung in the corners of the ceiling. I cracked my neck and made my way to one of the painted targets, picking up the throwing knives as I went. Carefully I paced out fifteen feet and turned to face it.
Taking a deep breath in I brought the knife up next to my ear, and as I exhaled I let it whip through the air wickedly fast, sticking itself into the bull's-eye. I grabbed another knife and spun, throwing it with my back to the target - it struck home as well, only inches from the one before. I threw all the knives at the target, grabbed them, retraced my steps, and did it over and over again - trying out different variations of throws, even some trick shots I'd perfected.
When I grew bored with throwing I left the knives stuck to the target and made my way to the balance beam. Steadying my breath, I concentrated on the music and lifted myself onto the beam. I wasn't a gymnast, but I did know how to be light on my feet and I had the ability to balance like a cat. My dad used to call me Maddie Meow because of it. I smiled fondly at the memory and began to move across the beam. I dipped, spun, twirled, and glided along to the rhythm of the song, ignoring the strain on my muscles. I was out of practice but it was like riding a bike - once you learned, you never forgot.
I had finally broke a sweat and decided to drop from the beam and wrap my hands and wrists up to punch the bag around for a bit. Lord knows I had plenty of aggression to release. I still wasn't over all this Harley bullshit. Being left-handed, I started to wrap up my right wrist all the way down to my knuckles. When I was satisfied I bit the tape off and repeated the process on my other hand. It was always harder to do my left. Having your wrists and knuckles wrapped was usually something your trainer or partner did, but I learned how to do it on my own. When I was satisfied with the lack of the range of motion on both of my wrists, I grabbed one of the gloves with my teeth and slid my hand inside, tightening the Velcro strap as much as I could with my mouth. I mirrored the action again for my other hand and was ready to go.
I made my way towards the punching bags hanging in the room and started swinging my arms across my body, loosening up before I began my assault. The music in the room changed, blasting out a rap song with heavy bass that got my heart pumping and my blood singing in my veins. I got into my stance and began hitting the bag.
Left jab, left jab, right cross. I took two quick steps to the right. Right jab, right jab, left hook. Two more quick steps. Left jab, right jab, right uppercut. Two steps. I danced around the bag, throwing in a few kicks, rocking the bag back and forth until sweat coated my skin in a thin sheen. The curls that had fallen out of my bun began to stick to my temples and the back of my neck. I was going to have to take another bath when I was finished.
I felt my anger fill me like fire, my fists were the tools helping me fan the flames. Each punch grew in strength, knocking the bag back viciously. I was so enamored in my work out that I didn't notice someone enter the room and move to stand behind me until I saw a brief flash of a hand reaching out to touch my shoulder. I dodged it quickly and countered with a hard left hook, my glove making contact with the figure hard, knocking them to the ground. That loud, menacing cackle followed suit causing me to snap out of my rage fueled daze and look down at the Joker, who was rubbing his jaw and grinning up at me.
I didn't move to help him up, I wasn't in the mood to talk to him either, so I undid my gloves and yanked them off as quickly as I could and stalked out of the training room in a huff. I didn't care that he had jumped to his feet and was following behind me, and I was vaguely aware of him calling my name until he shouted.
"Madeline, STOP!" He yelled. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
Oh he has some nerve! I whirled around to face him, my fists balled at my sides.
"Don't fucking talk to me like that, you don't get to boss me around right now." I spat, and turned back around. I didn't know where I was going, there wasn't anywhere in here that I could get away from him, but I knew that if I faced him I would lose it.
"Stop walking away from me. Turn around and talk to me, pet." J called. "Please..."
I stopped dead in my tracks, unable to turn around and look at him. He was behind me in an instant. I could feel him there, my body catching that wave of energy that I felt whenever he was near.
"Baby doll," He said, barely above a whisper. He grabbed hold of my wrist and spun me around, using his free hand to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
"What the fuck is all that stuff still doing here, J?" I growled, yanking my wrist free and taking a step backwards, away from him. "Are you planning on turning me into her? Are you so fucking obsessed that you can't even appreciate something new and different? I refuse to be your little Harley Quinn clone! I'm nothing like her, and I never will be." He flinched a little when I said her name.
"You don't think I know that, Madeline?" He yelled, bringing his hands up to run them through his hair. "But I had been searching for that for so long. So, so long. I thought I needed her back. She was my favorite toy. My greatest accomplishment. And if I couldn't have her back I was going to make a newer version. Oh, I tried. I tried, I tried." I took another step away from him, remembering all the kidnappings that had made it on the six o'clock news in the past few months, shaking my head and fighting back the hot tears that were threatening to spill over.
He reached out with one hand, "No! Listen to me, pet," He begged. I couldn't stop the tears anymore, they began pouring down my face. This wasn't like me, I didn't let anyone get under my skin.
"You are nothing like her, and that is why you are here."
"Bullshit," I choked.
"I didn't have to poison your mind to get you here. You came willingly and you welcomed all of my darkness. I have never," He paused. His face looked so vulnerable and raw that I almost felt sorry for him, enough to forget why I was ever mad to begin with, "met someone like you." He took a step closer to me and I didn't counter it this time.
"Harley was created, birthed by me, and molded to be exactly what I wanted her to be...but you...my sweet, my new, my perfect...you were already all of the things I wanted." I crossed my arms over my chest and sniffled. It was hard to look intimidating when you were red faced from crying but I sure as hell tried.
"And what exactly is it that you want?" I asked.
He grinned at me, reaching out to wipe the tears from my face with his bare hand, and bringing his fingers to his lips where he licked the salty wetness away.
"Never mind that, baby, come to daddy." He opened his arms to me and I couldn't stop myself from stepping into them, where he enveloped me in a tight hug.
"I just…saw all of her shit everywhere and kinda lost my mind."
"Shh, pet, it's okay." He said, gripping my shoulders and holding me out at arm's length. "Turn around."
I did as I was told, feeling embarrassed about my juvenile display of jealousy. J brought his hands in front of my face and I saw that he was holding my new choker delicately in his slim fingers. He put it on me, hooking the silver clasp gently behind my neck, letting the pendant fall perfectly into the hollow of my throat. He turned me around when he was finished and his face was beaming with pride.
"My new. My perfect." He said then leaned in closely in a conspiratorial manner, bringing his hand up next to his mouth. "Let's have a bonfire, shall we? Roast a few marshmallows over a burning pile of her things."
And just like that my emotional rollercoaster came to a halt, a smile tickling the corners of my mouth upwards. I shoved his shoulder playfully and turned to make my way back to the bedroom.
"That's my girl," He said, and growled low in his throat, following closely behind me.
