Officer Steven Blanders was gone by the next day — fired or transferred, it didn't really matter which. All that mattered was that he was no longer in Arkham, and Maggie never had to wash dishes again. Sionis even threw in that copy of Alice in Wonderland that she had wanted since it didn't seem like Daniel would be returning any time soon.

It was nice — Maggie thought — being a teenage girl. She was aware that that had been one of her strong points in her case against Steven. It didn't matter that she was an inmate in an asylum. It didn't matter that, only a year earlier, she had killed her sister in cold blood with no signs of remorse. It didn't matter that she was a diagnosed sociopath with a narcissistic personality disorder. All of that stuff didn't matter because no matter what kind of monster someone is, if said person is disguised as a small, teenage girl, someone is always, always going to view her as frail and innocent.

The other thing Maggie's case had hinged on was Jerome's testimony corroborating her side of the story. Jerome, as Maggie had figured out, was quite the actor himself. He had looked very much like an ordinary eighteen-year-old boy, quiet and nowhere near as animated as Maggie knew him to be. However, her performance had been the star of the show. If there was one thing Maggie hated, it was having her spotlight stolen. And with someone like Jerome around, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maggie now sat in the break room, reading her new book. Every now and then, she'd look up at Jerome, who occasionally barked with laughter. For some reason, she didn't find the laugh interesting anymore; it now annoyed her… Well, when it was just the two of them, it didn't, but there, around her little group of Sionis and Greenwood — that Jerome had settled into quite nicely — it made her want to stab him in the throat.

She was aware of her jealousy (though she would never admit to it out loud). It was usually her smiling brightly and talking nonstop and squabbling with Greenwood about petty things. She was usually the shining star of their little group. But then Jerome had happened, and she was a bit miffed because they seemed to like him a lot. Then, there was the fact that he wasn't paying attention to her. It was as if she'd gotten a new puppy that liked others more so than herself, and Maggie hated it; Jerome was, after all, the shiny new toy in Arkham, and Maggie despised sharing.

After a while of her uncharacteristic silence, Greenwood finally spoke to her.

"Why so quiet today, Maggie?"

Maggie, though still slightly annoyed, smiled at the sudden recognition. She closed her book, sitting it down on the table.

"What's the point in talking? Jerome's talking enough for all of us," she spat out.

Jerome, who was sitting beside her, rolled his head in a dramatic way to look at her. A sly grin spread across his face as he stared at her with hooded eyes. She gave him a big, sarcastic smile, her still busted lip stinging from the effort.

"Someone's angry because they aren't the center of attention," Sionis remarked, sketching away on his notepad; Maggie cut her eyes at him.

"That's not true at all," she lied. "Why, I'm merely listening to Jerome's fascinating tales of circus freaks and his whore of a mother. Tell me, Jerome, does your daddy drive a little clown car to work?"

Jerome's eyes glinted with danger as he spoke.

"Now, now, Maggie, why so rude? After all, I did help you with your little scheme yesterday."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't kid yourself," she said, and Jerome put his elbow on the table, resting his head on his hand, still smiling. "I could have easily gone through with my plan without you. You were merely an opportune choice. A monkey could have done what you did."

"I highly doubt that a monkey could have put such a smile on your face yesterday," he growled. "And I feel certain that you wouldn't have, uh, kissed it."

Maggie frowned at him. Then, she leaned closer to him, their faces only mere inches apart.

"Bite me, Jerome," she said harshly, causing his eyes to glint as he licked his smiling lips; he, too, leaned closer.

"Is that an offer, Mags?"

Maggie smiled, reveling in the sudden flirtatious turn of the conversation. She batted her eyelashes at him.

"Maybe," she said, drawing out the word.

"Oh, get a room, you two," Greenwood said.

The two teens looked at him with slightly annoyed faces as he tried to spoil their fun. And as quickly as their flirtations had started, they ended as Greenwood took charge of the conversation. Maggie only listened half-heartedly as her attention was still on the red-headed boy beside her. She suddenly removed her hands from the table and placed one on Jerome's thigh, digging her nails into his leg as she squeezed.

Jerome only turned his head slightly towards her. Maggie continued staring at Greenwood, but she had a devious smile plastered on her bruised, freckled face. Jerome grabbed her small wrist with a vice-like grip, digging his own nails into her soft flesh. For a moment, Maggie thought that he'd remove her hand, but he didn't. Instead, he moved her hand slowly up his leg, her nails dragging along the striped fabric of his pants.

However, Maggie, always needing to be in control of a situation, suddenly let go as her hand neared the apex of his leg. She pulled her wrist out of his grip and clasped her hands together, placing them under her chin, her elbows now propped on the table. She stared forward, feigning sudden interest in Greenwood's story. Jerome gritted his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking, but he said nothing.

Maggie quickly injected herself into Greenwood's monologue, disagreeing with him about something trivial, causing an argument between the two. Jerome frowned at her as she spoke loudly over Greenwood in her signature I'm-better-than-you voice. Maggie, however, smiled, as things were now back to normal, and she was once more at the center of the conversation.

Dinner wasn't long after that, and they were all marched to the cafeteria where Maggie stared down the cook, Joey, until he gave her a little extra lasagna on her tray. There were some questionable foods at Arkham — like the gray mush from yesterday's breakfast, and it was a general rule to not ever eat the tuna salad — but for the most part, the food wasn't half bad. Maggie especially loved the lasagna.

Jerome took a seat across the table from her and stared at her. Maggie took no notice; she was busy scraping off the burnt edge of her garlic toast, the blackened crumbs falling onto the table. Jerome slammed his fist down on the table. He grinned when she jumped a bit, dropping her toast onto her tray. She looked up at him.

"What?" she snapped.

"You're a tease, Margaret Rubera," he said, his grin not leaving; Maggie smirked.

"It's only teasing if you liked it," she said. Then, she leaned forward slightly and dropped her voice down to an amused whisper. "Did you like it, Jerome?"

He let out a sort of growl in response, and Maggie continued.

"Or did you like what we did yesterday better?" she asked, slipping off one of her no-lace shoes and slowly running her foot up one of Jerome's legs. "That was fun wasn't it? There's something exciting about hurting someone, isn't there? And I'm not just talking about this," she said, gesturing to her bruised face. "I'm talking about the whole scheme. There's something kinda like a power rush, you know? There's nothing more satisfying than outsmarting someone — knowing that you can crush someone with just some fake tears and good acting."

Jerome, who was growing quite bored of her little act, reached under the table and grabbed Maggie's ankle as her foot neared his knee. He gave it a violent tug. Maggie yelped as she almost fell out of her seat. She yanked her ankle away and glared at him, her green eyes sparking with anger as Jerome laughed.

"What was that for?" she spat.

"For being a tease," he said slowly, his face splitting into a wide grin.

Maggie huffed angrily just as Greenwood sat down beside her. He wasted no time shoveling his food into his mouth. He looked at Maggie, who was still glaring at Jerome, who was still smiling sadistically. Greenwood chuckled.

"Did Jerome make you mad already, Maggie?" he poked fun. "Why am I not surprised?"

Maggie, who was angry and had no patience for Greenwood's antics, slowly turned to him.

"Shut. Up," she seethed.

"What'd he do? Forget to tell you how pretty you are?" he continued to tease.

"I'm warning you, Greenwood. I am not in the mood," she said.

Greenwood rolled his eyes at her, making her even more livid.

"Oooo, I'm shaking in my boots," Greenwood said sarcastically.

Maggie slowly curled her fingers around her fork; Greenwood turned to Jerome, who was watching them both curiously as though waiting for something exciting to happen. It was if he could already see Maggie's inevitable snap.

"You have to be delicate with this one," Greenwood said, grinning. "She's easily offended. She's a narcissist, so you have to give her lots of attention so she doesn't feel rejected. She hates that; don'tcha, Maggie?"

Out of anger, Maggie stood, picked her fork up off the table, and plunged the metal prongs into Greenwood's left hand that was resting beside his food tray. Jerome's eyes sparkled with glee. Greenwood howled in pain, and Maggie gave a twisted grin.

"I said to shut up," she said slowly.

It wasn't long before guards got to her, dragging her out of the cafeteria as Jerome let out his maniacal laugh.

Forty-eight hours — two days in solitary confinement — that was her punishment. That and she was now on the list of inmates that had to eat their meals with one of those damned plastic sporks.

Maggie didn't mind solitary confinement. Would she rather not have been there? Yes. Did she hate it? No. After all, she had her favorite person to talk to — herself. Mostly, she spent her time thinking about two things: Millie (as she always did) and Jerome, who she quite liked and hated at the same time.

"What's the big deal, Maggie?" she had asked herself.

"The big deal is I don't know whether I wanna fuck him or kill him," she had replied.

And this was quite the dilemma for her. On the one hand, she wanted him to want her. She wanted the gratification she would get from feeling his strong hands on her body, pulling her close to him as though he couldn't get enough of her. After all, as stated before, Jerome was the shiny new toy. And what use was he to Maggie if she didn't play with him?

But then there was the other hand. He was nice to be around when it was just the two of them and no one else. However, out with the others, Jerome was stealing her thunder. Seventeen years of having to share the spotlight with her sisters did not make Maggie a fan of having to repeat the cycle with Jerome for who knew how long.

"You could always fuck him and kill him," she had finally suggested to herself.

Maggie had been thinking on this when the door of her little, padded cell opened.

"Oh, thank god!" she said to the guards, sitting up from her spot on the floor. "I've had this itch on my nose for, like, fifteen minutes now, and this damned straight jacket is killing me."

The guards got Maggie out of the straight jacket and took her directly to the showers. She wasn't exactly sure what time it was — she knew dinner had already been served and that the inmates were probably all in their cells because she had the showers to herself. She frowned down at her towel and little bottles of shampoo and soap she'd gotten from the lady in charge of all the toiletries. She vaguely wondered when she'd be allowed to have a razor again — last time she'd been to solitary, she didn't get to shave again for a whole month afterwards. Then again, last time, she had attacked a guard. Maybe they'd be more lenient this time. After all, she had only stabbed Greenwood and only in the hand.

Maggie stepped under the running water of the shower. She frowned — it was cold; the inmates before her had used up all the hot water.

"Now, see? This is why I always take my showers early," Maggie said, ranting about her predicament.

"Oh, be quiet. At least you're actually getting clean."

"True," she agreed with herself. In solitary, the only time an inmate was let out was twice a day: once in the morning and once in the evening to go to the bathroom. The guards brought food to the cells, and once the inmate was does eating, the straight jacket went back on. Showers were definitely not a luxury one got in solitary confinement at Arkham Asylum.

Maggie shivered under the cool water as she massaged the shampoo into her hair; she could feel her already prickly leg hairs growing. She sighed and closed her eyes, rinsing the suds out of her hair. She ran one hand down her abdomen, fingers circling a scar about two inches under her left ribcage. She smiled, remembering the fight she'd gotten it from — her first prison fight. The girl, who had happened to be her cellmate, had stabbed Maggie with a shank made out of a toothbrush, of all things. When Maggie had gotten out of the infirmary, she'd made a show of breaking all of her cellmate's fingers — it had been fun.

"Maybe that's what I'll do to Jerome," she mused aloud. "He has such nice hands."

She let out a small laugh.

"But imagine what he'd do to you if you did such a thing," she countered.

She snapped her eyes open, but it wasn't fear that flashed in them — it was curiosity; it was excitement.

"Yes, imagine," she said, and she was smiling, her mind going back to more sexual desires.

Then again, sex and pain — it all elicited the same responses in her: excitement and a rush of adrenaline. She suddenly wondered if other people felt the same way. However, it was very short lived as she realized that she didn't much care what other people felt.

Jerome was still awake when Maggie's voice sounded through the hall, vibrant and loud as ever. He grinned. He had missed her. For two days now, he'd had no one to talk to during the time he was locked in his cell, which was pretty dull. Also, now, Greenwood could finally shut up about what he planned on doing to the girl and actually just get on with it; though, Jerome had a sneaking suspicion that Greenwood wouldn't actually do anything.

Jerome was sure that Maggie would be thrilled to find out that, even in her absence, Greenwood had made most of their conversations revolve around her. It had irked Jerome a little bit. And that was exactly why he wasn't going to tell her. Why let her gain satisfaction from something that he disliked?

Jerome grinned wider when he heard Maggie's guard tell her to shut up, but she just kept talking to him about something unimportant. Jerome imagined that she was only doing this to annoy the guard. Moments later, her cell was being opened, and only when the guard walked away did silence fall over the corridor.

Maggie lay awake on her bed, staring into the darkness of her cell, not tired one bit.

"Great," she said in an annoyed voice. "My sleep schedule's all whacked."

"What a coincidence. I can't sleep either."

Maggie smiled as Jerome's voice floated across the hallway.

"Ah, Jerome," she said happily. "Miss me?"

"Why, of course, Mags," he said, letting her hear what she wanted. "It hasn't been the same without you."

Maggie closed her eyes, and her grin spread further.

"How's Greenwood's hand?" she asked. "Still hurting him, I hope?"

Jerome chuckled.

"Now, Maggie, that wasn't very nice of you, stabbing Greenwood in the hand like that."

"He's lucky it was his hand and not his eye," Maggie stated. "In fact, you're lucky the guards got to me so fast."

"Is that so?" Jerome asked, smiling in amusement.

"Yes, the next utensil would have gone in your neck," she said, knowing that he would love such talk. "After all, you're the one that got me so worked up to begin with."

"Me?" Jerome said, feigning surprise and gesturing to himself dramatically even though she couldn't see him. "Why, I don't know what you're talking about."

Maggie rolled her eyes.

"Play dumb. What do I care? But, Jerome, a word to the wise: making me mad isn't something you want to make a habit out of — just ask my sisters," Maggie said with a little laugh.

"Planning on killing me, Mags?" Jerome asked in a nonchalant tone, as if he had just asked about the weather.

"I admit, the thought occurred to me," Maggie said. "Killing you would be so much more fun than listening to you rattle on and on about this and that and whatever."

Jerome bared his teeth in a devious grin.

"My, my, you are the jealous type, aren't you? Can't stand it when people aren't looking your way."

"Jealous of you? No," she said, twirling her hair around her finger in thought. "You're just the new kid. You'll shine bright for a little bit, but after a while, you'll burn out."

"Is that so?" he asked in a low growl.

"Either that or someone will put you out."

Jerome cackled, and Maggie smiled.

"And is that somebody going to be you, Maggie? Oh, please, tell me it is."

"I don't know; it could be anybody. But for now, I've decided that I still like you; you're easy on the eyes. Plus, you're not as stupid as everyone else."

Jerome smiled, but he didn't say anything. He knew that was Maggie's way of saying she found him interesting — that she still had some use for him. He knew the only person Maggie really liked — really cared for — was herself. And some part of him really liked that about her. She had potential, just like him.