This is a very sappy chapter. My apologies.
Chapter 6: A Strange Disease
I saw nothing but white when I lost consciousness and saw nothing but white again when I regained it. I wondered for a moment if this was heaven. Certainly not! I wasn't going to heaven after all the stuff I'd done and said and thought! It wasn't exactly in the ten commandments: "thou shalt not fall in love with men bent on plunging yon city into chaos," but I had to be breaking some sort of moral law.
My eyes adjusted to the bright light that was pelting down on me from the fixtures above and I was able to make out the furnishings of my hospital room - important-looking monitors, white sheets, pastel colored chairs, a tray filled with packaged foods in white and silver containers. Everything was so... colorless. Even my hands looked pale and sickly where they lay on the bedspread. My red nail polish was chipped, my hands were covered in a few bruises and needle marks that looked like someone had been chewing on my hands while I slept, and my upper arm was heavy with white gauze. I didn't even want to know what my face looked like.
Slowly, I lifted my heavily bandaged left arm, letting the stinging sensation recall me to the earlier events - or perhaps it was even yesterday's events by now. Had I been asleep for long? How disorienting. I remembered a few snippets of being examined by a group of the policemen, one of them a familiar face with a mustache. I remembered ambulance lights, a nice man with a shaved head holding my hand while the vehicle maneuvered through crazy Gotham traffic. I may have once adoringly called him "the Joker." Hopefully he had attributed it to me being delirious. I was just thankful that I hadn't been awake to see them stitch up my arm. I was horrible with needles. Why were knives so damn sexy to me, then?
As if punishing me for this thought, my arm gave a throb and I looked around the room for something to distract me from the pain. I figured breaking the TV remote would be good for about five minutes of entertainment; so many buttons! Technology really wasn't my forte. It took me more than five minutes to figure out which button was the "on" switch and by then, I was ready for a nap. The message scrolling across the news screen was the only thing that kept me awake: "Joker Attack - Gotham High Targeted Again."
"That's my school!" I cried to no one in particular. I felt quite stupid afterwards.
The image on the screen was of the familiar cop with the mustache who had questioned me about the Joker. A label in the lower left hand corner of the screen identified him as Commissioner Gordon. On closer inspection, I saw that he was standing outside of Gotham High, though it was hardly visible beyond the forest of cop cars. His mustache bobbed as he talked; I hastily turned the volume up as far as it would go.
"...gun shots were fired. Two students have been taken to the emergency room at Gotham General with knife wounds. Neither one seemed to be in serious condition, but we aren't taking any chances with this man. Right now, the Gotham Police Department is doing everything in its power to prevent any more attacks from occurring. I will definitely be taking a closer look at the security of this establishment and other schools in the Gotham area and making a number of changes to ensure the safety of students. Yes."
Here, a microphone jutted further into the picture, nearly brushing his mustache, and a hurried female voice spoke.
"Commissioner, is it true that tonight the Joker targeted the same victim from the recent video that he distributed to Gotham news stations?"
Commissioner Gordon gave a sigh and adjusted his glasses.
"It would appear so. Miss Hill will again be questioned in the hopes of finding the cause of these attacks. For the time being, our main concern is getting her adequate mental and physical medical attention and ensuring that another attack does not occur. As we speak, a team of security officers has surrounded Gotham General to guard against any...."
As he babbled on, the door opened and a figure in a white lab coat entered. My eyes didn't leave the screen to look at the doctor. I thought of feigning sleep, but decided against it at the last moment. Noises of the man tinkering around out of my line of vision mixed with Gordon's prolix replies. "Security precautions.... Investigations are.... Appalled by this...."
"So, how's the arm healing?" an almost comically deep voice asked me.
"Oh, it's fine..." I threw a look at my bandaged arm, flexing the fingers a few times as if to demonstrate.
I was just about to look back at the TV screen when my face was suddenly in an vice-like grip, training my eyes on a flamboyantly-painted face. The sudden splash of color stung my eyes. Some security, Mr. Commissioner. I sat up in bed, grabbing at his muscular forearms beneath the white fabric of the lab coat.
"So, how you doin', kid?" he crossed to the other side of the bed.
I reluctantly let go of his arms, following his every movement with my eyes. He picked up a chart on his way, looking over it in a way that suggested he understood what he saw there. Had his face not been disfigured and painted as it was, I wouldn't have questioned the fact that he was a doctor.
"Looks like they're testing to make sure I didn't poison you with any chemicals on the knife," he slapped the chart shut and leaned heavily on the bed. "Would I do that to you?"
A little giggle popped out of my throat as I rearranged my rigid posture to turn and look at him, resting the side of my head on the pillow. I hoped not.
"Let's take a look," he reached for my left arm.
I was suddenly recalled to the days of toy doctor kits with plastic syringes, tangled string stethoscopes, and blood pressure cuffs that squeaked. Funny, how "playing doctor" used to have such an innocent connotation. Of course, it only felt like playing until the medical tape pulled at my skin and I saw the first bit of burgundy dried blood on the soft, white bandages. Then it was very, very serious. I recoiled, my arm suddenly stiff. Some strangled utterance escaped my mouth before I slapped my hand over it and squeezed my eyes shut.
"Shh, shh. It's okay. It's okay," he said as he gently kissed the tender skin.
His muttering was strangely soothing, though the curiosity on his face as more and more of the tape and gauze came off was not. To distract myself, I looked past his right shoulder at the many monitors. Little green lines were spiking everywhere to the tune of a thousand little beeps.
"Hey, uh..." I reached for his shoulder with my unscathed hand. The fingertips hardly touched the white fabric before I froze in embarrassment and indecision.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what name to call him by. "The Joker" seemed too impersonal; everyone referred to him as such. I began wondering if he had a real name. Seeing the conflicted expression on my face and seeming to understand why, his tongue flicked out of the corner of his mouth and he returned to the task of torturing my arm.
"You can call me 'the Joker' like everyone else," he said as he tugged at a particularly stubborn piece of tape.
"Oh." The noise was barely audible, but his eyes immediately flicked up to look at me.
"Perhaps 'Supreme Ruler of Everything,' then," he gave a little smirk. "Master? Sex Bomb? Mr. J?"
I tried not to picture Jay Manuel from America's Next Top Model when he said this. On any account, the green lines were settled back into a neat little rhythm and my fears were assuaged. But another rip of the tape saw to that. I gave a little scream this time.
"Come on. Just like taking off a band-aid," he mumbled, flapping his hand around in an attempt to dislodge the piece of tape stuck to his thumb.
"Just sit back," he pressed my shoulder to the pillow.
He grabbed for my arm again and I watched the little lines bounce around on the screen.
"A nurse isn't going to come running in here, right?" I panted. How much tape was on this thing?
"Nah, one's on a cigarette break and the other's in the medical supply closet with the x-ray technician," he said matter-of-factly, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "Now sit still, I'm almost done."
I laid my head back on the pillow and gritted my teeth, though it wasn't necessary.
"There," he said a moment later.
Despite my churning stomach, I sat up to look at his handiwork. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that. He had succeeded in freeing three sides of the bandage from my skin. The underside of the gauze was stained all sorts of horrible colors from a crusty brown to an oozy gold color. The cut, now a neat little set of stitches like a railroad track in miniature, curved from the heel of my hand to the top side of my forearm somewhere between my wrist and my elbow. I couldn't look at it for more than a few seconds without feeling queasy, so I sat back and let him examine it to his heart's content.
"Ooh," he pulled his lips back and made a hissing noise. "Really gotcha there, didn't I?"
"Yeah," I turned to look at his face as his eyes ran over the damage. "If I'm lucky, maybe I'll get a pretty scar."
He looked up at me with a strange expression on his face. I couldn't tell if he was pleased or appalled by this prospect. I could feel the edges of my lips turning upward as I reached out with my bum hand to lightly touch the scars on his mouth. His eyes dropped, breaking our gaze, and he slowly leaned into the touch, like a dog asking to be petted. My fingers trailed into his hair, combing the ratty green fibers away from his face as he buried it into the side of the itchy hospital mattress. He looked tired.
I could have stayed there like that for any length of time, just touching him, looking at him, having him near me. But fate had another plan for us. I looked up to see a nurse clad in pink scrubs peering through the glass door, a perplexed look on her face. I suppose it did look strange to her - a doctor stooped on the floor beside a patient's bed while she stroked his hair.
"Don't turn around," I hissed urgently.
"Huh?" he made a move to raise his head.
"Don't. Turn. Around," I tilted his face away from the door with my hand on the top of his head before quickly removing it. She was coming in.
"Doctor, is everything all right?" she stuck her head through the door and looked at him where he crouched on the floor.
"Ah, theeere you are!" he stood suddenly, holding a cotton swab aloft.
Quick thinker.
"Just changing Miss Hill's bandages here before I go home for the night," he gave the nurse a little dismissing wave with his hand.
She nodded slowly before deciding that nothing was amiss and backing out of the room.
"Good night, Dr. Marcel," she called as she walked briskly away down the hall.
He heaved a little sigh of relief before gently pressing the tape back onto my skin and smoothing the gauze. He placed a little kiss on my knuckles and threw a glance up to my face. I returned with a smile. His tongue then darted out to quickly moisten my skin before he pressed his lips more passionately to my hand. I slowly sat up and disentangled my legs from the thin sheets to throw my them over the side of the bed. I noticed now that I was dressed in a set of pale blue hospital pajamas, about five sizes too big.
"Where do you think you're going?" his eyes were suddenly open, giving me a disapproving glare.
"Uh... didn't you come here to take me away?" To sweep me off my feet? To take me in your arms and kiss me passionately?
"No, no, no," he pushed me gently back onto the mattress. "Not now. It's 2 AM. You need your rest."
"But..." I protested weakly as he pulled the covers up to my chin and bestowed a gentle kiss on my forehead.
"Sleep tight," was all he said as he turned to leave, switching the television and lights off as he went.
I could feel my face drooping, as if all the strings holding it in a happy position had been cut with his exit.
"Wait!" My call was faint, but he turned to look over his shoulder at me, one hand still on the door.
I looked around the dark hospital room. There was nothing comforting or soothing about it now. All sharp corners and stark medical cleanliness.
"I'm scared," I burrowed down under the staticky sheets and peered at him.
As I said this, his lips broke into a wide smile and he turned on his heels to approach me once more. A deep chuckle rose from his gut, turning into guffaw somewhere in his throat and finally into a cackle as it escaped his red grin. He fell into a chair beside the bed and grabbed for my hand, pressing my fingers to his face and forehead as he continued to convulse with laughter.
"You're scared? You're scared?" he said in an almost taunting manner as he stroked the back of my hand. "I just... burst out of an ice cream cone, fired a gun at you, cut your arm to ribbons, threatened you so you'd kiss me.... But that, all that was fine. Now... now you're scared."
He shook his head, hair softly wriggling back and forth around his face. I uncurled my hand; once more, my fingers reached out to caress his scars. My eyes slowly made their way up to his.
"Stay with me," I said sleepily, my eyelids weighted by drugs and trauma.
I knew that it was selfish of me to ask. I didn't know if he was off to carry out some elaborate heist right now. But in the same instant, I wondered where it was he went to sleep at night. Did he have a home? A bed? Surely he didn't live out of hotels - who would rent him a room? He sucked on his cheeks as he considered my offer.
"Sure," he said at length. "Move over."
I wriggled to the side of the bed as he removed his lab coat and threw it on the chair. He climbed onto the mattress, which squeaked and buckled under his weight. He lay on top of the sheets, his vibrant dress giving a much-needed splash of color to the decor. He settled his head on the pillow facing me and I was struck with how positively, innocently adorable he looked right then. I gave a little giggle and resisted the urge to cry "sleepover!"
"Shh," he ran a gentle hand through my hair.
His fingertips wandered to my eyelids, closing them gently and adding a kiss to seal them shut. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, drawing me to his chest.
"I won't tell the police about this," I said into the fabric of his shirt.
"I know you won't," the vibrations of his voice buzzed through my body.
Once more, silence filled the room. I wanted to talk to him, to spend this time getting to know him, but I knew that that was a dangerous line that I was treading. The more I knew, the more he had to be wary of me and worry if I might give him away. A weakness, a chip in his steadfast armor. I didn't want that. What I wanted was.... I opened my eyes to look at his beautiful face. The muscles were relaxed and serene, but his breathing had not yet become heavy and deep with sleep.
"Is this love?" I spat the words out. Id overriding the ego again.
"Hm?" his eyelids fluttered to half-mast.
"Is this love?" I clutched my fist to my chest. Beneath my hand, a horribly wrenching, yet oddly mystifying and intoxicating feeling ebbed and flowed as his face moved and caught little waves of emotion.
"For your sake, I hope not."
I thought that that was it. I closed my eyes and let him nestle his face into the crook of my neck. I was just beginning to drift off to sleep, his breathing a rhythmic lullaby, when there was a sharp pinch. His teeth contacted my flesh, a hot tongue darting out to smooth over the forming bruise while sucking lips coaxed it out. I forced my eyes open just in time to see him pulling his tie off of his neck and straddling my hips. The hospital bed creaked and groaned as my wrists were bound above my head by silky material. I gave a cry of joy as he ripped the blue hospital pajama blouse open. A button flew off and skittered along the floor.
A warm feeling spread through my chest as his fingers slipped over my skin, rough and untamed by tradition or societal standards. Pain blended with an happiness into an unspeakable pleasure. An evil cackle broke through the still air - his own brand of sweet nothings. I threw my head back and joined in his laughter as he ground his lower body against mine. Love? Ha! What claim did love have on this feeling?
{It was a very sappy chapter, yes. I was afraid of that. I said the L-O-V-E word. I very nearly stopped at the line "For your sake, I hope not." But I couldn't leave it like that. There hasn't been nearly enough steamy sex in this story. Is this an M-rated fic or is it not? And sex in a hospital is so delightfully taboo. I want to marry a handsome doctor soooo badly....}
Next Chapter: How about I screw with another sacred institution: prom!