I'm the fury in your head
I'm the fury in your bed
I'm the ghost in the back of your head
Spanish Sahara, Foals
The university is boring and Jonathan doesn't really get the time to himself that he thought he would. He is kept busy by the senior professors, every day he grades the papers of incompetent young people working away at a degree they'll probably never use. Half of them will change their minds or switch into law. It had interested him once, the justice system – or lack of. He had always paid attention to the news and legal proceedings, even once he had been called for jury duty. It wasn't a particularly interesting experience, a petty crime that didn't deserve the attention it got. But Jonathan observed the lawyers work away at presenting facts and lies to protect the pocket in which their pay came from.
It wasn't really his type of thing. Though he had to admit as a child, being a judge had been a silly dream of his. A strange dream, but not the strangest he's had.
Jonathan thinks of those kinds of things as he marks essays and tests. He learns about students by the mistakes that they make on the multiple choice and the things they jot down for the short answer questions. Most are very linear, their thought process simple and black and white. He is jealous sometimes.
But after the weeks go by and the semester picks up, he finds himself loaded with work, along with sitting in during lectures he's already heard before and now presenting his own teachings about six times a week. He hardly has time to spend with his little side project, and like usual, the longer he stays away from it, the more unruly he becomes.
By July his internship is half way over. There has been no promise of a job permanent job yet, so he refuses to slack off as the others do. He works hard with his head down and mind focused on articles and journals assigned. There are times he finds himself worried about the future; it's the human side to him that wants luxury and safety. He isn't sure exactly what that means, but as of right now he finds himself anxious at the thought of not being hired immediately after his semester at the university is over.
Jonathan knows stress; he can sense it coming from a mile away. And lately Maria has been that looming sign of strain on his already hectic life. She walks around their home as if she is dying. Yet she does not call him out, she knows how their relationship works, but still she refuses to seek refuge in his somewhat empty words.
Sometimes he thinks about leaving her. He wonders if that's what she fears the most.
After nearly falling asleep in the department office, while attempting to grade the last few remaining papers, he decides it is time to pack his things and go home. It's that evening he finds her crying in the shower. Jonathan trudges up the stairs tiredly to retrieve a sweater; he pauses in the middle of pulling an old black hoodie over his head. From inside his bedroom he can hear the shower running from the adjoining bathroom. Maria usually has a night class right about now.
It's only polite to let her know that he is home, so he knocks rhythmically on the door, waiting for her voice above the pouring water. But there is no reply, so he tries the knob, which is coincidently left unlocked. When Jonathan steps into the steamy tiled room he immediately turns his gaze to the foggy glass of the shower door, seeing her blurry silhouette sitting quietly within.
"Maria?" he calls pointedly.
Her knees are drawn up to her chest; he is reminded of Leanne from so very long ago. The way she curled into the foetal position, soaked in water and paralyzed by fear. Something inside of him stirs; a mixture of unease and excitement. He reaches out and slides the door open, crouching down to her eye level and scratching his chin in thought. She doesn't acknowledge him and he is exhausted with her selfishness, the way she allows her emotions to dictate how he should spend his time. Usually he would pretend he heard nothing and leave for a few hours or the rest of the night, but today he decides to end the self loathing he has most definitely nurtured. So he steps into the small shower space with her, quickly he is drenched in cold water. She must have been in there for at least hour already, with the way her fingertips appear pale and pruned. She doesn't look up at him when he joins her; instead she remains in such a pathetic position and continues to sob.
Kneeling before her, he places a comforting hand on her shoulder in an attempt of comfort. The sentiment is followed by words almost opposite to the intention; he holds her chin in his hand and points her face so they are staring each other in the eyes. His voice is as cold as the ice water showering on them. He gives a sad sigh and says, "Being depressed is an awful reason to waste hot water. Continue on your life like everyone else."
Her coffee coloured eyes blink at him in disbelief, her lips quiver either from the low temperature or from the sorrow she carries. Her voice is small, but he hears her say, "I...I've tried. But I cannot."
He kisses her on the forehead and says, "You will learn to."
With that he helps her up and begins to bathe her. The cool water washes over her petite frame as he uses a bath sponge to grind soap against her skin until the caramel tone is tinted pink. He is rough when washing her legs and stomach, then her breasts and neck. He makes his way to her arms, hesitating when he sees goose bumps on her skin. Her body is shivering against his, but he doesn't care. She has stopped crying now.
After he is done scrubbing her, he pulls off his clothes, with a bit of difficulty from already being completely soaked. His own flesh is freezing, so he wraps his arms around her and pulls them together. There is part of him that feels almost ashamed to be with her like this, in such a sensual way, with no ulterior motives other than to be warm.
He rubs her back with his arms and without a second thought he asks, "What do you fear?"
She looks up at him, her nose brushing his shoulder softly. Her eyes are lost. "I don't understand."
"Your fears? What keeps you up at night?" he asks again, this time he is desperate.
She is drawn to him like a moth to fire, so she continues, "I dream about my father...about his body in a coffin."
"Yes..."Jonathan murmurs into her ear. Now he raises his hands to her shoulders and gives her a light shake, "What else, Maria? Who are you afraid of?"
She closes her eyes tightly and takes a sharp breath, "You, Jonathan. You scare me more than anything. The way you can control and manipulate me. And how distant you are at times, like I'm not even sure who you are. But I...I love you."
She is like him in many ways, the way she cannot commit to hating him.
He's not sure when it happens, but during her little speech he finds himself very hard against her thigh. It may have been when she had said his name, or even when she had told him she loved him again. It wasn't very often she said those words to him. There was entitlement and pride, in some broken sense.
Quickly he brushes the hair that is matted to his forehead out of his eyes and moves his hands back to her body. This time not innocently. He squeezes her breast roughly and digs his fingers into the spaces in-between her ribs. Their kisses are long and he finds himself pressing his hand against the back of her head to swallow her entire mouth. He smirks when his fingers roam her, the way she moans his name as he cleans her, as he taints her.
"Jonathan please..."
He takes her then, with his pelvic muscles pulsing and his eyes clenched shut. And as he's thrusting violently inside of her, he doesn't even notice the water pouring from the showerhead. But then it becomes harder to breathe, he's panting for air and his lungs are heavy. The shower is full of thick fog. He breathes in and out slowly, it's so familiar.
Fear.
Suddenly Maria's body is seizing, he is reminded of Leanne again. Jonathan lets go of her hips and pulls away, and in almost slow motion she has slumped to the tile floor. Fallen and in sobs. He's not sure what to make of himself while all of this is going on. The lights begin to flicker and his toes and fingers go numb. There is discomfort in his chest and several other parts of his body. He wonders if he's having a heart attack.
He wants to cradle Maria in his arms. She's scratching her skin and shaking her head frantically. There's blood everywhere. Jonathan knows it's the toxin. He's done it, he's killed her. And where he should feel relief and pride, instead he feels grief. He begins to cry. This isn't what he wanted.
She looks to him with hollow eyes and cries out, "You did this!"
"No! Christ...no...I didn't want this...not you..." he chokes out as his heart gives out.
Then he wakes up.
His body is covered in a cold sweat. The sheets of the bed are thrown hazardously across his legs. He looks down at himself and sees he fell asleep in the clothes he'd worked in the night before. The only exception being the black hoodie he was wearing. Jonathan realizes he must have fallen asleep after putting it on.
For a moment he doesn't move, instead he tries to reset his brain back to its default functions. It's the first time he's had a dream like that, the first time he's woken up with wet cheeks from the thoughts of Maria tortured by his own hands. He wonders if it's an omen, if maybe he's not ready to use her. Maybe he can have her, and they can be together without the toxin. Without fear.
"Johnny, don't forget who you are. You're a monster."
He doesn't want to be that man anymore, but it's just who he is.
So he contemplates killing himself. Not the first time it's crossed his mind. Certainly he's attempted it before, in times of desperation. But he's never let him, and sometimes Jonathan thinks that the Scarecrow is his will to live. It's sad, but true.
He had always been a scared little boy.
When he finally can't stand to lie in solitude any longer, he gets up and makes his bed. There isn't any bother to brush his hair or even put on his glasses, he just heads downstairs to living room. There he finds her reading. She is wearing an oversized navy blue shirt and little cotton shorts, curled up in the corner of their couch; beautiful in a conventional sort of way. It's morning and the sunlight is beaming through the window blinds unto her body. She is so drawn into her book that she doesn't notice him staring.
He remembers how at first he had openly mocked her about the silliness in romance novels; he had once quoted a line to her while she had been cooking dinner. In a way he enjoyed the blush he could tease out of her ever, but then she started buying books in Spanish, so he couldn't read them over her shoulder. Jonathan finds it amusing almost, the way Maria becomes so enthralled with her books, and how she folds the corners to bookmark her page.
Each of his books are left in mint condition, without a bend, fold, stain or blemish. There is no way with his neurotic orderliness can allow Jonathan to mindlessly destroy his own things. He has bought Maria at least a dozen bookmarks so she would refrain from messing up her own novels; she had thought it a sweet sentimental gift. In actuality it just killed him to walk by a book an inch and a half thicker than it should be, with little triangles of paper sticking out inside of the pages.
But he does note how she loves to read. She seems to be in her own little world, one he sometimes wouldn't mind being a part of.
He tries to humour himself and sits next to her on the couch. She looks up at him with a shy grin and goes to dog ear her page so she can turn her full attention to him. But instead her just drums a couple fingers against her leg and greets, "Good morning."
Maria puts her bookmark in-between the pages she's reading and places the book on the busy coffee table. Various notes and articles of Jonathan's are places neatly in organized piles upon the surface, he reminds himself to put away his things later.
After putting her book away she reaches towards the ceiling and stretches her arms, resembling a cat almost. The she says, "Good morning to you too."
Jonathan yawns, "Did you already have coffee?"
"I just went out to the cafe on 27th. Your coffee is in the kitchen, it's probably still hot." She replies while unfolding her legs from underneath her. Then she looks to him with a look of concern, "Did you hear about Max?"
It takes almost all of Jonathan's will power not to break his stoic expression.
He shakes his head, "The guy from that party ages ago? No...what happened?"
"I heard he overdosed last weekend at that bar you went to! You didn't see anything?" she asks with worry.
"No I left early, remember?" Jonathan lies elegantly, "I didn't know the guy was into that sort of stuff...not much of surprise considering the drug rate in Gotham."
Maria nods, "I guess so...I just feel so bad, apparently he locked himself in the washroom and almost choked on his own vomit. I'm not even sure what he was on."
There's a crack in the back wall of the living room, Jonathan considers the cost of repainting the small house. The colour is a bland off white, he thinks about a taupe, creamy and dark. He also entertains the idea of a rich navy blue to go with crisp white trim. The work would be tedious; he's never pegged himself as a home renovation sort of guy. But the bloody crack in the wall has been bothering him since he's moved in.
"...Jonathan?" Maria's voice brings him out of his thoughts of colours and tones.
"Sorry, must have zoned out...I'm feeling a bit tired lately." He answers semi-honestly, truth being he just lost interest in the topic of Max Stewart and his obsessive compulsive disorder had just taken over. Jonathan changes the subject and picks up the Spanish romance novel that Maria had been reading, "What's this one about?"
She looks to him with a slightly bewildered expression. "Sorry?"
"Other than the pages upon pages of misleading erotica." He says with a soft laugh, sweeping his thumb across the smooth skin of her calf.
The corners of her mouth twitch upwards and she taps the front page of the romance novel, "The plot? I didn't know you were interested in such things."
He raises a brow, "I am always interested in how a story reaches its climax."
This time she dismisses his advancements, but he can see her eyes brighten for the first time in quite a while. He realizes that sometimes he has to give a little; sometimes she needs him to be a little normal. Maria turns her attention back to her book and reads out loud.
"She had considered that she was terrified of him, afraid to love him, to lose everything to him. But now she understood that her fear was the driving force, what allowed her to find a false escape in him, regardless of what occurred in the outside world. It was what kept them going. The fear of loss."
He just can't catch a break.
"What a strange theme for a book about sex..." he muses out loud, though his blood has already ran cold.
She places it on the coffee table and captures his fingers in hers, "How else do you think I become so inspired?"
He mocks a hurt look, while clutching at the middle of his chest, "I thought it was all me."
"But it is, Jonathan." She replies softly, pausing to change her sitting position and finally crawling into his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck and smiles, "It always is."
He had always been a scared little boy.
It's not soon after that Maria gets another prescription for anti-depressants and anxiety drugs. He already knows the side effects and precautions of the simple medicine. Of course he knew, he had been an avid user back in his teens, before he knew how to control it. He is not surprised when she becomes quieter, now not bothering to take her morning jog or to eat as often as she should. She becomes void, and numb to all other emotions. Jonathan knows she is weak.
She cries a lot lately.
One night he coaxes her into dinner at a restaurant. Usually they can't afford to go out, but with his internship at the Gotham University as a teaching assistant, he decides to celebrate being one step closer to fulfilling his goal. And because a small part of him is trying to be better. Because he will owe her that.
He sits on the edge of his bed quietly waiting for her to exit the bathroom. During this time he has three things on his mind, he wonders if he should get an oil change for his car soon and whether or not he feels like oriental food or pasta for dinner. The third thought he has, is silenced for the most part. He thinks about his plans with Maria, he is procrastinating.
The voices in his head don't really bother him lately. Instead of the screaming and ticking and buzzing he could faintly make out at odd hours of the night, he hears Maria's breathing and the sounds of cars outside his window. But he's still there. Even though he doesn't say it, he still wants her.
Jonathan knows this already, but he thinks to himself in a series of words and sentence fragments that don't quite make sense. There is conflict at the core of his motives; he isn't sure if Maria will die soon, or whether or not he can still stand to gas her. It's almost revolting to think of her writhing in pain and anguish, and yet it's all he thinks about.
She exits their bathroom all made up and ready to go. Her hair is pulled back into a pretty bun and her makeup is light, but he notices that the bags under her eyes seem to be lighter than usual. She wears dark red lipstick, something she only does for occasion and little black dress with criss-crossed straps in the back.
"You look very nice." His flattering remarks are so casual one would almost not register the compliment immediately.
Her mouth hangs open for a second; he likes the way her lips are stained red. Jonathan can count the compliments he's given her on one hand in the last several months that they have been together.
"Thank you, you look very nice yourself." She replies quickly.
He licks his bottom lip and brushes his hair out of his eyes, "Well I've heard I clean up quite well."
"It looks as if you want a haircut though." She gives a half smile; he catches the light taunt in her tone.
He shrugs and holds her hand, "And rob you of your favourite play thing? I think not."
Months ago she would have laughed. Instead she squeezes his palm softly.
Dinner is quiet. Not in an awkward way, but in a sort of silent agreement to enjoy the Thai meal that they don't often get to experience. Maria doesn't look up from her chicken stir fry, she is precise as she plays around with her food, and Jonathan knows she is forcing herself to eat. She does however drink the red wine with ease, and he joins her in-between bites of his pad Thai, stealing the occasional glance at her.
It's about ten minutes into their meal before she finally says, "If you're going to keep looking at me without saying anything I might think to call you creepy."
His mouth stretch into a wide grin and he replies jokingly, "But I love the way you eat!"
She beams, and Jonathan is sickened by the butterflies in his stomach at the sight of her. She takes a purposeful bite of broccoli and chews it with exaggerated appreciation, even adding a barely audible moan and rolling her eyes back for extra measure.
"Ohh baby..." he purrs in tease.
She lifts an eyebrow at him in confusion and he laughs out loud; it's strange to hear the sound come from his own mouth. The way his diaphragm moves and his lungs inflate and deflate with air. Such a foreign feeling. And Maria nearly chokes from giggling when she recovers from the embarrassment. The sound is twinkly and sweet, and Jonathan is happy to see her cheered up by his own efforts.
Maria smiles at him and says "You're crazy you know that?"
Very seriously he answers, "Absolutely insane."
It's hard to handle a relationship with a man and his multiple personalities, that's why Jonathan is so patient with Maria's constant battle with her emotions, because in a way he obligated to understand.
A couple minutes later she puts down her fork and states, "You never call me baby."
"Would you rather I did?" he questions, studying her thought process that she easily projects by her facial expressions. He of course never would stoop as low as little nicknames that normal couples seem to find necessary. They aren't a normal couple.
She thinks for a second and then answers, "No. "
He gives her an obnoxious closed lip smile and then takes another bite of chicken.
There's a faint blush on her cheeks and she looks down at her plate before saying quietly, "I know what you're trying to do, Jonathan."
He ignores her completely and reaches for the wine bottle, "More?"
"No." She states sternly, now her emotions unfolding from the reserved packed away spot they had been stored in. She rubs her temple almost in exhaust, "You don't need to do this. It isn't you."
He's downs the rest of his wine and licks his lips.
"Maria. I just want you to know I care." He replies, and he almost can't believe himself. So instead he pauses and takes a calm breath before saying, "I'm trying."
"I know you are!" she exclaims loudly, catching the attention of the couple sitting a few tables over. Her posture relaxes and she bites her lip sheepishly before turning to the strangers and apologizing. Then she looks back at Jonathan, who seems all too observant in her sudden outburst. Maria swallows, "You're not yourself. And I know I'm not myself either...but I'm more myself than you are right now."
He raises an eyebrow, "You're not making sense."
But he knows exactly what she means.
She picks up the napkin lying in her lap and places it on her half finished meal. With a remorseful look she gets up and apologizes, "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."
And then she leaves the restaurant.
Jonathan tosses his napkin into his plate and growls out, "Well what the fuck?"
The weekend ends and Jonathan is still in a state of numbness. It's been two days and he still hasn't heard from Maria. The previous nights had gone by and part of him wasn't surprised to find her missing when he arrived home. Even after that, when he was sure she would return the next day, he did not sleep at all during the night. Saturday passed as well; and he glanced at his phone at least forty-two times but refused to make any sort of attempt at communications with her. He would not feed this childish tantrum she threw. It was not his fault that she could not accept his kindness as genuine, regardless of his true motives, whatever they may be.
But then Sunday comes, and when he hears the knocking on his door, Jonathan feels his heart almost stop. He opens it expecting Maria, but instead is met with her ex roommate. The fact that she had sent Danielle over to pick up some things completely outrages him. But he says nothing, though livid, Jonathan Crane knows which battles were worth the fight.
He rubs at the scarred tissue next to his collar bone and knows.
"She'll be back."
To my readers who have remained so patient and supporting, thank you so much. I'm trying to continue writing, but it would seem as if my brain is only functioning within very short but productive periods of time. Don't worry, the story isn't over yet, not for quite a while.
And seriously, if you're feeling a bit conflicted about this chapter, understand two things: that if you squint you can see it centers around Maria, battling depression and dealing with dating a rather dysfunctional person, but seen from the perspective of Jonathan. And that the next couple chapters to follow are very different in how they move the plot, my hint being think Batman Begins.
Anyways, like usual if you have any input, questions or just want to say how you felt then feel free to review. Thank you!