AN: I know that it's been a while, guys. I'm really sorry my uploads aren't frequent, or on time, or long.
I'm honestly just feeling very lost and unmotivated. I know that there are a lot of great stories for Dark Knight and Ledger's Joker, but I've just kinda' lost my passion for the characters. I'm trying to find it again because I'll never not appreciate Ledger's work or writing in general. I'm just having trouble with appreciating my writing.
Just so you know, I'm probably gonna' go back and begin rewriting, "Don't You Remember?", and eventually this as well. I'm not going to be making any huge changes with DYR?, but I probably will tweak a few things and a lot of the chapters will likely be longer.
I wouldn't really count on weekly or monthly updates, but I will eventually get it out there.
August 22, 2009
Her cheekbone aches from the pressure it holds against the cold, dirty floor. Juniper can taste the dried blood in her mouth, cracking against the inside of her cheeks. When her tongue slides against the surface of her teeth she can feel that they are covered in a thin, pink film of blood. She spits the taste away before she ever opens her eyes. There are various bones in her body, crushed beneath her own weight, that she was unaware could be bruised before now. She was unconscious at the time, but her tender flesh that makes contact with the floor tells her that she was likely tossed or had fallen to the ground. And, now, she's in the middle of a dark room that smells of vomit. Juniper can't see past her hands, but there's a dripping sound somewhere off in the distance that lets her know that the room is bigger than it seems.
She hasn't forgotten anything, she didn't wake up with a few short minutes of false security. Juniper woke up feeling as though she were never asleep. She awoke knowing that she was going to die. Sooner or later. Today or tomorrow, maybe even the tomorrow after that.
The muscles in her arms spasm out of control when she leans on them to lift herself up and something close to the area of her ribcage pops with the movement, unwinding in her skin. But, Juniper manages to scoot against the wall behind her before the appendages completely give out. Her head falls back toward the wall, feeling much heavier than it should. Typically she would call out to her captor if her throat didn't feel like it had been rinsed with acid and her body didn't feel like it had housed dozens of bullets. She doesn't even seem to have the energy to keep her eyes open long enough to identify her surroundings. They won't focus.
Instead, she decides to wait. That's in her capability. It isn't as though she has another choice, besides bleeding out from the weeping wound at her side that she's only just become conscious of. Juniper can't get past the rapid beating of her heart to acknowledge it, though. Her legs tingle, like little spiders are crawling up and down them in sync. She wants to knock the feeling away but her arms feel like cinder blocks, so she stops trying to lift them before she ever starts.
The air around her hums from the wiring of nearby fluorescent lighting, but the room she's in remains lifeless and dark. Her only company is the sound of the leaky faucet. There's a doorway not five feet from her. She knows it's there because she can see the light pooling beneath it, teasing her with its dim edges that tickle the tip of her shoes but reach no further. It could be so simple. All she has to do is get up and walk out. There's no lock, it's as easy as turning the handle. The tips of her fingers can only twitch at the thought.
A whooshing sound fills her head and it reminds her of the beach that she used to go to almost every single Summer with her grandfather.
The sun and the clear sky, the fresh breeze filling her senses, and the rapid rhythm of her heart. She can feel it, see it, now.
Sitting on the shore, collecting sea shells in a bucket with the taste of salt on her tongue. Seagulls flying over her head, their wings fighting against the wind, and feathers floating toward the ground. The gritty sand beneath her toes burns when it touches the cuts from broken shells. But, she doesn't mind.
It smells like tanning oil and summertime. There are palm trees everywhere.
Her heart is pounding, throbbing in her ears.
Perhaps it's excitement, she's always loved the beach. How had she gotten here, again? Why does her body ache like it's been fighting against the current for days on end?
But-it doesn't matter anyway, she supposes. A hand touches the string holding the bottom of her bathing suit together, it's familiar so she doesn't mind. It must be cold, though. Because she's freezing. Shivering, just like the surface of the foamy ocean water.
Juniper doesn't know when he got here. Or how.. not even why. That doesn't matter, either, she thinks. Because he is. And his hands feel so nice against her skin. She wants him. She always has. Maybe he'll let her have him here, wherever here is.
"Joo-ny." His voice sounds odd, but his touch is nice. She won't stop him, still. No.
"Juniper." Her skin prickles unpleasantly at the distortion this time. He sounds angry. Why is he yelling at her? What's she done now?
"Juniper." The ocean turns red, like blood… it's rushing at her in an unnatural way. Like it's going to eat her alive. She finds herself giggling uncontrollably, because, how will it without a mouth?
"Wake. Up. Juniper." The ocean's going to get her before Jack ever does.
And where has he gone? She can still feel his fingers, but they dig into her skin. Her heart feels like a black hole in her chest, devouring everything inside of her it can reach. Whether it's sorrow or mourning, she can't tell.
How can you mourn someone when they're standing right next to you?
"I said. Wake. Up." She never wants to, again. But, she's never been able to deny him anything.
Not when he sounds so lost.
…
His calloused fingertips scrape her face, pulling and pushing in every which way, until he gets her to open her eyes. They flutter at first before opening to see his unclear outline that towers over her. A mix of white, black, and red. They won't focus on him as a whole, rather only his nose, his left scar, and right. Sometimes just his mouth, or the line marring his bottom lip that she wants to taste.
Juniper can't seem to grasp anything as it is, she can only pluck out the details and combine them to the best of her capability. Her body hurts, she knows that much. But, she can only feel the throb of her temples at once, and when she loses that detail she can feel the blood pooling out of her side like a broken spigot, and his hand pressing into the wound to slow it. She feels her lungs crack when she inhales and then she feels her lips smile when they part to breathe his name.
"Jack."
"What?" She isn't offended when he hisses out the word out at her, because she can tell from the tilt of his frown that he's panicking, at least a bit. That, and she expects it from him by now.
She also doesn't protest when he lifts her into the stained tub. She only notes that they're definitely in a bathroom and that he carries her like he would his bride rather than by the tangle of her hair.
His hair is pulled to the nape of his neck, tied with a band. Like he used to wear it when they were young. It's not blonde anymore, but she recognizes the stray curl that falls into his brown eyes. The eyes that burn with concentration as he gathers a kit and begins to stitch her back together.
Like a little rag doll that he uses as he sees fit. Juniper wonders if all she's ever been to him was a toy. And she also wonders why she doesn't mind nearly as much as she should. But, then his wide smile flashes beneath the comfort of her closed eyelids, and she thinks of how she used to watch him. The way his skin glowed a lovely olive hue as he mowed the grass in his front yard. She remembers staring a bit too long, memorizing the spread of his freckles, and lazing around her childhood home as they listened to the radio.
She remembers Jack and she curses his name for remembering her.
The needle shreds through her skin as it pieces her back together. She's fading out of consciousness again when she finishes the sentence she never got to start.
"I'm sorry."
