Chapter 7:

My father shook his head quietly.

"Good sugar pop. Now before we play our finally game, I like to say thanks for teaching me so much doll face; having the constant pressure to be perfect and agility in gymnastics, teaching me how to use a loaded gun, and to not blink an eye when it comes to violence. I'm more dangerous now than ever." My gloved hands went over to the draw pulling out two guns. Turning away from him I said cheery, "Now don't do anything stupid or else I'll have to blow your brains out. And we would want more of a mess," My body turned back to him and said, "Would we pumpkin?" I cracked up at my sick joke.

My father lips pressed together as Harley explained, "I have two guns for you, and one holds a bullet while the other nothing. You pick a gun and put it against your head. If it's empty, you're free to go and I have to shoot my own head. But if you chose wrong, well, the game will be over for good." Holding out two guns, I made him pick with shaking hands and said mocking, "You sure?" His wide eyes look at me with uncertainty.

Taking the gun I favored and had been threaten him with the whole time, I pointed directly at his head. I said, "You first daddy."

The gun shook violently as it finally pressed to his head. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Oh snookums, Harleen never lies," I said with glee. "If you don't pull it, I'll kill you. At least with this other way, you have a chance to live."

Closing his eyes, he finally pulled the trigger back and he lost. "Oh shucks. The games are over." Smiling at my dead father, I pulled out a bullet from the other gun destine for me. "So stupid. I never said Harley didn't lie."

Waking up in a heavy sweat, I jolted up feeling my heart rapidly throbbing into my chest. Why was I having these terrible nightmares? Did these things happen actually happen? I was so confused. But I was reassured after the cops investigation they had no evidence that I could be the murder. No instead, they ruled it out to be a drug/gambling related issue. Still why did I have theses detailed dreams of how I knew what happened? I had to be crazy now. Because in the back of my mind, there was only one person I felt that could understand me. And his name was the Joker.

Slipping away from Jared in bed, I nervously got dressed for work. It seemed too hard for me to concentrate as my mind kept buzzing around with thoughts. I had to talk to the Joker. I need his guidance because I just knew he wouldn't judge me. How could a crazy person criticize another one showing signs of losing it? Right? I thought clouded with confusion.

When I finally arrived at work, I already had my goal and as usually I did my routine in my office. Well, besides hacking into the system and re-running the Joker's footage. It wasn't till lunch time was around, that I accidently bumped in to security guard named Kenny, that I knew would be taking his unofficial break again. As I apologized, I slipped the access key into my pocket easily and strolled quietly to room 5653.

As I stepped into his room, I believe the Joker was more astonish and curious to see me on his own turf. I smiled a bit knowing it's hard to surprise a genius. "Harley, what did I do to have the honor of your arrival since you've been fired to see me?"

Yes, curiosity definitely was eating him up knowing I was breaking rules to see him. See him alone. With no guards. Or anyone knowing my whereabouts. Like I said before I didn't feel like myself. Moving further into the room, I asked, "Who was your first kill?" I paused as his head titled and I added, "What did it make you feel?"

His mind was reeling to figure me out. Could he believe me to be a murder? "I've killed a lot of people my dear. It's kind of blur by so many. Do you mean my first bank kills, first cop kills, first druggie kills, first prostitute kills, or first kill of teen nuisances?" His ice blue eyes that thrilled me, never dropped away from me. He circled my body around and asked, "Or do you mean when I was younger? I killed my pet by accident." His eye brow rose trying to fish a hint out of me.

The Joker's face went darker as he studied my soul. "I had killed my own mother." My lips parted and I could feel my face blanch color away. Feathering his fingers over my face, my heart fluttered. He murmured in admire, "The tone of your skin is so much like ivory." I am his, eating anything out of his palm.

My lips whispered, "How?"

The Joker smiled at giving his wisdom, "My mother wasn't a woman you could say would get the mother of the year award. Instead of loving me, like I should have been, I became her punch bag. Pushing me and pushing me. Telling me what I couldn't do. Later on I beat her to the punch." He chuckled at his joke and I smirked a bit.

My hand traced my collar bone to where the scarring burn laid sore. He did deserve it, I thought back to the actions of my father. The Joker was in front of me and moved my collar shirt away a bit. I didn't stop him. I wanted him to know I felt his pain. His eyes stared at the burn with foreign emotions swirling in his eyes. Resentful for sure. Flabbergast was another. But the last emotion I couldn't tell. His lips pressed together before saying, "Abuse is a strong issue with me."

Yes the abuse had taken a toll on me. I had been turn into a careful creature of habit, a person that got anxiety by a slight change in my routine, or emotionally I withdrew away from an uncontrollable situation. For so long I had felt weak and hated myself. Always trying to prove my father wrong and gain his acceptance. God, I still hated the woman I become. But the woman in my dreams, crazy in her way, was the opposite of me. Strong, happy, and free. Did he feel the same?

"No, I mean how did it feel?"

The Joker traced his finger from my collar bone to my bruised shoulder. A shiver of pleasure threatened to be released. He replied, "When she died, I had peace and quiet."

Getting up to leave the cell, I stopped when hearing my Joker added, "Harleen, I never hurt you intentionally, though to be honest, I am dangerous. I will hurt you. Psychotic fits of yelling and hitting are a part of me. But know it baby, I never do it intentionally."

I glanced back into his sincere eyes and I asked, "Why Harley? Why do you have a connection to this word? Did you know someone named that?"

The Joker seemed puzzled by my twist in thought, "Always curious questions. I don't know? Hmm…a troubling question, I never notice I had an attachment to it." He began to chuckle, "I guess I like it. You are just my Harley."

For the first time in my life, I wasn't furious to hear the name like I was throughout my childhood. How two girls would constantly pick at me for being poor and smart. Now that I look back at it with my training I say she was out lashing from probably her own abuse. They called my life a joke. I was the Harley, the Harlequin of the school.

I smiled as my stomach fluttered butterflies. I really like the way he called me his Harley.