CONFINED SPACES

Finally, I arrived at the entrance. The officer opened the door and forced me to walk inside. I didn't want to, and I could easily run away and kill this idiot but I decided to comply...for now anyway. Might be more interesting this way.

There was a reception area which was half covered in bars.

I guess it was so I couldn't slap the bitch behind the counter.

I stood there whilst they examined my pockets.

"One baseball bat, recovered from the back of the police car 'Good Night' written on it, oak. Clearly evidence of blood on the wood finish. One handheld gun, no bullets. Oh no surprise, some bullets. A playing card with 'The Joker' written all over it. And finally, a pocket knife...retractable blade with blood stained on the metal." the woman behind the counter said, whilst examining every item closely.

The guard confiscated everything. Everything. An orange prisoner uniform was shoved in my general direction. Yeah, as if I was going to change into this. I refused to take it.

"Alright, you want to do this the hard way, Quinn?" he asked me angrily.

"You bet your sorry ass I do!" I grated my teeth towards the guard threatening me.

He wasn't a happy bunny.

One more guard came and assisted the officer to carry me against my will. I was struggling and kicking and screaming but it didn't do anything.

"You better not ruin my stuff! I have rights!" I tried shouting at the top of my lungs.

The two guards opened a door and pushed me inside, shutting it behind me.

"Please, take a seat" a female voice said. She looked professional. I reluctantly sat in the chair, crossing my legs. "Welcome to your first session, Miss Quinn"

"And who are you? My lawyer? My cell mate?" I asked sarcastically.

"Your therapist"

"Oh you have got to be kiddin' me..." I rolled my eyes.

Therapist? Now that's just too funny. That's good, that's really good. This has so much irony I should just go ahead and walk over to Arkham Asylum.

"Would you mind if I record this for medical reference?"

"Sure, go ahead. I don't care anymore."

I literally didn't care anymore.

The 'therapist' pressed a button on a small device to begin recording.

"Session one:

Patient 03746 is Harleen Quinzel, takes on alias of Harley Quinn. Harley used to be a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum.

Known associates: The Joker, Catwoman, Poison Ivy.

Gender: Female

Eye colour: Blue

Hair colour: Blonde (dyed)

Average height and weight, fit and healthy.

Body shows no evidential scarring or damage."

The little voice in my head just broke out instead of being my thoughts, it was so strong that I was actually hearing a voice inside my head. And not just thoughts, or insane thoughts. An actual voice. This was real, I was in prison. And possibly even going to be transferred to Arkham.

Harley, you know what you want to do?

You want to stay in prison, forget about The Joker. He doesn't love you anymore. Or, alternatively make everyone believe you're really insane, then you'll get transferred to Arkham.

"Why the hell would I want to do that!" I shouted at myself.

My therapist looked at me.

"Is something wrong, Miss Quinn?"

"Oh call me Harley, everyone does"

"Is something wrong, Harley?"

"No, mind your own damn business lady!"

"You look like you're going through a lot, why don't you tell me about what you're feeling? I'm here to help"

That line 'i'm here to help' just reminded me of my past. I'm not that person anymore but it was like a trigger in my brain. I hated it.

C'mon Harley, she's here to help. You know you need it. God damn look at your messy ass, right state you are hahaha!

"SHUT UP!" I screamed, shaking my head violently.

"Harley? Who are you talking to?" I didn't answer. "Please, talk to me"

"The only thing I'm gonna say to you is get the hell out of my way before I shove this down your throat!" I held up a knife.

How did I get the knife? They missed the one I always keep hidden in my bra. Tehehe.

You're such a sick little girl. Don't you want to show everyone just how strong you are? You don't need 'Mister J' why would you ever need someone to tell you about how powerful you are? Heck you could take over the entire Arkham Asylum in one day. I bet you want to. Nah, I know you want to. Go on, give this dog a bone...answer her questions, get shoved in a cell and rot. Or, take action and escape.

"Will you leave me alone!" I shouted.

The psychiatric professional seemed concerned at my random shouting. Understandably so, but I didn't want her opinion on how 'sick' I was.

"Don't call me sick! I'm not sick!" "You better tell ya boss I'm not sick so I can go back to my puddin!"

But he doesn't love you. Face it, he abandoned you and left you to rot in this god forsaken prison. If he loved you, wouldn't he at least send you a gift?

"I understand you're upset, you're feeling lost, empty. But it's alright, we can help you. Please...don't get yourself into anymore trouble. Don't become the person that was made. Be the person that you are."

"This is who I am" I said, smiling whilst moving close to the psychiatrist with the knife in my hand.

She panicked. I could see her fear, and like Mistah J... I loved it.

"Harley...please...please don't."

She tried to call for help but the line had been disconnected from her radio communications device. She was stuck in here with me.

And I was going to kill her.

"Don't beg, any sympathy I had has already gon'! You don't understand do ya? You all try and help us but ya don't actually help! You poke around in our brains sure but that's not helpin'! It never helped! It didn't help me! And it certainly won't help you..." I get her by the scruff of her neck and put the blade close to her skin. "How does it feel? Being close ta death? I betcha feel right cozy now don't ya!"

"Harley...Let me go, this isn't going to change anything. This won't change what's happened. Your past was unfortunate...I-I get that, but you've got to understand I'm here for your benefit. Please...let me help you, i'll even make you a promise. I promise that I will help you through this tough time, and that you will not be treated as a criminal. But as my patient, I will make sure you're not in a cell, you can come and go as you please to my sessions. But I think you know the right thing to do."

Kill her! Go on!

You know you want to, stop denying it.

Prove to this bitch that you're capable of killing. Make her fear you.

"But why would I?" I asked myself.

Because The Joker wants you to do it.

That name was like poison in my brain now. Enough was enough.

"No! I don't take orders anymore! This woman don't deserve ta die..."

I moved the knife away from her neck and threw it at the wall behind me. Angrily, I held my head in my hands and sat on the chair near the desk. It took her a few minutes to realize that I had just spared her pathetic life. For no reason but mercy.

I'm not a murderer.

She composed herself and then sat back down at the desk. She rubbed her hand on her face and began...peeling off her face?

Oh shit...Oh shit... I grabbed the knife which was still in the wall and got up from my chair, the chair fell backwards.

"Tada!" After 'she' revealed her actual identity my heart pulsated quickly and violently in my chest. "I was with you until you didn't kill her, Harley. I'm disappointed...truly I am. And I think you'll find you do take orders, my dear. And you'll keep taking orders if you don't want your pretty face to be covered in scars and bruises. Understand?"

"Yes sir" I said nervously, dropping the knife.

Praying he wasn't going to kill me.

Somehow...it was The Joker.