"Mom," Susan said, staring at the red stains on her legs. Her mother, slender and beautiful, as well as dying, kneeled before her with a blood-stained gun in her weak arms. "Mom!" she screamed, racing to catch her mother as her weakening corpse slowly started to fall towards the ground. Barely catching her seconds before her mother could meet the ground, Susan buried her head into her mother's chest and began to cry. "What've you done!"
From behind, she could hear her father weeping as well. His wife had shot herself with the only source of protection they had. She killed herself.
"S...,"spoke Susan's mother, barely able to speak. "...Susan..."
"Mom!" Susan screamed, shaking her mother's dying body. "What are you doing! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"
Suddenly, with all the power inside her body, she began to scream. She couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take anymore of the life she'd been given. She was going to lose her mother.
"Susan," her mother said, more clearly than before. "I love you."
"FUCK YOU!" She screamed, pushing her mother away from her. "FUCK YOU!"
"Baby," her mother spoke, more soft than before. "Just...be happy. It'll be okay."
With that, her mother released the gun in her hand and faded away into oblivion. She was dead, dead to the world, to Susan, and herself. She was gone forever. Susan couldn't believe it.
"NO!"
She wasn't happy.
No...
No...
No...
Gasping, I quickly sat my body up, sweat drenching my face. That dream again. Why did I have dream about her again, especially about that day? The dream was enough to make me want to cry.
Looking towards the windows of the building, I noticed that tomorrow had come and gone. The darkness had risen once more. As I turned my face towards Jack's direction, the pain in my body returned. It wasn't as bad as before, but it still hurt, just enough to make me feel useless. Surprisingly, Jack was still asleep, still sleeping like a psychotic baby.
While he slept, I notice how beautiful he actually was. It was dark, but I was close enough to barely make out his face. He still wore his make-up, still kept his image as the Joker quite obvious. He wasn't as ugly as the people of Gotham believed. Sleeping, he seemed human. He seemed as normal as any citizen in this lovely city. He was human. They could call him a monster, but they could never escape his humanity. He was them, and they were him. They were the same. All humans were alike.
"Jack," I whispered, my heart skipping a beat as I stared into his tormenting eyes. "What's behind those scars of yours?"
I wanted to know him, more than I'd ever wanted to know anyone else. I'd only known him for a short while, not even an entire day, but I felt as though we connected in that holding cell. I felt his heart beat, felt how lively his character was and how beautiful he was then. His eyes were illuminating.
"Jack," I whispered again, sighing into myself. "Who are you?"
Suddenly, he opened his eyes, his body directed towards me, as well as his face. A smile adorned his face as he took in a deep breath. Then, noticing the sweat on my face, he smiled, somewhat concerned with the dream I had. Actually, he looked enthralled, as I'd had a dream about fucking him senseless. Perhaps that was the reason, but he still seemed to care. I'll take whatever I can get.
"Why are you all…" he wiped some of the sweat away from my forehead. "…hot and steamy?"
"Uh," I said, slightly embarrassed by the way he had touched me. "It was a bad dream."
It was a bad dream. I couldn't get past the fact that I actually had that dream again. I shut those memories out of my head years ago, and now they choose to waltz back into my life as if nothing had ever happened. I hate my life…I hate memories, especially the bad ones.
"A nightmare," Jack said, his interest in my dream rising. "What happened in this dream of yours?"
I didn't want to tell him, but the part that yearned for something more than invisibility, overpowered my mind. I had to tell him. I had to tell him everything, regardless of how little we knew of each other. For some reason, I felt as though he deserved to know about my life as much as I deserved to know about his. He probably wouldn't tell me much, probably make up a story about how he got his scars, but I felt as though I deserved to know something. After all, he did ask me to follow him.
"My mother," I began, ready to explode. I had to tell him. "My dream was of the day when the gun killed her. There was so much blood. I could only scream at her. The girl inside my mind kept asking her, "Why did you do this to me? Why did you do this?" the girl inside my mind hated her."
The interest in his eyes faded away, replaced then with the sympathy he'd given me earlier. I'd seen his caring side, or at least the side that shows something emotion. Somehow, he related with me. My past had something to do with that. Why else would he care? Surely, he couldn't care about me. I'm just a girl living a lie.
"My father was a drunk," he began, his face as serious as I'd ever seen it. "He was a drinker and a fiend. He'd beat "mommy" right in front of me. One night, he goes off crazier than usual, and "mommy" gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. Then he turns to me and say's "Why so Serious?" he comes at me with the knife and says it again. 'Why so serious?' He put a smile on my face."
It was such a horrible story. How could anyone be that cruel. At least I knew how he got his scars. His father did it. Like me, he'd lost his family as well. We we're both alone. All we had was each other. I never knew this could happen to a person like him, and by his father of all people. Touching his cheek, I slowly moved my hand towards one of the scars on his mouth, whimpering as I did so.
"Is he dead?" I asked, hoping to receive an honest answer.
"He," Jack began, nodding his head. "Was the first person I killed."
"Good," I added, agreeing with him. "He deserved it."
We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. We were both lost in each other's eyes. He pitied me because of past I had, because of how similar it was to his. Still, I knew there wasn't room in his chest for a heart. He'd lost that they day he killed his father, as well as his love for people. He simply did things for himself without lying about how selfish he was. He did whatever he wanted.
"Jack," I said, afraid of the reaction I'd get for using his name.
"Susan?" he asked. "What is it?"
"I'm sorry."
He nodded his head.
"So am I."
Slowly, Jack moved towards my face and placed his lips against mine. What was happening? Why would he kiss me? We just met? These types of relationships were meant for the movies and poorly written screenplays. Why would he kiss me? I'm not worth the effort. Shocked, I moved away from him.
"Don't," I said, shaking my head in fear. "Don't kiss me. I'm not worth it."
Examining my face, tracing his fingers around my lips, he laughed and kissed my forehead. "Susan," he began. "I don't even know what I'm doing. I felt like kissing you, so I did it. Fucking sue me."
So, he did it because he felt like kissing my unlovable lips. He didn't feel anything. He simply did what felt like doing. It was the only thing he knew, to do what he felt and enjoy it. He wanted a taste of the prize he'd been handed. Somehow, I felt the same way and wanted him just as badly as he wanted me. It wasn't out of love or because we both felt sorry for each other. I wanted him because I felt like I wanted him. We wanted each other.
"I won't sue you," I said, giving my lips back to him. Watching as he closed his eyes, I slid my hands down his chest, feeling the beautiful curves of his body as my hand reached his upper right thigh. I let out a soft moan, obviously enjoying the experience. By the way he acted, he liked it more than me. It was even move enjoyable as he wrapped his arms around my small waist. What surprised me then was how good he felt against me. There was no pain anymore, just the warmth of his body and mine.
"You feel so good," I said, my mouth deepening the kiss. "You're so warm."
Even though I knew he wanted this as much as me, I felt his hands softly rub up against my back. It was gentle touch, as if he understood how weak I could become if he put too much effort into his desire. But, the desire in my heart exceeded the pain I felt. I wanted him.
"Don't," I said, fiercely thrusting myself against him. "There isn't any pain right now."
He smiled.
"In that case…."
He forced his lips ever farther in to mine until we could hardly breath. Luckily, we had our noses for that problem. He turned my body over so that he could dominate the situation. Roughly, he moved both hands over my thighs and began to massage them, rubbing his knuckles against my pelvis. In ecstasy, I moaned. This was too good. He was too good. A good fuck.
"Touch me," I mumbled, barely able to talk because of the crushing lips upon mine.
"Fucking touch me."
Slowly, he moved one hand towards the elastic rim of the boxers he'd given me. Within an instant those were greeting my ankles, and his hand gently massaged the last bit of clothing covering a very secretive part of my body. "Oh," I screamed, my back arching as rubbed harder and faster. "Yes!"
Relying on impulse, he removed my "covering" and began to massage my clit, feeling every warm part of it before he began his operation. The pleasure was too much. I needed him inside me, in more ways than one. Yes, I was already wet, wet enough to fuck him right now, but I enjoyed the foreplay too much, more than the sex that would soon follow.
"You want me?" He asked, moving his lips away from mine. "Do you want the Joker?"
"Yes!" I screamed. "YES!"
"WHO AM I!" He screamed, slightly in ecstasy as well.
"You're the Joker."
"Right answer."
Penetrating my flesh, I gasped as he moved his finger in and out of my body. It felt so good, so perfect, and so pure. While he thrust his finger inside my womanhood, he threw my shirt over my head and began to massage my left breast with his free hand, his mouth quickly turning towards the other revealing specimen. Licking my breast, he flicked his tongue across the nipple and began to chuckle, his body, as well as his erection, ready for me.
"Are you ready for this," he said, his laugh overpowering my moans. "Are ready to play a game?"
"Yes," I said, ready to come. "Breathe your life in to me."
Lifting his pants and his underwear down, he neared his body towards mine, his body filled with so many intense emotions, emotions he'd never experienced before. They were completely uninvolved. They didn't love each other, but they still enjoyed the pleasures that lovers enjoy.
"Time to go," he said, right before thrusting himself into the very essence of my soul. With each thrust I could feel us growing closer and closer to each other. We hadn't reached an emotional plateau. We hadn't found love at first sight. We found our desires. We found the emotions we hid inside our hearts. We couldn't cry over the past, so we found comfort in the only attractive way. We had sex. Meaningless, guilt-free sex.
"Yes," I said, the heat of the moment rising. "There's going to a lot of this."