CHAPTER 11

I'm not an emotional being. I have subsisted on convenience store sushi and gas station hot dogs for years. The most human contact I need I can find in a book or at the bar. My job is for a person who works with their hands and the facts, there's no room for interpretation or feelings when it comes to deciding whether or not a building is going to come crashing down around you.

Emotional complexity is a mystery for someone like me. I'd locked up shop somewhere after my dad died and sometime before I realized I had to take care of my mom. Friends and boyfriends always ended up leaving after they understood there was nothing below the surface. While I went to bars and cracked jokes, and while I stayed home alone and read romance novels and watched horror flicks, somewhere under my skin and smile I'd simply stopped existing.

So after a lifetime of perfecting an image and a façade I was faced with a man who didn't care about my carefully constructed being. His existence was based around ripping what I'd tried to control right out of me. If I had to put my apathy against his insanity the outcome was obvious.

Scarecrow was petting my mother's hair, murmuring quietly to her. From the way she leaned sleepily against him I couldn't imagine what he was saying. How anyone, even ill, could find solace in that thing I didn't understand. His long needles teased her scalp.

"What are you scared of Rosie?" my mother asked quietly. I'd long since given up trying to escape my bindings, my wrists and ankles were now sore and probably blistered. It stung. I didn't answer her.

"Don't be insolent, child. Your mother asked you a question," Scarecrow chastised. My stomach turned.

"Don't talk to me like you're my father," I grit back, glaring. He continued to run his fingers through my mother's hair, occasionally brushing his knuckles against her throat.

"That's no way to speak to Dr. Crane. Now answer the question, Rosie" my mother murmured.

"He's manipulating you, he's making you ask that," I tried to reason with her. She cracked her eyes open.

"If you don't answer your father will leave me again. Is that what you want?" tears were filling her eyes. I looked at her, aghast. Her delusions were usually harmless. Now it was like she was saying these things to hurt me. Scarecrow moved his hand, posing the toxin tipped needles over her exposed throat. The threat was clear.

"I don't know, spiders. Slugs. Getting caught in a cave in," I threw out. Scarecrow began pressing the needles into her neck. "Uh! Dying alone, being a complete fuck up, him!" I shouted. It didn't matter, he plunged all four needles into her throat. Her eyes bulged, she grabbed at his wrist for a moment before her grip went slack and she slumped back. I watched helplessly as she convulsed once, twice, then stiffened with wide, scared eyes. Her fingernails dug into the armchair as she pushed herself back into the cushions. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her eyes frantically followed something only she could see.

"What did you do?" I rasped, my throat tightening. Scarecrow leaned over her, stroking her face with the back of his hand, the vials of toxin illuminating her skin. The action so reminiscent of something I'd seen my father do. I felt sick.

"It's a shame. To be so beautiful yet only show it when tempered by terror," he whispered. I grimaced at the intimacy then jerked stock still when he turned sharply to face me. He was around the table and gripping my jaw before I had the chance to blink.

"Do you think that beauty runs in the family?" he asked. I tried to rip myself away but his grip was too strong. He leaned in too close, bracing one arm over the back of my chair as he slid one leg between my open knees. The noose around his neck fell forward against my chest.

"Get away from me," I whispered. I was trembling in my bindings, repulsed by his closeness. Scarecrow lurched forward, the filter in his mask brushing against my cheek. I ducked to the side, leaning as far from him as I could but he simply followed me. The hair on my neck rose as I felt the breath of his air filter against my neck.

"Do not ask for things you do not want," he hissed softly. I cringed as one of his hands slid from my exposed throat down my arm. When the pressure of my binding disappeared I whipped to face the newly freed limb. He stepped back but remained too close for me to breath properly.

"Free yourself."

I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I undid the remaining buckles in record time and was met with a soft trailing of needles across the fabric over my thigh. I looked up at him through my loose black hair. He waited to make sure I got the message before slowly retracting his claws. I rose from the chair, never moving my eyes from the toxic weapon.

"We'll be leaving now, your mother must have her privacy in this time," he began leading me away. I barely glanced at where we were going; I was so focused on his toxin, so when a door was shut and locked I looked up in surprise. He stood in front of the door, as much a physical barrier as a mental one.

"Rosemarie I'm worried about your dishonesty," he confessed. I blinked, the tightness in my shoulders going momentarily slack in confusion.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You lied to your mother and I. I'm disappointed, you know you can tell me anything," he took a step closer. I matched him, backing away.

"What did I lie to you about?" I shot back, sweat rolling down my neck. I hated the way he talked, like we were acquainted, as if he were some fatherly figure. It got under my skin like a parasite.

"Your fears. What truly makes you scared isn't death or shame. You and I both know what it is," he continued closer, forcing me back until my hip knocked into a wooden workbench.

"What is it?" I whispered hoarsely. He stepped between my legs, running dirty blunt nails under the fabric of my shirt. I turned away, biting my lip so I wouldn't scream as he caressed my stomach.

"What you buried under your skin."

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/AN: Replies :
nicsnort:
I don't read a lot of Scarecrow but now I wanna take a look, there's gotta be some great scary fics out there.
I have no idea why I didn't even consider him being immune to the fear gas. And it makes a lotta of sense for him to wear the filters out of habit and keep repairing them despite them being broken, like it's a compulsion. I love when the mental illness shows through idk it's just really charming, ya feel me?

kabusakuGirl: Oh jesus I forgot about how they ended the Sai thing yeah that was bad D:
I'm so keyed up about Batman video games this is so stupid. I should be focusing on getting good grades or finding a husband but NOPE.

BATMAN. VIDEO. GAMES. /