Thank you for all of the reviews! It was really lovely of you all, and I am truly sorry that I didn't upload this chapter before christmas, I'll try to upload another one soon!
I was waiting for the Joker as he spoke the men, so you can imagine how I was feeling. I was waiting for him the tearoom where I had slept last night, and I felt awkward. I was frightened out of my mind, the smell of damp and cleaner choking me as I sat huddled on the makeshift bed. I held my hands clamped together, feeling more and more ridiculous as the make-up that had been sloppily applied to my face beginning to drip down onto my neck and staining my shirt.
I looked out the window into the warehouse's open space, brushing a hand through my hair as I watched the clowns get a telling off from the Joker. A few of them looked over at me, and I sadly smiled to reassure them.
I'm so stupid. I thought. I shouldn't be reassuring them, I should be trying to escape!
Eventually, the Joker noticed, and looked around. I fully noticed him for the first time since I arrived. He had a tall, slender frame, quite feminine, with long arms, which often seemed to lose control and jerked impatiently. I wondered if he had some sort of muscle disorder, I remember coming across a case of full body Tourettes. The patient, a Hispanic boy, at random moments would lose control of his body and he would jerk about in his seat for a few seconds. It would almost look like he was dancing if he was standing up…
Looking at the Joker again, I started to take notice of his clothing. It was a weird fashion, I had to admit. He wore a silk shirt, with a hexagonal pattern. What made it stranger was that it changed colours as he moved. Over the shirt, he wore a green waistcoat that hugged his body pleasantly.
"Pleasantly?" I asked myself, bemused.
I hadn't realised that he was approaching the room. I sat up straighter as he entered, and he grinned.
"At ease." He quipped.
He took a few steps into the room, and stood facing me, contemplating something as he put his hands into his pockets and stood awkwardly.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" I asked nervously.
"I wanted an update on the good doctor." He said, his eyes narrowing in on me.
"He's okay for now. He's sleeping. He's been given some Caladerpatent, which should keep him calm. I doubt the stitches will come out if I just watch over him and make sure he doesn't move too much. I would appreciate it if your men could bring us both some food. We're both quite hungry. He'll need something like soup and bread."
The Joker watched me for a few seconds. I shifted in my seat awkwardly.
"I told you you'd enjoy it." He said randomly, sitting down.
"I'm sorry?" I asked, a little disturbed by his change of conversation.
"I told you-" Here, his head jerked a little, almost like a tic.
He groaned, grabbing his neck with his long spindly fingers and tried to ease the muscles there.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, standing up.
His eyes flicked back to me, and I walked over to him. I could see him tense as I approached, so I moved a little slower to keep him calm. We stood a few inches away from each other, and I felt hot as his eyes met my own. My breathing had suddenly gotten softer, and he noticed.
"I had a little incident with the Batman, and I fell." He purred.
I felt shivers run down my spine as I told him, "You're developing a tic. Usually, it's due to genetics, but I'm guessing you didn't have this before the fall. It must have been triggered. Did you parents have anything like this?"
His eyes narrowed. "I know you're a psychiatrist, but please control yourself."
I pouted. "I'm just asking."
Suddenly, a plan was forming in my head. I was wondering if it would work, but I would go for it anyway.
"If your parents didn't have a motor tics, then you need Alchemitron. If they did, you need Palatent."
"Write those down for me." He said.
I did as he told me, my clean handwriting smudged across the scrap of paper he handed me. He snatched the scrap of paper from my hands and stuffed it into a pocket. He began to ease his neck again, and I stood awkwardly beside him.
"May I have a look?" I asked, shyly. I reckoned that if I got into his favour, he wouldn't be tempted to kill me.
It was a stupid thought, but I was willing to try anything.
He looked at me, his eyes, surrounded by black eyeliner and smudged greasepaint, burrowed into my own, until he mumbled some form of 'yes'.
I slowly smoothed his greasy, green hair out of the way and peered down at the back of his neck. I gently began to prod the area, noting the muscles and how tight they were. The Joker had relaxed under my touch, and started to mumble to himself as he looked out of the tearoom.
"You're really tight." I told him.
"That's what he said!" He cackled, rocking in his seat.
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, well. You need to see a masseuse. That and the medicine I've prescribed should help you."
"Good girl." He said, relaxing once more, mumbling under his breath again.
I pulled myself away, ashamed of what I had just done, and asked,
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
He looked over at the makeshift bed, his eyes filling with glee.
"Well, seeing as the boys have gone, we could use the bed." He said wickedly.
"What?" I asked, taking a few steps back.
"I'll lie down on it, and you can ease my neck." He said, grinning.
I heaved a sigh of relief. "You want me to massage you?"
He gave me a long dark stare. "Well, unless you can think of anything else you want to do on that bed."
I stared at him in horror and fumbled over my words, "I…I… You need a proper masseuse."
"Yes, and can you give me the number of any good masseuses that accept me, of all people?" He cackled, rocking in his place as he sucked on his fingers.
"But I…"
"Oh goodie!" He said happily, standing up suddenly and stripping off his waistcoat and shirt.
I stared openly at his body, noting how his pants just lightly covered his crotch, how formed his abdomen was, and he posed for me.
"Lovely, en't I?" He said, pressing his hands against his body.
"Sorry." I mumbled, watching him lie down on the bed.
"C'mon then." He said, rolling onto his stomach. "Haven't got all day."
I stood there, watching him close his eyes and slow his breathing. I couldn't believe how trusting he was. What was the stop me from running. There was just me and him!
He moaned, adjusting himself, and from underneath him, he pulled out a knife.
"Digging into me…" He mumbled, opening one eye.
I knelt beside him, slowly, and stared at his neck. I slowly wrapped my fingers around his neck, and began to squeeze and rub, carefully. I felt him shiver beneath me, and I took a deep breath as I began to lean over him and get my hands fully in there.
He purred. Like a cat. And he rubbed his face against my pillow, smearing his damned greasepaint all over it. I would have to sleep on that, and he would probably be laughing at me behind my back!
I groaned under my breath, rolling my eyes, and carried on, sitting on the edge of the couch, pressing up against his hips as his neck muscles twitched and loosened under my fingers, and he, the damned fool, just carried on pushing his face into my pillow.
I heard him take a deep breath, and I stared at him as I realised he was sniffing my pillow!
