In the silence following his sinister promise, Jerome just stares at me and grins, his hot breath fanning over my face. No matter how much I try, I cannot bring myself to look away. It's like I'm trapped by his gaze, staring into my very soul. A sudden banging at the door makes me jump, and Jerome laughs at me. A yell of "Boss!", accompanied by the insistent bang makes Jerome take a step back. He looks over me one more time before growling "don't move" and leaving the room, locking the door behind him with an audible 'click'. I wait until the sound of his footsteps echoes into silence, then let out a breath I had only just become aware of. I gasp for air, suddenly desperate for oxygen, for relief. Jerome's presence is like nothing I've ever experienced, and being alone with him simply heightens everything. Every nerve, every cell in my body is burning, and it's all because of him.

Bastard.

I twist in the chair that I've been left in, the rope around my wrists rubbing me raw. I strain for a glimpse at the door that is now behind me, but I'm too restricted. I stop moving, forcing myself to steady my breathing and collect my thoughts. Panicking won't get me anywhere. Right. I am essentially trapped. Tied to a chair, in a decrepit room, somewhere in some abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. It would seem that I am absolutely and truly fucked. I groan in frustration, throwing my head back to stare at the ceiling. A single light hangs from it, flickering and adding to the horror-movie situation I have found myself in. Why couldn't I just be normal? A normal girl with normal interests who attracts normal guys. That feels fair. But no. I have to be the kind of girl who can only attract insane criminals and weird loners. I breathe out heavily through my nose, steeling my resolve. I will not give up. This is what Bruce and I have been training for. I'm not ready. It doesn't matter whether I'm ready or not, it's now or never.

I begin to think through my options, discarding most of them as quickly as they come to mind. Give in to Jerome. Absolutely not. Go along with it until you can escape. Maybe, but escape might never come. Get him to kill you. Slightly too morbid. I'm not that desperate – yet. Get out now. A nice thought, but how? Break the chair, like in the movies. Pick the lock. Run until you find a window or stairs. And? Keep running.

Right. That's it. I'm not going to sit here and wait patiently for whatever Jerome has planned for me. But don't you want to know? I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. No, I don't want to know how he plans to break me, to make me like him. But you do. The very idea of it excites you. Don't lie to yourself. I bite my lip, chewing hard until the pain brings me back to reality. Now is not the time to let my instincts take over. That will only get me killed, or worse, make me play right into Jerome's hands.

I tug once more at the ropes binding my hands, producing only pain as they chafe against my already tender wrists. I clench my jaw, take a deep breath, and close my eyes, before swinging violently to the side. The chair follows, wobbling dangerously on two legs before bringing me back. I stick with its movements, encouraging it to move a bit further each time until suddenly I tip over the edge and crash to the floor. The fragile chair shatters beneath me as I land on the hard concrete. My head bounces, releasing a blinding pain that fills my mind like static. I push past it, focusing on the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. I must have bitten my lip in the fall, but that is irrelevant for now. I struggle into a sitting position, taking a second to glance at the door and listen for any noise or alert. Nothing. Either Jerome has some particularly silent and ignorant minions, or I have been left unguarded. I pray that it is the latter. I reach behind me into the remains of the chair, grabbing at a sharp piece which I begin to rub against the rope trapping me. I keep one eye on the door, not allowing myself one spare second. I have no idea how long Jerome plans to leave me here, but I want to be long gone before he gets back. I can feel the rope fraying, and I let myself smile as it bursts apart. Finally, some luck. I scramble to stand, finally able to examine the rest of the room now that Jerome's presence isn't filling it. The door, of course; heavy, metal, and presumably held shut by the lock sitting next to the handle. I can't be too complacent though; there may be other locks on the opposite side, or even further security measures.

I make to move towards the door when an object in the corner of the room catches my eye. I blink, not believing what I'm seeing, but it remains. A television, sitting on a trolley and plugged into the wall. I glance at the door one more time before deciding, and step up to examine the television. I press the on button and it flickers to life. I immediately go to turn the volume down, afraid that someone outside might hear, but its already almost silent. I carefully adjust it so I can just hear it. I frown at the children's show playing on the screen, and begin flicking through the channels. I don't know what I'm looking for, but when I find it my mouth drops open. I take a step back, letting the light from the news programme wash over me, and gaze at the photo of me on the screen. It's my most recent school picture, one of the few times where I could be deemed acceptable by the uniform code. I tune into the words being spoken over the picture and listen carefully.
"Harleen Quinzel, sixteen, was abducted from Gotham Academy earlier today following an attack on the school by infamous Arkham escapee, Jerome Valeska." A picture of Jerome, his most recent mugshot, replaces me on the screen. His cold gaze sends a shiver down my spine, even in photo form. "Witnesses say that the deranged psychopath was looking for boy billionaire Bruce Wayne, who has not attended school since the recent breakout, and that Harleen stood up to Valeska, saving the life of another student." That's a nice way to put it. Makes me sound almost heroic. "Upon the arrival of the police, Valeska and his gang fled, taking Harleen captive. The police do not know the location of the criminals or Harleen, but they believe that she is still with them. If anyone has any information or has seen Valeska or Harleen, please phone the number below." The images on the screen then switch over to a live news feed. My eyes widen and I begin to shake my head when I see my mother, father, and sister standing on the steps of our home, tears in their eyes and surrounded by reporters.
"What are you doing, no, you idiots-"
"Please, bring our daughter back." My mother begs the camera, and I choke back a sob. "She's innocent in all of this, she's just a sweet, innocent girl who tried to do the right thing. We'll do anything to get her back."
I slam a fist onto the television as she continues. The sentiment is sweet, but all she's doing is making the three of them targets. I don't want them to get hurt because of my mistakes.

I am drawn out of my thoughts by a high pitched whistling, which cuts in and out of existence as it moves ever close. Jerome. Shit. If he's coming for me, then I have no time. I let panic take over, making me grab one of the chair legs from the floor, ignoring the splinters digging into the palms of my hands, and position myself next to the door. If Jerome is coming in, then I can get a good hit as he comes in the door and run. I don't know how much time that'll give me, but it's better than sitting and waiting for him. I spread my legs slightly to lower my centre of gravity, remembering my training with Bruce. Jerome's whistling grinds to a halt as he stops outside of the room, and I realise too late that I've left the television on. If he can hear it, then he'll know I've managed to get free. I can only hope that it's too quiet, and he's just stopped whistling because he wants to. But I know that would be too easy. I hear a series of bolts slide across and ready the chair leg, knowing that I am most likely going to get myself killed doing this. Then again, better to go out with a bang than become Jerome's plaything. I hear the click of the lock and brace myself. The hinges creak slightly. I can still taste blood in my mouth, but my head has stopped spinning. I am ready.

The door slams open and Jerome takes barely a step in before I slam the piece of wood in my hands into his face. I've caught him by surprise, and he falls down onto one knee. I don't wait to see what he does, leaping over him like a hurdle and sprinting down the corridor in front of me. At the end of it, I take a left, my feet pounding in time with my heartbeat. The corridors seem endless, twisting and turning, like a maze with no exit. I pause for a second to glance behind me, and upon seeing nothing but an empty corridor I slow down. I'm not foolish enough to think he's just going to let me go, but I hope that I have lost him for now. I continue down the corridor, checking at every junction for that flash of red hair. I go to exhale, to give myself a break, when I hear him. His voice echoes through the building, coming from every direction.

"Harleen! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" I break into a run again, straining to locate the source of his voice and avoid it at all costs. "And I thought we were having fun!" I hear a gunshot, and jump to cover my mouth before a yelp can escape, giving me away. The shot sounded close. I keep pushing forward, knowing that to stop now is to die. Glancing down a corridor to my right, I skid to a halt at the sight of a window. Freedom. I change direction, sprinting towards it. When I reach it I press against it, trying to judge how far from the ground it is. We're a good few stories up, at least two, and I doubt that I'll be able to survive the fall. But I might, and regardless of what happens at least I will be free. "Harleen! I will give you to the count of three to give yourself up! And if I get to three, well…" He bursts into a horrific cackle, "I don't think I have to tell you, you will not enjoy it. But I will." I search the rim of the window, looking for a latch to open it with, but there's nothing. I guess I'll have to chance it with a jump. "One!" I begin to back up down the corridor, wanting to build up momentum. Nothing would be worse than trying to jump through a window just to bounce off of it. "Two!" I take off at a sprint, preparing for the imminent pain of crashing through solid glass. But instead of leaping to my freedom, a figure tackles me at the last minute, pushing me to the ground and leaving me dazed. "Three." Jerome. He's lying on top of me, one arm either side of my body, crushing me. I stare at him for only a second before I begin to claw at him, screaming, thrashing at anything I can see. My actions do nothing to deter him, seeming only to encourage him by the stretch of his permanent smile. He grabs at my hair, twisting it around his hand and pulling me up. I stop my attack, grabbing at him in a futile attempt to escape. All I can do his grasp at his arm as he heaves me to the side, throwing me against a wall only to push up against me. I refuse to give up, pushing and scratching at his chest and face despite the pain in my body and head telling me to give in, to let him have me. He grabs my wrists with ease, squeezing them until I stop struggling. I know I've lost, and he knows I know it. I stare at his face, refusing to cry or show weakness. He matches my stare, his face serious for once. Somehow, seriousness is more terrifying than humour. More unpredictable. More deadly. He shoves my hands above my head, holding them slightly too high for comfort, and keeps them there with one hand. The other drags through my dishevelled hair and caresses my cheek, making me flinch away as much as I can, before resting at the base of my neck. A shudder runs through me and he shushes me, almost gentle if it wasn't for the threat upon my life. He begins to squeeze, tighter and tighter until tears well up in my eyes that I can't hold. They burst free, running down my face like a waterfall.
"Please," I don't know what I'm begging for, death or freedom, but it brings a smile to his face.
He leans forward, chasing my tears with his lips, kissing the tracks left in their wake and when a new droplet begins to fall his tongue darts out to taste it. He hums, and tightens his hold on my neck, pushing me over the edge into unconsciousness. The last thing I see before the darkness takes me is his eyes, blue, then green, then blue again, staring at my fragile, broken form.