WARNING: This chapter contains adult content. Reader discretion advised.
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Her bare feet took the concrete stairs two at a time as Leila raced upward to the sixth floor, her previously removed heels clutched in one hand, her heavy medical kit in the other. Her tight pencil skirt had been pulled up a few inches, giving her long legs more room to stretch and take her further at a greater rate of speed. It seemed over the past ten minutes, her heart had settled somewhere inside her throat, palpitating so hard, she was astounded that it had not already burst or simply quit working. 'Apprehensive' was not an adequate enough word to describe the way she was feeling at that moment in time.
The Joker had been painfully vague on the phone, making her fear of the unknown so pronounced that Leila felt ready to faint. Yet she had to admit, the prospect of being faced with an actual emergency while on the Joker's payroll was perhaps a bit more exciting than she would like it to be. Images of the scene she was about to encounter in herapartment began flooding her brain, mixing with her adrenaline and forming a vicious cocktail that could very easily result in a panic attack, were she not so accustomed to dealing with these critical situations.
She could picture a heavily bleeding Joker lying on her couch with his lackey, Max, at his side, attempting to help in whatever way he could. Or perhaps he would be on her bed, clutching a gushing stab wound, as horrifying as that thought seemed. Leila did not much enjoy the idea of being faced with the task of saving a man's life who had killed so many people in such a short amount of time, who had turned her own life into a miserable, confusing existence. But again, she reminded herself: he was her patient whether she liked it or not. She had chosen to care for him. He was a human being, as he had proved so unabashedly only a week prior, and Leila had sworn to herself many times that she would not allow her loathing of him to cloud her judgment. If she needed to save his life, she would do it, without hesitation and to the best of her ability. Then again, he could already be dead.
The hallway leading to her door was as eerily silent as it ever was, Leila's own heavy breathing, her racing, throbbing heart creating a soft, rhythmic song as she trotted along, the glass medicine bottles within her kit jingling in time with her footfall. At the entrance to her apartment, she paused, transferring her shoes to the other hand in order to push her key into the lock, overwhelming panic seconds from setting in. However, before she could do this, the white door swung inward, revealing not Max, whom she had expected to see, but the Joker- tall, violently green-haired and looking thoroughly uninjured. Leila allowed a huff of breath to escape her as she dropped the heavy bag of equipment to the floor at her side, her eyebrows relaxing in annoyance.
"If you called me back here for no reason, I swear-" she began, but paused when Joker took a step back into the hallway behind him, holding open the door and motioning into the apartment with his head.
"He's in here."
This was the only explanation she was offered. Leila stared at him, confused. If he, the Joker, was not injured, then who could possibly be in such a grave state that he had called her so urgently? Wasting no time nor breath to ask questions, she picked up her bag and stepped inside, flinching vaguely as the door closed behind her with a snap. Joker moved past her without another word and she followed him, ashamed, hating herself for the oncoming blush warming her cheeks. Thus far, she had been unable to erase the sensation of his hardened dick pressing against her. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for only a moment to attempt to clear her head. Be professional...she told herself desperately. This is a chance to prove yourse-
A squeak of surprise slipped past Leila's lips as the front half of her body suddenly collided with Joker's back, her nose smashing painfully into the space between his shoulder blades. Eyes watering, she took a hurried step away from him, her gaze wide as he turned slowly to glare down at her, one black, painted eyebrow arched sharply. Apparently, he had stopped in the doorway of her bedroom to allow her ahead of him and Leila, eyes closed temporarily, had walked straight into him. The previous burning in her cheeks became almost painful in its severity as she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her now aching nose.
"Sorry..." she mumbled, her hatred of him intensifying as he smirked, his expression snide, condescending.
He licked his lips in that sickening, compulsive tick before leaning down slightly to be on a more even plane with her. Leila noticed his black eyes flicker downward to the neckline of her buttoned, green shirt and another drop of loathing slipped into her stomach.
"I know you find me absolutely irresistible, but we have bigger fish to fry at the moment," he said, his voice deep, raspy, coating her in goosebumps. "So if you'd be so kind-" His long arm flung out to the side, into her bedroom, where Leila could now, finally hear the sound of pained, strained moaning, echoing, reverberating against the tile in her bathroom. It was all she needed to hear.
Instinct and a natural desire to help propelled Leila forward, dropping her shoes and pushing up the long sleeves of her satin top as she hurriedly approached the bathroom, setting her kit on the counter and turning toward the bathtub. It was like something from a nightmare, a highly realistic horror movie taking place within her own home.
Bloodied fingers had slid along the wall, leaving streaks of bright crimson, drying slowly against the tile. Max, Joker's faithful right hand, was laying at the bottom of the tub in a pool of his own blood, his young face pale and as white as his surroundings, one of his legs draped over the edge. His hands were no longer flesh-toned, instead wet and glistening red as he clutched a wound on the right edge of his abdomen, his chest heaving in pain, one staggered, labored breath after the other escaping his lips.
"Doc-" he began, pausing to take a deep breath before continuing. "-ya gotta help me."
Leila took a seat on the edge of the tub, pulling a pair of latex gloves onto her sweating hands, forcefully ignoring the monstrous presence behind her as Joker stepped into the doorway of the bathroom to watch in what she could only assume was mild interest.
"What happened, Max?" she asked, her voice quiet and soft in an effort to keep this young man as calm as possible. Gentle hands reached out toward his wounded torso, lifting his red, soaked shirt away from the skin as he slowly released his grip. Blood began gushing in earnest from what she could now see was four rather large bullet holes, grouped closely together at his side. Leila felt her heart sink to somewhere behind her navel.
Max's chest heaved more rapidly as he steeled himself for speech. As he did so, Leila could hear a faint gurgling coming from his throat; even without a stethoscope, she knew what that meant. "Got shot," he answered in as few words as possible.
Leila nodded quickly, glancing over her shoulder at the threshold behind her. The tall devil was standing there, his arms folded over his broad chest, his feet crossed at the ankles as he leaned sideways against the frame of the door, an almost bored expression on his painted face. His eyebrows rose as she turned to look up at him. "I need you to help me," she told him, not as a request but as an order. Any desire to appear respectful toward the Joker was currently far gone from her priorities.
To her surprise, he moved forward into the bathroom, so Leila took this as a sign of compliance and pointed toward her bag of equipment. "I need as much cotton and gauze as you can find in there, and my stethoscope," she instructed, turning her attention from Joker and back onto Max, who was growing more pale by the second. His blood was draining steadily from his body in a thick, red river, despite the pressure her hand was applying.
A moment later, a purple gloved hand appeared in front of her face, her black, expensive stethoscope clutched in his fingers. Leila took it from him immediately, quickly pushing the pieces into her ears.
"Alright, Max," she began, struggling with difficulty to ignore the way her own hands were trembling. "I need you to breathe as normally as you can while I listen to your lungs and heart, okay?"
The dying man in the tub nodded, taking a deep, rattling breath in to steady himself while the cool pad of the stethoscope touched his chest through his sweaty shirt. Leila closed her eyes to listen; it sounded horrible.
With every inhale, she could hear a faint but noticeable gurgling, bubbling as blood and fluid began to fill his lungs, slowly drowning him, inhibiting his breathing. It seemed one of the four bullets had nicked the pleura, tearing a hole and allowing entrance to one of his most vital organs. Forcing her expression to remain as stoic as possible, to prevent him from panicking, Leila shifted the pad of the stethoscope a few inches higher, toward the center of his chest. She closed her eyes, listening intently to his heart, hammering away inside him. She shook her head after a few seconds, mumbling distractedly to herself as she removed the ear pieces to let them rest on either side of her neck.
"Chest sounds are thready..." she commented out of sheer habit; what she wouldn't give to have Matt or Jay there with her. Turning her head upward to the Joker, she tried to explain. "His heart is getting weak pumping so much blood, his pleural cavity is about twenty percent full. One of the shots must have pierced the sac-"
"In English, Doc," Joker replied somewhat lazily, using the thumb of his glove to rub a white streak of greasepaint from the lapel of his green vest.
Leila gritted her teeth, ignoring him and turning her attention back to Max, who was staring up at her, eyes wide with panic, just as he had only a few weeks prior while she had stitched his arm. Pity such that she had never felt before flooded through her.
"How did this happen?" she asked him imploringly. However before he could answer, Joker's voice over her shoulder cut in, laced with a hint of laughter that made Leila's blood boil with fury. She turned her head to glare up at him, hating him as he grinned evilly down at her.
"Don't really see how that's relevant," he replied, his smirk expanding as he watched frustration and urgency build within his paramedic.
Leila shook her head in disbelief, shifting from her position seated on the edge of the tub, to her knees knelt in front of it, her elbows rested on the rim. "I need you to help me turn him onto his side," she said waspishly, absolutely hating him for the nonchalant, almost amused expression on his face and in his body language. Did he really not care that his one trusted employee, his right hand man was lying there, bleeding to death in a bathroom? Of course he doesn't, she thought angrily, moving to the side to allow him room next to her. His blue sleeve brushed against her forearm, causing Leila to recoil, though she did not waste precious time to move further away from him. The situation was too severe for her to put any sort of thought into what had happened between them the previous week.
"Okay, put your hands under here-" she began, demonstrating with her own arms, sliding her gloved hands beneath Max's injured right side and looking over to be sure Joker was copying her. "-and gently roll him onto his side until I say stop...One, two, three-"
A loud shout of pain echoed through the tiled bathroom as Max was rolled slowly onto his left side, fresh tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, leaving glistening trails along his dirty skin. He braced his movement against the far wall of the tub with his bloody hand, his fingers clenching, struggling to grip something, anything to alleviate the pain. Raw emotions were something she encountered on an almost daily basis with her normal patients and while she had been trained not to react, Leila could not deny the hard lump that formed in her throat. She swallowed hard. She could not let them see her cry, no matter how badly she wanted to. It seemed Joker did not share her sympathy as he reached out with one bloody glove, smacking his lackey on the side of his face.
"C'mon, you got hair on ya peaches or what?" he growled, scowling at Max with an expression that closely mimicked disgust, for displaying what he viewed as the ultimate weakness. Leila spoke, to distract him from inflicting more harm on her patient.
"Hold him still," she murmured, her attention focused solely on gliding her left hand along Max's back, feeling his smooth skin pass beneath her fingers, until she found what she had been dreading. Suddenly, her bathroom, her entire apartment was filled with a horrific, blood-curdling scream of excruciating pain, his entire body writhed with tremors and Leila exhaled slowly, removing her hand from him, feeling sick and defeated. There was a quarter-sized hole between his fifth and sixth ribs, the skin flayed outward, broken, ripped and torn muscle spilling from the wound; the bullet had gone clean through his body. Leaning back on her knees, she shook her head, feeling the color drain from her face as turned her wide eyes onto the Joker beside her. For only a moment, he stared back at her, his dark gaze searching her face, flickering between her brown eyes, reading her, savoring every drop of emotion he could find there. The scar on his left cheek twitched as his pupils narrowed. He understood; there was nothing she could do.
In an effort to prolong the time before it became necessary to divulge this information aloud, Leila turned to Max, watching with pity as he was rolled slowly onto his back. She reached out, taking one of his blood-soaked hands between her own, clutching it tightly, hoping to transfer some sort of peace to him. She shook her head, swallowing hard once again on that knot in her throat.
"Max, I have to get you to the hospital-" she told him gently, staring deep into his green eyes, hoping, praying he understood what she meant.
His response was so quick and so forceful that both Leila and Joker jumped. "NO!" Max shouted, his eyes growing so large that, for a moment, he looked quite insane. His grip on Leila's hand released, his fingers instead clutching the edges of the tub like a stubborn child. "I can't go back there! No, I can't-"
"You have to go, Max, I'm sorry," Leila pleaded with him, watching him shake his head, more tears streaming steadily along his cheeks. "There's nothing I can do here! One of the shots went clean through your body and the other three are too deep for me to remove-"
"I CAN'T GO BACK THERE!" he screamed, sobbing as he struggled to clutch his wounds. "I can't-"
"They'll save your life!" Leila interrupted, her own voice raised to be heard above his gasps of pain, pleading with him to listen to reason. "Nothing bad will happen to you there! You'll be taken into surgery and everything will be-"
"He's not talking about the hospital, Doc..."
If Joker had not spoken, Leila might have completely forgotten he was there, standing behind her like a warm shadow, watchful eyes observing her, studying the situation. Turning her head quickly, Leila frowned up at him in confusion. A very snide grin formed across his lips, stretching his scars as he glared down at her, his green hair hanging loosely about his face.
"He's talking about Arkham."
"NOT THERE!" Max suddenly screamed again and Leila gave a start of surprise. "I WON'T GO BACK THERE! I'D RATHER DIE-"
Leila, finally at the end of her line, had nothing more to say. How could she? What could she possibly say to make this situation any easier? Fortunately, it seemed Joker understood this and as he took a step toward the tub, she knelt back onto her knees out of the way, giving him room to sit sideways, straddling the tiled rim. Perhaps his boss could talk some sense into him, Leila hoped desperately.
Resting his elbows on the faded knees of his purple, pinstriped pants, Joker leaned forward, pursing his lips to one side as he chewed contemplatively on the scarred interior of his cheek, studying his dying employee. To her surprise, Max seemed to relax, his chest heaving but otherwise quiet as he stared up into the face of the devil.
"Boss, please..." he breathed, blinking slowly, wearily, his voice hoarse with the strain of shouting. "I can't go back there...Y-you know...what it's like..."
Leila felt her stomach clench. Max's skin was blanching slowly to an ashy gray. It would not be long now. At the edge of the tub, Joker nodded once, tilting his head to one side in an almost inquisitive manner.
"You say you'd rather die than go back there?" he asked, his voice clowny, dangerous. The bathroom was swelling with some sort of energy Leila had never encountered before, practically pulsating with it, throbbing in her eardrums, dark, itchy and uncomfortable. The hair along the back of her neck and beneath the sleeves of her blood-stained satin top began to rise. She shivered, a thrill of that familiar sense of foreboding washing over her as Max nodded slowly.
There was a long, pregnant pause before Joker spoke again, his voice quiet and deep, almost soothing. "Close your eyes." he instructed. Max's eyes slid closed.
Leila did not know how she hadn't seen it coming. Suddenly, both of the Joker's hands had clenched tight around Max's throat, and she was throwing herself at him, grasping his arms, attempting to pull him off while her patient lay still in the tub. He was motionless at first, the only movement in the room from Leila, wrapping her hands as tightly around the Joker's wrists as she could, using every ounce of strength she contained to pull his grip away.
"JOKER, STOP!" she cried, digging her fingernails into his arms through the latex. "STOP! YOU'RE KILLING HIM!"
But he paid her no attention, his gloved fingers like a vice around Max's throat, constricting his airway, suffocating him in the most terrible, brutal way possible. A sob of horror escaped Leila as she finally gave up, falling backward onto the small rug before the counters, pushing herself away from the nightmarish scene before her. Tears spilled down her cheeks and dripped from the curve of her jaw, landing on her green shirt, forming dark drops as Max suddenly began to struggle.
His eyes were wide, blood-shot, his skin darkening to a shade of bluish purple as his body craved instinctively for oxygen. The heels of his shoes scraped against the linoleum tub, creating a series of loud, echoing squeaks, his hands reaching out to the Joker's arms, clawing at his shirt sleeves, his mouth moving noiselessly, an attempt to tell him that he had changed his mind. Joker's broad shoulders moved in time with Max's struggle, his forearms tensed tight in the effort to keep the man subdued until, after what seemed like an eternity, the writhing slowed. Max's arms became limp and weak, his fingers unclenching from around fistfuls of blue, hexagon-patterned material. His gaping eyes became glossy, glazed over, unfocused. And with one final squeak of rubber shoe sole against bloody linoleum, his body relaxed and Leila's patient moved no more.
The bathroom was deafeningly silent, the last echoes of Max's untimely death dissipating through the apartment, leaving a dull, deep hum in its wake. The air itself seemed to be charged with some electrical force, some energetic expression of evil as the Joker leaned back on the edge of the tub, exhaling a huff of breath, closing his eyes, tilting his head back and rolling it to either side, attempting to crack the joints in his neck. Leila's body was vibrating, heaving with suppressed sobs of horror as she gaped in shock at the lifeless tub across from her. From her vantage point on the floor against the counters beneath the sink, all she could see was the top of Max's greasy hair, his head motionless, dead.
"Check 'im."
Joker's voice shattered the dense, ringing silence like a gunshot, startling her from what could only be identified as a trance of trauma. She jumped, turning her wide eyes onto the murderous nightmare straddling the edge of her tub, her mouth moving to form words but unable to force out the sound, her tears sliding in steady trails along her cheeks. A sob managed to slip past her lips, her voice broken, trembling, before she finally asked only one word.
"W-what?"
Across from her, the Joker's eyebrows quirked upward and arched, the black makeup seemingly deeper, more obsidian than usual. His eyes were cold, dilated, glazed over and shining so vividly, they could have been made of glass; Leila felt as though she could see herself reflected within them. His head jerked toward the corpse in her tub, his green hair swinging against his shoulders with the motion.
"Check him," he repeated himself with more severe inflection, enunciating each word so that there could be no mistaking his instruction, his voice soft but dangerous, calculated.
Leila stammered wordlessly, shaking her head in utter shock, blinking stupidly as she attempted to discreetly use the heels of her bare feet to push herself against the hard surface of the cabinets behind her. His malicious, demonic energy alone was enough to suffocate her, the same way he had used his hands to snuff the life out of her patient. "I...I c-ca-" she attempted to speak, but it seemed Joker had reached the end of his patience.
Rising from the tub in a flash of movement, he was advancing toward her, leaning down, teeth gritted and bared, to grab her upper arm tightly within the grip of his purple, bloodied glove. Leila's shock was so severe by then that she could not manage to summon the effort necessary to scream or fight back, hit him, kick him, do anything to prevent herself from meeting the same fate as Max. Trembling hands braced the rim of the tub as she was shoved there, her knees making abrupt, painful contact with the tile floor beneath her. Above her, the Joker was growling in apparent frustration, the sound escaping his throat like that of a wolf fresh from a kill. Leila could almost picture the fur rising along his back, his ears going flat, lips curled, revealing pointed, bloodied teeth.
"I said-" he began, all clowniness absent from his tone, his fingers around her arm tightening as he shook her slightly. "-make. sure. he's. dead." Each word was spoken individually, clearly, like bullets fired from a revolver. Leila felt her vision dim, tighten into a tunnel, but she fought it with every ounce of energy she had left. She would not faint. She could not leave herself vulnerable while the Joker was in such an aggravated state.
The body of Max was still warm, growing steadily colder, his eyes open, gazing unfocused at the white ceramic wall of the tub. The blood had ceased flowing from the wounds in his side. That alone told her he was dead, but she knew better than to assume this would be enough to placate Joker's demand. Leila was perfectly aware that heknew Max was dead. She knew he had felt the young man's heart stop beating beneath the palms of his hands. He was making her feel for herself, see with her own eyes, acknowledge fully that he, the Joker, her worst nightmare, had killed a man right there in her home, that he had so easily, effortlessly choked the life from his right hand man. If he could do that to Max, he was perfectly capable of doing the same to her. Leila had never once doubted that fact.
Trembling hands forced the listening pieces of the stethoscope into her ears, leaning toward the tub slightly to press the pad against the corpse's stagnant chest. While she listened to nothing but the sound of her own, faded heartbeat through her fingers against the scope, Leila's gaze drifted listlessly down to Max's forearm, where she could clearly see a neat line of healing stitches, put there by her own hands less than three weeks prior. She closed her eyes, feeling more warm tears gather and attempting to fight them. His chest was silent as both she and Joker had known it would be. Leaning back, she removed the scope from her ears and allowed it to drop dully onto the shaggy bath rug beneath her.
"He's dead," she stated, not as medical confirmation but rather admission, submission to his will. Joker had made his point. A loud clap of leather on leather from behind her caused her to jump.
"Good!" he said jovially, patting the top of her head heavily as he stepped past her. "See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?"
Leila's entire body felt weak, heavy and limp as she fell back away from the tub, hardly possessing enough strength to catch herself with her hands on the tile floor beneath her. Her head was throbbing with the same demonic energy, eyes half-lidded but unseeing as she leaned against the counters. The Joker was standing in her bedroom, using the phone, as she could hear him speaking, his voice muffled and raspy as though she were listening through an old radio. She did not care who he had called, could not summon the energy to focus on his words. All she knew was that a dead young man now lay in her bathtub and his murderer was still in her house. She could not decide whether his death was due to her failure as a medic or her success as a person who had effectively ruined their own life. The weight of this was too much to comprehend, so her brain had shut off, all rational, coherent thought reduced to nothing but a blank static.
After a minute or so, or perhaps several years, a shadow moved into the doorway of the bathroom. Leila knew he was staring down at her, possibly studying her, but the effort required to swivel her eyes upward to meet his gaze seemed insurmountable. She blinked slowly instead, her brown eyes staring blankly at the bloodied edge of the tub. There was a quiet clearing of a throat from above her.
"Uh..." he began, his tone clearly attempting to be high-pitched and clowny, but failing miserably. His voice cracked when he next spoke, his words seeming to graze the very deepest reaches of his gut. "You gonna sit there all night?"
A mirthless snort escaped Leila's nose. Moving from that spot required a certain amount of energy she did not feel she possessed. She did not answer. Her long legs were splayed carelessly out in front of her but Leila was very far from caring what sort of view Joker was receiving from where he stood. There was another grunt of noise from above her as he leaned down.
Leila did not utter a single sound as she was hoisted upward by the grip of two leather gloves on her wrists, nor did she resist, but merely blinked as she was steered forcefully out of the bathroom. Her bedroom was dark, as was the kitchen, the apartment only lit by a solitary lamp that had been turned on in the living room, illuminating her couch. It seemed it was there that the Joker had intended her to sit. He was walking behind her, his large hands steering her shoulders, guiding her toward the middle of the cushy sofa. She was turned to face him then pushed rather gently backward by the use of one finger against the middle of her stomach. Leila allowed herself to fall, until the back half of her body made contact and sank into the cushions, her eyes level with the tarnished silver buttons on his purple pants. Vaguely, she noticed them move as Joker inhaled deeply, his middle expanding, then exhaled slowly through his white painted nose. Her view of the buttons was replaced by the loosened knot of his tie as he doubled at the waist to put himself at eye level with her. Leila did not meet his gaze.
"Stay here."
The Joker walked away, but she did not watch him. She did not care what he was doing or why. Instead, her vision focused itself on the blank, lifeless glass of the television screen across from her. There, staring back at her, was a reflection of herself.
Her carefully pinned hair had come loose, several long pieces hanging lank around her face, which, unless she was much mistaken, looked as though it had aged several years since she had last seen herself. Her makeup had begun to run with her tears, traveling downward along her tan cheeks in muddied, gray rivers. Instinct told her to reach up and attempt to wipe the trails away but she did not. There were not enough reasons for her to care what she looked like at that moment in time.
The Joker was standing in the opening of the hallway near the front door, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watched her, his bare hands bracing his narrow waist, squinting with his head cocked to one side. Leila could practically hear the cogs working behind his black eyes, thinking, plotting, his mind whirring. If he was planning to kill her now, she could only manage the one hope that he would at least make it quick, somewhat painless, and that he would pick a spot far away from the city.
In some vague, numb wave of curiosity, Leila looked over to her kitchen when she heard the sound of his shoes against the wood floor, heard the cabinet door open and saw him holding a drinking glass under the stream of water issuing from the sink faucet. Maybe he was putting cyanide in it, or perhaps arsenic. No...arsenic took too long. He would prefer it to be quick and effective like Max's death. Leila watched him closely as he turned off the water and began to move toward her, holding the glass with one hand, reaching into his pocket with the other, fumbling for something that gave a distinct, familiar rattle; the sound of pills against plastic. Her eyes focused on his hand as it was withdrawn from the pocket of his pants, blinking slowly as he came to stand directly in front of her. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to look up at his faded and creased face. His expression was flat, but his eyebrows bounced as he held both hands out to her, one bearing the glass of water, the other holding a small, round, yellow pill.
"Take this," he instructed.
Leila blinked, her eyes falling downward to the pill in the palm of his hand. Her head slowly shook back and forth. A heavy, impatient sigh escaped Joker as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his black eyes rolling upward and exposing more creased black makeup beneath his lower lashes.
"If I was going to kill you, dont'cha think I'd have done it already? Hm?" he asked a moment later, giving a nod of his head and arching one eyebrow sharply. Leila had to take a moment to work through what he had said, but once her brain had caught up, she found she could not find a loophole in his logic. Regardless, she remained motionless, her eyes still trained on the yellow pill. Another sigh heaved Joker's broad chest. "It'll make you feel better," he explained flatly. "You look pathetic."
Normally, Leila would never take an unlabeled pill offered to her by anyone, much less the Joker, but at that point, she was so far beyond caring what the effects would be. It could make her pass out, which wouldn't all that bad, she figured. It could make her sick, which wouldn't be that bad either, seeing how she already felt deeply ill to begin with. Honestly, there was no side effect she could imagine that could possibly feel worse than what she was experiencing. Reaching out with a trembling, heavy hand, she took the pill from him, placed it on her tongue then took the water and swallowed it. Que sera, sera, she thought numbly, handing the empty glass of water back to Joker. Whatever will be, will be.
Without a word, Joker walked away, setting the empty glass on the table before disappearing into her bedroom, into the bathroom once again as Leila could hear his shoes against the tile floor. The sound of the shower starting caused her to jump, the water rushing, hitting the body in the tub like heavy, highly localized rain. She closed her eyes, her mind conjuring images of congealing blood, hydrating, swirling about the drain in pink rivers as it was washed from the basin, sliding down the walls, staining the thin lines of grout between the tiles.
The pill was not having any effect whatsoever thus far, aside from helping to spur her brain into a more functional speed, bringing it back to life in a way from the numb, cold recess it had settled into. Her eyes swung toward the front door to her apartment. She could run. She was barefoot. She could get up right then, while he was distracted by the shower, while his hearing was dulled by the sound of the rushing water, make a break for it through the door, run down to her car and go straight to the police. She could tell them everything that had happened, explain how she had gotten herself into this mess, explain to them why there was a dead body in her bathtub.
It was the same old argument. She could not do it, any of it. The Joker knew where her parents lived. He had evaded capture so easily, even escaped an armored police vehicle. Going to the police was a death sentence for those she loved. She had to stay. Exhaling heavily, Leila rubbed the palms of her hands against the smooth surface of her skirt. Hopefully, he would leave soon.
After a few minutes, the sound of the water abruptly stopped, the silence in the apartment deafening and thick as it swelled. Her heart was racing despite how heavy and sluggish her body felt. Her hands were starting to sweat, though the rest of her skin felt cold, flushed of warmth. Was this an effect of whatever pill she took? Or was this simply her body coming out of shock? She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and forcing her mind to slow down. A single, small drop of relaxation flowed through her...until she heard his voice.
"Leila..."
Her eyes slid open, her eyebrows twitching in confusion. He never called her 'Leila' anymore. It was always 'Doc' or 'peaches' or something equally as humiliating. She remained still, struggling to ignore the wash of chills that had risen up along her arms beneath the stained sleeves of her green blouse. Maybe if she pretended she hadn't heard him...
"Layyyy-luhhhhh..."
The hated voice came again, floating to her through the open door of her bedroom, sliding along on the air like the name itself was laced with poison. A violent shiver wracked her body, chattering her teeth, forcing her arms closer to her body.
"Come here, Leila."
These words were not spoken as a request, but as a command, though his tone was soft, crooning, almost gentle, as though he were attempting to wrap his voice around her like a warm blanket. She could not ignore him, not when he was giving her such clear instruction to come to him. As though strings had been attached to her joints and were being controlled by some unseen puppet master, Leila rose from the couch, her head feeling light, airy, but her feet full of lead. They shuffled along the floor, padding quietly toward the open doorway to her dark bedroom.
It was there that she found him, standing before her in the darkness, his painted, white face glowing in the dim moonlight like a dirty, creased skull, watching, observing her from the black, fathomless pits that were his eyes. Leila could not bear to look at him and instead dropped her gaze to the buttons on his green vest, where she could see his bare hands held out, extended for her to grasp. It was unclear what possessed her to do it, but she consented, reaching out with her own trembling hands to place them lightly within the grasp of his calloused palms, once she had grown close enough. Her chin dropped further still, practically resting between her collarbones as Joker gave a soft 'tsk' from above her.
"Why so sad, Leila?" he asked lightly, his tone high and raspy, his thumbs rubbing the back of her hands slowly, methodically, back and forth. For several long seconds, her attention was honed in on this movement, the sensation of his rough fingers grazing her skin. It felt different, bizarre in a way that she had never experienced before, despite the fact that it was such a simple motion. Whether he was aware of this, she was not sure as he continued a moment later, bending slightly and tilting his head to look up into her face. "Hm?" he prodded, his black eyebrows arched sharply.
Leila closed her eyes, tensing her forehead as she struggled to form her words. "You killed 'im," came her reply, lazy and unintentionally sloppy as it spilled forth from her mouth. "You murdered Max."
A low grunt of a laugh echoed within Joker's chest as he stood upright again. Leila could feel his every move, could practically hear the expressions forming on his face, her senses heightened tenfold as she stood face to face with the devil in her moonlit bedroom.
"Murder? Nooo..." he cooed lowly. "It was...a coup de grâce, if you will. A mercy killing."
Leila shook her head slowly, giving it everything she had to fight the warm tears attempting to gather along her eyelashes. Her eyes flickered toward the bathroom. The light had been turned off, the door closed. "You killed him..." she murmured. "He was-"
"-dying." Joker ended her sentence, abruptly ceasing the movement of his thumbs against the back of her hands. Leila wished he wouldn't. "I put him out of his misery."
A choked sob slipped past her lips unhindered, her shoulders heaving deeply as those salty, heavy tears dropped onto the front of her blouse. "There was nothing I could do," she whimpered, bringing her hands up from where Joker had released them, to cover her face. It was highly tempting to allow herself to flat-out cry, sob unhindered forever, sink into a ball on the floor and curl up there, but a shadow was closing in on her.
Joker's hands reached out as he took a step toward her, long fingers wrapping around her wrists, gently pulling them away from her face, exposing the dripping lines of mascara, the trails along her cheeks and down her neck. A low hum was rumbling inside his chest, coating Leila in goosebumps. Her knees felt weak as the back of his pointer finger delicately grazed her jaw, traveling inward to her chin, collecting chilled tears as it moved.
"Poor little angel of life..." he growled mockingly, his voice wrapping itself around her once again, reaching inside her to grip her soul in a vice. "...dragged down to this pit where the rest of us fester."
Leila's head was spinning, her teeth grinding inside her mouth as his middle and third fingers joined the first, gliding slowly across the front of her neck. He was not hurting her, but rather caressing her, touching her, feeling every quickened breath that passed through her throat. Her eyes were closed but she could still see him, studying her face from behind glassy, abysmal orbs. The air itself seemed to have stilled, become stagnant as his touch moved to her collarbones, his opposite hand abandoning its place at her wrist to join its fellow, slipping beneath the edges of her satiny top, using only his finger tips to trace the raised clavicles.
She wanted to stop him, felt a desperate need to take a step away from him, go tearing through her apartment to the door, but she was powerless. It was as though her body had been filled with fire, tingling and electric, craving the touch of his hands. She hated this man, loathed him more than any other person on Earth, but his touch...it felt good. Her head rolled sideways toward her shoulder slowly, giving his hand more room to travel along the side of her neck.
As quickly as it had happened, it was gone. Leila eyes flew open, to find that the monster in front of her had disappeared, leaving her alone in her bedroom, staring blankly, confused at the wall opposite her. A moment of panic set in. Had she imagined everything? Was that entire night really what she had hoped it had been? Just one horrible, highly realistic nightmare? No, it couldn't have been. She could still feel the places where his fingers had been, tracing her skin, feeling it curve beneath his touch, leaving a dull tingling in their wake.
"Leila."
Turning her head quickly, she felt some odd, mingled sense of dread and relief flood her. The Joker was still there, though he was now sitting on the edge of her bed, silhouetted by the massive windows behind him, allowing the moonlight to spill into the room around his broad shoulders. He beckoned with one finger. Come here.
She wanted to shake her head, protest his silent instruction, put an end to this, but she could not. Heavy feet slid across the carpet toward him, slowly, one step at a time until she was standing before him, her bare knees lightly brushing against his own. Her vision was so clear in the darkness, she could see every line of his face, could see the red makeup smeared downward to his jaw, the black blending up against his forehead in smudged spikes, elongating and misshaping the rings around his eyes. For several moments, days or weeks, she was not sure, she stood there, staring down into his face, until his hands came to rest on her hips. It did not startle her, did not even cause her to jump in surprise, but merely blink, feeling the heaviness of his touch.
It was not a firm grip that pulled her down onto his lap. He had barely needed to move her before she was parting her knees instinctively, placing one on the right of his hips, the other, on the left. Her skirt was tight across her legs as she lowered her weight onto him, her breath escaping her lungs in one long, slow exhale, her eyes lowering themselves to the loosened collar of his blue shirt. Joker hummed in content, as he had done only a week prior when he had forced her to remove his makeup. Leila's head was buzzing but a moment of clarity allowed her to wonder why this instance felt so different from the last, why he had not even needed to say a word, and why sitting there, so vulnerable on his lap, suddenly felt so...good.
Leila could hear him breathing, could hear every inhale, every shallow breath of air pass through his nose, could feel his heart beating through the palms of his hands as they traveled upward along her sides, untucking the blouse from the top of her skirt. The movement of the material along her flesh was like silk, or feathers, the lightest touch, coating her in goosebumps that traveled downward from beneath her hair, crawling along her shoulders. She shivered, her hands trembling as Joker's skin once again graced her own, the rough tips of his fingers tracing her curved ribcage. Brown eyes closed, sealing themselves shut.
Every synapse was firing simultaneously, her body was vibrating inside, on fire, as silver buttons began sliding through green holes in the satin material of her top. One by one, manipulated by the same fingers that had, only minutes prior, snuffed the life from a human being. The fan above the bed was spinning, blowing cool air over her exposed chest, hardening her nipples within the confines of her bra, and giving life to the reflexive reaction of bringing her hands up to cover herself, protect herself from black eyes. Joker's hands gripped her wrists, pulling them gently away and Leila let him, no longer caring, about anything. She wanted him to see her, she wanted him to touch her, wanted to feel something, anything. She wanted to feel something.
Eyes wide open, Leila reached out, her lips parted as she fumbled numbly to grip the knot of his tie, pulling it gently, hearing the soft material pass through her hand. Joker was watching her, his eyes expressionless, detached and cold as she pressed both hands flat against his warm chest, dropping the limp tie blindly beside her. His heart was banging on the inside of his sternum, closely matching the rhythm of her own. She could practically hear it, could almost taste the blood rushing through his veins. Her fingers craved skin, she needed to feel him.
Her touch moved to his neck, to the second button of his blue shirt, where she used her thumb to push it through the other side, exposing the hollow between his collarbones. Instinct told her to stop there, run her finger gently along that groove, satisfy her momentary tactile fixation that way, but she wanted more.
One by one, again, buttons moved, passing through and separating material, exposing more of his chest to her with each movement. She watched, feeling a numb sense of anticipation as his small patch of light chest hair was revealed to her. Shaky fingers reached toward it, brushing against the hairs lightly, feeling them pass beneath her touch but her attention did not remain there long. She could not waste time, not when so much more skin had yet to be made accessible to her. True, she had already seen him without a shirt on, in this same bed no less, but for some reason that was unknown to her, she wanted, needed to touch him. Her hands needed to feel his heart beating, she needed to feel the movement of his chest expanding and contracting with each breath. She needed to feel, again, how human he truly was.
After an eternity, she pulled his shirt apart, pushing it slowly over his broad shoulders, down past his elbows, where he took the initiative to remove his hands from the sleeves, leaving him bare from the waist up. A low huff of breath passed her lips as she lowered her gaze to his chest, pressing her hands flat against it, curling her fingers inward, pressing into his skin, feeling it flex and move beneath her touch. It was perfect, warm and soft, but the texture morphed as she moved her hands up toward his shoulders, where the smooth flesh transitioned into ripples, bumps and grooves.
She had forgotten about his burn. Weeks ago, she had noticed it while he slept in her bed, wondered what it would feel like to touch, curious about whether it would make him angry to find her staring at it. She did not care and allowed herself to explore it, moaning softly in the dark as she felt the malformed skin pass under her fingertips. A low grunt of a laugh followed, Leila could feel it escape his lungs against her hand. He did not seem put off or even annoyed by her exploration of his flesh, but she still could not help but feel like she was invading him, being too forward. Pulling her eyes away from his shoulder took great effort, but as she met his gaze, her attention immediately dropped to his mouth. His scars...
Without hesitation, she reached her fingers toward his face, allowing the jagged grooves to pass beneath them, her jaw dropping as she gasped quietly. Until that point, she had never allowed herself to fully touch them, despite how badly she had wanted to. Sitting on his lap a week ago, she had struggled so hard to deny that desire, the curiosity she felt toward their texture, her secret wish to feel them without fear of angering him. Now, it seemed her inhibitions had been removed from her, making it so easy, so natural for her to touch his face.
The scars were horrible, violent things, deep cuts in his painted face, like cracks that had formed in stone over millions of years. The paint was sticky against her fingers but Leila didn't care. Her jaw dropped as Joker opened his mouth slightly, stretching the creases of his scars, turning his head against her touch, leaning into it, craving more of it. His reaction was immediate, strong, his grip tightening around her hips, a low groan rumbling inside his throat as he pulled her closer to him, lips parted, a slow, staggered breath slipping between them.
Then she felt it; a firm pressure against her ass, pushing, straining against her. It was like she had been thrown back in time to a week prior, sitting on his lap in that dingy garage, though this was different. She was not frightened nor embarrassed by it, merely curious and slightly surprised. Instinctively she shifted, unintentionally brushing against his erection and arousing a low groan from the Joker, covering her in a fresh coating of chills. This noise was so primal, so raw and natural...so human. Leila shifted again, using her hands on his shoulders to provide leverage. However, as she moved, she could feel a new sensation, a moisture, stickiness between her thighs, adhering her underwear to her most private of areas. Her eyes widened, her chin lifted, allowing her to look into his face. The corner of his scarred lips twitched upward, his gaze narrowing. I know.
He did not say a single word. His eyes didn't move from where they had focused on hers, only his hands, sliding down along her hips to her parted legs, his palms flattening against the outside of her thighs. Leila watched him using only her senses, her gaze unable to move from his glassy pupils, feeling his hands move back up, taking the edge of her pencil skirt along with them, exposing her as they went. He inhaled deeply, a slow, steady breath through his nose as the material bunched at her hips. He was taking in the scent of her pheromones, tasting them on the air and growling in desire as he exhaled slowly.
She needed to stop him. She had to stop him. But the sensation of his palms against her bare thighs was intoxicating, the feel of his dick giving a solid throb against her was too much, and as one of his fingers dipped ever so slightly between their bodies to the damp fabric covering her, all hope was lost. She was gone, swallowed whole by the most primal sense of need she had ever experienced.
Leila's head rocked backward, her jaw dropped in a silent moan as he allowed just the tip of his middle finger to pass over her, caressing her from back to front, applying pressure through her sheen underwear. Her toes curled against his knees, her body trembling. It had been so long since she had been touched like this and she whimpered, digging her nails into his broad shoulders.
Suddenly, his finger stopped moving, disappeared from where it had been petting her and Leila could not stop herself from whimpering in disappointment, opening her eyes and furrowing her brows as she looked to Joker. He smirked, watching her in amusement as she shifted over his lap, hoping to spur him on. Why had he stopped? Did he think she had wanted him to? Hoping to give him silent indication to continue, she leaned forward only few inches to brush her lips against his, to kiss him, tell him 'more'. However, as she did this, he leaned away from her slowly, his smirk expanding to reveal his yellowing top teeth, his eyes half-lidded and glazed. No.
Further and further he leaned back, until he was lying flat on her bed, his long legs trapped beneath her, his feet still firmly on the floor, Leila straddling his hips. She braced herself with her hands on his stomach, trembling as she stared down at him, wide-eyed. For a long moment, they watched each other, waiting for the next move like some highly dangerous game of chess. It was Joker that moved first, reaching for her hand and guiding it to the top button on his purple pinstriped pants, before releasing his grip and waiting, gazing up at her in expectation. But it seemed Leila's brain had jammed, slowed down and frozen, rendering her immobile, useless, unsure of where to go from there.
A moment later, she gasped as Joker suddenly reached out for her arms with both hands, gripping her elbows tight, pulling her down toward him, his teeth gritted in frustration and impatience. In that split second, she wondered, panicked, what he was doing, if he was fishing a knife from his pocket or if-
The sound of his zipper split the silent still air like the crack of a whip, the feel of his knuckles brushing against her soaked panties telling her everything she needed to know. He was going to fuck her. And she was not going to stop him. There was a fresh warmth between the highest point of her thighs, the air itself seemed to be quivering as Leila braced herself with her hands on his chest, staring down at him in blank shock. Then everything exploded.
In one swift movement, the saturated cloth of her underwear had been pulled to the side and her hips forced down, Joker's solid dick pushed inside her, so deep, so invading, stretching her, filling her completely. A raspy cry leaped from her throat, her eyes shutting tight as she grasped his shoulders, digging her nails into his soft skin, Joker's hot breath against her ear, staggered and rough. Spots of light burst in her eyes as she pushed herself up slightly, his hands holding her in place, keeping her still, their bodies flush against each other. He did not move at first, nor did he allow her to, but merely watched her, waiting for her eyes to open and focus on him. Look at me.
His long, green hair was strewn out beneath his head, contrasting starkly against her white comforter, his lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he watched her stare at him. The scar along his bottom lip rolled beneath his top teeth, his grip on her hips relaxing slightly, giving her permission to continue. Leila could feel him throbbing, his dick twitching inside of her, aching for some sort of movement, so she carefully rocked her hips back, then forward, slowly, gently, keeping her hands flat against his chest. His heart was racing against her palm, practically echoing in the room, their breathing off rhythm from one another.
It was heaven, blinding pleasure such that Leila had never experienced before; feeling him deep inside her, his hips moving beneath her, his warm breath against her neck. His lips parted against her skin as his hands guided her waist, rocking her body atop his and Leila sighed against his cheek, tilting her head to the side to expose her neck as he kissed her there, licking and sucking on one small bit of flesh he had trapped between his teeth.
One of his hands left her waist, once he was positive she had fallen into a rhythm atop him, and snaked beneath the loosened bun at the back of her neck, his grip tightening as his hips gave an encouraging buck. Leila grunted in slight pain as he pushed deeper within her, using his fingers in her hair to keep her steady. With his cheek against hers, she could feel his greasepaint sticking to her skin, his scar brushing against her and she moaned, closing her eyes as he panted in her ear. Beads of sweat were beginning to build along her hairline as her body burst into flames, the muscles lining her back twitching and tensing as she arched her chest against his.
The hand in her hair was gone, instead reaching for the twisted, useless skirt bunched at her waist, where he grabbed and pulled it upward, sliding the material roughly along the curve of her ribs until it reached her shoulders. Leila raised her arms, allowing him to pull it fully off of her and toss it to the side before she sat up on his hips. This new angle was unlike anything she had felt before. Her head fell back, her back arched and she moaned at the ceiling, dragging her nails along his chest as Joker replaced his hands at her waist, his thumbs pressing forcefully against her hipbones, his eyes traveling from her face, down past the black cups of her bra, admiring her curved figure as it rolled and rocked atop him.
Looking down, Leila took a moment to watch him in the throes of a thoroughly human form of pleasure, something so simple and natural. She had always found it odd that he seemed to be cut from the same basic cloth all men were and as she watched him close his eyes, tilt his head back and groan deeply from his chest, he was no different from the next human being. She felt good to him and he did not attempt to hide that, momentarily stripping himself of all abnormality, allowing both of them to be exactly what they were; a man and a woman.
Her hands met the mattress on either side of his shoulders and she leaned forward over him, ignoring the vague pang of foreboding she felt at such a sudden movement. She needed to feel a deeper connection than just the primal form of intimacy and she knew only one way to achieve that.
Her lips caught his and she kissed him deeply, the loose locks of her hair falling around his face, sticking to the greasepaint as his hips once again bucked hard against hers. He grunted into her mouth and for only a moment, Leila felt his body stiffen, his fingers tightening against her hips before he relaxed. His lips responded to the movement of hers, matching her pressure, kissing her back hungrily, passionately. His scars brushed against her cheeks but Leila was not given time to decide whether she liked it before he was growling, twisting his head away from hers, licking his lips as his eyes opened to glare up at her. I said no.
A loud cry echoed in the bedroom as Joker's hands forced her hips down onto him roughly, bringing his own up to meet her halfway, thrusting so deeply that Leila's vision dimmed momentarily with the mingled pain and pleasure. It his turn; he was taking control, recapturing it after she had so blatantly disobeyed him by pressing her lips to his. Each breath escaped him in huffs and growls, his eyes closed, jaw dropped as Leila tightened her fingers around two bunches of comforter, her back arching. Her voice was hoarse, cracking and raspy as she whimpered against his ear, feeling a warmth spreading slowly from the place where they were so intimately joined.
Joker's hips gave one final thrust, his back arched, his head tilted back and he groaned, using his hands at her hips to force himself as deeply into her as possible. Leila could feel him explode, spilling into her, the muscles along his chest and stomach tensing against her own, trembling vaguely as he released. She sighed, pursing her lips against his neck and threading her hand into his green, messy hair as her inner walls clenched around him.
In one swift movement, Joker's hands gripped her hips and pulled her up off of him before pushing her to the side, where she collapsed on the bed beside him. It could have been the heat of her body, it could have been dehydration or perhaps simply the overwhelming sense of mental and emotional release, but as Leila's vision began to dim, the last thing she saw was Joker's form, rising from his back and bringing up one hand to push his hair away from his face.
Then everything faded to black.
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A/N: Was that as good for you guys as it was for me? Hahaaaaaa
I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter as it was truly difficult yet SO FUN to write. It was another somewhat long wait but it honestly was a tough chapter to write, seeing how it was so long and full of so much stuff! I'm not demanding reviews here, people, but I have to ask-
PLEASE- if you find any issue with the above content, I ask that you all act as adults about it. Please for christ sake, just stop reading if you found this offensive. I listed this story as MATURE and I would hope that you would use your discretion while reading it. So if you choose to review, please don't leave me any flames about the content. I listed a warning at the top of the chapter so if you are reading this, you have no excuse to claim that you were not warned.
Also, a huge thank you to Auriellis for editing and to InTheShadowOfSignificance for her outstanding feedback on the psychology for this chapter! ALSO ALSO, the song that accompanied this chapter was Change by Deftones.
Thanks so much for reading! = ] -QoM