WARNINGS: Dubious consent, abuse (physical and emotional), drugs, even more swearing than usual.
Basically, imagine the Joker's rap sheet.
Ugh, sorry about this one, guys. Just...trust me and hang in there for Chapter 15?
In many ways, Harley's lack of impulse control, her ability to live in the moment, was an asset.
In the wake of her – whatever it was with Pam, it came pretty damn close to destroying her.
From the first time she saw Pam, she'd wanted her. Learning that she was married to Harley's dad of all people did nothing to diminish that. And spending time with her, getting to know her, learning what made her throw her head back and laugh just made it a million times worse.
By the time Harley actually made a move on her (and okay, yeah, normally she had better game than caressing someone's hip with her thumb, but this was a unique situation), she was overwhelmed, consumed with desire. She felt like some stupid bimbo in a novel with Fabio on the cover, going into heat whenever the object of her ardent fervor was near.
It was ridiculous.
But she was so swept up in it that she couldn't fight it, had to ride it out. And since no riding was going on with the redhead (har har), Harley needed another . . . outlet.
The first time she approached him was the night she touched Pam's hip on the couch. Her dad's couch. Actually, her mom's couch if she remembered right. She bolted when it felt like Pam was rejecting her, ended up at his alley, told him to buy her a drink.
And he did. He bought her many drinks.
And unfortunately, instead of forgetting about her forbidden . . . whatever, Harley obsessed over her. Out loud. And thoroughly.
She told him too much that night, the whiskey and the beer and her own torrential emotions and his probing questions all sharing in the blame.
Which meant that now he knew things. And that gave him something over her. Because it turned out that he was the kind of guy who liked to hold things over people.
Harley wasn't expecting an Eagle Scout when she approached him in the alley, but she couldn't ever have anticipated the kind of person he truly was.
That first night, he called her a cab and got her to tell the cabbie her address, sending her home without so much as a kiss.
It made Harley let her guard down more than she should have.
The second time she met up with him was after she and Pam had a fight that was so loaded with sexual tension, Harley thought she would explode.
She let him fuck her in the alley that night.
No explosions.
The third time, he came for her.
She and Pam were having a pretty intense conversation outside the coffee shop the very next morning. Harley felt hung over, ashamed, broken, but god so happy to see her and hear her voice. She managed to draw Pam out, to get her talking, letting Harley escape her spiral of self-destructive behavior for a little while.
She felt . . . safe.
But then she looked over Pam's shoulder and saw him. It made her jump, and the little bubble she and Pam shared was popped, just like that.
He was looking at Harley with this knowing smirk, this look that said I know everything and I'll fucking tell her that you told me and then she'll hate you.
She knew he had her then.
Harley made one more little quip to Pam, looked at her longingly one last time – and disappeared with him into the shadows.
Everything pretty much went to shit after that.
He knew she'd do whatever he wanted, because he owned her. He knew her deepest secret. He could blow her life wide open.
And because he put her in the cab that night, he knew her address.
He got her dealing pretty much right away. ("The fuck did you think I did in that alley?" he sneered at her the first time.)
She drove out of town where no one would recognize her, spent time on dark streets with desperate people.
She thought about using a thousand times, like he did, like most of his dealers did. But every time, a voice in her head said, "Harley . . . no."
Harley knew whose voice it was.
She stayed in his dingy apartment most nights, trying to keep him the hell away from Daffodil. They fucked when he felt like it. She was numb to it.
She lost her job at Caprese. Thank god classes were over, or she'd have lost her scholarships too.
Calls from her mom and dad went straight to voicemail. Eventually, they both gave up trying, must have figured she needed some time to herself.
But Pam texted her every single day, many times a day. Never stopped.
At first, it was friendly invitations to coffee. Then apologies when she thought Harley was avoiding her because she opened up so much the last time they met. Then panic when she thought something was wrong.
When Pam texted that she was calling the police, Harley made sure to be home when they got there. She put on a bright smile, cracked jokes about her overprotective stepmother, and the cops went away shaking their heads and laughing.
Sometimes Harley would see her distinctive red hair outside her apartment building, or the green Prius parked nearby.
She'd wait to feed Daffodil until Pam was gone.
It shouldn't have been so easy to avoid her, living in the same city. But it was.
After several weeks of this, Pam seemed to accept that she wouldn't get anything back. But she didn't give up. Her texts shifted, became updates, informational:
I went by the animal shelter today. Thomas is worried. I told him you're alive.
I tried one of your mochachinos (sp?) today. I was sick to my stomach all afternoon.
Your dad asked me to go away with him this weekend. A cabin in Vermont. I know you won't answer this, but . . . I wish I could talk to you about it. Ask you if you're okay with it, maybe. Sorry for the dissertation.
Every one brought a sad smile to Harley's face before she deleted it. She couldn't take the risk that he would see them.
He seemed to know every time Harley was even thinking about going back. He'd sneer something about telling daddy on her, or make some comment about how he ate cat in Southeast Asia, or just beckon her to come over so he could show her she was his.
One night, something snapped inside her. She talked back, for the first time ever. Said she wished he would tell her dad, just so she could get back to living her fucking life.
And he hit her.
Full-on punched her in the cheekbone.
She didn't hear bones breaking, and vaguely wondered if the sound was just drowned out by his laughter.
That night, she snuck out. Couldn't go home, except to grab Daffodil and strap her carrier to the motorcycle. Home wasn't safe anymore.
Her dad and Pam were in Vermont, so there was only one place she could think of to go.
The Prius was in the driveway when she pulled up and unloaded Daffodil and her small duffel bag, so they must have taken Rick's truck. The house was completely dark.
Harley found the hidden key where Rick always kept it, in a key holder that looked like fake dog poop.
She unlocked the door, shut it, and let Daffodil out of her carrier. She scattered a few treats, which Daffodil instantly started gobbling up, and then Harley staggered to the couch in the dark and flopped down on it.
Two seconds later, she was blinded when the lights came on and the voice she heard every night in her dreams was screaming, "PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS IN THE AIR!"
Oh . . . shit.