"What-" I blink in astonishment, "Yes, I can do a handstand. Why?" He jumps up and grabs my arm. We're out of the room before I can protest, speed-walking down the corridor. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see." We burst through a door, entering a stairwell, and begin walking up. After so much time sitting the movement makes my legs ache. Jerome doesn't slow down, making me stumble to keep up. After three flights of stairs I lose my footing, and, with Jerome's grip on me, I can't catch myself as I fall. I slam down onto one arm, my head barely missing the step. I groan, more from annoyance than pain.
"Can you slow down?" Jerome releases my arm and grabs my waist, ignoring the yelp of defiance that escapes me as he hauls me up. After setting me back on my feet he continues upwards, expecting me to follow; I do. We finally reach the top of the stairs, and Jerome opens the fire exit. He bows dramatically, waving me through. I hesitate before I go out, feeling a gentle breeze move my hair. We're on the roof. Outside. I take a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. After so long stuck inside it's like a drug. I can feel Jerome standing behind me, but I don't care. I'm free. Free from my room, from the corridors, from the stifling imprisonment. It's the dead of night, and without the lights of the city, I can see the stars. In the distance Gotham glows orange, burning against the black sky. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why are we up here?" I turn around, finding him leaning against the wall next to the door. Even the sight of him can't wipe the smile from my face.
"I dare you -" He pushes off from the wall, coming closer until there are mere inches separating us, but I don't back away, "To do a handstand."
"Yeah, I figured that out," I laugh, "But why did we have to come up to the roof for that?"
"Because," He takes my shoulders and turns me to face the side of the roof, one arm pointing past my head to the short wall bordering it, "I dare you to do a handstand on the edge."
"Oh, fuck off," I look back at him, hoping to see evidence of a joke, but he is deadly serious. "You're mad."
"We already established that, keep up," He begins pushing me towards the roof. His grip on my shoulders is unrelenting and I can only let him move me. With a final shove, he releases me. I put my hands on the wall, preparing to push myself up.
"I hate you."
"Sure you do." I clamber up onto the top of the wall, fully aware of the way his eyes follow me in the revealing clothing. I resist the urge to look down, knowing that we're at least six stories up if not more. I don't want to know what fate awaits if I fall.
"How long for?" I've only just realised that my feet are still bare. The concrete is cold against them.
"Oh, I don't know. Ten seconds."
"Fine. If my skirt rides up don't be a creep," I stretch my hands out and barely register his murmur of "No promises" before I'm tipping upside down. Blood rushes to my head but I grit my teeth, willing myself to stay as straight as possible. I begin to count in my head; I don't want to be up here any longer than I have to be. I block out everything, the wind, the occasional car, Jerome watching me, focussing entirely on staying upright. My eyes slide to the ground below me, a good 20 metres; if I fall from this height, I'm dead. My arms shake slightly; I haven't done this in so long. 9, 10. I let myself tip back to the wall, trying to maintain control as I land on my knees. Ouch. I exhale, a smile forming on my face. I did it. I swing my legs down, jumping to stand next to Jerome. "I did it. Truth or dare?" I'm starting to enjoy myself a bit too much, but I don't care.
He keeps his eyes on me, taking barely a second to consider. "Truth." I never expected him to say that, but I already know what I want to ask.
"Why did you kill your mom?" He groans in response, walking away from me in irritation.
"Well, that's boring. She was a whore, she beat me up, yadda yadda –"
"That's not what I meant." I follow him, pressing the question. "Why did you kill her when you did? Why that night?" I won't let him skirt around this. "Why did you kill her the night we met?"
It's the one question I've been asking all these years, that has kept me from forgetting him. He stops suddenly, and I almost collide with him.
"I killed her," He turns back and grabs my arms and pulling me even closer, "Because you told me to." My mouth drops open in shock.
"What the fuck? That's bullshit." I try to push him away from me, but he doesn't move, leaving me with my hands on his surprisingly toned chest. Don't think about his chest, Harleen!
"Really? Because I distinctly remember you telling me, and I quote, "We should kill her."" I remember.
"Why do you let her treat you like that?" I fidget with the hem of my skirt, peering at the boy sitting next to me. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and lets out a huff of air. His breath creates a small cloud that quickly disappears into the cool night.
"I can't exactly do anything about it. She's my mom. I don't have anything if I don't have her." His voice cracks, and I lay a hand on his arm, my best attempt at comfort.
"That's not true, Jerome. You have the circus, and if you don't want to stay then there's plenty you could do. You're smart, I'm sure you'd find something." He smiles at that, as though I've told a joke, making me frown. He shifts, taking my hand in his. His skin is cold.
"It's sweet that you think that, but life doesn't work that way. We can't all just do whatever we want. And besides, she'd never let me leave." He's right of course. A thought springs to mind, and I voice it as seriously as I can.
"Well then, I guess we should kill her," We lock eyes, and I can only hold the façade for a second before I start laughing at my own joke. Jerome quickly joins in, squeezing my hand. I squeeze back, glad that I seem to have cheered him up.
"I was joking, you idiot!" I shift backwards, trying to force him to back off, but he follows me. "I wasn't being serious."
"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" Is he serious?
"Not everyone's insane, Jerome," I shake my head at him, horrified at the idea that Jerome killed his mother because of me. "I… I was a kid. I saw someone hurting and I tried to make light of it. I didn't know what else to do!" He stares at me, searching my eyes for something, but I don't know what. "Look, I'm sorry your childhood was shit. I'm sorry your mom abused you. But you can't say that it's my fault you killed her." I'm chewing my lip again, and his eyes flick down before he moves away from me. I step back to lean against the wall and look out towards the city, able to breathe again as Jerome walks away from me
"I never said it was your fault." I turn to look at him over my shoulder, confused.
"What?"
"It's not "your fault" that I killed her." He's looking back at me now. "I was always going to do it. You just gave me the final push."
"That's just as bad," The way he's looking at me makes me shudder. I break the connection between us and look down at my hands, fidgeting with one of the garish buckles on my skirt. All this has done is confuse me more. "Why did you even listen to me?"
"Well," he seems resistant to answering, "I guess you were nice to me."
"I was nice to you?" The words taste like venom in my mouth. All of this, because I was kind to a stranger?
"Yeah," His voice is rough, almost vulnerable; this scares me more than joking and threatening ever could. "Why?"
"Why what?" I furrow my brow, confused at the question. I feel him rather than hear him move closer.
"Why were you so nice to me?" His breath brushes against my neck. His arms move around my sides, trapping me against the wall. A flash of metal reveals a knife now in his hand, and I suck in a breath. Adrenaline quickly floods my veins. "Why were you, innocent little Harleen, so nice to the strange boy at the circus?" I don't want to answer; but I know I have to.
"Well… you helped me. You noticed me..." I can't keep the tremor from my voice, remembering that night. In my-twelve-year-old mind, Jerome was a prince, a knight, my saviour from the terror of being lost. He was handsome, and funny, and gentle. He even gave me his jumper when he saw me shiver. I fell hard, in the way that twelve-year-olds do.
"And?" He presses against me, lips brushing against my ear with a growl.
"And you saw me." My mind screams at me, but I need to tell someone. And Jerome is the only one who could even begin to understand. "You saw me. Not "Harleen Quinzel, heir to the family fortune, can do no wrong. The perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect student, perfect, perfect, fucking perfect!"" I slam a hand on the wall. My body is trembling; I can barely breathe. I don't know where this is coming from. Yes, you do. "I was just Harleen." I look up at the sky, unconsciously resting my head on Jerome's shoulder. Tears well in my eyes, my breathing ragged. I can't believe what I've just said. I never realised how much who I was mattered until I said it. But it's true. I let myself become fixated on him all because I was sick of everyone's expectations – and the fact that I couldn't live up to them. I spin around in his arms, almost hesitating when I see how close he is, our chests now pushed against each other. Has he ever heard of personal space? "Take me back to my room." I push against him, but he doesn't budge.
"We're not finished playing, Harleen." I hate hearing my name on his lips – like he owns it.
"Yes, we are!" Fuck caution. Fuck fear. I can't be here with him now. Not with his body so close to mine, not with our breath mingling in the cold night air, not with his eyes boring into me. I claw at his face, hoping for him to be thrown off by it enough for me to escape his arms. He takes a step back, laughing at me, and I use the moment to grab the knife he's holding. The blade slides against the palm of my hand, but I barely feel it. The build-up of adrenaline in my veins gives me the strength to twist a hand in Jerome's shirt and turn us around so that his back is against the wall. I press the now bloody knife to his neck, forcing his head back. His arms hang by his sides, making no effort to push me away.
"Go on, then. Kill me." He chokes out a laugh, and I push harder. A thin line of blood appears. I hold his life in my hands, and he's laughing at me.
"I could do it. Right now." I tighten my grip on him and shove so that he is bent back awkwardly. I can see the scar from when Galavan killed him from this angle. The smile on his face has only grown, and it pisses me off. "You think I won't?"
"Oh, you would – if you wanted to," One hand slowly comes up to wrap gently around my wrist, not pulling me away but instead pushing the blade deeper. "But I don't think you do." I glare at him, anger and pain and fury burning inside of me. It would be so easy just to push the knife in and end this now. But something is holding me back. I do want to kill him. I do. But I don't. I can't. I let out a yell of anger, throwing the knife down to my side and retreating quickly, almost tripping over my frozen feet. I'm shaking. He rubs at the oozing scratch, gloves staining red and grinning in victory. "Told ya'." He begins to approach, slow but inevitable, and the cut in my hand starts to sting and ache.
"I'm not a killer," I wish my voice was stronger as I try to defend myself.
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that," He rolls his eyes before setting them on me with what I can only describe as hunger in them. "But I did warn you." If you try anything like that again, I will not hesitate to break your legs. I hurry backwards, shaking my head, a futile attempt at escape.
"No, wait-" In the blink of an eye he's rushing me, and before I can move out of the way he's grabbing me and throwing me over his shoulder. A short scream escapes me as he begins to carry me towards the stairwell. I can't move, frozen, until the back of my head knocks roughly against the doorframe. I begin to thrash, hitting against his back with as much force as I can muster. It's meaningless; I only succeed in making him laugh. As we begin our descent Jerome makes no effort to soften his steps, letting me bounce heavily on his shoulder which jabs into my stomach with every movement, in turn forcing me to cling to him in an attempt to secure myself. It's sure to bruise. But somehow, I don't think that's the worst that's going to happen to me tonight.