Erm, don't think I posted yesterday and if I did forget, sorry. I think I spent the whole day very spaced out to be honest because I don't remember any of it. This chapter does have sexual connotations and vulgar language so ye hath been warned.
/-^1^-\ Following Week. Monday. Jonathan's Perspective. /-^1^-\
Alison talks a lot in her sleep. I'm not always awake to hear it but unfortunately it is just nonsense and not utterances from her subconscious - something that interests me deeply, very much so in my beautiful girlfriend.
"Add turnips and boil," she mutters. I can't suspend the chuckle that comes out. What IS she dreaming about? Sheep, then lolly pops, then buttons... now turnips.
You've done well. To keep her. To sustain your relationship. Even with the downfalls. I think I'm proud. So am I. That's the most sane thing I've felt myself aware of from the darker side of who I am. I do love her. I know he sighs in my mind.I really love her and I would be quite ... very happy to spend the rest of my life with her.
She had me on the bay. She looked so hopeless, but yet she deflected me so well from the real problem, the pain her hand from the wound. And she didn't seem to notice that. I lean over and grip her wrist, sliding further down the bed and planting a kiss on her lips. She briefly stirs.
"Wake up, madam," I warn, "it's 7."
I think she's thankful for me being here. She used to have to ride a bike to work and used to set off at 7am. I provide a lift in a car since she had hers taken. It's nice not to see dark circles under her eyes.
I think she likes pain... What? She didn't want you to do anything about her hand, she didn't go to the hospital with her arm or after her falls, she hardly noticed a problem with her broken arm. She even attempted walking and maybe plotted murder when Ivana the Slut knocked on the door. She likes to feel pain.
I can't get time away to attend that. You don't want time away. She's changed you. Please stop deflecting. Impossible. She wouldn't. Would she? Or would she? Physical pain. Why don't you find out? I'm not hurting her! I will never hurt her. No? Okay, see how excited she gets if you seem threatening? Hmm... maybe. But what do I do if she does? What can you do with knowledge like that? Have very kinky sex. For once in my life I laugh at such a crude remark. If it weren't Alison being regarded, I might not find it funny. She'd LOVE kinky sex.
There is a reason she dislikes herself being the dominant sexual partner. She knows, afterwards that it'll be me she curls up to and lays beside, holding whilst she lives a few more seconds of physical and mental bliss that I have been the creator of. She knows she's safe and protected and that any sea can be calmed. If SHE were dominant, she wouldn't feel the same at all somehow. Less guarded.
And I love that feeling. Knowing I provide the mental safety and the physical if need be. It makes me feel powerful but it also enhances my love for her, knowing she needs me and I cannot leave her. And she can't leave me because without her I am miserable. I suffer somehow, in the depths of my own madness. She's completely changed me into someone I didn't know I could be. What a wonderful thing that is.
She can't change me. No, but she doesn't know. She'd try if she did and I think she'd win. Don't lie; she's super hot. That alone could win you over. Her curves are a fine thing, as well as her face. Oh, her bum... she has a very pert ass. And her tummy, flat as a board and so easy to roam over... okay yeah. But once I'd stop being turned on? There's her personality. Her mentality. The constant flick between coping and devastated. And there is almost an obligation to feel sympathy towards her because so many people turned away.
I get it. I know. She should wake up but she's too cute when she sleeps.
"Ally," I call, straddling over her fine curves. Oh God, don't. Wow. She presses her hands to my torso and slips one finger down the top of my boxers. Instantly she has me. She opens her eyes, the blue depths drowning me in awe.
"Jon?" she replies quirkily. Who else would it be?
"It's 10 past 7," I say, laying down with her, our skin coming to some sort of fuse with the closeness. I can't resist it any longer, I have to do something to her. I seal my lips just between where her neck and shoulder meet and caress her soft skin. It doesn't take long for me to make my mark. She titters lightly under me because it tickles her... ever so lightly. Her skin is very sensitive.
Listen to yourself... you're totally doo-lally! She's just a woman- She's a goddamn perfect woman. How did I manage it! Certainly not by charm. If she only knew what you were thinking... dirty- Shut up. ... I have breasts to be cupping, not listening to you please? Ooh-err.
I slide my hands under her nightgown, pleasing her with my personally daring act. She knows I'm not as confident as I'd like to be but occasionally resistance stops working and I snap. She giggles as my hands roam under, tracing eerie lines over her skin and bringing blood rushing to the surface, making her whole body a gentle blush colour. Her cheeks flare, and are the only places to flare on her face. It looks adorable. So... cute.
"Is this wise before work?" she asks me. No, it isn't. I know she's only being rational about things but she could have said that before I liked the view. She also started it... slightly. Then I have an idea! It works out if she agrees.
"Nope. But... maybe when we arrive at work ... and we get a moment alone?"
"Are you being serious?" she smirks.
"Deadly," I whisper, "I was just getting you started so you'll get out of bed for once. As much as I know you love it."
I tittered lightly on my way out as a cushion hit me in the back. I chose not to retaliate. She always wants me to and the same arrogantly smirk graces her when I do which is so far every single time. But not this time. I hear her get up and grunt, pulling her clothes off their hangers to get ready.
I set up a quick breakfast for us both, making tea to go with it. I never used to like tea so much, but Alison made me a cup and it was amazing, I wish I made tea like she did.
She staggers down, dropping her heels on the floor with no grace what so ever. She's too small to reach her feet and too clumsy to lift one foot for longer than a second. Instead, she sits. I bring our small breakfast in and kneel in front of her, pushing a heel on for her, smirking playfully.
"You could kill a man with these," I state. She lets a smirk briefly play on her lips before changing her expression to a stone cold gaze.
"Why do you think I wear them?" she asks coldly. I do nearly shiver. That's powerful... tell me about it. I grin involuntarily, brushing my hand up her leg and pushing down lightly as I get up onto my feet, giving her a gentle kiss along the way. She reaches out to me limply, as if she's trying to get me back but knows boxer shorts just aren't adequate work-wear. I'd have never dared walk into the kitchen wearing only a thin bit of material around my lower half once upon a time.
Sometimes, a lot of the time, the thought I am the only person she has to love and depend on saddens me instead of makes me feel almighty. She's desperately alone without me. And I never knew I'd care about someone like that; care that she is safe and okay. From herself more than anything.
She would have taken her life. Why didn't you let her? She placed the key under the mat - she didn't do much harm. She pricked her finger tip. And if I hadn't have tried she'd have probably done it because she would have thought I don't care. But I did and it made all the difference. And I owe her greatly; she saved my humanity Oh, give it a break. What humanity? You have feelings for a grand total of one person - that isn't humane, it's fortune that she's- she is not unstable, or mental. She's ill! She's getting over it.
I yank my tie so hard around my neck with my frustration that I nearly choke. It frustrates me that the darker thoughts remain only mental when the manifestations become physical. I don't wish to look intimidating sometimes and an angry look doesn't help my already imposing image.
Why isn't Alison afraid of you? Think about all those times she was so close, never once feeling... threatened. It supports the idea that she is a masochist... She is not a masochist! She fought tooth and nail to escape when I had her down - When I had her down, actually. She tamed at the sight of you. Just for a bit but still its something. The only thing she asked was not to be murdered. It's not enough support. I hope there never is enough evidence to support it thanks. So let's drop the masochist theory.
I wander downstairs, shrugging my jacket on and wander into the kitchen where Alison is quickly washing the dishes.
"Taken Lola out?" I asked. She nodded and bends down into the cupboard. I can't believe I can't resist the urge to take a glance at her derriere. Well... yeah. She must have sensed me looking, because she looked over her shoulder and I act like a little boy, shuffling off with a cheeky grin on my face. Terrible.
I quickly put some food and water in Lola's little cage thing (it's like the size of a chalet!) - Did I mention breasts in my run down of nice features? Guess that was included in curves. Ah, by curves that's her hips, and her svelte waist. Just to add to the curviness are her breasts. Still sitting high for a big pair. Pretty useful for play. Eww... I don't want to think things like that, I look at them as a feature not as a play asset. She is a perfect hourglass though? Minus her barely-there weight? ... yeah... good point, she is thin. She's lucky. She starved herself for three years. You mean she battled with anorexia for three years? She isn't immune to mental illness. I know. I just don't think I need to pin a label to her. She didn't do it because she wanted to be ultra skinny, she did it through self-loathing. Let's not think about this... Lola seems to be annoyed.
"Stupid dog," I mutter as Lola passes me, glaring as if she knows me for what I am. I then wonder if the hidden side of myself feels the same about Alison.
She's absolutely consumed you, she is neurotic, she has odd habits and rituals, she is touch and go in every way, she's a major distraction and has put you weeks behind in terms of progress and she caused you to go back on yourself when you wouldn't ever normally. She caused you to doubt yourself. No, I don't feel the same. You'd be better without her. In my opinion.
Because you're opinion is absolutely rational. I'm not saying that. I'm just saying without her we'd do much better. At least, I'd thrive if you didn't want to. If you gave me the chance I'd never go back. But you don't. Asshole. Hey! You are. You're pathetic. You're hopeless. I'm so hopeless I'm starting to get what I want in life. I'm not the one who is insanely happy with drugging others mindless. I don't know what the hell I want to do with all that crap. Use it to investigate! Are you sure you don't want to use it on Alison?
Make me a promise. That no matter what, no matter how much she makes your blood boil or pushes you over the edge, you don't hurt her. That isn't to me. You don't ever want to hurt her- don't harm her. Don't poison her, don't physically abuse her, don't mentally diminish her, nothing. -because you know that sometimes the things you've done might be worthy of retrogression in your relationship, maybe even to the extent it-
"Jon?" Jon... Jon. I love it when she calls me Jon, why don't you? Too attached. You're nearly as emotionally unstable as she is- Fuck off. Ooh, temper tantrum. Don't dare make it sound like a bad thing she is unable to help how she feels. She doesn't ask for it. You do feel strongly? my irrationality asks, surprised and almost hurt. A whisper comes to my ear. "Jon?"
"I'm sorry," I smile, taking her hand.
"It's 8." Really? Gosh.
At work we have a predicament. On a Monday, my duties involve... not really much more than it used to before my more executive role to be quite honest. For Alison, she does the weekly assessments of what we call grade 1 inmates. The ones who have done bad things, had problems but could get over them. They're also the most likely to go to prison after a stint in here.
We do as we need to, agreeing to meet in my office at 11am. I'm distracted, but I can still do my job. The thought of getting to have my way, anyway I like, with Alison is consuming my thoughts. I just hope there aren't any... physical? ... manifestations.
I don't know what point I fell asleep at. I hear the door go, lucid. Alison peels the book from my face which awakens me fully. I smile awkwardly and raise a brow.
"Cunning cover up. I almost didn't know you weren't reading," she remarks dryly. I pick up the book and drop it onto the desk, clutching her waist and bringing her down into my lap, holding her like I have so many times before, oozing affection.
"I thought so. I mean, especially without my hands I felt it'd be very convincing."
"I have to let you down," she whispers. Ha. Shut up. I sweep her hair behind her ear.
"What's the issue?" I ask gently, understanding that there will be a reason, she wouldn't let me down like that. Or herself.
"I've been called for a consultancy to try help catch a sadist." She's going to go in favour of helping the world. You're just not her world. "Gordon rang 10 minutes ago." She does sound sorry, it's riddled in her voice. "There's been a double murder and he wants me advice since they suspect they have a body count of 4."
"If I don't see you back here, I'll see you at home."
"Thanks Jon," she smiles, though glumly. She kisses me goodbye and darts off to where ever she needs to be, presumably the police station. I watch her leave, she shuffles her feet as if she's prolonging the amount of time she spends in my office.
Can you honestly deal with her much longer? If you mean her BPD- I am techincally your subconscious. It's you who thinks that at the back of your mind. Well, we both know that isn't true. It's what the bad side of my heart- Mind. Jesus, man. -fine, my mind thinks. And that would be you. I'm winning this game and I will keep on doing so.
Ohh, so what you're trying to say is I'm your repressed feelings? Bubbling under here until I spill. Yes. I'd like to keep my repressed feelings repressed, it's why they are that way. Why don't you like Alison? Haven't we been here? She gets in the way. She inhibits your progress... and she's turned you into something that you are definitely not. I don't think so.
She's booked in to go away in 3 weeks time. For 6 days. Why? I don't know. But it's something she requested a while back. Are you going to find out? It might be on file. With this thought, I whip around and run out of the door, going into her office. This is... spying on her. She needs her privacy. Just act shocked when she reveals what she's doing. I think, maybe she ... no, she doesn't want to go back to Scotland... Maybe to murder her mum? Could you HONESTLY see Alison doing that? We saw how she was with her sister. Pretty vicious. She grew a backbone you of all people should know she has a backbone. A STRONGER backbone, fuss-pot. Fuss pot?
She has actually left already. I go into her office and pull up the system. She is still logged in. Of course, you don't think to check out when its only you in an office, there isn't really any need. But if you're like me... which quite a few of us secretly are, you know this and you take advantage. It's how I pinned Dr. Mare - he didn't check out and he left a trail. Twat.
She's going to FRANCE! Without you, Johnny-Boy. I honestly could not give a damn, I just want to know why. Hmm... I could move the lounge around whilst she's gone... She's going to France and hasn't told you and all you're fussed about is interior design. The living room is cramped! The furniture seems to have crept into the centre and is getting closer. The table can fold down, go in the kitchen- I ... don't care, to be honest. She gets arsy about moving things. Says it needs some time and thought. Perfect!
You don't mind her doing that and not telling you? She probably forgot. I don't mind. Just as long as she doesn't tell me a few days before or something, and lands the news by surprise.
The door springs open to my horror. Alison blinks at me with sheer confusion. I quickly go back to the page she was on without making it look obvious and hold up a folder with my left hand, to deflect her from my right hand which is moving the mouse.
"Thought I'd be nice," I shrug, "didn't mean to invade."
"Awh, no it's fine. I just remembered something I forgot," she says, totting over and leaning over the desk and opening the first draw. I take a quick glance inside but keep my eyes up, not wishing to be rude. She knows I've looked and it makes her smile. "House keys. Just in case," she said, jangling them in front of my face.
She's about to turn and walk away but I pout at her with the best puppy dog eyes I can pull on top. She giggles lightly and turns back to face me fully, giving me a quick kiss on the lips and leaving.
"Bye!" she calls back, shutting the door. I lamely hold my hand up at the now-closed door. Pratt...
I don't see Alison for the entire day. Oh well... I can always see her at home, can't I? Of course. And I have some interesting things to do in my afternoon. First, my therapy session with Harley (what a joke). She won't say a thing about what happened to her and to my awareness, she was a former doctor. But something happened and she's very bitter about it, yet still she says nothing about the incident that landed her the cell in Arkham.
Second, was a visit from Bruce Wayne. To me. He called up to see how DO YOU EVER STOP THINKING ABOUT ALISON! My surprise at the outburst times nicely with Bruce's timid entrance.
"Sorry. Didn't expect it to be you," I lie. Of course I did, he rang me up.
"Who else were you expecting?"
"I'm not quite sure," I laugh, nervously, "what's the matter?"
"I'm coming to see how Alison is. She hasn't been in touch for a while. I hoped she was okay."
"She's absolutely fine," I smile, "she's got a lot on her plate and she's been feeling a little sad, what with her brother and all. She's out currently, doing work with the police. I'm not sure she'll be back, you know. She took the car which is serious business."
"I just wanted to make sure she was okay. I have an event coming up soon. A fundraiser. Wanted to know if you two would like to attend?" he asks, holding out an envelope with gold lettering. How odd... I know. The week she goes away. It's almost like we've ... I've been handed an excuse to ask.
"I'll pass it on. You know, she didn't mention whilst making dinner the other day in one of her out loud thoughts that she hadn't spoken to you."
"I'm not a threat, Dr. Crane."
"I didn't say nor imply you were."
"I know you are concerned. I know you can't help but think we went out for dinner and we're close. We're similar people. You know, she really loves you. She had a little giggle when you bought her flowers, and the necklace she now won't take off. She talks about you all the time. It's nice; I've seen her look sad often and her condition obviously doesn't help. You're making her happy."
"Thanks... for putting my... slight envy... to rest."
"No problem," laughed Bruce, "tell her I dropped by, will you?"
"Of course," I nod. I've just been put on the spot, haven't I? Am I really that bitter towards him? He got to see MY Alison in a dashing dress before I did. Admittedly I had a little vendetta against her at first.
Say... yes you did! How did you get over it? It was never really real to begin with. I smile and make it look like I've directed it to Wayne, nodding at him curtly but not too much. He shakes my hand and stands up.
"Goodbye Dr. Crane."
"Bye Mr Wayne," I reply, watching him as he shuts the door behind himself. Eh... he's not that bad. Still, glad I don't have to suffer through visits to him with Alison.
He sort of ranted at you a little bit... That remark made me laugh.
The rest of the day isn't as interesting, but it's no matter. I can't wait for home time! I am practically rushing out of Arkham. I check Alison's office quickly to make sure she isn't there, and search the grounds just in case and get on the bus. Hey, I've had surprises for me before; I could get home and find her scantily clad in stockings and a babydoll. I don't anticipate it but it's a potential event.
And just for a surprise of my own, I get off and go to buy some wine for us. She likes red wine. Sweet red wine. And I spot a bottle which is a brand we've already had before. Just something to let her know that I don't mind about earlier; there's always other times and she had things to do. What a charmer... I know mentally there is a rolling of eyes there but I chose to ignore it.
Suit yourself. But you know; I'm always here. And we could co-exist a lot more harmoniously if you only stopped talking for one moment instead of firing on in there. Ass hole. You've become ruder, and blunter, since meeting Alison. Ruder? No, I was always pissy, you make me more so and the remarks about my girlfriend or what she does to me I don't appreciate.
Listen. We can co-exist peacefully. If you admit one thing. ...What? That I am something other than yourself. Yes. You are. A goddamn nightmare. I strike my hand out at the bus with an anger I couldn't contain. I wish my head didn't overload with the toing-and-froing until the moment I shut my eyes and fell asleep. It drives me up the WALL!
I give the driver a look like I'm going to kill him and he raises a brow. For that look, I might just. I'm so mad suddenly. I don't think the average ... erm, not that I think myself above average I just don't think many people have an internal monologue that acts like their enemy, or a whole different person all together.
You should take it as a sign you're cracking up- I'M NOT! You so are. Listen to yourself. Hmm, let's diagnose you... Can we give this a miss? Schizophrenic? Nah, not delusional- I do have a psychology doctorate- MPD? Well... no. I am you, you just don't accept it. I am a part of you. The dark harboured ill feelings you feel towards humanity for- You are nothing more than my agony, repressed. The harmful thoughts that I can hear and the bad things I wish to go away but cannot get rid of. OCD? A persistent and irrational thought that needs alleviation? Sounds... about... fucking... right. Just without the compulsions, it's still OCD- I KNOW! I don't have Purely Obsessional OCD you just said I know what I said. I just want you to go away. This is my stop.
I cast a daunting glance at the driver as I get off and wander up the street to the house. Maybe, what will soon be our house In the middle of our street! ... because she asked me to move in. I rolled my eyes at my (newly confessed) repression and opened the door.
"Alison?"
No reply. Shit! Maybe she's come home and gone to bed. It's 7:30pm, and if she got home and has been on her feet all day? I dash upstairs, carelessly, and check. The bed is unoccupied. Awwh. Just in case, I give her a call anyway. She sounds pretty flustered but she is still working. She tells me she has no idea what time she'll get in at. It doesn't matter. I just like to know she's safe.
Oh, and another thing... I might possibly have to slow down the posting as I am now writing as I go but it'll still probably be frequent. I'm writing nearly every minute of the day.