Authors note: Haha at this point I'm not sure anyone is still reading this story or even interested, buttttt I've got a new chapter. Wow has life changed since I started this story or even since the last update. I'm definitely out of the swing of things so hopefully the characters don't feel too off. We'll see if I continue to update. Enjoy :)

After it all, Harleen made her way to a bathroom. When she looked in the mirror she was shocked by what she saw. Her eyes were bloodshot and purple circles had formed underneath, a result of her oxygen supply having been cut off. Her throat was bruised from where his fingers had gripped her neck. Her lips still swollen from his assault to them, and her hands, arms, and shirt were covered in dried blood. She looked insane, but Harleen was mesmerized by the look in her eyes, they reminded her so much of his that she thought she was dreaming. Even worse, she felt her lips curl into a smile that resembled his, and she felt giggles escape her lips as she continued to look in the mirror.

Hours later Harleen lay awake in her bed. She hadn't slept at all since returning from Arkham - had simply stripped out of her bloodstained clothes and stepped into the shower. She had stood in the scalding water until she couldn't take it anymore, and had crawled into her bed exhausted. However, every time she was about to drift off into the confines of her subconscious she woke, recalling what had taken place at Arkham, only hours before.

Although she willed herself to feel some semblance of remorse for Austin, she couldn't conjure up any emotion related to the matter. Instead, her thoughts were consumed by the memories of their kiss. Her body felt electric every time she thought about how his blood red lips had felt pressed harshly against her own. She groaned, feeling warmth pool in her lower abdomen. She couldn't help but ache for him, ache for his lips to be back against hers...to be other places. Places no one else had ever explored. Places she had refused to let others travel.

Suddenly she Harleen sat up and threw a pillow against the wall, screaming as it knocked her diploma off the otherwise bare wall.

'God damn him.' She thought bitterly. She hated him and hated that he'd managed to make her feel this way. "No you don't" whispered that sickly sweet voice, that sounded closer to the surface of her consciousness than ever before.

"I do." She challenged defiantly, for the first time addressing the voice so directly.

"You do not silly. You wouldn't be all hot and bothered if you did. You wouldn't ache for his touch if you did."

"Fuck this!" Harleen exclaimed aloud, jumping out of bed.

"I think you mean fuck Mr. J, silly." The voice challenged again.

"I do not mean that." Harleen screamed into the void of her own head, wishing she could find the source of the voice and put an end to it.

She did not drink often, it reminded her too much of people she tried to bury in her past, but she was tired and sick of the stupid voice in her head telling her what she wanted. She hated not being in control of the emotions rising within her. Not only from the voice, but when she thought about him.

So she quickly stalked over to her liquor cabinet and pulled out a glass bottle filled with a dark liquid. She uncapped the bottle and the oaky smell of whiskey swirled around her nostrils, making her cringe. She did not bother to pour herself a glass, and instead took a large swig directly from the bottle.

If the voice insisted on talking, she planned on drowning it out any sounds with the liquor. She quickly took several more large gulps, grimacing as she felt the alcohol burn a path down her throat. If she were being honest, she much preferred the pain of his strong hands around her throat, squeezing her of life, than the acidic burn of the dark liquor.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" The voice piped in. "You want him, don't you? You want him to choke you while fucks you, don't you?" The voice asked followed by a round of bubbly giggles.

"For the love of god, shut up!" Harleen wailed out as the perky voice penetrated her skull.

She couldn't stand it anymore and clearly the alcohol was only making it worse. So she grabbed her keys and stormed out of her apartment, wishing the sound of the slamming door could drown out the incessant voice in her head.

She found herself in her apartment's gym, a place she had yet to visit since arriving in Gotham. Gyms were yet another place where she no longer felt herself. She had spent a decent bit of her childhood tumbling around dingy gymnastic studios, always being watched by eyes that felt as if they were pulling the clothing off her small frame. It was the pace her step father had always dragged her to, despite her protests. And of course her mother had encouraged it. Anything to keep me away. Harleen thought bitterly.

She felt a shudder run up her spine even being in another gym thinking about those people. She ached to kick something, or at the very least, she wanted to sprint out of the gym and never come back. But instead, she swallowed the sour taste rising in her throat and channeled all her energy into summoning the voice in her head.

"I know you're in there" She coaxed, but heard nothing in response. "Are you kidding me?" She screamed internally, of course now the voice decided to go silent and leave her alone.

"Come out come out." The voice piqued in with a playful edge, before dropping lower. "We don't have to suffer alone anymore." She finally heard in response.

"Finally." Harleen thought and she quickly threw herself in a tumble across the mat. She felt a bit rusty at first, but quickly found herself spinning across the small cushioned region of the gym. Internally, her thoughts were spinning just as fast as she was physically. When she was too exhausted to continue, Harleen flopped down on the mat, feeling her stomach do cartwheels of its own - amber liquid sloshing around in her otherwise empty stomach.

After a long moment Harleen asked aloud. "What do you want?"

The voice in her head responded. "You already know what I want, Harley."

"No I don't" She argued, suddenly wanting to be buried in her bed, fast asleep.

"You do Harley." Her stomach clenched and she wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol coursing through her system of the fear that she did indeed truly know deep down.

Yet she still resisted. "Don't call me that! And how would you know?"

"Because…". There was a long pause and Harleen hoped that she was dreaming, or that this conversation was simply a hallucination conjured up from all the stress. In fact, she hoped the events of the past few days were all a hallucination. Well at least most of the events. She thought as her mind drifted back to warm lips against hers.

"I'm you." The voice finally finished, interrupting her thoughts.

Harleen sat in silence for a long while with herself. Feeling tears collecting in her eyes, not because she was surprised or even worried, but because she knew. And there was only one more answer that she needed from this inner voice. She trembled softly and tried to swallow her fear. She was scared. Scared of what it would mean about her and about her future and everything in between.

"It's him." The voice finally said and Harleen felt herself break down. She cried because she was no longer the person she was before coming to Arkham, no longer had any interest in being that person, or even in being the new person she had invented when she arrived in the dark city.

In fact, she no longer had any interest in being anyone if it meant not knowing him. Not being tied to him because, somehow, in some twisted way, he was everything she wanted and everything she wanted to be. In some twisted way he was somehow the part of her that was missing. He perfectly filled the parts of her that everyone else in her miserable life had cut out.

And that terrified her more than any voice in her head, or anything she had seen tonight, or anything she likely ever would see if she allowed herself to become further entwined with him.

"You don't have a choice anymore." The voice said gently and she found herself giggling aloud.

Joker sat in his cell in the belly of Arkham, fuming. He originally had planned to leave the Asylum after his fun filled night with his pretty little Doctor Harleen Quinzel, but things had not gone exactly according to plan. He wanted to strangle someone, wanted to strangle her for making him feel this way. He couldn't put a name on the feeling that had surfaced in his stomach when her lips had made contact with the barely conscious lump of flesh that he'd left for her to kill. He had been consumed by rage - had wanted to burn down the whole damn world and every living soul in it, so that he would never have to feel that way again.

An angry chuckle escaped his throat and he saw red even just thinking about it again. He growled and hit the wall hard with his fist, enjoying the impact, imagining it was something living and breathing and not just a cold inanimate object.

He couldn't bring himself to leave. Although, he insisted to himself that it was his own choice that kept him there. Afterall, nobody made decisions for him.

"I own her." He growled out, his breath mixing with the fridge air in the basement of Arkham. He hit the wall again. "I am not her puppet." No one controlled him, he was the fucking Joker - clown prince of Gotham. He rolled his neck, cracking it loudly, before smoothing his hair back.

He leaned back against the wall of his cell, allowing his thoughts to drift, because that was how his best ideas came to life. When he allowed his thoughts to float through all parts of his mind - bouncing around all the dark corners and always becoming exceedingly more dark when he inevitably brought those thoughts to life.

His first thoughts were of blood and carnage, some of his favorite things, but her smell, the feeling of her full lips pressed to his. All that living blood. All that life. Her tongue exploring his mouth, the feelings of her hair in his hands, her rhythmic heartbeat pumping desperately against her throat, against his hands pressed to her throat. The little sounds she let out as he had explored every inch of her hot little mouth. He growled, eyes snapping open.

Something would most certainly have to be done about Doctor Harleen Quinzel. He wanted to strangle the life out of her sapphire eyes, wanted to watch all the blood drain from her body for making him feel this way.

Oh, he had plans for his little doctor. She would suffer soon enough. He giggled and tried to ignore the ache that arose between his legs when he thought of his sexy little Doctor Harley Quinn. She would pay for making him feel this way. He would make her regret the day she agreed to be his doctor. Regret the day she ever stepped foot in the miserable city of Gotham. Better yet, he giggled, he would make her regret the day she decided to become a psychologist at all.