Gotham's Discontent
Chapter Two: Here, Piggy Piggy
The moonlight beamed into the barred window of the small cell. Although there was an ounce of wishing that the place would remain silent, there was the white noise ambience of the prisoners screaming next door and across the hall: sometimes it was gibberish, sometimes Deedee could make some sense of the squabbling by catching a sentence on occasion. She once caught a conversation about the passionate soliloquy about the difference about a politician and a lawyer—though Deedee believed that they were one of the same.
Each cell had one guard posted by the door after dark, a curfew held by the Warden of the Asylum generously at ten o'clock at night. Once upon a time, the measurement of security had been looser; but Arkham was popular not just for being a host to dangerous criminals but also being well-known for their break-outs as well. According to the longer-standing residents of the institution, there had been a record-breaking number for such a place like Arkham (and Deedee was surprised that the building was still standing as it is, considering the accounts that she was given by all whom had escaped). Most people who'd break out would find their way back in within a few months to a year. Recidivists of Gotham, or rather, what Jerome called them, Gotham's Discontent still trying to find a way to break free after breaking free.
The West Wing—or the "Ladies of the House"—had male guards in the daytime; but at night, they'd switch off with female guard. However, for the past week, Deedee would hear the quiet sound of skin rubbing skin just outside of her door. And although the door was closed, there was no stopping anyone from peering through the small window at her. A man.
Deedee had named that guard to her company at community breakfast; and the guard in question was named Lawrence Greenburg. It was a known name and quite a disgusting one, for even Sionis's handsome face wrinkled his nose in revulsion. Greenwood had very little to say about him, but there was a prudent frown on his face when Deedee said the guard's name. Even in Greenwood's purview, Lawrence Greenburg was a pig. The women in the West Wing complained about his existence in an insane asylum: although Greenburg had never actually touched any of them, there was a certain wariness—If Deedee knew anything, it was people like Greenburg whose fantasies always escalated into reality.
So when Sionis asked her the name of the person that Deedee would choose to die ("Even in it's hypothetical, lass," Sionis had said, "Whose head would you choose to put on a spike?") she felt no guilt, whatsoever, in naming the sleazy, pot-bellied security guard. Jerome offered his services voluntarily in a way that would opt for reversal role play:
"I could hold him down like you held down Mom," Jerome had said enthusiastically. "It'll be like a parallel from the films; everybody loves a good flashback."
Deedee sat up in bed, back against the wall, as she stared through the small window of the cell door, witnessing the top of a blue hat move back and forth to the rhythm of one who would be masturbating while standing on his feet; and, like several times before, she caught the gaze of his eyes over the white seal. He was watching her. Creep.
While Deedee felt the familiar chill crawl up her spine—fear—an overwhelming urge flushed her neck red with abhorrence. Anger. Deedee had shanked Greenwood for just opting for a solicitation in the bathroom. Deedee could easily dispatch the pervert on the clock. It wasn't just his overall disgusting nature at night that irked her; if it was just that, it'd be quite easy to dispatch due to Deedee's overall experience with leers during her routine in Haley's Circus and the many sex partners that Lila had over in the Valeska trailer.
Lawrence Greenburg didn't pay much respect to any of the patients, regardless of gender. He was cruel even to the harmless ones, like Aaron. Once, Deedee had watched him confiscate a teddy bear that Aaron had been playing with for no good reason other than to upset him; and Aaron was Aaron…So when Aaron got upset and tried to rip him apart with his bare hands, Greenburg had taken out his baton and started beating him with it…
True enough, Deedee had seen her share of beatings—Lila and her brother, Uncle Zack, would practically beat Jerome within an inch of his life sometimes—But Deedee would still try to throw herself in the middle of it to stop it. However, in Arkham, trying to intercede would mean an extra session in shock therapy or something worse…
If you really want to feel what all of us have felt, Deedee, Sionis's words replayed in her head, you ought to give it a try. Everyone's first kill is always personal; it's what opens the door to a world of possibility.
Deedee met the officer's eyes, and she raised her hand, waving at him. She tried to keep the disgust out of her face, putting on a proverbial mask of one of inviting hospitality. To make certain that he'd suspect nothing but a curious teenager whom found him actually appealing, Deedee rose to sit on her knees, gesturing for him to open the door and to come inside with her best, beckoning expression of innocence.
When the door opened and Officer Greenburg stood in the threshold, he had quickly pulled his hand out of his pants and zipped himself up, though he made no effort trying to hide what he had been doing. As attractive as a uniform could appear on a man, it had no vestige on a person like Greenburg: a scraggly beard that had not grown in fully; a broken nose that had been roughly realigned by a doctor who had no business touching anyone; some missing teeth and the teeth that he had were busted to hell—all that, and wearing a smug expression as if he were better than all of the residents of Arkham Asylum, and much more cruel.
"Hi, big boy," Deedee greeted him sweetly, sliding off the bed. The hem of her dress slowly followed, revealing generous space of her thighs before it fell to the height of her calves.
"What you want, Red?" he passed a finger under his nose to wipe away a bit of snot.
"You've been looking at me for a hot minute." Deedee breathed, carelessly folding her arms over her chest. "This is the West Wing, Sir. Why you are posted at my door at night?"
"You'd be surprised what we officers can get away with in a place like this? You offer to take a double shift from someone and ding-ding,"—he mimed ringing a dinner bell slowly above his head—"Sometimes the rules go out the door and a man like moi gets a bit lucky."
His eyes fell from Deedee's face to observe the more concealed parts of her body. Without subtlety, he caressed the growing bulge between his legs, massaging his erection pointedly. Deedee offered him a small smile.
"How lucky can I get, Valeska?" Greenburg asked, stepping inside the room.
"You don't really mess with me at all in the mess hall, Larry," said Deedee with a shrug. "Thought I didn't really get your goat at all. Didn't know you like redheads."
"Aye, well, I know about your twisted sexual jealousy with your brother, don't I?" Greenburg breathed, shutting the door behind him. Together alone in the cell. He palmed his jeans more aggressively, stepping toward Deedee slowly. "You know what I've wondered?" He stood within an inch of her, and her stomach began to turn.
She took a step back from him.
"What's been on your mind, hm?" Deedee asked quietly.
"Would ya brother like to watch me fuck you on your bed? Hm? You think that would get him pretty angry or would he actually like that sort of thing?" Greenburg placed a hand on Deedee's neck. "We could get the tape from your cell, film it, put it on for movie nights…Like a good old-fashioned, grainy porno…Wouldn't that be hot?"
Deedee pursed her lips, suddenly unable to hold back her disgust any longer.
"I also go the other way too, ya know," Greenburg chuckled quietly and then he whispered… "I could have you watch while I head to Jerome's bed and then—"
Smack!
Deedee struck him across the face with the back of her hand. Thwack! Greenburg uttered a whimpering squeal as he bent forward and fell to the floor, holding himself between his legs as Deedee's foot had kicked him swiftly in the balls. Deedee's face contorted into fury. Yeah, the idea of Greenburg assaulting her had pushed a button or two; but the idea of Greenburg heading to Jerome's cell and doing such a thing—Deedee saw red.
Deedee lowered her face to his, "Tonight, Larry, I'm going to kill you." A laugh slipped through her lips. "Thought you ought to know because in a place like this, you have to be one really dumb wanna-be cop to lock yourself in a cell with an inmate."
Greenburg reached for his baton. Deedee grabbed it from his belt, kicked him sharply across the face—Beating him. She just started beating him like he had done with Aaron. Greenburg tried to cover his head. Deedee pulled the sheets off her bed, all the while taking the baton in her other hand and swiftly swatting him across any part of his body she could reach in a mad thrash—Thwack, thwack, thwack—
Greenburg started screaming in pain—but, to Deedee's amusement, the West Wing outside of her room began to chorus in various explosions of mockery of Greenburg's cries and screaming along with him. "Kill him, Deedee!" She heard one of the patients call out from her cell. "KILL HIM, DEEDEE!"
Greenburg moaned, acutely subdued. She grinned as a particularly heinous idea came to her. Deedee held his mouth open—He tried to break free.
"Stop! Stop! Please!" Greenburg called from the floor, "I didn't mean it! I was just fucking around!"
Deedee held his jaw sharply between her fingers, and she shook her head, wearing a genuine smile on her face, "Oh, see, I wasn't fucking around. Tell Lila I said 'hey', okay?"
With nothing more to say, Deedee took the baton and shoved it down Greenburg's throat; he tried to stop her, flailing hands trying to cover his face. Deedee pushed it down, down, down—down—!
Then Greenburg's body went limp, and so did his erection.
And a surge of delight, relief, breath of fresh air—and the sweet adrenaline mixed with dopamine—
Deedee let out a giggle…which in turn began to grow louder into a cackle…
And the door flew open and a flood of female security guards entered the small cell, pulling Greenburg out and keeping Deedee back against the wall—all the while, Deedee's laughter exploded.
"I GOT HIM!" Deedee called out through the door to the rest of the corridor. "THE PIG! OINK, OINK MOTHERFUCKER!"
Echoes filled the West Wing of pig noises and—
"OINK, OINK MOTHERFUCKER! OINK! OINK!"
"KILL HIM, DEEDEE!"
"Oink, oink, you fucking pig!"
"Oi, LARRY! You good, my guy?! AWFULLY QUIET, OINK OINK!"
Deedee laughed, "GOTHAM'S DISCONTENT!"