Returning to consciousness was a groggy affair. Every bone in her body longed to permanently meld itself into the bed sheets until she was one with the mattress. And really, was that such a terrible fate?
Non, I should like to be a mattress afloat in a sea in the next life.
Her cell phone rang halfway throughout her musings and a hand shot out to grab it off the nightstand.
"Lo?" she mumbled, massaging the lethargy out of her eyes.
"Hey, Cee, catch you at a bad time?"
She glanced at the alarm clock. The numbers were one horizontal blur. She blinked a few times to make sense of what she was seeing.
The last month and a half had to have caught up with me. Is it illegal to marry a mattress? My mental stability might be called into question, but at least I'd be comfy.
"Nah, Leese, you're fine. What's up?"
"Just wanted to make sure you were still up for getting together Tuesday. We were thinking of doing a couple rounds at Dunkirk before the drive thru...for old time's sake."
Her eyes widened a little. A smile crept onto her lips.
"Yeah?" She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling fan. "We haven't done Dunkirk in ages, I'm down. Though I gotta ask…what prompted the idea? Are all of you secretly out to get me?"
A snort was her immediate response.
"You could only be so lucky…or important," she teased. "Honestly, it was Anthony's idea. He came by the bakery this morning with the suggestion. And I won't lie…it will be nice to let loose some pent-up aggression. Never, ever, ever, ever open up a business with your husband. Not unless you want to spend hours mentally detailing his hypothetical murder."
"Duly noted. No business ventures with the husband."
"Speaking of…Anthony told me you brought a guy home with you. That's not true, is it?"
She smirked softly.
"Sucks to be out $50 doesn't it?"
"He told you?"
"I always suspected…but yeah…he told me. He and Jack…didn't get off on the best footing."
An 'ahhh' of realization left her mouth.
"It's all starting to make sense. He wants to take your boyfriend to Hurtsville, at the dead center of Humiliation County."
"He's not my-." She hesitated. Would it work better in Anthony's favor if she encouraged the lie? Yes, she and Joker were together, and no, they had no intention of splitting up anytime soon. It nauseated her to consider, but the ends justified the means, right? That end being Anthony not meeting his. "-I don't know what to call our relationship. We haven't asked each other out, but the interest in one another is mutual."
"So…fuck buddies?"
"Eh…hasn't progressed to that yet."
"Hmmm…intriguing. I can't wait to meet him." She sounded as if she were shifting the phone to her opposite ear. "And Cee? It's not that we never thought you'd find someone…it's just that…you deserved someone who was at your level, you know? Not many people are."
"I-that's not true. I'm just…unnecessarily fussy."
"You have standards," she corrected. "Anthony, bless his soul, doesn't understand that. Secretly, I think he thinks you were waiting for him to divorce Kayla. If you finally found someone that's worthy of your attention, more power to you. I…really am happy for you."
She was momentarily at a loss for words.
Don't look too much into it, she doesn't know Jack, not really. If she did, she would warn me to run for the hills and never stop.
"I appreciate it," she settled on. "I'll give Anthony a call to clear the air. If he thinks he stands a chance at beating Jack, he's in for a rude awakening."
"Oooh, juicy." She sounded downright thirsty for some drama. "Ah shoot…sorry Cee, I gotta get going. Can't wait to see you Tuesday!"
"Me neither. See ya then."
She hung up and stared at nothing for a couple of minutes. Partially on autopilot, she dialed Anthony's number.
When he didn't pick up after the first try, she sent him a text to give her a call when he was able.
Now that Dunkirk had been factored into the equation, she was able to understand a little better where Anthony's head was at.
Dunkirk was in reference to the rustic paintball park that'd been designed and constructed two decades earlier in a spacious patch of meadow just east of Calgary Cliff. Everyone had called it Arlo's Park after the chain-smoking hippie who ran and operated it (and on the downlow sold pot on the side to those fortunate enough to be deemed "groovy"). The reason the park was known as Dunkirk amongst her friends is because of an epic paintball battle that had went down one summer between Celine's crew and the crew of their archnemesis at the time, Beth.
Celine's friends – Nathan and Lisa – after attempting to do a bold sneak attack, ended up stranded behind enemy lines. The remaining group embarked on a ballsy suicide mission to retrieve them and by a miracle ended up successful. Because of this victory – like that of the Allies during World War II – they referred to the park from then on as Dunkirk.
Anthony wanting to add paintballing as an activity to Tuesday's reunion signaled he was committed to showing off his prowess, his accuracy, his suitability for her over Jack. Any summer prior to this one and the action would have been considered romantic…now however…she couldn't help but think how deep of a hole he was digging himself. The worst part was he didn't even know it, and she hadn't the explanation to make him understand.
Hey Anthony, you might wanna cool your jets, Jack is a psychopathic anarchist who murders and destroys people and property for the fun of it…awesome, thank you, have a nice rest of your day.
Her lips twitched.
I need to set things straight if he calls back. For his sake.
She got out of bed and immediately decided to brew a pot of coffee. Generally, on her holidays back home she tried to avoid the caffeine-heavy drink. It was something reserved for Gotham…for work…for being a busy beaver on the go. Coming back home was about slowing down, taking a leave of absence from responsibility and productivity.
But with her planned mushroom trip today, she wanted to go in as alert as possible. Granted, on their own psychedelics tended to last roughly six to twelve hours, sometimes longer depending on a) the intensity of the trip b) other substances used to prolong it, and c) the amount consumed.
All that said, there were some things she needed to arrange prior to the trip kicking in and coffee was the route to do it.
Before putting on a pot, she checked her mom's bedroom for Joker. The room was empty, and the bed didn't look like it'd been slept in.
"Huh."
She checked the spare bedroom, the bathrooms (the towel she'd left for him lay folded and untouched), the mudroom, the living room, the kitchen, and peeked out at both porches. He was nowhere to be found. Stranger yet, her car was still parked in the same place. If he truly decided to dip out on her, she wouldn't have pegged him to leave on foot. And certainly not before watching her trip out; after all he'd been so eager about being there for it.
He's done nothing but subvert my expectations these past twenty-four hours. If he left…then that's all there is to it. Don't harp on it too much, it'll only cause me to overthink and negatively influence the trip.
She decided – after getting everything prepped for rest of the day – that she would give the beach a final scan. Who knew, maybe he was making sand angels…sand clowns…clown angels…gah, she'd still not decided on a name for his version.
One cup later and the sluggishness of the morning was finally wearing off.
At just a little past noon her first order of business was getting everything she'd bought the day prior in its proper place. She'd learned early on from her mistakes- trying to locate objects on shrooms was like searching for a lighter that was in your hand the entire time, but you hadn't the awareness to check it.
Similarly, a difficult concept to relay to those who've never partook in psychedelics is that on them, time simply…ceased…to…exist. The first hour was the only stretch you could process minutes passing by. After that…once the seatbelt had been tightened and you really began to gain momentum up the rollercoaster…hours blended into each other until everything was nothing but the present moment.
Case and point, her second acid trip occurred the day of her high school graduation. Her friends had gathered at Anthony's place to celebrate and have a bonfire in the evening. As per usual, Trina stayed sober to trip sit them.
Somewhere between hour four and hour five her friend Fonzie went to his car to grab his pack of cigarettes.
He returned two hours later, attached to Trina's hand.
Upon being questioned about his absence a few days later, he admitted that on a whim he'd flipped down his car's visor mirror to see how dilated his pupils were. He then proceeded to have a two-hour long conversation with himself, which from his perspective, felt astronomically less. Like no time at all had passed between sitting down and Trina coming to retrieve him.
Knowing how time worked while immersed in such a state, Celine always made sure items and objects were easy to find and were set in places that made sense, even if her reality didn't.
Her second order of business was whipping up a hearty breakfast. Forgetting to eat was another side-effect, at least in all her experiences. Something about riding that mushroom high killed her appetite entirely. And attempting to cook while tripping your balls off was not something she recommended (lest you had someone sober to monitor you).
After quickly washing and drying the dishes, she set about rummaging through everything she'd bought in the kids section at Wal-Mart and placing them in appropriate, sensible areas. The Nerf and bubble gun were last to be rehomed; ending up slung through the coat hooks by the front door. Just in case she had an…intruder.
She then went about distributing water bottles in various, easy to see locations. Just like food, hydration was a must when your mind was elsewhere for such a lengthy period of time.
Unsure if she wanted to have a fire later in the evening – fires were one of the most hypnotizing visuals to witness in such a state – she elected on setting the matches, lighter fluid, BBQ lighter, one of the bundles of wood Lucien dropped off, and some old newspapers near the firepit.
Her last few tasks included making her bed, throwing some extra blankets on the living room couch just in case she decided to watch TV, pocketing a compact mirror, opening up some windows to let the breeze in, and lastly but not leastly, sitting down and pre-rolling three joints. This task was nearly impossible when you hit the peak. She could do it, she just preferred not too…it's not what she wanted to focus her concentration on when there was so much else to experience.
Once everything was as well prepped as it could be (she never forgot…trips were unpredictable, and she might not end up doing any of the activities set out for her) she lathered on some sunscreen for her trek through the woods and opened up Steph's brown bag of magic mushrooms.
Keeping in mind her warning that they were a little bit more potent than usual, she elected on eating eleven thick gray ones saturated with splotches of indigo; topped off with a thick, wide cap whose underside bore a few specs of black, emerald, and dark yellow.
"So pretty," she couldn't but murmur upon viewing the caps. Something told her Steph would be receiving a very genuine thank you when all was said and done.
After scarfing down two handfuls, she made sure to knock back a healthy amount of water. There was no beating around the bush, magic mushrooms had a tendency to smell and taste like stinky feet. There were a few tricks to getting around it. Some people, like her, took a shot of something to get them down. Some people – she'd tried this method only a couple of times – added them on top of a pizza, or better yet, brewed them into tea. Others immediately placed them in between their molars and ground them down until they were rubbery, near-tasteless chunks ready to be gulped back.
For ten minutes she was lost in a bit of a trance; eyes closed, arms hugging herself, head tilted to the side, humming a little under her breath. Though it would take thirty minutes to an hour and a half for the side-effects to begin kicking in in a noticeable way, already, she could feel parts of her body – primarily the more intuitive version of her - respond. As if it was aware of what had just been ingested and rubbed its metaphorical hands together at what awaited. Simply put, she was giddy. And when her phone rang, she failed to hide it.
"Hey Wesley! What's up?"
"HeyCelinehi," he said, speaking so quickly his words came out a jumbled mess. "I couldn't send this to you over text message because it was just too damn exciting, I had to tell you in person. Or…over the phone, which is like in person, just um…minus the person. Heh."
She smiled at the enthusiasm in his tone.
"I'm all ears," she promised. "Or I hope I am anyway."
"Okay, okay, oh-kay…so remember how we were going back and forth earlier in the week on what to do in Southern Asia?"
For a moment, she was utterly lost. Then, it hit her.
The three-month excursion around the world. Duh. Agreeing to go feels like ages ago.
"I remember. Kathmandu, Sri Lanka, Darjeeling…did you have another place in mind?"
She got the impression – despite not being able to physically see him – that he was barely restraining the urge to bounce up and down. Through the phone alone, his energy was palpable. Or maybe that was just the extrasensory part of her revving up.
"He's going to be there. In India. While we're in the area. Giving a speech at an international university…a speech that's open to the public. The public! That's us!"
Celine was trying hard to keep up.
"Who's going to-." Her mouth dropped open, realization sinking in. "Are you serious?!"
"I wouldn't be on the verge of losing my marbles if I wasn't," he relayed. "He's going to be there, Celine. The Dalai Lama. I haven't read what topic he'll be discussing or if it'll be a teaching or a reading or what…my brain sorta short-circuited and then I called you and now here we are."
She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. Despite the growing excitement of the past week whenever they discussed where exactly they planned to hit up in those three months, no event thus far had her repressing the urge to squeal like a schoolgirl. No event until now.
"We're going," she confirmed. "There's no ifs, ands, or buts about it."
"You don't have to tell me twice." His voice finally descended a little, breaths catching up with him. "I gotta cut this short unfortunately, lunch break is almost over, and these kids are pretty punctual to class. I just…I wanted to share that with you…give you something to really look forward to."
"Thank you, Wes." She grinned into the phone, unsure what to do with the hand not holding it. "I…I tend to forget that this expedition is real…to be able to see so much of the world in such a short span of time…it's like a lifelong longing come true. Um, I won't keep you…just…thanks for the heads up and yes, we aren't missing him speak for the world."
Wesley's goodbye was hasty, but no part of her took it personally.
They were going to see the Dalai Lama. In person. And he would be speaking to them. In person. And she'd do her best not to faint. In person.
She giggled to herself, clutching the phone to her chest.
"How cool."
The squeak of a door snatched her attention. Intrigued, she exited her bedroom.
What she saw upon entering the living room had her heart physically stuttering. Coupled with what she had just learned moments ago, and her emotions were a little bit…delicate.
At the entryway of the porch facing the cliffs stood Joker. No shirt in sight. Sand caked onto his feet. Greenish dark blonde locks sopping wet with salt water. Clad only in a pair of bright yellow swimming trunks with little porcupines and cactuses strewn all over.
She didn't know where to look first. She didn't know if she should even look. Specifically, his face. His swim must have been lengthy for all that remained of his greasepaint was a faint black discoloration circling his eyes. Like the bags you get after battling insomnia. Everything else was…bare.
It couldn't be helped. Her fingers went lax, phone dropping to the floor.
Joker arched a brow at the involuntary act. He then took a step toward her, trying to make something out in her expression.
"Mm…you took your magic mushrooms, didn't you?"
She abruptly patted her face.
"Is it that obvious?"
"To me it is," he answered. "Thought you were gonna let me see ya do 'em."
Her shrug was much more casual than she felt.
"You weren't around when I got up, your bed was untouched, and I figured you had split. Like I said yesterday, you're free to do as you please."
"Such low expectations of me," he half griped, half teased. "I'd have thought you'd be relieved to see me doing…normal things. Enjoying my…vacation."
It was excruciating keeping eye contact with him and not letting her gaze wander. Above everything else – torso included – what she wanted to study most was his face. Take it in, thoroughly. Marvel at it. Compare and contrast it to the version of him she'd seen in Agatha's 'what if he'd not experienced what he had' scenario.
Ultimately, her inclination toward cleanliness won out.
"Um, let me get you a towel."
She picked up her phone, pocketed it in her shorts, and did her best not to sprint to the bathroom.
He…I…fschjwab. That's not a real word, but it should be. To encompass…a shock so intense your brain considers shutting down. Fuh-sch-jwah-b. Fschjwab. Hey Celine, how're you doing? Oh, just fschjwab, how about you?
On the way to the bathroom, she peeked at the hallway clock. Twenty minutes in. She could feel the tendrils of the trip reach out and ghost itself all along her back, shoulders, and neck.
I gotta find a way to calm down. Between what Wes just told me and seeing Jack so…naked, even if he technically wasn't, I may very well spontaneously combust.
She entered the bathroom, gathered up the towel and turned.
A high-pitched sound escaped through her teeth. Joker had followed her into the bathroom and took to leaning on the entryway with crossed arms. Though he was just down to a pair of swimming trunks, it did little to take away from his imposing presence. It might have even amplified it because in order to leave, she would have to brush past his half naked form. She wasn't sure she could weather his body heat, let alone skin to skin contact.
"What's got you so ski-ttish?" he drawled.
"I-." She cleared her throat and took a step toward him, extending the towel. "Wasn't expecting to see you like this. Just…give me a second to adjust."
He took the towel from her but made no move to dry himself.
"Second's over."
Focus on his eyes. Not the numerous scars and healing wounds on his body. Focus on his eyes. Not the mouthwatering leanness of his arms and shoulders. Focus on his eyes. Not the dusting of hair on his navel leading to his-
"I'll leave you to get dressed," she stated, opting to stare at the space behind him. "Um…I'm heading out shortly on a trail. You're welcome to come with me."
When he didn't say anything, she attempted to make her way past him. One of his hands shot out in front of her, grabbing onto the siding of the entry.
She dipped her head a little and made herself as small as possible before ducking beneath his arm.
"I'll be by the jacuzzi whenever you're ready," she told him, scurrying down the hallway.
Once she was safely outside, she ended up dropping down to sit on the deck. Sitting crisscrossed, she placed the back of each hand atop her knees. Closing her eyes, she worked on her breathing; attempting to slow down her heart rate.
The venture proved successful, but she was quickly becoming mesmerized by the explosion of colors swirling around in her mind's eye. Fuschia melting into lavender into maroon into aquamarine into magenta. One of her hands reached out, as if to grasp at the polychromatic colors.
They shot into a million different directions, causing her to lean forward on her knees in an attempt to snag at least one lingering molecule.
"Evasive, are we?" she coaxed, smiling a little.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. Without having to look, she knew Joker was standing a few feet behind her.
"Ready?" she asked before he could speak, pushing to her feet.
He reached her side and offered her a scrutinous scan. Though she was wearing a tank top that accentuated her curves, it was her soft pink Hawaiian shirt bearing a generous amount of navy-blue palm trees that his eyes lingered on.
To her disappointment, he was geared back up in his signature dress shirt, vest, tie, and pinstriped pants. Not that the outfit didn't make him look fetching, but a secret part of her had hoped his swim might have inspired him to let loose a little. To realize when it was just them, he no longer needed to cling to the persona that so often brought Gotham to its knees.
I don't think he thought through just how much a pair of swimming trunks could humanize him.
He continued staring at her, not saying anything.
She took this time to closer examine his face. Unable to help it, one hand reached up and hovered over his jaw. A thumb brushed over the lengthy scar of his right cheek.
His response was the epitome of conflict. Animosity seeped into his gaze while at the same time, his face leaned into her touch.
"Did the saltwater aggravate them?" she asked, lowering her hand.
"Tickled," was his only response.
She nodded.
Choosing not to attempt conversation again, she started walking, him following suit a second later.
The first half of the hike was done in relative silence. She opted to go barefoot while Joker kept in pace with her in his shoes.
On either side of the trail massive white pine trees towered over them. During the winter months – with snow descending softly, coating the conifers – you felt like you were wandering through a Christmas wonderland. When she'd been little, she would help her mom put up different colored lights on the trees closest to the house. It was a shame she ever stopped, but depression tended to suck the joy out of holidays; leaving them to feel like any other day.
The temperature was noticeably warmer within the pines, and the day was as the weather channel predicted: sunny, a slight breeze, and the occasional fluffy white cloud. Neither of them broke a sweat as they walked, and it was thankfully too early in the day for mosquitos to be causing much of a nuisance. Beneath them the trail was mostly a mix of soil, pine needles, twigs, the occasional animal droppings, and a few stray leaves.
After about ten minutes of walking, American beech and oak trees began to make their presence known. Beneath their feet the pine needles gradually made way for more leaves, some acorns, and the occasional severed branch.
To pass the silence, she offered him a few tid bits of information on their trek.
"These were game trails initially," she explained, pausing briefly to sink her toes into some moss that had overrun a curve in the trail. "My uncles would come by every November and try their luck during deer season. I always loved to explore, so whenever they weren't out, I'd follow the paths they and the animals made. Lu caught on that I wanted more…options for adventuring. Hence these trails being as developed as they are…though…he was careful to do them in a way that didn't disturb the ecosystem already established. He'd sooner jump off a bridge than pour gravel and concrete down. The more natural the trails, the better."
She hoped her rambling wasn't bothering him. It was tough to say when he became uncharacteristically silent.
Perhaps he's taking it all in. Or he's making sure we're as alone in our environment as I'm leading him to believe.
She paused briefly to observe a gang of yellow and gray warblers perched on a branch, squawking away as they attempted to snatch a thick worm out of a black-throated one's beak.
The longer she stared, the louder their screeching reverberated in her eardrums. And the more intense the urge got to emulate their method of communication.
So, it's going to be that kind of a trip, is it?
When Joker withdrew his gun and took aim at the one boasting the worm, all fanciful feelings subsided.
"Don't you dare," she warned, turning to him. "We leave the creatures in here unharmed unless we're being threatened. Same rules as when you're around my friends and family."
"They're just…birds," he countered, eyes gleaming at the prospect of finally getting to kill something. "What's one down when there's hundreds more to take their place?"
He closed one eye and stroked the trigger.
Before he could pull it, she retracted her hand and sucker punched him in the kidney.
His grip remained on the gun, but he did keel over a little, slightly out of breath. A wheeze shot out of him, followed by a series of short, punctuated laughs.
"You ah really care about those little cretins, don't ya?"
"Somedays, I prefer them to people," she defended, straightening up. "Please, put it away. We're here to observe, nothing more."
He peered at her through a few strands of hair that'd fallen over his eyes.
"And what if I don't?"
Why is he being like this? So…needlessly antagonizing. It's not playful like it was yesterday, there's genuine malice behind it. He would have shot that bird had I not intervened. Did…did letting me see him so physically bare bother him that much?
The thought caused a wave of guilt to sweep over her. She took a step back from him and looked down at her feet. Tears threatened to leak out of the corners of her eyes; a consequence of the hyper-alert, hypersensitive state she was slowly becoming immersed in.
Is he intentionally trying to make this trip bad for me?
She swallowed tightly and turned away from him. Without looking back, she continued on the trail; suddenly wishing he hadn't come. And he knew now…being trapped in the beginning stages of the trip…how to sabotage it for her. Her kryptonite. Slaughtering animals without reason, without respect…for his own amusement.
Her feet were moving so fast she wasn't able to detect the snaggled root popping up a few inches from the ground. Her toes caught it and not a second later she was sprawled on her front, spitting out some dirt she'd accidentally inhaled.
She expected Joker to start laughing, but he surprised her.
Before she could try to push herself up, he knelt down, slipped an arm under her abdomen and pulled her up to her feet. He didn't remove his hold, though he did – perhaps unconsciously – draw her a little closer to his body.
Her head hung low, too embarrassed to look back at him.
"Need to watch where you're going," he mumbled, plucking a few leaves out of her hair.
Thank you Captain Obvious.
She tried to step forward, but he tugged her back.
"Grab my hand."
Her brows rose. Did she hear him correctly?
"I'd rather not."
"Don't mo-pe," he glowered. "Doesn't suit you. Grab my hand. Last time I'm asking."
"Doesn't sound like you're asking."
"Mm…so be it."
One minute she was on her feet, the next he'd picked her up and slung her over his shoulder: half of her body hanging over his back, the other half over his front.
"Much better."
He began walking.
Blood rushed into her cranium.
"Jack," she threatened, "let me off."
She'd always known he was tall, but never had the proper perspective of just how much until she was suspended a good five feet off the ground.
"You're clumsy," he accused, sounding very much like he was speaking through a smile. "What am I gonna tell your uncle if you come back with a broken ankle?"
"Not him you should be concerned about," she grumbled back.
This earned her a firm spank. When she let loose a squeak, she swore she heard him stifle a groan of approval.
Sensing he intended to carry her for the duration of the walk, she resigned herself to her fate.
He's trying to make up for earlier. In that backwards way only he knows how.
Her intuition relayed this, causing her to let out a breath she hadn't known she was keeping in.
Somehow – be it because of their growing closeness over the past twenty-four hours, or the expansion of her senses as the trip began to accelerate - his feelings were encroaching on her own. Whatever he felt, she seemed to get an aftershock of. Which meant it was crucial she learned how to deflect his storm clouds anytime they threatened to get too near. The last thing she wanted was to absorb something nasty from him and give it permission to wreak havoc.
At some point he had stopped walking, and she only noticed when the chipmunk she'd been monitoring disappeared into a decaying log.
"What's up?"
He released her.
It took her a few seconds to regain her footing. She turned around to study what enraptured his attention.
"We made it!" she exclaimed, bringing both hands together over her chest as she gazed upward. "You ever been inside a treehouse, Jack?"
He peered up at the structure, not appearing all that impressed. His body language, however, betrayed him.
No, he hasn't. But he's curious.
She bit down on her lip, then winced; forgetting he'd punctured it last evening.
"This was Lu's birthday gift to me when I turned twelve," she explained, eyes roving over the set of ropes extending just a few inches from the ground; boards between them serving as steps. "It's crazy, huh? That even in the middle of nowhere I still wanted my privacy."
"Not crazy," he remarked after a long moment, squinting to re-examine the structure. "Not crazy at all."
She detected an undercurrent of sadness from him. Though, calling it sadness was generous. This emotion in a body like Joker's was far more…harsh…heavy…enclosed in barbed wire so sharp you barely needed to touch it to pierce skin.
She noticed her hand was rising to offer him some form of comfort. Before he became aware of it, she stepped forward and placed it on the board eyelevel with her.
"I have my trip journal up there," she mentioned, peeking back at him. "Every summer I add to it. And flip through the summers prior, refamiliarizing myself with old adventures. It's so exciting…this time you can be in it too!"
He looked the opposite of thrilled, which only bolstered her mirth.
This is my trip. This is my vacation. How it goes is not dependent on him. I am the mistress of my own fate. What was it Agatha said? Living my truth inspires others to live theirs. So…go ahead…live it.
This reaffirmation felt like the sun was beaming through every pore in her body, leaving nothing but joy and warmth in its wake.
I've got this. I'm a badass bunny with empathy for days. Today is my day to enjoy, I claim it.
She began to climb, continuing the motivational pep talk. The ropes swayed beneath her weight but held firm.
Jack is unaccustomed to these new experiences; his instincts gear him toward what is safe. And safe for him is being on alert…distrustful…violent, should the occasion call for it. Not. In. My. Treehouse.
She paused, left hand hovering over the next board.
One, two, three, four, five…that's six from the ground.
Her arm skipped the board and reached for the one above it. She'd meant to mention to Lucien that board number six was beginning to rot through and see if he could construct a replacement.
"Skip the sixth board," she mentioned below her. "It's a little bit unstable."
He didn't answer, prompting her to wonder if he had any intentions of following her up.
His loss if he doesn't. The view is lovely from up there.
She continued her ascension, eyes instinctively locating the worn sign nailed directly by the entrance. It was a shoutout to what had been her favorite movie of all time for most of her childhood and teenage years. In delicate black paint the sign announced No Admission Except on Party Business. She wondered if Joker would get the reference.
Probably not. He doesn't strike me as the sort who can sit still for 4 hours and watch a full-fledged fantasy film with themes of hope, friendship, love, and courage. I would wager all the money I've got he'd be rooting for The Ring to reunite with Sauron. Though…that would make watching the last film extreeeeeeeemely gratifying. Rub it in his face. Na-na na-na na-na. Love won out in the end! Good prevailed over evil!
She was struggling not to burst into giggles. The amusement of these thoughts could not be properly articulated…such overwhelming elation made her feel like dipping her head into a pool filled with the sweetest insanity. It was okay to take the plunge, there was a bottom after all, even if she couldn't see or feel it.
Another rope hanging off the floorboards of the entrance caught her attention. One arm reached up and looped it twice around her wrist, offering it a few tugs to ensure it would support any strain she put on it. When it failed to slacken any, she used it and the remaining stairs to pull herself up and inside.
The treehouse itself hovered roughly twenty-five feet off the ground, its interior 9-foot-long by 9-foot-wide with a distance of 8 feet between floorboards and ceiling. Two windows were carved out, one facing east and the other west. Both had dated lace curtains hanging from them.
As she peered around to re-examine everything, dust invaded her nostrils, causing her to flirt with a few sneezes before they petered out.
Time had been kind to her former childhood palace, partially due to the dark, waterproof hardwoods it was constructed out of. Only above her near the left corner of the roof was there evidence of deterioration; part of it having concaved in after a winter with a heavier snowfall than usual. A beehive-sized hole sat in its place, allowing in considerably more light; and it was a testament to the persistent nature of trees that a branch should try to bend its way inside, about a dozen or so of its leaves hanging just out of arm's reach. If she pushed her back to the opposite wall, sprinted, and did her best lunge upward, she could probably snag one or two.
The rope that she'd used to assist her way in (along with the ones helping create the stairs) was expertly knotted into a row of cable clamps bolted into the furthest wall from the entrance. She noticed the rope grow taut a few times, indicating it was currently in use. Grinning to herself, she stretched both arms in the air, studying the shadows of leaves dancing on her skin.
Pretty…so, so pretty. I could watch this forever.
A chortle erupted from her. She stifled it with a palm. What felt like someone tapping their fingers all along her shoulders caused her to hug herself again and turn.
Joker pulled himself up the rest of the way via the rope. She did her best not to think about him doing this half-naked. The exertion his muscles would undergo would be simply…delicious.
"Welcome!" she greeted, extending her arms.
His perusal of the space was done as impartially as possible…like he was trying to mask any semblance of interest.
She noted his gaze first land on the shelf nailed against one of the walls; home to a leather-bound journal. Then it flicked to a dusty, purple beanbag chair partially covered by a thick quilt. His eyes traveled upward to a few cobwebs claiming the corners of the room; then the clock she'd nailed up a couple years back (by a glance it needed new batteries).
It was black and a near exact replica of one of Salvador Dali's drooping clocks from his painting The Persistence of Memory. She learned later on: looking at it on psychedelics was a mind-boggling experience. It went from being regular shaped to the droop extending nearly to the floor. Definitely one of her favorite impulse buys.
Joker's gaze ended up landing on the hole in the ceiling just above her. It was this that he chose to approach, nearing her until a few inches separated them.
When he reached up, he was able to comfortably stroke the leaves poking through. She tried very hard not to broadcast her envy.
"What do you think?"
He looked down at her, trying to fight off a smirk.
"You were twelve when your uncle gifted this to you?"
She arched a brow, trying to figure out the source of his amusement. And trying to ignore how handsome he looked as shadows and sun played around on his face, offering him the sort of soft angles that had her itching to trace them.
"He started in the spring, but finished up a few weeks before my birthday, yeah." She smiled at the memory. "Terrible about keeping it a secret, mind you. You can only tell me you're building a deer blind so many times before I become curious enough to see for myself. Sort of…spoiled the surprise, but I never let on. And by the time he finished it, it genuinely was like seeing it for the first time."
He tilted his head, crossing his arms in the process.
"And mommy didn't think this was too dangerous for her itsy-bitsy girl to play with?"
"Dangerous?" She fought back a scoff. "We're a different breed up here, Jack. We grew up spending most of our time outdoors. Most of my graduating class took the same hunter's safety courses when we were thirteen. If you fell out of a tree you were climbing…so long as nothing was broken…you continued your day's adventures. Sure, my mom was apprehensive…the first summer I had to have a curfew. But after that…I proved that I knew my way around the woods, and god…I was a fantastic climber. Plus…it's not people you worry about so much out here, but rather bears, wolves, or coyotes. And they really didn't stray too near to the coast…not unless food was scarce for them."
He was studying her with…what was it…
She squinted, trying to make it out.
"Oh." It dawned on her. "Sweet, nice, compassionate Celine should have had a soft, sheltered life growing up. Heaven forbid she knows her way around the big scary woods!"
With a dramatic sigh, she pretended to faint backwards; one arm resting on her forehead.
"Oh Jack, I am but a ditzy damsel in duress," she lamented, blinking rapidly. "In need of a strong man to help me with anything that could possibly cause a broken nail."
His scars twitched.
"Mm…point taken," he accepted. "Got a little Celine Oakley in my presence."
Her grin was crooked. She pretended to shoot a few bullets his way with finger guns, blowing at the barrels afterward.
"And don't you forget it."
She winked at him before twirling around, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded.
This…this is how I know it's worth pursuing. When banter comes that naturally between two people…when there's no need to put on a façade because you're so drawn to the other person all you want to do is experience the moment with them… and…to fight that draw…to hide behind a mask constructed out of fear, hatred, insecurity, the need to intimidate… feels outright…abnormal. Yes…terrifying to admit to, but I'd be a fool to ignore it.
She made her way over to the shelf and grabbed the journal sitting atop it. It was almost all the way full; nearly a lifetime of acid and mushroom trips documented and memorialized in some shape or form. There was a white rectangle on the cover that offered the option of putting your name, but she never got around to doing so; preferring the mystery of keeping it nameless. It would truly baffle someone should they stumble upon it, and she quite liked that idea.
As she thumbed through the pages, Joker approached her from behind. Two arms slipped over her shoulders and came to rest on the edge of the shelf: caging her in.
But trapped is the last thing she felt. An inner warmth pulsed through her, a hum danced in her throat, the breeze whistled into her ears, and so utterly content and teeming with happiness was she that she ended up leaning back into Joker's chest like he were a favorite recliner of hers. This newfound position allowed him to easily rest his chin in the fleshy spot between shoulder and clavicle.
His breathing was slow…unguarded. The more she melted into him, the firmer his chest seemed to get.
He watched her fingers flick through the yellowing pages, taking in some of the bizarre doodles and scribbles.
"All done on psychedelics?" he reconfirmed.
"Mhm."
She did her best not to bare her neck to him. Earlier, she'd mentioned she was getting the aftershock of his emotions. Because something foul had been coursing through him, the sensations weren't very pleasant.
Now however…with as close as they were…with as relaxed as they were with one another…it was a struggle not to turn and connect their mouths just so another part of their skin could be connected.
I…think…these mushrooms…are going to…make me see…what Agatha…saw.
She shuddered a little, attempting to compose herself.
Joker slid an index finger into a random section. She obliged him and flipped back to the first half of the journal.
"How old was your first time?"
She ignored the attempt at an innuendo.
"Seventeen," she answered quietly, scanning the page he'd chosen. "I had one more trip after that. Then…I went away to Gotham, experimented there, and left this behind for a while. The next entry was at age twenty-four…this one you selected, funnily enough. I was back briefly for a wedding. And that…that was one of the more profound trips. I had so much more figured out by then."
He skimmed the date's entry:
08/08/2004
Beneath it was a poem that had no title.
"I couldn't think of anything," she answered his wordless curiosity. "I wrote this as I was coming down…I think it was the first time I was able to properly put into words what tripping meant to me."
She stayed quiet as he silently read to himself.
crunchy stems
caps sink between molars
𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘
azure
𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘
plum
𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘
magenta
equilibrium compromised
splendid, finally!
I am the midnight hour.
look within
a higher consciousness brews
perception sways, melts
darkness cozies up to the moon.
epiphanies excavated-
dusted off, articulated from
mazes I formed in reality's absence.
O how my Being croons
I wish to return to where supernovas flirt with creation
and atoms reunite like old friends.
a damaged child extends a hand
"I wish I had been kinder to you"
a fragile whisper returned
"I forgive you"
cackles as mad as I
burst from my throat
euphoria gushes from these pores
I shake and caress this vessel
uncontrolled mirth guiding my fingers,
falling in love for the first time,
and yet I've enough clarity to say:
never chase feelings
sit, analyze, experience (if you must)
from a distance.
peace masquerades in two forms
inside you and in death
fear neither.
the soul exists
trembling lips confess to me softly
"I am so glad to have found a home in you."
what need is God when you are your own?
"At the center, you are pure."
grace, clemency, equanimity
everything I've ever wanted exists within.
in time, the moon retreats with a playful wink
a bleary-eyed sun confirms
the rapture is at an end.
enlightenment is a quickly fading dream
whose lips were kind enough to brush mine.
He was silent for so long she worried he might have fallen asleep.
Perhaps it's best I keep to myself that he's the only person on this planet who's read this…any of this. He might be tempted to burn it.
"Hm."
That was his only response, and she was okay with that. She sensed moreso that he was ruminating on what he'd read. It was best not to press him for an opinion so soon. Like her, he was a thinker, and if he could afford the luxury of time to do so, he would.
Once again, he lodged a finger randomly into a section of the journal, this time very near where she'd left off last summer.
When she opened the section up, her eyes widened. Abruptly, she slammed the journal shut, nearly taking his finger with it.
"Um…that…will remain…private."
She could almost hear his eyebrows rising.
Laughing nervously, she twisted around.
"Trust me…there are some things best left inside my brain."
"Mm…well, color me in-trigued. What ah exactly has my bunny blushing so bea-uti-fully?"
She shook her head, clutching the journal to her chest.
"I-." Her eyes dropped to his throat, finding it a much easier place to look. "Attempted writing something that is grounds for my assassination."
"Oh do tell."
He was offering her no room for escape and seemed to relish in that fact, arms closing in on her head.
She ducked under one of them while she still had the chance and backpaddled away.
Joker turned to her, smirking deviously.
"Small, cramped space, Cece. Don't have many hiding places to choose from." He took his time approaching her. "Best rip off the band aid and tell me, hm?"
"I-." A hysterical laugh shot out of her throat. It was a combination of the side effects of the trip kicking in and recalling what it was that she was safeguarding so carefully from him. "I wrote a…rap. It…didn't turn out."
His eyes lit up at the revelation.
"Mm…gimme, gimme…I wanna read it."
"Uh no." She licked her lips. "You have to take my word for it. In fact, it's probably best I rip it out."
No sooner had she said this then Joker made a lunge for her. She managed to dart out of the way, but the hasty action caused her to trip over the quilt and land sideways atop the beanbag chair; releasing a powder of dust and a trio of miffed daddy long legs that had long since claimed the cushion as their own.
When Joker tried to jump at her again, she shrieked a little and rolled off of the beanbag. He went for her ankle and she shuffled backwards with a combination of heels and elbows until she was pressed against the wall, breaths flying out of her.
Joker ran a hand through his hair, grin deepening at having nearly cornered her.
She didn't think twice about her next set of actions. Sliding two fingers into the front of her shorts, she jammed her journal in between her thigh and underwear so it was safely secured in an area that he would have to reconsider before attempting to grab at.
Regrettably, this only served to further bolster his glee.
"Well now you're just inviting me for dinner. Was that your goal all along? Tempting your grizzly bear into putting his paws all over you?"
"N-no," she stuttered out. "I-."
He pounced.
She tucked her limbs into her body and attempted another roll, but Joker anticipated this. The second she was on her front; he grabbed her by the belt loops of her shorts and yanked her up.
She more or less flew into his torso; groaning as his arms wound around her until she was trapped against him once more.
When one of his hands slipped under her tank top and skimmed her tummy, she froze. Twisting a little, she attempted to peek up at him. They were both panting, though only hers were audible.
"I-how about this," she tried to negotiate, squirming in his grasp. "Later…later when I have less reservations…when I'm not so embarrassed…I'll rap it to you. Scout's honor."
His hand relaxed, fingertips mere centimeters from the edge of her journal. His gaze had gotten hoody…lazy and intense at the same time. As a result, the area between her diaphragm and loins churned like hot honey; her knees losing all illusion of strength. If he wasn't securing her to himself, she didn't put it past her body to melt into the floor like a bowl of ice cream conquered by a humid day.
He didn't respond right away, monitoring every fluctuating emotion on her face.
Lust. Amusement. Surrender. Giddiness.
His eyes widened just the slightest. She felt his bewilderment as if it were her own.
No human being has ever looked at him in this way before…at least not with this combination of emotions.
The muscles in his hands twitched, palms digging against her. By the sudden contempt flashing across his face, she knew he was fighting very hard not to shove her to the floor like she was the personification of a plague he thought himself too cunning to catch. And upon realizing he was infected, his anger at her was all the more pervasive.
It frightened her more than she let on, witnessing how quickly Jack could succumb to Joker, and with such unpredictable triggers at that. How quickly he could purge himself of all that was unfamiliar to him in lieu of the identity he clung to…an identity he had no real reason to abandon other than her incompatibility with it. Even now, she knew he flirted with the idea of ending her life…his eyes were alit with a desire to cure his ailments…it was so very easy for him…and he had acres upon acres of land to ensure her body was never found.
Astonishingly, her fear was brief. And that she could even feel something more intense than what John inflicted on her with his trial serums was a consideration to mull over at a later time.
I don't even think it has to do with my life ending. I think it's being parted from him.
This thought made her wildly emotional, so, she closed her eyes and worked on her breathing.
The day was good, the sun was out, only minutes ago she'd been sharing childhood memories and finger gunning her soulmate…he was worth fighting for. He was, he was…they couldn't have made it this far for him not to be…
Her eyes flickered open, relieved to see his murderous urges better tamed. Was that Jack in there? Equipped with a frayed rope, slung around a bear's neck? Tugging…tugging with all his might…hoping he can hang on long enough to tempt the psychopath into more passive corners of the mind.
It was nerve-wracking witnessing how badly he wished to incite some form of violence onto her. Thus, intuition opted to dictate her next few responses.
With a soft smile, she leaned into his chest, pressed her forehead against his racing heart, and kissed him deeply. She swore his heart stuttered beneath her lips.
A poem swims in my head…who is it…Frost…Hemingway…Cohen…no.
She peeked up at Joker, nestling her chin into the patch of skin she'd just blessed.
If the situation were less dire, she'd have laughed at the way confusion straddled his brows. Yet again, she surprised him with her adaptability.
Her eyes swept past him to the branch reaching in his direction, then the streams of sunlight straining through leaves to illuminate a creature adamant in evading its rays.
"Whitman!" she blurted, snapping her fingers and beaming proudly at him. "I knew it was there…tip of my tongue…caught the answer before it fell into my gums. Then the saliva would have swept it down my throat. So frustrating when that happens."
His attempt at keeping up with her line of thinking was slowly batting away any lingerings of hostility.
"I sing the body electric," she quoted. "The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul-"
She lifted her right hand and gently cupped his jaw, marveling at the light stubble prickling against her skin.
"Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as those who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?"
Her brain blanked out on the rest of the poem. Shame. Perhaps when she was no longer seat-belted into this specific rollercoaster with the high she was approaching she would re-visit the entirety of it. Its association with the man in front of her was undeniable.
Exhaling deeply, she dropped her hand and risked a step back. Even though seconds ago Joker had been sorely tempted to push her away from him and potentially do worse, his fingernails dug into her waist instinctively; something she noted but stored away for later contemplation.
There was simply too much happening…too much to experience…by gods she had the whole day at her disposal! So much to do, so much to take in, so many beautiful things to observe…she was in her treehouse, in her woods, at home…the creaking of the trees were welcoming her back, the soil of the Earth longed to stain her feet, make them adventure-worn.
She covered her mouth in a poor attempt to repress a few giggles. Her eyes shot to the Dali clock.
"Holy shit!"
Joker whipped around. One of his less friendly blades shot out, clutched so tightly his knuckles went white.
"The clock!" she tried to explain, moving up to his side. "It's…I mean I've seen it years prior…but it's so…sparkly!"
Her mouth parted in amazement.
Joker tilted his head, re-examining the clock. He flicked his blade closed.
"Mm…I'd say you're on your way to looney land, sweets."
She turned to him.
"Who's driving the bus?" Concern briefly invaded her features. "Please tell me you're coming too."
It took nearly every muscle in her not to clutch his arm. After all, who better to accompany her to such a land?
Her hopeful smile had him struggling not to mirror something similar.
He instead reached out and ruffled her hair. The bottom lip of her smile soon curled into a pout.
"'Course I'm coming," he assured, observing her dilating pupils. "Couldn't imagine more esteemed company…though…Batsy is always welcome to join us, gott-a ah nice little nocturnal section for him near the back to brood in."
She abruptly launched herself at him and wrapped him up in a tight hug, ignoring his brief exhale of surprise.
Nevertheless, he couldn't turn down an opportunity to touch her when she was being so delightfully compliant. It was the drug, he knew, but there was no harm in indulging himself. Figure out what her new boundaries were…see how resilient her mental state was the further from structured reality she strayed…see if he couldn't…test it.
"Perfect…that's perfect," she mumbled, rubbing her face against his chest as her arms tightened around his midsection. "You, me, and Batman. It's so, so funny, isn't it Jack? The company you choose to keep. Dogs, bunnies, crows, bats…why we'll be our own circus in no time!"
He didn't bother suppressing his laugh, hooking a muscled bicep around the back of her head, closing his eyes as her hot breath fanned across his chest. His grin was in no hurry to recede.
"That-ah we will, sweets. That we will."
I apologize for how long it's taken me to update. This is a condensed version of events:
I quit my job in mid-August for a better paying one. The new job was awful- extremely long shifts, poor management, non-existent training, unreasonable work load. There was no time for writing, only work and sleep. I lasted as long as I could, but ended up quitting after a month. Then, my oldest brother contracted co-vid and I had to self-quarantine for two weeks. Opened up Word document, stared at the screen, nothing came out. Quarantine ended, didn't exhibit any symptoms, went back to job searching. No luck. My living situation turned on its head. I need to be out by New Year's. Don't have the funds to move. It's okay...stay positive, stay positive. Opened up Word document, stared at the screen, nothing came out. Cue frustration. Cue anger. Cue self-doubt. Cue triggers that put me back into a mental state I'd not been in in two years. Spaced out it's fine, all at once it's devastating. Depression never disappears, it lurks, waiting for the opportunity to strike.
I'm straight up not having a good time, but at least I found the ability to get these chapters out. Small things! Thank you so much for all of your kudos, your support, and your patience. There were a few times I contemplated deleting this story and my account. It's so frustrating when ideas won't transition onto paper. And though I read other authors works to get inspired to work on mine, after the initial awe, insecurity creeps in. I'll never be as good a writer, as talented, as witty, as creative. I don't know what to say to myself in those moments. Just remind myself I guess...if I don't write it, who will?
Thank you again, I hope you're all taking care of yourselves.