Two full hours passed before they were finally able to make it down to the beach; the sun nearly halfway to the horizon. In retrospect, it was mostly Celine's doing, though in actuality, Joker was equally as culpable.
It all began the moment she stumbled through the front door and snatched the Nerf gun off of the coat rack. Out of the five shots she managed his way, three struck him; and one had the misfortune of ending up halfway inside his parted mouth.
She lost herself to an endless cycle of giggles as Joker bit through the foam of the bullet; effectively snapping the dart in two before spitting it out. What ensued was perhaps the most chaotic game of hide and seek ever engaged in.
Now Celine knew her house well. Sober, drunk, high, tripping balls…she could strut the halls in her sleep. But it was another thing entirely attempting to evade a severely determined clown. One whose whoops and grunts and playful yet sinister taunts of "C'mere wascally wabbit!" followed by the extension of his hands in a grabbing motion, served to further disorient the accident-prone woman.
The chase seemed endless, Joker never paused for breath, and she lost count of the amount of times her hips bounced off of the corners of tables or chairs. Twice she nearly bent her big toe in half from the sharp veers she took around doors and the legs of furniture. The mushrooms made her feel like her movements were slower than they actually were, causing her to speed up and inevitably run face-first into the closed door of her mom's room; nearly toppling poor Jim Morrison to the floor with her.
To Joker's credit, his rancorous, eardrum-piercing laughter lasted no more than five minutes. And thankfully, such a solid collision allowed Celine to pass out for four minutes out of the five.
By the time she came to, Joker had carried her into the bathroom, set her down on the edge of the seashell sink, and was in the middle of impeding a nosebleed that seemed to gush without pause.
Her forehead throbbed something fierce, and she did her best not to pay any mind to that pain. Instead, she focused on the man in between her parted legs, looming over her, a quiet hum rattling in his throat. She focused on the sturdy yet remarkably soft pinches his thumb and index finger made over her nostrils. When the bleeding eventually ceased, she focused on the way he ran the warm washcloth over and along her cheeks, mouth, chin, and neck; effectively wiping away every last drop of crimson that'd leaked out of her.
"You're good at this," she mumbled at one point, listening to nothing else but his steady breaths. "Didn't think you…possessed such…such…"
Her hand flopped uselessly through the air, searching for the right word.
"Tact."
He didn't respond, but her intuition picked up on his unspoken thought.
You're the only one who deserves it.
His gaze hardened a second later, revealing to her that even in the privacy of his own mind, such a vulnerable acknowledgement wasn't welcome. She wanted so very badly to thank him but chose to bite down on her tongue instead. Injury aside, she was enjoying this more humane version of Joker…it'd be a shame to chase him away when he so rarely visited.
"I'm gonna feel this all so badly tomorrow," she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. "I swear…I swear I'm not usually so…but…I've never been chased by…or as distracted as I am with…"
She trailed off, half-tempted to sink into a thirty second nap.
Joker had other ideas. He gifted her with a sharp slap across the cheek that woke her right back up. The sting was faint, but she massaged the area regardless.
"No falling asleep on me," he ordered, grabbing her by the chin and inspecting her. "Because you consumed your happy vegetables, I can't tell if you're concussed or not."
"Look at the company I'm keeping," she managed out. "Brain can't be more damaged than it already is, can it?"
His frown remained, but a dark sort of mirth twinkled in his eyes.
"God," she blurted. "You're so beautiful."
He instantly recoiled from her.
"Don't worry." She waved off his fears with a lopsided grin. "That's the concussion talking. I want to feel the ridges of your scars against my neck. That's the concussion talking too. Celine is no longer here; this is her cousin…Connie Cu'ssion…I go by Con mostly…nice to meet you."
She extended a hand. Joker stared at it.
"I come from land of Agartha," she followed up, then lowered her tone. "But don't tell anyone…you see…we have access to O-I-L. And I don't want the U-S-A to find out. Otherwise, we'll be S-O-L. Comprender?"
She made a clicking noise and offered him a wink.
His brows drew together.
"Agartha? That uh the alleged lost city in the Earth's core?"
"Very good." She beamed at him. "You know how nice…how good…it feels…to…meet someone who knows that kinda stuff. Oddball stuff. Random facts. Sometimes I think…it's more isolating…to be curious. People are just content…being told how the world works. The dreamers get shot, the curious-minded castrated…we see…we see what happens to those like us." Her index and middle finger formed into a V and gestured at her eyes, then at various directions in the bathroom. "And we gotta…be careful. You can be curious, but not too curious. You can propose change, but it needs to be pre-approved. Dream only within the established perimeter."
She leaned toward him. He was wildly curious about the tangent she was riding, so resumed his position between her legs, allowing her to slip both arms around his neck.
"The world," she said, "is run by cocaine and Red Bull. And I'm afraid…someone's cut the brakes to the car. I don't want to get off, I just want to slow down."
She cupped his cheeks, blinking in what felt like slow motion.
"Oh…"
Tears unexpectedly gathered in her eyes.
"What?"
It was gruff and acerbic, but Celine took it as a win that he even bothered asking.
She shook her head, mouth opening and closing. Her thumbs gently brushed the underside of his eye sockets.
"Andy Warhol should have painted you."
Before he could respond, she lifted her chin and placed a soft kiss on the center of his forehead.
Joker turned rigid as a corpse. Had she not been as close as she was, she'd be convinced he'd stopped breathing altogether.
"Too quickly I am encroaching on foreign territory," she noted, pulling back to examine him. "I apologize. There are no boundaries for me in this state. Or rather…no fear of crossing them. I will respect yours. In fact…I know what will do the trick!"
She jumped off the sink and slipped past him.
For fifteen or so minutes, she rummaged around the kitchen for something. Joker observed her with crossed arms, amused when she got distracted by the view outside or a magnet on the refrigerator or struck by the sudden urge to read the ingredients of all the seasonings on her spice rack.
"A-ha!"
She located the object of her search, having to jump in the air to reach it on the third cupboard shelf. Throwing on the cold tap water, she worked on filling the sprayable bottle until it was all the way full.
"Here." She turned and offered him the bottle. "I used to use this on my little cousins when they annoyed me. Anytime I'm being bad…invasive… just-." Her finger pulled down on the trigger, releasing a stream of water to Joker's right. "-spray me down."
Joker accepted the bottle, trying very hard not to smirk.
He aimed the nozzle at her face and sprayed her five or six times. She managed to get her eyes closed in time, the jets of water striking her cheeks and forehead.
A crazed giggle escaped him.
"Thoughtful as the gesture is," he said, "I can think of far more sui-table punishments in the event that you uh…decide to be a bad bunny."
Her eyes popped open.
"Like what? Time out?"
Joker bit down hard on his lip. Her legitimate befuddlement had him conflicted on how lecherous he should be.
"We'll discuss it further when you're all sobered u-p," he decided. "For now, this'll do."
She opened her mouth to respond, only to have it filled with eight rapid squirts of water.
"Ah!" She turned away from him, blocking her face. "I've given you too much power."
"That you have, sweets. And I don't intend on relinquishing it."
Joker was apparently riding a power high because for the next ten minutes Celine was back to maneuvering around the house, doing her best not only to avoid his grasp, but the awesome range of his newly acquired weapon.
It was by a twist of fate that she recognized her Nerf gun discarded beneath the dining room table. By the time she emerged from the other side, she and Joker were locked in a classic Western showdown.
"Give it up you crooked-mouthed bastard," she threatened, aiming at what she thought was his throat (Joker hadn't the heart nor desire to tell her she was facing the wrong direction). "Surrender now and I'll let you walk away no lesser a man than the day your momma sprung you out from between her legs."
Joker lowered himself down in a chair, scars twitching violently from how hard he was working at suppressing his laughter. He cupped a hand around his mouth.
"That's some foul, foul language coming from such a pretty little lady. Sure that mouth of yours isn't better occupied around my cock?"
"I am a lady," she returned, narrowing her gaze. "You'd do well to treat me like one."
Joker raised the spray bottle, but before he could pull the trigger, Celine pivoted ninety degrees to her right and released the last ten darts left in her gun. All ten struck him either on the chin, jugular, or upper chest.
"Gotcha!" She threw her arms up in the air. "My house, Jack! I'd know where you were in my sleep."
Sadly, her victory was short-lived. A handful of minutes later found her crushed up against the kitchen sink, Joker's hips keeping her pinned in place while one hand snuck beneath her chin to tilt it upward and the other hand nimbly uncapped the spray bottle above her.
"No no no no no-."
He thumbed off the cap and dumped what remained of the water onto her head.
She spent the next few minutes trying to thrash out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold around her midsection, giggling freely at the wet mess of a woman in his arms.
"Shh shh shh," he encouraged, rubbing his scarred cheek against her, the tips of his fingers tracing the outline of her journal. "We'll get you allll dried off in no time."
She finally slumped against him, attempting to blow at a few wet strands glued to her forehead.
"You're not a graceful loser, are you?"
"Mmm…what ever gave you that impression?"
It was hopeless holding back a few hearty chuckles at that. Those chuckles soon became sharp, chest-heaving chortles that transitioned into tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Joker merely observed her reddening cheeks with a satisfied half-grin.
"Don't let me go," she was able to manage out, head lolling from side to side. "I fear my bones have turned into Jell-O."
"Yeah?" He prodded at her collarbone, eliciting another giggle from her. "Mm…speaking of…we ah…get around to eating today?"
She tilted her head up to study him better. Her pupils were blown wide; an enchanting sort of joviality galloping around them.
"Yup."
Her stomach chose that moment to disagree.
"Has it…really been so long?" she marveled, searching her environment for a clock.
"Nearing the four-hour mark," he answered. "Best we get something in ya, hm?"
"'M fine…no need."
"Wasn't asking, sweets."
He proceeded to lift her up and position her on the counter, leaning her back slightly so her skull rested against the back of a cabinet.
Celine watched Joker amble around her kitchen, opening up various items they'd gotten at Wal-Mart the evening before. He had the hindsight to grab one of the water bottles sitting on the counter and toss it her way. She wasn't exactly prepared for the throw and it ended up bouncing off her forehead and dropping into her lap.
This isn't…it's not…the same man who held me hostage.
She took a few sips of water, silently examining this thought. It was and it wasn't. Joker was still there with her, but…he had no reason to be violent, to be manipulative, cut-throat, cunning.
"No reason," she mumbled softly to herself, tilting her head as he piled high a plate of junk food. "What gives him reason? Society…or the individual? Anarchist or psychopath? Stands to reason…society. But I am a part of society…granted, it's not my ideal society…I survive within the established guidelines…try to do good, make an impact from within…he seeks to destroy the system in place…and to do that, one must target individuals…I am not a target, but in his eyes a means to an end…I am not an enforcer of the guidelines, I recognize the culture is sick…life should not be like this…pay…pay…pay your bills, gently crush your dreams…we are all programmed to silence the idealist within…it should not be like this…yes, yes I understand, I know…peaceful disobedience works…for a time…but violence…why it instills fear like no other…we avoid the uncomfortable conversation with ourselves regarding our frailty…"
Her gaze dropped to her hands. She sought out the pulse point on the inside of her right thumb and pressed it against her lips.
"I have the capacity to inflict violence…to get my point across…I do, but unnaturally does it come…and at what price? The price of waking up a stranger to myself. I like who I am now…the trajectory that has been my life…the worst of it needed to be experienced…in my bones, in my soul, in my cells I know I am becoming the person I'm meant to…but still…I've not cracked the code…how can I get them to listen without placing them in a position of mortal danger? Nothing is valued as preciously as life…what do I do…what do I do…is it even my duty to tackle this problem…perhaps I disappear…yes, yes…I disappear where I am beyond the reach of the systemic sickness I tolerate."
She was lost in a trance for close to a minute before her eyes averted to Joker.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you hate being psychoanalyzed."
He mulled over his response carefully, gaze rooting her in place.
"You know where doctors go wrong?" he asked. "All of them do it, doesn't matter who gets assigned to me."
She shook her head, soothed by the unexpected calmness of his voice.
"They've made up their minds already." He approached her with a mesmerizing sort of stillness…like a switch had been flicked on that'd not been touched in quite some time. "The lack of objectivity on their part is frankly disturbing…they're our academics, our brightest lightbulbs in the bunch…the least they could do…is hear a guy out. But no…they've prescribed me my medications before my back touches the chair of that first session…they've narrowed my nature down to two disorders and a combination of three environmental factors. You see, at that point I'm their guinea pig…a predictive factor in a series of hypothesis's formed without my consent. They don't want to learn, no, no, no…they want to be right…and now, now it's just fun…yanking them in the direction they want me to go. Collared I might be, but make no mistake, I've got control of the leash."
His eyes were glowing, radiating…the presence within had been seeking to relay this for ages. A finnicky sort of tension invaded his body…and would continue to until she offered up a response.
"I-I'm sorry," she repeated, wanting so badly to initiate physical contact but knowing he needed the comfort of autonomy…of not feeling he was being restrained in any capacity.
"Why? In the mood to play peacekeeper? Issue an apology on their behalf?"
His jaw was clenched so tight it tautened the skin around his jawbone.
She shook her head, blinking a few times.
"I'm sorry that it took me this long…to see you."
With that, she lowered her head and stared at her hands, focusing on her own interior tranquility. Out of nowhere she was struck by an urge to strip herself of all her clothes and launch herself into the sun. She would not vaporize, but rather become one with the hydrogen-powered star.
Joker cocked his head to the side.
"I can't remember the last time someone's apologized to me without the fear of death as a motivator."
She grinned and looked up at him; wildly amused by this admission.
Joker's eyes kept straying down to her lips. Whatever tension previously holding him hostage, slowly released him. His scars trembled from the smile he was suppressing.
He suddenly grew serious and slipped a finger beneath her chin, making sure her eyes were on him.
"There's not a corner of this planet you could disappear to that I wouldn't find you."
She removed his hand and took to holding it instead.
"What makes you think you're not invited to disappear with me?"
His mouth parted just the slightest.
"You never considered that possibility, did you?" Though he wasn't one to shy away from eye contact, the openness reflecting back at him was more daunting than he cared to admit to. "You still have something to prove to them. Personally…I think you have already…it's the reason why you've been bored for quite some time now…what's left then, but to up the ante…what's your ideal way to do it?"
"Do what?"
She meant to respond but noted at the last second just how violently his hand was quivering in hers.
"Boundaries," she recalled, releasing his hand. "Sorry. We'll visit that territory at a later time."
She tried to hop down and move around him, but he caged her in with his arms and glared down at her.
"What's my ideal way to do what?"
"I'm afraid to say," she answered honestly. "For fear that you'd deem me too clever at reading you. You are…a conflict of wants, desires, and feelings. You want me to know you deeper, but only that which is surface-level…but I cannot help it…it is in my nature to delve in…excavate…bring to light and discern…and I don't think…right now anyway…you would take kindly to that. Already, I've peeled away so many layers of you…let us…seal you off for a bit…give you room to breathe again. Recuperate. Decide a comfortable shallowness in the water for your feet to traverse."
She abruptly clasped her hands together.
"The beach!" She smacked him lightly on the chest with the back of a hand. "You are such a distraction. At this rate we'll be here all night."
In the blink of an eye she'd ducked under his arm, leaving him feeling more off-kilter than he ever had in his life. And that infuriating escape move. From now on he needed to keep his arms lower around her, so the opportunity didn't continuously present itself.
Before she could exit the kitchen, Joker tugged her back by the shirt. She glanced up at him.
"We forgetting something?"
Her brows crinkled together. She glanced down at herself.
"I'm all here…as far as I know anyway."
He twirled her around, so she was facing the plate of food he'd stacked together for her.
"Ah!"
She snatched a bag of gummy worms, brought them up to her eyes, and observed all the transition of colors.
When one whole minute passed and all Celine had done was accumulate a bit of drool and a thousand-yard stare, Joker snatched the bag from her hands and ripped it open.
"These ah mushrooms," he ventured, pulling one out, "always make you this mani-c?"
She nodded and accepted the worm dangling in front of her.
"Go with the flow, Jack." She bit off one end and savored the taste, rolling her tongue around it. "No use fighting…I mean…when you've got a destination…and you gotta make the trip there…one must endure all the twists and turns, right? It's what I've been doing since we first met…difference is…I'm doing it all with less…hesitation. The me on shroomies…is the me I strive to be in sober life."
She sunk back into his chest, chewing thoughtfully.
"It's odd…I don't like to eat on trips…usually lose my appetite…but something about your bossiness…"
He couldn't help but expel a harsh chuckle at that.
"Don't think you'll still carry that opinion when you sober up."
"Probably not." She peeked up at him with a toothy smile. "You know…each trip of mine…has a reoccurring theme…still trying to figure out…this one…other than…coordination not being my friend."
He rested his chin atop her head, constricting his biceps around her until she was forced against his chest as closely as possible.
"Poetry," he answered lazily. "…you ah…got a predilection for it."
She stiffened. He pulled back a little to study her.
"You're right," she realized. "I guess I never…Bruce isn't the poetry type…neither is John…I've got artistic friends…but they channel it through…other mediums…"
Her brows drew together.
"You like poetry too."
He made a sound of disagreement. She tried to twist around in his arms.
"You do," she insisted. "Makes perfect sense. Poetry is so…subjective. Intense. Rhythmically dependent upon…the author. Rap…you love rap, Jack. Is rap not poetry?"
She was now facing him, swaying a little in place. He made sure to keep her body sanctioned in between his arms.
"Hmpf…I'll concede ya that," he admitted quietly, brows narrowing. "And now that ya mention it…there is a poem that stands out. Only one I ever bothered memorizing…"
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, mouth pursed. She wished she could snap a photo, but for the life of her couldn't recall what she'd done with her phone.
"Langston…Hughes?" His eyes opened. "That sound right?"
"Yes!" she answered. "We learned a few of his…in high school…I think."
"Mm… "Evil" is what he titled this one."
Her brows rose.
"I'm not familiar…recite it...please."
He did his best not to smirk.
One hand lifted and cupped her cheek. His voice lowered to a grumble for dramatic effect.
"Looks what drives me crazy-"
His opposite hand cupped her other cheek.
"Don't have no effect on you—"
Her face was tilted up.
"But I'm gonna keep on at it-"
He brought their foreheads together, gaze smoldering.
"Till it drives you crazy…too."
Although he half anticipated her response, he was still taken aback by the voracity of her laughter. His hands dropped down to her hips to steady her should she take another tumble; secretly pleased beyond comprehension that she found it as appropriate as he did.
"Of-of course!" she giggled, hands trying to smother her mouth. "Of course that would stick out to you. My…brilliant little deviant."
Electricity roared through his veins. He shot forward and captured her lips, arms encircling her back in a criss-cross formation. Her tongue wasn't able to keep up with the ferocity of his, so he did his best to slow down until his was stroking hers languidly; fingernails digging deep into her skin.
A muffled cry made him pull away.
Her bottom lip was flushed and wobbling; pain weaving into her expression despite her pupils being fascinated by his mouth.
It dawned on him without her having to say anything. He declawed his nails from her back, instead, taking to thumbing the areas now carrying half-moon outlines.
"You uh still in pain from earlier?"
Her nod wasn't done up and down, but rather side to side. He suspected in the last minute alone the trip had accelerated unexpectedly.
"Take your painkillers?"
"O-one."
"Never was much-a babysitter," he mentioned off-handedly. "For some odd reason, people don't trust me with their kiddos."
"Can't imagine why," she mumbled into his chest.
He pinched her side, which made her re-erupt into a fit of giggles.
"Want me to throw you in the ocean? Hm? Let sharks rip your body apart 'til you're nothing but marrow and bone?"
When she parted her mouth and nodded dreamily, he swept some hair out of her face.
"Let's ah get to hoppin' then, and see if sharks like bunny every bit as much as I do."
x_X_x_X_x
Joker refused to let Celine leave the house until she got some more food in her, which she did with closed eyes and soft sighs; tastebuds rejoicing at all the sugar and salt seeping into her tongue. He then made her drink a full bottle of water as well as knock back two more painkillers, all the while changing out and redressing the film and bandages on her hand, so it was clean and properly snug.
Whilst in the middle of this, he abruptly looked up at her.
"You're ah…" He cleared his throat, squinting at her. "How's your memory after waking up from one of these trips?
Her eyes were shut, body swaying gently to the tune of the waves merging onto the shore.
"I…remember what's most…impactful."
She seemed to be entering a mute stage of the trip, though her forehead often crinkled as if she were holding entire conversations inside her head.
Joker nodded.
"Nothing impactful 'bout this," he murmured, hoping his command was being subliminally received. "Best you block it out."
She smiled but said nothing.
Thankfully, she was much more present when he ordered her to pack a bag of all that she would need. A task he realized very quickly he had to monitor as she was developing a persistent habit of getting side-tracked. Not that he minded all that much, it was free entertainment for him, especially when she randomly started to laugh, then snort, then cradle her tummy, then beam the brightest smile at seemingly nothing before looking directly at him, viewing him as if…as if…well…he'd never in his life been on the receiving end of that look before, but he'd spotted it plenty of times observing others. And usually…usually that look gave him the worst kind of nausea…he suspected subconsciously it was one of the deciding factors in marking Dent's girlfriend for death.
But now… finally being the recipient of that look…by her of all people…and…the nausea was of a different sort entirely. It didn't make him want to retch his guts out…it didn't feel like acid corroding his organs…it felt like…he was freefalling with no bottom in sight…and the lack of a bottom unnerved him just as much as it thrilled him.
When all was said and done, she had strapped to her an old bookbag filled with a quilt, matches, kerosene, a few more bottles of water, and one of her pre-rolled joints that she faintly debated taking a few hits from, but ultimately decided against. Once the peak hit and plateaued, she would consider it; but for now, everything was moving along at the perfect pace.
"Music!" she gasped, "we'll need music."
Since she didn't have her phone, she settled for the next best thing.
In the closet of the spare bedroom she was able to fish out a black, old school boombox, though one of her family members must have relocated the box of cassette tapes, as they were nowhere to be found. With furrowed brows, she clicked the OPEN button atop the stereo.
It took a few seconds for the words to stop swimming.
"Oh…" she drawled, tilting her head, "I forgot…I…had…this."
In black Sharpie on top of white masking tape it read: Celine's Mix 99'.
"Lemme guess," came Joker's voice from above her shoulder, "packed with angst, grunge and…rockers mad at their fathers."
She grinned and snapped the lid closed before picking the stereo up.
"I…can't recall what's on it…right now," she answered thoughtfully, thumbing the handle as if in a daze. "But making it…I remember that…or…the feeling rather. A classmate of mine…at GIT…taught me. It was…I was not…in a good headspace then. But I was so…proud…learning how to get all the songs…on."
She peered up at him and arched a brow.
"Rockers? Mad…at their fathers?"
He rested an arm against the closet entry, eying her with a crooked smile.
"No offense meant, sweets, I appreciate a bit of alternative rock as much as the next anarchist. Just that ah…you remember radio stations being saturated with that sorta music for a time, don't ya? Grunge becoming mainstream, every misunderstood, flannel wearing teen-ager thinking they were the next Kurt Cobain. Or wanting to shoot up a school. If the former didn't happen, they'd act out on the latter."
"Did you?"
"Wanna overdose on fame or shoot up a school?"
"Both?"
He scratched his chin, suddenly looking past her.
"Wouldn't have minded recognition at that age," he admitted. "And…I heheh woulda went back for target practice at mine, but the punks at Columbine beat me to it with their…magnum opus. I'm no one's copycat."
Her mouth dropped open.
"You're…you're serious?"
Witnessing her expression crumble had him rethinking his choice of words.
"Kidding," he lied, ruffling her hair.
She still appeared mildly disturbed, so he hooked an arm around her neck and tugged her out of the closet with him.
"C'mon gumdrop, ocean's a-waiting."
His redirection of topic seemed to do the trick. In no time they were outside, Joker snatching up the bundle of wood by the firepit while Celine did her best at taking straight baby steps toward the stairs at side of the cliff.
"Ah ah ah." She was pulled backwards before she could get more than five feet. "Clutzy little girls ride in the back with daddy."
Her brows shot together. She turned and looked at him.
"But…you're not my daddy."
Yet Joker itched to say.
He instead moved to stand in front of her, then dropped down on one knee, peering back over his shoulder at her expectantly.
"Well?" he said. "Hop on."
Her squeal made him jump a little.
"Really?" she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Unless you prefer handcuffs. Either's fine by me."
When she wrapped both arms around his neck and worked on situating her legs around his ribcage, he tried to keep his smirking to a minimal. Yes, the precaution was taken mostly for her benefit…breaking your neck was such an anticlimactic way to die. But it was for his as well, even if he'd never verbally admit to it.
The image from almost a week ago now was still seared into his brain…Celine nearly fainting a day out of the hospital, that oaf Wayne coming to her heroic rescue and letting her ride him piggyback style…for all the world to see! He'd nearly shot at him on sight.
Instead, he made a vow to himself. Celine Harlow would be getting a piggyback ride from him even if he had to industrial glue the woman to his back to make it happen.
Thankfully, it'd not come to that. And although he wished that entitled brat Wayne was here, forced to watch as he had been…a victory was still a victory.
"Dig your heels in harder, Cece. I won't bruise."
Her breath tickled his ear.
"I…don't want to hurt you."
The genuineness in her tone set his nerves on fire.
"Not going to," he promised. "And if you do, I'll more than likely enjoy it. That's what I call a win-win."
She chuckled heartily at that, burying her nose into the side of his neck.
"Win-win," she repeated in a daze, shifting her ankles forward a little and digging her heels in.
"That-a girl," he encouraged, making sure she was properly secured before standing. "Gotta say, you follow directions much better in this state."
She lifted the hand not clutching the boombox handle and covered his mouth.
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
Joker licked her hand, but rather than be repulsed like she was the evening before, all Celine did was giggle, close her eyes, and rest the side of her cheek against the nape of his neck.
The sun was about halfway to the horizon by the time he descended the stairs. The breeze was faint – ideal fire building weather – and the waves didn't crash against the shore as much as they gently undulated back and forth, the rhythm quickly becoming hypnotic to the woman attached to Joker's back.
A few gulls were circling the clear-blue skies, but other than that there wasn't another soul above water.
Joker was sorely tempted to drop Celine without preamble, but figured she'd taken enough spills for the day. There was always tomorrow.
She ended up sliding off of him on her accord anyhow, moaning when her toes sunk into the sand. Her eyes studied her scenery as if she were a child viewing it all for the first time.
"Wish you could see…" she rambled softly, inhaling deeply. "Everything is just…it all is…I am the wind, the seagulls…the salt, the water…the seaweed, the algae…it's all-."
Her fingers came together.
"-interconnected."
"Power of drugs," was his low response.
She frowned a little.
"I am you as well," she said quietly. "But you're…this frantic buzzing…like a wasp's nest. I don't know how to…calm it."
His gaze was heavy when it fell on her. She shuddered a little, trying to shake it off.
"You're high as a fucking satellite. Don't mind you rattling off what's in your head but keep that mystic cr-ap to yourself."
It hurt a little to hear, but she brushed it off. As he'd said previously, he was a man of tangibility. That needed to be respected.
She chose to spend the next little bit unpacking her bag and setting up a nice area for them to bunker down in. What there was of the wind helped drape the quilt over the sand a few feet away from the brick-lined firepit. She offered the kerosene and matches to Joker, who accepted them gleefully, eyes lighting up because he finally, finally got to start something on fire.
As he got to work doing what he did best, she set the stereo down about ten feet away from them and plopped down in front of it. Her fingers traced all of the buttons, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She hit what she thought read rewind until she heard a clicking sound, then play.
Nothing came out. Her brows shot together. She hit pause. Rewind. Then play again. Still nothing.
Minutes passed and she found herself scratching her head, wondering if perhaps it needed new batteries.
Joker's shadow appeared unexpectedly. He knelt into a crouch behind her, brushed a few strands of hair from her ear, and whispered, "Might-a help if you turned up the volume."
She blushed a little before doing as he recommended. Immediately, the first song on the tape quietly blared from the speakers.
"All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain
And all I can do is just pour some tea for two
And speak my point of view but it's not sane
It's not sane"
Her hands shot into the air, a giggle stumbling out of her. Joker smirked at the display, though he was less prepared for her arms to suddenly hook around his neck haphazardly.
"Thank you!" she shouted.
"I just want someone to say to me, oh
I'll always be there when you wake, yeah
You know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made"
"I'll have it maaaaade," Celine sang back, swaying her shoulders, crooning the lyrics she knew by heart. "And I don't understand why I sleep allllllll day, and I start to complain that there's no rain, and all I can do is read a book to stay awake, and it rips my life away but it's a great escape. Escaaaape. Escaaaaaaaape. Escaaaaaaaaaaaaape."
She let the song carry on without any further input, feeling much more content to hum along. At some point, Joker dropped down behind her to sit and slid his way forward, so he had her reclined against him between his legs.
He didn't shake off her grip, mostly because her hands without her realizing it were now in his soft, sun-kissed hair; casually tracing patterns along his skull. His arms found their usual position around her waist, and his nose decided to scope out the length of her neck with a few back and forth grazes.
"You remember this one?" she asked quietly.
"Mhm."
His eyes were closed, the faint whiff of sunscreen, soil, and blood invading his nostrils.
"I don't know…if you had MTV growing up…but I always loved this…video. Always rooted for the girl."
He didn't answer, merely rearranged his face so now – as she had requested while under the guise of her alter ego Connie Cu'ssion – the ridges of his scars brushed all along her neck. Her breathing hitched and a whimper that had developed in her toes, shot up her body and escaped out from between her teeth.
The last of the song eventually tapered out, then, the next one began.
"Shiny happy people laughing
Meet me in the crowd, people, people
Throw your love around, love me, love me
Take it into town, happy, happy
Put it in the ground where the flowers grow
Gold and silver shine"
Giddiness possessed her body. In a last attempt at sanity, she gripped onto Joker's locks.
"Everything is a blaze of color around me. I-I'm hitting…I'm diving…I'm surrendering…I-."
"Shh, I gotcha," he soothed. "Not going anywhere, so ah…feel free to lose your god damn mind."
And she did.
First song on Celine's Mix Tape is No Rain by Blind Melon. Second is Shiny Happy People by REM. No Rain in particular always, always makes me think of Heath. In my head, he's driving an open road in the late 90s, listening to it. Sometimes, I'm there too.