The dislocated shoulder healed in a few weeks. In a few months, Harley's parents had calmed down enough to stop calling her every 4 hours just to make sure she was alright. Harley stopped absent mindedly asking questions to the empty apartment, expecting Gwen to answer back. Time passed, and things healed.
Harley dropped out of school shortly after the incident. The remainder of her thesis paper was pushed into the back of her closet and her mind, save for one grinning picture- laughing silently in the drawer of her nightstand.
She worked at a diner just south of Gotham square during the weekdays. The pay wasn't that great but the owner, Hank, treated her like family. He was very laid back, the sort of guy who gave days off on her friend's birthdays and slipped a couple singles into her purse when she had her back turned. Hank would always turn his head when she came in late.
Harley sat on the cold, concrete floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest, the bottom of her sneakers grittily sliding against the dirt. Above her, the lone light bulb flickered, illuminating a crusty cobweb that clung to the orb like an annoying girlfriend.
She leaned her head against the wall.
"I wonder how long it will take him to realize I'm gone." She muttered to the empty little room. Amazingly enough, here she sat, a captive to the object of her obsessions past, and all she could think about was poor old Hank, sort handed at the diner.
Her eyes closed, and she breathed deep, recalling everything that happened the day before...
Harley woke up suddenly and sat straight up in her bed. She glanced over at the alarm clock. 3:57 shone at her like the eyes of an animal. She turned on the lamp, and leaned against the headboard.
She had just had the most intense dream.
It had been in summertime- She was standing on the roof of a lonely building, watching the headlights glitter below her like some messed up work of art. She was up on the ridge.
She was going to jump.
She waited and waited for the headache to start. For the noise to come rushing into her skull like a swarm of bees. She knew it had to come. The chaos.
She looked down at the traffic. They were moving and racing and pulsing- but they were silent.
"Chaos." a maniacal voice growled from behind her, "It's the best part about killing people."
She turned her head, and saw the Joker. His greasy green hair looping lazily around his head like a demented halo.
She turned her attention back towards the street, unfazed by his presence.
He stepped up beside her on the ridge.
"Chaos is the way everything really is." he mused.
She looked up at him, expecting him to be engrossed in the city below. Instead his eyes were shut peacefully, face upturned. Like he was having a meditative moment.
"There is no bad and good. Everything just runs together, making a mess. It's really great to watch."
His eyes were open now, but they were not focused on the street. He was looking at her. Speaking to her. About her.
He emitted another peal of whooping laughter.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
Yanking her forward roughly, he ran his tongue over her cheek.
"My little Harlequin..."
She met his gaze as he let out a low chuckle.
From deep in the crevasses of her brain, something in Harley's mind began to buzz. His laughter rubbed together like peices of flint- setting off sparks and heating up the nerves in her body.
The chaos was starting.
The edges of her lips twitched upwards into a smile.
He whipped his head around, looking upon the streets below. The chuckle had become a loud cackle.
His grip tightened around her wrist.
The noise inside her head grew louder.
She was laughing, now. She could hear the sound mixed in so lovely with the chaos. No wonder Joker did it so much. It was musical.
With a swift yank, Joker jumped off the building, taking Harley down with him.
She laughed the whole way down.
Her own laughter is what woke her up.
Shakily, Harley put a hand to her cheek.
It almost felt damp.
She looked over to the nightstand.
The picture of the Joker was lying on it, grinning like a cheshire cat.
She did not remember putting it there but then again, she seemed to be very absent minded lately.
She picked it up and promptly tore it in half.
She was disgusted for even keeping it.
"How can I even look at you?" she whispered to the pieces in her hand.
The night breeze blew in through the window, making her shiver in her ratty t-shirt.
She did not remember opening the window either.
The night sky was a murky orange due to the shaky Gotham lights.
Pitted in the center of the grunge, the bat signal shone like a diamond on a pillow.
She looked down at the torn picture.
"You did save my life, technically." she spoke to it, holding the pieces next to eachother so the smile was realigned.
She put it back on the nightstand before snuggling back down under the blanket.
She left the light on.
Gotham really was just chaos, burning and burning...
Harley was pulled out of her memory by the sounds of shouting on the other side of the door.
Shouting, and of course, whooping laughter.
She hoisted her head back up. It felt heavy. The room was still spinning from the drugs.
Slowly she leaned forward, planting her palms firmly on the cold, gritty cement.
She slowly tried to extend her legs, but they felt so heavy and her knees refused to catch.
With a weak groan, she sat back down.
In the corner, her little black waitress apron was crumpled into a heap.
With all the strength she could muster, Harley slowly crawled over to it and collapsed on its scratchy surface.
From behind her, she heard the door creak open.
Her eyes rolled back as far as they could in an attempt to see who was entering, but all she could make out was the burly shadow being strewn across the room.
Footsteps sounded heavily and made her head spin even more as the figure walked to her head, grabbing one arm and swiftly throwing her over his shoulder like a rolled up carpet.
For a brief moment, the light from the bulb flashed in her eyes.
She recognized the figure by the rubber clown mask that he wore.
He was one of the henchmen who had jumped her on her way to work that morning.
"Don't......Touch me...." She mumbled, her hair swinging like a blonde curtain as he carried her out into the noisy room.
"I said....Let me go....fucker..."
A sporadic laugh tumbled around her ears. The drugs only intensified it, and her heart quickened. She was trapped in a cage of laughs.
She threw her hands up to her head weakly to try and stifle the sound.
A hand wrapped itself around her little wrist. She tensed up.
The laughter had quieted to a few sinister "Ha...Ha...Ha"'s.
She tried to free her arm, but his grip only tightened.
"Harley Quinn..." the Joker breathed lazily.
His voice was very close to her ear. She could hear him licking his lips.
"Stop...." Harley's words were not audible from under the tangled mess of hair.
He released her hand.
"Bring her upstairs." He told the henchmen. "Lock it."
Harley started banging on the man's back with her balled up fists.
She was so out of it she might as well have been hitting him with feathers.
The noise began to disappear around her as the elevator doors shut behind her.
-------------------
Harley opened her eyes.
They were burning a little bit, and felt soft, like she had been sleeping for a very long time.
She tried to lick her lips. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to her cracked lips like silly putty.
She sat up.
She was pretty sure that the drugs had worn off. But she wished that they hadn't. The whole scene was like some sort of bad trip.
The room was dark. Most likely underground. It was very big, the size of her entire apartment and then some. The single light in the room was very small and towards the ground- like a night light from an old person's house. In the dim light she could tell that the walls were the same dirty cement as the other room had been. It was too dark to make out colors or details, but Harley was pretty confident that she was in a bed. The sheets were cold, but very slippery as if they were made out of satin.
She squinted, trying to make out the rest of the room.
Above the nightlight, a big throw switch jutted out of the wall.
Harley threw her legs over the edge of the bed, expecting them to dangle. She was startled when they abruptly hit the floor- the bed was simply a made up mattress.
The floor was cold on her feet- which were now bare.
She scurried over to the switch and put it up with a rusty groan.
Above her, a series of long, florescent lights flickered into life.
Harley blinked, blinded by the sudden change.
"Wow." she muttered.
The room appeared even bigger when it was lit up. The mattress upon which she had been unconscious was king sized, and took up not even half of the wall. The sheets were purple and shining, all twisted up like a whirlpool. There was a headboard of ornate wrought iron. It was clearly just a decoration, judging by the way it was bolted crookedly to the wall. There were 2 pairs of handcuffs fastened in the metal. It should have made her stomach lurch, but all Harley did was smirk.
On the wall next to her, facing the bed, was an old vanity. It looked as though it had been pulled out of an alley. The mirror was broken, the breaks running through Harley's reflection like a highway. The reflection frightened her. Her curious blue eyes were sunken deeply in her head, and her hair fell in ugly waves around her shrunken face.
Harley put a hand to the collar of her nightgown.
It was white, and very breezy. The sleeves only came down halfway, and the collar fell off one of her shoulders, exposing her very pale skin.
"Where are my clothes?" she asked the strange girl in the mirror.
She just stared back at her with big eyes.
Harley looked down at the chipped, dirty vanity's surface.
There were a few broken strings of beads, laying in a tangled heap. Pearls of varying sizes and shapes as well as a few strands of rosary beads.
She ran her fingers over them gently as she went on to examine the large plastic comb. It was missing quite a few teeth and had some long hairs stuck to it. There was also a brand new tube of lipstick, sitting upright in the center of the tabletop, like some treasure. She unwrapped it and popped the top off. It was red.
She snapped it back on and put it down, turning to see the last item on the vanity.
It was a blue dog dish. Empty except for a thin layer of dust, interrupted here and there by handprints and finger marks.
On the edge of the bowl, something was written in sharpie in a thick childish scrawl.
Harley.
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A/N: sorry, not the best chapter. Dont lose faith in me! The next one will be better, I promise. And it wont take me so long to get it up now that I'm done with midterms! :D