27. Lost Inside

Disclaimer: Thank you sooo much everyone who read and reviewed!! Sorry it's been a few days since my last update!! I love you all!! The lyrics I have at the beginning are not mine, they belong to Avril Lavigne—they basically state Giada in a nutshell, haha!

Her feelings she hides.
Her dreams she can't find.
She's losing her mind.
She's fallen behind.
She can't find her place.
She's losing her faith.
She's fallen from grace.
She's all over the place.

Peanut oil, sweat and paint filled my nose. I opened my eyes and felt the Joker's jacket covering my body. I turned to my side in search for him, but he had already awoken. He did it again—he wanted me warm, so he placed his jacket over me to make sure I didn't get too cold.

Sitting up, I removed the jacket and wondered why it did smell like peanut oil. With no place to go, I hopped out of bed and wandered into the main living area. The Joker was no where to be found. I scanned the book shelf for the book with the photographs I had found previously. When I found it, I opened up the book and removed the images. Holding them in my hand, I studied them carefully.

The Joker looked remarkable in his military uniform. No one would ever guess from that image that he is the Joker. The beautifully clear and smooth face that graced the photo all was but a shadow of who he now was. Without most of his make up on, he still seemed to look like the man in the photograph—with the dark eyes, full lips and sun kissed skin, but underneath it all, he was no longer the same man. I had never known Jack Napier the military man—I had only ever known the mass murdering criminal he had so desperately become—the Joker—Gotham's highest rate criminal.

And yet, for some reason, I was not sad he was no longer Jack Napier in uniform—I was completely content with him being the Joker—the alleged sociopath who stole my heart—the one person who could actually read who I really am.

"You just can't get enough of that photograph, can you, Giada?" the Joker asked suddenly as he emerged from the bathroom with just a towel about his waist. Damn it! I had forgotten to check the bathroom! My heart skipped a beat at his presence, mostly because I had not anticipated him being in the apartment at all. But as I looked up at him, I was taken back entirely by his appearance. He was clad in only a towel—he had clearly just taken a shower. But what struck me even more was that he wasn't wearing any face paint—at all. None. Zero. Not even a trace of face paint could be found on his face or in his eye crevices.

"Didn't mommy ever tell you it's rude to go through other peoples' things?" he asked as he walked over to me and took the photograph from my hand.

"I…I…" I was speechless. I didn't know what to say or how to react to his appearance—the Joker…wasn't the Joker. He was…a person, in the flesh…with a real face…and a real body…in daylight. Yes, I'd seen him naked before—but his face! It was…well, nothing was hiding it.

"Hm? What…what are you staring at?" he asked, licking his lips. He still had the same ticks without the make up.

"Well…I guess…it's just…well…I've never seen you without the face paint before," I said finally, standing to my feet. His eyes darted about the room quickly. He raised his hand and touched his face with the palm of his hand. Then, licking his lips, a smirk formed on his lips.

"And…what do you think?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I…I think you're rather handsome, actually," I stuttered, as I could feel my cheeks flush.

"Well, you know...I don't just go around not wearing the face paint," he said awkwardly. Clearly he didn't just go around not wearing his face paint—if he did that, people would know who he is. I wondered if this was his odd way of saying I was special to him.

I just smiled back at him, "I like your face, Joker. Thank you for letting me see it," I stated.

"Well…wait a second," he said as he walked closer to me, "let's get rid of this then," he put his hand to my face and rubbed away the excess face paint.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked, once he was done wiping the paint from my face.

"Uh, well, I was the one who got you painting your face again, remember? Well, you don't have to do that anymore, Giada—you get to be…well…you—again. And I, well…will paint my face again, like always—you—you didn't always paint your face when I met you. I…I liked that," I explained. I think it was his way of telling me he thought I was pretty.

"Well thank you, Joker. But, in case you've forgotten, you and I are a team now, and when we go out at night to take on Gotham and Batman, I'll paint my face o go along with you," I responded with a laugh.

"Well, of course!" he giggled in return, "This is going to be the fun we should have been having from the beginning, Giada!"

"Well, you finally got me, so be glad!" I exclaimed.

It was true—had had finally gotten me to join him. After all of our trials and experiences, it turned out he had been right all along. I had known it all along, but I didn't want to acknowledge that a man like him could read someone like me so well. I mean, would anyone really want to admit to themselves that an alleged psychopath knows them better than they know themselves? I don't think so—especially not a psychoanalyst!

At this point, I wasn't really sure where I belonged. Despite my hidden love for the Joker and my decision to join him, I still felt like I was losing my mind. Part of me was just incredulous that I'd even consider joining him—and the fact I actually decided to do so, well, that was just a whole other plot of emotion and disturbances that made me feel lost inside.

Through all of the mental and emotional confusion, no matter how broken I felt inside, there only remained one constant—one fact I knew for sure, and that was my unconditional love for the Joker. I'd fallen so far from grace at this point, nothing I had dreamt of before this even matter anymore. I had chosen my side and I was going to stick with it.

I'd just be lost inside. I'd be lost inside until the Joker could finally set me free—finally tell me how he really feels—that I was able to break through his hard outer shell—that I could be the one person on this planet he could find he has emotions for.

This had been my goal all along, and I finally felt I was making progress. First it was coming out to Boston to rescue me; then it was the purple jacket; now it was showing me his face with no face paint on it. I couldn't help but feel I was headed in the right direction despite how lost I felt whenever I wasn't with him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Mr. Wayne," Alfred addressed Bruce.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"The Joker's back in Gotham," Alfred responded.

"How? How did he make it all the way back here from Boston? Do you think he has Giada with him?" Bruce asked.

"That I'm not so sure about, Mr. Wayne, but I'm sure he does have Ms. DiMarco with him," Alfred replied.

"How could that murdering psychopath escape Boston and make it all the way back here?" Bruce questioned himself.

"Perhaps the Joker's a man you don't fully understand—perhaps Miss DiMarco is a woman you don't fully understand either," Alfred explained.

"How long do you suppose he's been back? If he's been here a while, all's been pretty quiet—no signs of him on the streets at night," Bruce explained.

"This is quite so, Mr. Wayne—but a few days ago, a stolen car was found parked in an ally in downtown. Apparently the GPD have been suspecting it's linked to the Joker, but since no one's actually seen him, they can't confirm anything," Alfred stated.

"Of course it is! This is just the sort of thing he'd do—he'd wait for me to come after him. He'd leave that car there for us the find and have me go after him," Bruce explained.

"And if you do go after him, Mr. Wayne, what of Miss DiMarco?" Alfred asked.

"I save her—what else can I do? The man is obsessed with her—in time, he'll undoubtedly kill her—if he hasn't already—he has no remorse," Bruce said.

"Then you must rescue her, Mr. Wayne—if that's what you feel needs to happen," Alfred responded.

"Of course it does—it's the right thing to do," Bruce said.

"And the Joker?" Alfred asked.

"Dead," Bruce replied.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Joker and I spent the day in his apartment doing an assortment of things that included sex in his shower, sex in the living room and sex in the bedroom. It appeared we were both terribly depraved of one another, and I was of course, glad to oblige. We had no place to go, no place to be. Our plan to find Batman was well…not really a plan, just something we figured would happen eventually.

That night, we remained sprawled on his bed, paint on our faces, and fully clothed. I glanced over at the Joker, who clutched a knife in his hand. He seemed pretty lost in thought just lying beside me on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Joker," I said finally.

"Hm?" he responded, slightly turning his head to me.

"I think I'm lost inside," I said finally.

"Then you've finally made it to where I live every day," he responded flatly.

"Well that's just it—I've been lost the whole time," I replied/

"I know," he stated, licking his lips, "I know—that's why I found you,"

"Where's Batman?" I asked.

"Coming," he responded.

"How can you be so sure?" I inquired, narrowing my eyes to him playfully. He turned his head and cracked a wide smile.

"Because he's just as lost inside as we are," he replied with a sly smile. He and I exchanged smiles and then soon we both erupted into laughter. It was true—Batman was just as lost as the Joker was and just as lost as I was.

Now I could see the funny side—now I too was always laughing.