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33. A Blade in the Light

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Standing in the darkness, the Joker debated on whether or not he should let me know he spied on Batman and me. He wasn't sure how I would take it. In this one moment, he felt the compulsive need to do or say something, but he had the strange feeling inside that it would not be the best thing to do. Taking one more glance over at me sitting on the roof top with my back to him, he turned and left the roof and silently climbed back down to the apartment below.

Once inside the apartment, he removed his cell phone from the inside of his coat pocket. He looked at the date on his phone; the 12th of December. She had wanted to make a turkey for Thanksgiving—it was all she wanted to do, he thought to himself as he placed the phone atop the table next to his bed. He removed his large purple overcoat and placed it over the chair in the corner. He then reached into his pocket and retrieved the knife he had been carrying all evening. Bouncing slightly each step of the way, he made his way into the bathroom to clean off the knife. He glanced every so often in the mirror at the face that peered back at him as he washed the crusty blood from the knife. Peering back at himself was a man with a painted face with two uneven scars on either side of his mouth. Licking his lips, he grabbed a towel and dried the knife, then set it down on the sink. He folded the towel and placed it back on the drying rack.

He took one more glance into the mirror, but this time paused. With his right hand, he touched the scar the right side of his face. The bumps and grooves of the scar caressed his finger tips; it sent chills down his spine. He then felt the left scar. The same sensation ran through his body. Giada feels that way about me? I can't see how, he thought to himself as he removed his hand from the scars. He licked his lips, swallowed, and glanced down at the knife lying on the sink. He then glanced back up at himself in the mirror—and the scars. He picked up the knife, licked his lips again and placed the blade up to his face.

It was at this moment I had returned to the apartment. I climbed through the window and noticed that the bathroom light was on. My heart skipped a beat—it was either the Joker or some kind of intruder. I grabbed the peeler from my pocket and switched the blade. I held onto it tightly as I rounded the corner. The Joker was standing in the bathroom. The knife was just up to his face.

"N…No! Stop it!" I shrieked as I dropped the peeler to the floor and ran into the bathroom. I pulled his arm away from his face, but as I did this, I startled the Joker. As I went to grab his arm, he turned towards me with the knife and accidentally slid the knife across my cheek. I grabbed onto my face in pain and fell to the floor. The Joker instantly dropped the knife and quickly dropped to his knees. Without saying a word, he just wrapped his arms around me and held my head close to his chest.

After a few moments of him silently holding me, he broke away and held me at arms length.

"Giada, I didn't even see you coming—I never wanted to…I am—I was…" he tried to speak.

"No, it's fine, really," I responded, wiping the blood from my hands on the towel. I stood to my feet and held the towel up to my face to blot the blood. The Joker stood behind me.

"Let me see," he said, leaned closer to my face. I could feel his eyes burning into my cheek as he examined the cut he made.

"Really, I'm fine. It's not very deep—I don't think it will scar,—" I said, but cut myself short. Whoops, wrong thing to say to the Joker. I turned back towards him, "Not that it would be the worst thing if it did scar—nothing a little makeup won't hide,"

In that moment, we were the same. I got it. I finally understood why he wore the face paint. It wasn't war paint that he wore when robbing banks or rigging buildings to blow or meeting with the mob; he wore the paint because he hated his scars. I never realized how much he hated himself until this moment.

"No—you shouldn't have to wear make up…it won't scar," he responded quickly. He paused for a moment, "I mean—you have a beautiful face—you don't need makeup,"

I chuckled, "I have a bloody face," I smiled back at him. He giggled back at me and then averted his eyes to the hallway.

"Just a moment," he said, and then left the bathroom. He rustled through a few things and then came back with his little medical bag.

"Dr. J returns with his medical bag of tricks," I laughed.

"Just a little something I learned from the military," he responded with a grin. He removed some rubbing alcohol, gauze and a few other things from his bag and set them on the bathroom sink.

"Do your damage," I said, removing the towel from my face.

"As you are well aware, this is going to sting a bit," he stated as he poured some of the alcohol onto the gauze. He dabbed the gauze gently onto my face, soaking up the blood and cleaning the wound. I winced a bit at the sting, but it wasn't too bad.

"Why were you in here with the knife?" I asked finally, as he continued to clean up my wound.

"I was cleaning the knife," he responded.

"You were going to cut your face," I said. He paused from cleaning my face for a moment.

"You need to hold still if I'm going to do this…effectively," he responded finally.

"Fine—but when you're done, we're having a talk about this," I replied.

"As you wish…Dr. DiMarco," he retorted with a laugh. The Joker applied some gel to the wound, covered it with some gauze, and then taped it to my face with medical tape.

"We're going to have to change this in a little bit because you're still bleeding," he said finally as he cleaned up his things.

"That's okay. Thank you…Dr. J," I said with a smile. He grinned back at me and then turned off the bathroom light. He brought his bag into the hallway and I followed him. Seeing the peeler, I bent down and removed it from the floor. I shut the blade and placed it back into my pocket. I didn't want him getting any innovative ideas about how he can re-cut his own face.

"So, can you explain to me why you were going to cut your face again?" I asked finally, cornering him in the bedroom.

He sat down on the bed, licked his lips, raised his eyebrows and sighed. Rolling his eyes back to me, he responded, "Well, it's…that…time of year again,"

"So you mean to tell me you re-cut your scars every December?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Why?" I questioned him as I joined him on the bed.

"Because, it was how I could manage to…feel things," he responded. My heart sank for him. I understood these types of behaviors quite well from my educational background. Cutting behaviors typically enable people who cut to feel things or help them to release the pain they feel inside. However, the Joker was not the one to initially cut into his face—it was just interesting to me that he would keep cutting into his face like this, despite letting it heal.

I moved behind him and wrapped my arms around him. I rested my chin on his shoulder.

"I understand. If you feel it's something you need to do, then I don't want to be the one to stop your annual ritual," I replied. He turned his head and glanced down at me from the corner of his eye.

"You stopped me from cutting my face this time—I think there's a reason for that," he said finally, "and I don't think I want to cut it…this time,"

"And why is that?" I asked, "Have you found a sense of new self righteousness?"

"Because…you wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving—and I didn't let you. Do you like Christmas? Because I think…if you want—we can…celebrate…Christmas," he responded.

"Really? You want to celebrate the holidays?" I asked, a bit taken back.

"…Yes," he said with slight hesitation.

"Oh this will be so magical! Can we get a Christmas tree and put up lights and put up a wreath and…Oh! Can I get you a present and wrap it up for you and put it under the tree? It will be so great! You won't regret it! I'll tell you exactly what you can get for me—okay, listen carefully," I explained.

The Joker laughed at my excitement, "Okay, I'm listening,"

"I want you to cut Pixie Dust's face—I then want you to shoot her so she dies and then you can take a picture of her dead, frame the photo, and wrap it up for me!" I replied.

"I agree—she's so…agitating; always touching me. It's bound to happen sooner or later, but I'll look into accomplishing it by Christmas for you, Giadaaaaa dear!" he giggled.

"Oh good! And I know exactly what I'll get for you!" I exclaimed.

"Oh? And what would that be?" he asked, turning and then crawling slowly on top of me. He laid down on top of me and held lightly onto my hands.

"I can't tell you! It would take all of the surprise out of it!" I laughed back at him.

"Oh, but I don't see how that's fair—you know what I'm getting for you!" he responded and then kissed the other side of my face.

"I guess so—but you can still surprise me with how you actually kill her—it will be a grand surprise to me to know she's dead and can no longer steal you away from me," I stated.

"Steal me away? Giada! No one could steal me away from you," he answered back.

"Aw that's sweet of you, Mr. J," I giggled.

"Well, being sweet isn't exactly one of my signature trademarks," he grinned back, "so that just goes to show you that when I say you complete me…you know I'm telling the truth,"

He was so close—he was almost there! He was so close to saying those three magical words. I knew that that night was not the time he would say it, but I knew in that moment and in the events that occurred that evening, he did love me—he just really had no idea on how to say it. Maybe I should tell him I love him. Was now the best time for that? I wasn't sure either! He and I were both too ridiculous when it came to 'love' game. Maybe on Christmas—maybe on Christmas we could exchange presents and verbal love to one another.