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53. Objective Analysis
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Disclaimer: I can't thank you all enough for the reviews!!!! I love that you love the plot twists hahaha I love them too hehehe. I guess we'll have to see what happens then, won't we????
Under my skin, I felt my blood reaching boiling point. I could literally feel each tiny bubble coming to the surface in an attempt at evaporating. I could only guess just how red my face was. I didn't care. I had never been so pissed off, angry, hurt, disappointed, enraged—anything—in my entire life. I wanted Pixie dead—but I also wanted the Joker dead too. In that moment where he told me to put down my gun, I wanted to pop a cap in his ass too!
I lowered my gun like an obedient girl; I wasn't about to treated like a petulant child. I merely bit my lip to prevent myself from exploding and killing them both. I knew that as badly as I wanted the Joker to die with Pixie, I would regret it later on once I cooled down. I closed my eyes for a moment and took in a couple of deep breaths. Therapy. Breathe…in…and out. It was always so much harder trying to counsel myself!
"Can we go talk…in private for a minute?" Pixie's voice screeched through my calming brain. My eyes flew open in irritation and mine met hers. She looked startled that she disturbed. The Joker saw how fuming I was, so he nodded in silence and took followed her into another room. I was oddly relieved to have them both out of my sight. I closed my eyes again and tried breathing…in…and…out.
"Fuck this breathing shit," I muttered finally after a couple of breaths. I raised my arm, cocked the gun, and pointed it at the vacant sofa. Without thinking twice, my finger pulled the trigger. The loud bang of the gun echoed throughout the tiny apartment; the bullet left a smoking hole back of the sofa. I smirked at the thought of destroying Pixie's apartment one piece of furniture at a time with my gun.
Suddenly, the door flew open and the Joker's eyes were wild. He must have thought I shot myself or something.
"Giada! Don't fire that shit while we're in here!" the Joker exclaimed wildly.
"Yeah, what are you, crazy or something?!" Pixie shrieked back. The Joker shot her a look of death and then glanced back to me. I raised the gun and pointed it at them.
"I'd suggest you shut that fuckin' door and get your little meeting over with before I blow both your heads off," I responded, quite calmly but very demandingly. They exchanged looks of concern and then shut the door.
My other hand traveled into my coat pocket. The switchblade! It was there all along. God damnit! I removed the blade and pressed the button, exposing the blade that resembled a peeling knife. I then sat down on the sofa and began carving the pillows and seat cushions.
My thoughts began wandering as I absentmindedly carved the sofa, engraving all kinds of words and images into Pixie's prized couch. My favorite one consisted of the Joker giving the Batman a blowjob while Pixie had a pole through her head. I snickered at my graphic carving.
What the hell could they be talking about for so long? There was no way she was really pregnant. She had to have been lying just so we couldn't kill her. I had to admit, her plan worked, but not for long. As soon as I could prove she was a phony, that bitch was as good as gone. And the Joker—that bastard for sleeping with her! I then realized my anger for him hadn't subsided like I thought it would. Hm. Maybe I should kill them both. I shrugged at the thought of putting bullets through their heads. This whole situation was completely unnecessary! Some surprise the Joker had for me. I bet he knew this all along. What if this was the surprise?! Another cruel joke of the idiot psychologist!
I clenched my hand tighter around the knife and stabbed it harder into the couch.
"You are so dead," I murmured under my breath. I then yanked my hand up from stabbing the couch. The knife was stuck in the couch. I must have stabbed into the wooden frame. Son of a bitch! I stood to my feet and latched onto the knife with both hands and pulled as hard as I could. Finally, with enough oomph, the knife slid out of the couch and slid itself across my hand and wrist.
"Oh damn it all!" I cussed, dropping the knife and holding my arm with my left hand. The blood dripped down my hand and onto the couch. A grin slid across my face. Perfect! I then smeared my bloody hand and wrist all over Pixie's sofa, ending my endeavor by holding a pillow over my wound to collect the blood.
"No—no, no,no—that's crossing a line," I heard the Joker state from behind the door. I paused in my pain and excitement to see if I could hear what was being said behind those closed walls.
"Well, what do you expect of me, then, huh Jack? I mean, you've only known me for…how long?" Pixie interrogated. I wanted to slit her throat. The mere sound of her voice sent chills of angst down my spine.
"Years too long. The answer is no," the Joker stated.
The raw image of him fucking her—possibly in this very apartment, possibly in the apartment we made love in—crept slowly into my head. If that whore was pregnant at all, it had better not be his child. My stomach churned at the possibility of her bearing his child. She seemed to get everything I'd ever wanted from him that I never could obtain…without even trying! She got to be his fiancée, she got to hear him tell her he loved her, and now she's supposedly carrying his baby. I couldn't escape my immense loathing for her.
And what about the Joker? What about my loathing for him? Of course I was angry that he had slept with her. How could he possibly do something like that to me? But, of course, my rational side can't help but interfere with situation at hand. Who was I to claim him as my own? Our relationship had always been complicated—we never had anything even close to a label on what we were to each other. The only definitive was that we both cared for each other—but to what extent always remained an unknown. I had been gone for two years—by my choice. Who was I to be upset he'd slept with Pixie? He was never mine to lose. Had I any real right in being so upset? Of course I had every right to be upset, but was it rational? Not entirely. It was a human emotion—a normal reaction of jealousy and anger. But when objectively examining the situation, I had no right in being so upset at the Joker…or Pixie for that matter.
After the battle ceased inside my head, I glanced up, realizing I had missed much of the conversation I had been trying to hear. I looked down at my bleeding arm and dropped the pillow down to the couch. I raised my eyes once more to the door and took in a deep breath.
There was no reason for me to remain the apartment. There was no reason for me to remain upset and angry. I needed to bandage up my arm. I reached down and grabbed the knife and gun and ran from the apartment. I ran through the black corridor and out into the streets. I hoped I could run as fast as I could home without Bruce finding me before I made it back. This would be the last thing he'd need to find on Christmas Eve.
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I made it back to my apartment in record time. I immediately took to the bathroom and ran the shower. I cleansed myself of the face paint and blood. Once I was dry and clothed, I sat in my living room and began bandaging my wound with my own emergency medical kit.
"Giada? What happened?" Batman's voice rang harshly through my ears. I looked up and saw him standing inside my apartment, next to the window. I really needed to fix that window's lock.
"Nothing. I slipped with the knife when making myself some dinner," I lied as I averted my eyes back to my wrist and the gash.
He approached me and knelt down on the floor beside me, "Looks like you need sutures," Batman examined. I grinned at him.
"Oh, why thank you, Dr. Bat," I joked, "Care to help me then?"
"No problem," he replied, removing the sutures from my kit and a sterile needle. He handed me the sutures and needle while he cleaned my arm off with rubbing alcohol.
"You ready?" he asked, his voice still low in the Batman voice. I nodded and held my breath. I had never given myself stitches without any kind of numbing agent. I figured I had been through enough physical pain in my life that I could handle it. Batman pierced my skin and I winced, but the first stitch was the worst. As he kept somewhat of a rhythm going, it got more and more bearable.
When he finished, he cut the suture and tied off the end. Looking at me in the eyes, his face was serious now, "So, are you going to tell me how you really got this gash in your arm?"
I shook my head, "You don't want to know. You really don't. All I can say is, this was the worst Christmas Eve I've ever had," I admitted, near tears. Bruce, feeling compassion for the pain he saw in my eyes, placed his hand on my face and placed his lips to mine.
As Batman's lips collided with mine, the door to my apartment opened. The Joker walked right in, figuring this was where he'd finally find me. He was right—but he didn't anticipate the Batman to be with me…and certainly not kissing me—the one person he truly cared for.
He froze in the doorway, unsure of what to do or say. As Batman pulled away from me, I smiled to myself, thinking that it was a kind gesture of my friend to make me feel a little better. I hadn't anticipated regretting it in the same instant when I lifted my eyes as the Joker standing in the door way. My eyes gave me away, but the Joker covered up his expression expertly.
A smirk crossed his lips and he started laughing, "Batsy! I didn't know you were into," he cleared his throat, "emotional ties,"
Batman spun himself around in an instant and I jumped to my feet.
"Please don't—" I began.
"You—what are you doing out of Arkham?!" Batman growled at the Joker, completely cutting me off.
"Batman—he's going back tonight—we had a deal—didn't we?" I eyed the Joker and he nodded to me with apologetic eyes. Batman spun back around to observe the expression on my face. Suddenly, he was able to put two and two together.
"Giada," he spoke to me in his low husky voice, "did he do this to you?"
"Oh no!" I exclaimed, "I did it to myself!" I stopped suddenly, as the expression of both of their faces melted into grim appearances. I realized how that sounded—like I had intentionally hurt myself. I shook my head fervently.
"No—it's not like that—I didn't do it on purpose…" I urged, trying to put a sense of calm back into their faces. The Joker approached me slowly, eager to get a better look at my stitched up arm. Batman was still facing me as he took a hold of my busted wrist and hand.
"So you mean to tell me…that this was an accident?" he wheezed, narrowing his eyes. He then shot a glare at the Joker, who was now standing beside him.
"Yes—see, I was using this knife," I wielded the switchblade from my pocket in one swift motion, snapping the blade into place, "and it got…stuck…and I had to pull it out and—well…look at my arm!" I exclaimed. A small grin escaped from the Joker's lips. He now knew a bit of the story of why there was blood on Pixie's couch. It certainly amused him—it amused me too! But Batman was no convinced.
"Giada—this kind of wound could have killed you," Batman breathed.
"Look who you're talking to, Bru…Batman," I nearly slipped. I wanted to just tell the Joker he was Bruce Wayne, but I knew the Joker wouldn't appreciate that all too much, "I'm a nurse practitioner. I'm well aware of where on my body an incision can prove fatal,"
"Well then take more care next time you're handling a knife—maybe stick to a gun or something," Batman said sarcastically.
"Oh she had that too," the Joker snickered. Batman shot him an intense glare.
"Like I said—it was the worst Christmas Eve ever. Please don't be upset with me—I meant no harm—really," I pleaded with him. I was so afraid of disappointing Bruce, it hadn't even occurred to me that I could be disappointing the Joker. I guess he wasn't exactly high up on my list of people who NOT to disappoint this evening.
"Giada, I know you are capable of doing whatever you choose for yourself—but most of all, I know that there is a part of you inside that yearns to do what it good. Until you find that, I can't help you—I can only point you in that direction. As long as you take up sides with…him…there's only so much I can do for you," Batman explained. My heart sank, but I knew it was true. As long as I was siding with the Joker, I knew that Bruce had a limited place in my life. Well, as Batman at least. As Bruce, he could be with me as much as I allowed him to be. Then again, I wasn't so sure he would want to be around me after this. I think he noticed this in the somber expression that possessed my face.
"Don't worry—I'll be here," he whispered in his low voice. "And as for you—you're coming with me. You have an asylum to get back to," He glared at the Joker.
"Now, Batsy—you had your little…moment…with Giada. I want one too—before we go," the Joker stated, licking his lips. Batman blinked his eyes and turned to the window.
"I'll be on the roof," Batman growled as he disappeared into the darkness outside my window. The Joker wandered to the window and closed it tightly and turned back towards me.
"Giada,"
"I don't want to hear anything. I was there—I know what she said and I know what I am not allowed to do because of said situation. I know I can't be angry anymore. As livid and outraged as I was, it was really not my place to feel that way—you were—just…well…I don't know what you were doing for those two years I was gone. But the point was…I was gone…and well…we were never…a thing—so I have no right to be…upset. Objective analysis, you see," I breathed in nervously as he approached me.
"Sometimes I wish I could see things the way you do—but I have to say…I never saw this reaction coming from you!" he exclaimed, almost in laughter. I was taken back by his remark. I wasn't sure if I should feel insulted or not. I remained silent, for fear of saying something I would regret later.
"I still don't think you take me at my word, Giiiiiiada," he sang as he walked even closer to me. He reached out and took my sutured hand in his gloved hand.
"Why's that?" I asked, trying to hold back my frustration.
"Because—there's a part of you that still believes I…" he cleared his throat, "love…Pixie," he nearly choked on the words. My eyes widened a bit at his response.
"Go on," I said.
"I know this is true for you because…you believe…somewhere, deep in that brilliant brain of yours that…her…revelation…was my surprise for you," he continued explaining.
"I suppose you're right on that," I replied as a small smirk curled up on my lips. He returned my smile. I never did doubt his ability to read me like a book.
"I'm going to leave you with this parting thought—just so you can…objectively analyze it," he licked his lips and grinned at me. He continued holding lightly onto my hand.
"I'd been in…love" he choked out the word again. Curious. "before, but for me…this is something…new. Giada, see, when I get next to you—I get dizzy," he raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. I blushed at his explanation. I made him dizzy. Well, psychologically speaking, that wasn't a very good thing for him to say, but emotionally, it made me blush.
He released my hand and headed toward the window. As he stepped out onto the fire escape, I stopped him.
"Wait," I called over to him and bolted to the escape where he stood. He knelt down and put his face right next to mine.
"Is she really pregnant? Is it really yours?" I asked, no longer able to keep the questions from coming.
"That's not for tonight. Now we'll have something more fun to talk about in our session," he licked his lips again. I nodded my head and watched him go up the fire escape.
I turned back into my living room and pondered his words. It was always a difficult thing, objectively analyzing the man you love.