There's some kind of burning inside me
It's kept me from falling apart
And I'm sure that you've seen what it's done to my heart
But it's kept me from falling apart
Goodbye My Danish Sweetheart / Mitski
Jack's chest rose and fell in time with the rhythm of the ticking of a clock. Melodic, and repetitive, driving me mad in the small room. He was breathing too loud and had been since I woke up an hour earlier, glaring at him. I had not been gentle, in getting out of bed, half-hoping I did wake him so that perhaps I could get back to sleep, but instead, he remained locked in that dreamland that evaded me most nights.
Show off, I thought pointedly at the man, from over the lip of my rocks glass. I envied him, really. How wonderful a world it must be for sleep to be a given. For it to be a gift given to you by your body, a restful thing, that he will wake up better for.
For me, sleep was a war, a forever-changing no-holds-barred street fight with an enemy who knows all my moves and is constantly learning new ones.
We had been together since he showed up Saturday morning. It was Sunday night and everything in my body wanted to drag him from the bed, screaming and throwing him out of my home. I had given no indication of this of course, but a part of me still hated the man for not knowing anyway. His presence made me itch, even in unconsciousness.
I didn't realize the tears were falling at first, but I cursed softly when I did, grateful he wasn't awake, now.
I left the room, embarrassed by the emotional response. Don't be a pussy. I growled at myself, pacing the kitchen. Suddenly I had a craving for Chinese food, and Chens was only ever closed on Mondays, so I lifted my cell, and called in a frankly disturbing amount of food from my go-to spot nearby, excitedly.
"For delivery Dr. Quinzel?" Asked Mr. Chen, an elderly man with a smile in his voice, used to my late-night shenanigans.
On a whim, I answered in the negative, deciding I needed a walk. I wrapped my long red coat around my black-slip nightgown and dashed out of the apartment, and into the city street.
The night was cold. Bitter. It clawed at me, as I sat at the park bench, tearing open the container of beef and broccoli with what I felt was an appropriate amount of passion for a woman who had a Greek salad for dinner. Part of me knew I should head home. If Jack woke up and saw me gone, he would worry.
Thinking of the man, I stabbed into the takeout container again, despite the sudden gnawing in my guts. Fucking Ryder. His presence in my apartment was like bars on the windows tonight, and it made me lightheaded and sick.
I heard someone sit next to me, and my eyes fluttered closed. Fuck. I knew who it was without turning my head. "Not in the mood, Mr. J." My voice was sharp, and I heard him sigh exasperatedly.
"How do you do that? You knew in your apartment too. How is a man meant to surprise you, Doc?" When I finally looked over at him, I was unsurprised to see that he was dressed in casual wear again, like at the Iceberg, a black hoodie, and jeans, no make-up, and an amused expression.
"If he knows what's good for him? He doesn't," I sighed, tilting my head back, and covering my eyes. "Please. I can't do this right now."
"Too bad."
"Mr. J with the day I have had-"
"I got questions." He interrupted, leaning back on the bench.
"How about, we make a deal," I said, turning to him with a too-friendly expression. "You turn yourself in and stop making my life a living hell, and in our next session, you can ask me whatever the fuck you want."
J giggled, "I think you'll change your mind once you hear the questions."
I groaned. "Please, can I just eat my takeout, please?" I looked at him, irritated and he looked down into the container I held protectively close to my chest.
"Got any sweet and sour?"
"No."
"I'll settle for lo mein." He reached around me grabbing the container but I slapped his hand before he could remove it from the bag, causing him to look at me again, wide-eyed.
"You can have some fried rice, only because I think he gave me an extra, but if you want noodles, go get your own." I glared at him, shoving the rice into his hands, and he grimaced.
"But I want noodles."
"Too bad."
"We could share?" He smiled winningly, only to deflate when I cackled.
"Fuck you."
"Love to, but your beds occupied."
"Mr. J," I said firmly, but glad for the reminder. "But, I am happy you brought that up"
"You liar! I see sweet and sour chicken!" He cried, reaching for the bag again.
"Mr. J, we need to talk about this-" I said, as he ripped open the container, and began eating.
"About what? You were toasted, Doc, I don't think less of you, Honest." He winked, wetting his scars, and causing my eyes to drop to his lips for only a moment before flashing back to his own, with a disappointed expression.
"God, this is exactly what I needed," He groaned, shoveling the food into his face.
"You have a sugar addiction."
He stopped, turning to look at me with a 'you don't say' expression. "What was your first clue?"
"And it doesn't concern you?"
"I don't know if you know this but addiction is pretty common in my eh, profession. Kinda comes with the territory," he laughed, "I figure sugar is the least of my worries when I drink like a fish and smoke like a train."
I laughed, before tilting my head in consideration, "Fair enough." but then I sighed, shaking my head. "Mr. J, this is serious -"
"Disagree." He shrugged. "I think you were charming."
"Charming?" I laughed, "You mean sloppy." I corrected, and he barked a laugh.
"Well, Yeah, but who cares?" He shrugged again, bumping me with his shoulder in a fond way, a friendly physical interaction that felt alien coming from the clown, despite the easy and natural way he moved. "You were having fun."
"I must have looked ridiculous." I laughed.
He shook his head, looking down at me with amused eyes, before chuckling. "Don't play with me, Doc." His voice had changed, and I looked away as I cleared my throat, ready to change the subject.
"Yes, well." I took a breath and continued. "That was supremely inappropriate-"
"I found your time capsule." He said suddenly, a quiet eagerness to his voice that stopped me in my tracks, confused, looking at him, with furrowing brows, as he scarfed down another large bite of my fucking chicken.
Irritated, I snatched it back, spilling a small amount of sauce on both of us in the process, glaring up at him, while I wiped my hands on a wad of brown napkins.
"Do you have a fucking death wish?" he giggled, licking the sauce from his fingers in a way that drew my eyes.
I looked away, digging my fork into the container, and taking a bite of my fucking chicken.
"They're open 24 hours a day. Do you not have the ten bucks?" I said around a mouthful, suddenly pouting out my bottom lip in an exaggerated way. "Aw, do you need to borrow some money, honey? I know times have been tough. Here let me get my purse." I knew my tone was inappropriate, but he was pissing me off.
He giggled again, leaning around me, this time to snag a spring roll. "You're so mean. Are all psychiatrists mean, or am I lucky?" He wagged it at me, before taking a bite.
"Lucky I guess," I sighed, shaking my head, exasperated.
"Anyway." He started, running a hand through his hair with a laugh, "Stop distracting me." He shook his head. "So, I had the pleasure of meeting a… Friend of yours."
I froze, the cold of the air not even touching me in the moment. Not Pam.
My eyes flooded with tears, but I remained frozen, unable to move. I hadn't spoken to her all day. Her boss moved the Metropolis trip up two weeks at the last minute. Her flight was the first. Yesterday. I trembled imagining all J could do in twenty-four hours.
"Who." My voice was gruff, and I continued trembling, refusing to look at him. I slowly unzipped my clutch, trying to keep the movement hidden from him.
He seemed intensely pleased with my reaction. "I think you know."
I tackled him without thinking, pulling him off the bench and down onto the sidewalk in a single burst of adrenaline before I felt him get his bearings and fight back. He was stronger than he looked, and he looked like a goddamn brute. I was shocked and irritated when I found myself pinned beneath him, though not scared, his amusement convincing me that I wouldn't be dying, with my back to the bench I had pulled him off of just a moment before.
"Wow." He gasped, moving my wrists to one hand, and pulling the knife from my grasp, as he straddled my legs. He examined the knife with wide eyes before looking down at me.
"Wow." He sighed, shaking his head quickly like he had been stunned. My Long coat had fallen open, revealing the dainty slip beneath, and I watched his eyes drop to my body twice before just as quickly settling on my own.
"I like the dress," His tone subdued, as though we were having a regular conversation.
"What did you do to her." My voice was acidic, and I could feel curl to my lip.
His head tilted, and he giggled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
I snapped my neck forward, gnashing my teeth inches from his exposed throat as he jerked quickly away.
"Jesus." He laughed. "We got a biter!"
"Fuck you." I snarled.
"Once again, I would, but you already filled your dance card tonight." he looked at me with a faux pout.
"What did you do to Pam?" I demanded, her name bringing tears to my eyes, as I trembled with rage.
He giggled. "Ugh, I would keep the joke going, but the real bit is so much funnier."
"Joke?" I questioned.
"Uh, Yeah. It is in the name." He rolled his eyes before continuing. "Pam is fine. Well. Maybe. She does live in Gotham City," He shrugged, "I guess I just mean, 'Any mutilations done to Pam were not done by me.'" He nodded encouragingly, and I began to relax, "No, the friend I met up with… His name… Well, it was Bernie Bash."
My stomach bottomed out, sinking to my knees, and a ringing started up in my ears, but I worked to keep my face neutral, only looking at him, despite my vision blurring at the edges. His head tilted again, eyes studying my own, and seeming sickeningly pleased with what he saw there.
"Yeah."
"When you said time capsule…"
"Yeah," He chuckled.
"What do you want?" My voice was hollow.
"Now you're getting it!" He slapped my shoulder with a smile before continuing. "Plenty. But right now? To know why." He shrugged, shifting to sit beside me on the sidewalk.
I re-tied the belt of the coat and drew my knees up to my chest. "Do I need a reason?"
He snorted. "You're not crazy, Doc." He shook his head. "Maybe you wish you were, but you're not. And sane people don't do… well… that for no reason."
"Most people would say that no sane person would do that."
"Most people haven't been pushed far enough to know what they're talking about." He lit a cigarette and offered me one as well. I hesitated, but took it, glad to see it was a Menthol. I slipped it between my lips, and to my surprise before I could open my purse, his hand came forward to light it for me, and I inhaled gratefully before continuing.
"Oh? You think I was pushed?"
"I think you had a good reason."
"And you know me so well," I laughed bitterly, and he shrugged.
"I'd like to."
"Why?"
"Do you always ask stupid questions?" He laughed.
"I think its a perfectly reasonable-"
"Not when you know the answer already," His voice was exasperated, speaking to me like a child again.
"I don't."
"Liar," He sighed. "So, tell me. Why?"
I considered. I didn't want to answer. It felt demeaning. To give him that, when he had given me nothing.
"Why should I?" I questioned. "You clearly have a game planned out, can't we just skip to the part where you explain what I need to do for you to keep my secret?
He sighed. "Harl, you and Frost are going to get along so well. Both of you are total fucking buzz-kills."
"If you mean we 'take things seriously' then, yeah J, someone has to," I grunted.
"You really don't, though." he groaned, side-eyeing me, before sighing again. "Fine. Yes, there is a game. I want to know who he was and why you did it. A secret between friends. And after you've told me, I will tell you where in the city I hid the body." He turned, grinning at me, and my stomach dropped again.
"What?" I hissed. "You moved it?"
"Well, duh, Harl." He looked at me as though I was insane. "How else was I gonna get you to talk."
I glared at him, eyes welling up again, before laughing softly once. "Fuck you for always winning. His name was Guy Kopski."
He snorted. "Well… I guess that is a guy's name, at least."
I didn't acknowledge the joke. "I… I've always had shit taste in men," I snickered. "Oh, but Guy was tall and strong, and he drove a fast car, and he took me dancing." I rolled my eyes. "At nineteen he was the perfect man," I explained, "To everyone but me."
Joker tilted his head, and I wet my lower lip.
"See, I had my eye on someone else, someone… unattainable."
"Crane? Is that why…?" Joker realized, head tilting.
I nodded and shrugged. "I never slept with Crane until…After everything." I explained, "But I mean… Guy wasn't blind, he knew what I wanted. He hated it. It made him… violent."
J hummed under his breath, nodding suddenly, I looked up, but he simply gestured for me to continue.
"He-" My voice was too thick, and I cleared my throat, before trying again. "He- Well." I chuckled, elbowing him gently. "You aren't the only one with scars."
His breath hissed low between his teeth. "He cut you?"
I hummed in the affirmative, shrugging.
"Where?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" My voice was tired.
"Yes."
I chuckled before continuing, "So I… I did what I did, and yeah. Maybe, I went too far, maybe only a crazy person would do what I did but…" I looked at him, before my eyes flitted away, embarrassed by the tears I felt returning. I looked down suddenly when I felt him press something into my hand. A handful of take-out napkins, half-dirtied with Sweet and Sour already. I chuckled my thank you, before sobering again. "If I am crazy, it isn't my fault."
I looked up at him again and shook my head. "I only ever did what I was supposed to. It wasn't my fault." I shook my head again, trying to shake away the memories, so many eyes watching me from a past I barely recognized anymore. I lifted the cigarette again, subconsciously, only to see that I had finished it. J offered me the open pack again, and again extended his white Bic to light it. The image filled my mind suddenly, of the countless times my father did the same for my mother, and I smiled, wondering where on earth the clown would have picked up any kind of chivalry. Even a twisted kind.
My voice was dry, and much too old for me, when I spoke again, "I'm always in that house. I'm always in that room. I can't get out. Maybe I did some things I shouldn't have done, but I didn't deserve that." His eyes were unreadable, and the smile on his lips seemed frozen.
"And I'm not sorry." My voice was thick, and trembling, and my mouth puckered into a scowl at the sound, and I cleared my throat again, humiliation coloring my cheeks. "I'm not sorry. I know I should be, but I'm not. What gave him the right? To hurt me? To make me… afraid." My voice broke. "It's not my fault. I did what I had to do."
J nodded but kept silent. When it became clear he didn't intend to answer, I stood, dusting myself off as I did, and turning to look down at him.
"Will you say something?" His eyes slid to mine, and his smile dropped. "Fucking anything?" His lips remained sealed, the man whose voice haunted my waking hours, deathly silent for once, and I cursed myself silently for expecting anything else. "Listen, I told you what you want to know. Where is it?"