Monday, July 15th, 2024, 14:00
Eliza called in.
Eliza Louise Tucker, a dedicated nurse through and through, called in from work for this evening. She has already told her boss she will not be there the rest of this week either, citing an illness.
The events of the early morning hours wrecked her physically, mentally, and emotionally, leaving her an inconsolable mess - not that anyone was there to console her anyway. She is alone. She does have friends, family, and coworkers who care for her well-being. She knows her brother would walk out in front of a train for her.
But she cannot tell a soul about this. It is not to protect the Riddler. It is to protect her pride and dignity and hide her shame. Shame - the knot in her throat hurt worse than the bruises and the scabbed-over bitemark on her neck. She feels a right fool for letting this get on as long as it has. When Edward entered her apartment that first night, she should have called the police. She should have called her brother, her dad, her grandfather, her uncle, or someone else. She should have let someone know.
Instead, here she is, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, hair disheveled and oily, green eyes offset by dark circles underneath, and neck mottled with red and purple colors. She looks tired and pitiful. She hates it.
"I hate you," Eliza spits at her reflection.
On the counter, her slender fingers are curled into her palms as she rests them against the bathroom vanity. The skin around her nailbeds is red, raw, and sore from her picking—a nervous tic that only came out in her most dire times - onchytillomania. Body-focused repetitive behaviors are common in those who are neurodivergent, have generalized anxiety disorder, or have obsessive-compulsive disorder. It is a form of maladaptive self-soothing or self-stimulating (stimming). Her therapist one time told her that she could use this as a signal to know when she needs some stress relief or to evaluate what is making her nervous. She is stressed to the max, and her typical coping mechanisms are failing.
"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."
Eliza bites her lower lip in disspirit, ignoring the pain from the small cut Edward gave her as it splits open again. Then she grits her teeth. Her scleras are red and irritated from intermittent sobbing that attacks her at random. Her eyebrows are knitted in frustration. Her shoulders are tense as she is curved over the counter. Her body shakes in jagged jerks as she feels more sobs well in her throat again. Her nostrils flare as she begins to lose it.
"Ah, fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck you!"
She breathes in deep through her nose and out through her mouth, body shuddering as she tries to curb her emotions once more.
Eliza observes the person in the mirror again, staring deep into their inflamed emerald eyes, seeing pain and despair. She wants to give that person a hug so badly. They look miserable, broken, and weak—depressed.
She is depressed.
Eliza screams. Her voice is cracking and breaking from the high pitch and the still present soreness of her throat. She is staring the person in the eyes as she screams at them.
"I need help. Please, someone, help me."
The solitary woman sucks in another breath, trying her best to reign it in once more, like time and time before. Her shoulders heave as her head drops to hang despondently. It is a few minutes before she inhlaes and exhales to stabilize again. She looks herself in the eye once more, gaze blank.
Again, she sucks in a rapid breath and tilts her head back suddenly, and she runs a hand through her hair front to back.
Her hair.
She looks at her hair in the mirror. She sees how messy and tangled her typically luscious locks are. She can barely get her fingers through the knots, which frustrates her. Eliza grits her teeth again before rapidly yanking open a vanity drawer, almost ripping it from its hardware. Hands dig desperately through the bobbles and supplies, searching for an answer to her despair. She finds the scissors and attacks the hair of the person in the mirror - the stranger in her bathroom. Her fingers grip her ends tight, tugging too tight, as she brings the blades of the scissors together, guillotining the hair. Eliza chops wildly and roughly, growling and gritting her teeth the entire time. Surrendering, dark chocolate strands fall and drift to the ceramic floor at their master's feet. The bathroom is silent save for the screaming snip snip snipsnipsnipsinp snip of Eliza's hair.
When the deed is done, she drops the scissors into the hairy sink. She glares angrily at the jagged and uneven ends of her now neck-length hair.
Eliza closes her eyes and sighs as a parent would when disappointed in their child.
Sucking her teeth, she spins around in the dead hair on the floor and walks from her bathroom to collect her phone on the bedside table. Within seconds and with a few taps she is making a phone call.
Someone on the other end answers.
"Yes, Jerrika, do you have any room today for a haircut and bleach? I hate to ask you so late, but it is urgent. I need - ," Eliza glances at herself in the dresser mirror. She sees what she has done. She sees the bruises on her neck; she sees the cut on her lip seeping gently.
"- I think I need some help. . ."
Monday, July 15th, 2024, 18:00
"Eliza," her friend calls to her in disbelief.
"Eliza, what have you done to yourself?
In the years they have known one another, Jerrika Thomas has never known her Eliza to do something so drastic—so wild and unhinged.
Eliza walks gingerly through the front of her friend's salon. It is quiet, and they are alone. It is past closing time, and Jerrika graciously allowed Eliza to be added on at the end of the day. She will not do this for just anyone. They are best friends, and when a friend asks for help, then you help them.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? What is going on?"
As the nurse gets closer to the cosmetologist, the detail of the damage comes completely into focus. However, Jerrika cannot help but focus on the slit at Eliza's lip. Jerrika's eyes burn Eliza's lip, causing her to lick it in embarrassment.
"Eliza, I need you to talk to me, Sis."
"Can we just - can we just sit down first?"
Jerrika notices how weak her friend sounds and how broken and sad she really is. She swallows her concerned frustration and nods.
"Sure, Babe. Let's get you in a chair."
Eliza returns the nod as she follows her friend to a nearby station, where she is draped in a purple cape. The cape swallows her body, leaving her head, face, neck, and all the gruesome details adorning them in view. The woman chokes back tears as she sees the mess in the mirror once more. All Jerrika can do is watch her friend break down quietly as she runs a brush through her hair. She tries to be patient and supportive, but something is gravely wrong with Eliza.
"I'm going to have to cut a little shorter than it is now so the lengths will match. Is this okay?"
It is a few moments before Eliza is able to stabilize her sniffles and whimpers enough to respond with a weak "Mhhmmn."
"Okay, I promise it will look great when we are done."
Eliza nods quietly, letting her friend get to work doing what she does best.
They sit in tense silence as Jerrika works to even out the ragged, irregular ends. It looks awful, but Jerrika could fix it.
The two women have known one another since high school, having been in separate grades but joined together by a mutual love for theatre. Jerrika was a grade above Eliza, but they were both inseparable when they had moments together. Theatre gave them the creative outlet the two neurodivergent girls needed when nothing else could hold their attention. Eliza was a stage manager and costume designer, while Jerrika specialed in makeup and costume design. They worked together and supported one another through thick and thin. They had three years together in high school before Jerrika graduated and went to the local community college to earn her cosmetology license. From then on, Eliza only had one person do her hair. Whenever she wanted a new cut or color, she went to Jerrika. The stylist knows what Eliza likes without having to ask many questions.
But today, she has a lot of questions, and very few of them are hair-related.
A few minutes go by and Jerrika is finishing the back of Eliza's hair, snip-snipping at her neck. When the one-inch cuts fall away, revealing the back of Eliza's neck, Jerrika stops abruptly. She breathes in sharply at the grotesque sight before her. There is a scabbed-over bite mark at the junction of Eliza's neck and trapezius muscle. It is red, brown, and black with the dried blood. Jerrika shudders as she reaches a timid hand up to slowly move the collar of the cape to the side as much as she can to see more. It is then that she notices the plethora of bruises mottling her friend's neck, some of them in the very apparent shape of a handprint. Jerrika's brown eyes widen.
"E-Eliza. . . I need you to tell me what is going on right now."
Eliza glances up to her friend in shame, their eyes locking in their reflections in the salon mirror.
The hurt woman breaks down again. She is sobbing uncontrollably and very suddenly as she brings her hands up to cover her eyes. It is all too much. She feels Jerrika's arms wrap around her from behind as the Black woman holds her tight. Eliza just sobs and sobs and sobs, her face becoming hot, red, and wet in the breakdown.
"Shhhh. . .Shhhhh. I got you, Babe. I got you. Let it out."
"Jerrika, I'm so stupid."
Jerrika glances at Eliza in the mirror and sees the agonizing look in her friend's eyes. She has never seen her like this before.
"N.O. No, Ma'am. No, you are not. I will not let you talk to my best friend like that."
Eliza chokes on a sobbing laugh, bringing a hand up to wipe her eyes. Jerrika breaks her hold on the woman, grabs a tissue from a box nearby, and hands it to her.
"Now, I will continue this haircut and start your bleaching. And you are going to collect yourself and tell me what is going on. I'm not trying to be nosy, but you need to let someone know what is going on."
Eliza nods in concede, wiping her eyes and then blowing her stuffy nose.
"And are you sure you want to go blonde? It's gonna take two sessions to lighten your dark hair to what you might be looking for."
Eliza's eyes become serious, "Yes. I need something different. I need to see a different person when I look in the mirror."
". . . Okay. Yes, Ma'am."
Jerrika is concerned about Eliza's reason, but she does not press the point. Instead, she waits patiently, snipping her friend's hair and finishing the chin-length, feathery cut. Eliza moves to speak a few times in a row, struggling to find how to start this conversation. Where does she even begin? Still coming up with nothing, she finally settles on:
"The Riddler did this to me."
Jerrika drops her scissors to the floor. Her mouth dries up, and her jaw drops.
"The Rogue? The villain? The Riddler? How-? What-? Why-?"
Jerrika has so many questions as she bends down to pick up the blades. She places them to the side and pulls another clean pair from her drawer.
It is a few moments before Eliza speaks again.
"Jerrika. . . I think I like him. Or I thought I did. . ."
Jerrika fumbles with her scissors again. She cannot drop them. She finally sets the tools down on her workstation and stands in front of Eliza in the salon chair. Her arms are on her shapely hips as she stares at her friend with a disapproving look.
"Okay. Eliza, how long have we known one another?"
"Since I was fourteen."
"Right, nine years. Nine years, Sis and I don't know if I have ever judged you for anything, but what you just said is fucked. Up."
Eliza hangs her head low, avoiding the large brown eyes of the woman before her as tears leak from her eyes again. Jerrika is right. It is very fucked up, and she does not even know the half of it yet. Jerrika stares at her friend for a few beats before crouching before Eliza to peer up at her. Jerrika furrows her brows and places her hands on her friend's knees. Eliza looks so confused. Jerrika is confused as well, but she wants to be helpful.
"Eliza, I think it's best to start from the beginning. I'm going to go mix your bleach. It'll give you a moment to gather your thoughts, and when I get back, I want you to tell me everything if you feel comfortable enough to do so. Okay?"
Jerrika reaches over to grab another tissue and dabs Eliza's eyes and cheeks. There must be a reason for all of this; she just does not understand it yet. Eliza, wanting and needing the support, nods in response. Jerrika regards her with her own single nod before walking off to the back of the salon to mix the bleaching chemicals.
Alone for the moment, Eliza sits with her thoughts. It sounds so simple to her even. If she were in Jerrika's position, she would likely act the same: surprised, confused, frustrated, and angry. Objectively, the situation is clear. She is being hurt and abused by someone, a criminal no less, and she should not be subject to that. She should call the police. He would be sent back to Arkham. She should tell her brother. Her brother would kill him.
She does not want that.
But why is she protecting him?
Eliza has no allegiance to this Rogue. She is not a criminal. She has not hurt anyone in her life. She wants nothing to do with any of his doings. But he's so handsome, so charming, and smart does not even begin to describe him. He is entertaining. He is not boring. He likes her (she thinks). He excites her. But he hurts her. . . She is so confused.
If she were Jerricka, she would tell her he is not worth it. What kind of life does she expect from this "relationship"? They cannot go on dates. They cannot have holidays together. She cannot introduce him to her friends, family, or co-workers. There are no upsides to being with him at all. She should not be entertaining the idea of being with him - of staying with him. Could she not lose her nursing license for being involved with a criminal? Could she go to jail for not reporting a criminal to the police? Would she be charged for sheltering a criminal?
Eliza sighs. She is so, so confused.
She likes him, and there is no reason for her to.
"I'm back. Are you sure you want to do this?"
Eliza, lost in her thoughts, thought Jerrika was talking about her relationship with Edward. But, when she sees Jerrika with the hair chemicals, she understands she is asking about her hair.
"Yes, I need this. I need something different. I need a new chapter. A new start."
"Alright. I'm here for it, but I'm concerned this is related to your mental health. It seems like you're pulling a Britney."
"Leave Britney alone."
"Touche."
Eliza sighs once again as Jerrika begins coating her hair in the bleach. Where does she begin?
"Jerrika, I'm so confused."
"Samesies. I'm confused, too, Babe. I have so many questions, but I don't want to bombard you. Like I said, just start at the beginning."
Eliza nods and begins, "We first met at work. He was hurt. Like, gravely injured. He was shot in the chest and was brought to the ER by Batman. I was running point on the team that evening."
She laughs a dry, hollow laugh, "I wasn't even supposed to be working that night. I picked up a shift for a coworker. But I was there, and I was the first person he saw. He coded, and we brought him back. He almost died, Jerrika. . ."
Jerrika does not respond but continues working. She does not give a flying fuck if he almost died. Seeing the emotional, mental, and physical marks on her friend tells her he should have stayed dead.
"After that, I didn't think much of it. To me, he was just a patient—another injury, another life saved. I was doing my job.
"Then he shows up months later in my fucking apartment. Scared the shit outta me. He came in through the balcony. He was hurt again and needed me to sew him up. . ."
Jerrika cut her eyes to her friend in the mirror, "That's not sus at all."
Eliza continues, "The entire time, he was flirting with me and made me uncomfortable. But not a bad uncomfortable, just different. It's like he wanted to see me. He never forgot me.
"He talked about wanting to know my dreams, fears, and desires. He intrigued me. He didn't hurt me. He said he wouldn't hurt me."
Eliza did not mention that he added the ominous "yet" after saying he would not hurt her.
"Those don't look like love marks, Eliza. He hurt you."
The injured woman looks away again. "I know. But you have to understand. I kind of liked it at first. The first few times we flirted and were intimate, everything was normal-ish. He felt so good. He smelled good. He looked good. He said everything right."
"Eliza, he's a manipulator. He showed you what you wanted to see. But I can see exactly the type of person he is," Jerrika punctuated this by pointing at the awful-looking bite mark on her friend.
". . . I know. Like I said, I kind of liked it at first. You know me, I like the freaky stuff. Stuff that excites me -"
"Then hire a dominatrix."
Eliza actually laughed, "That's not really what I mean."
Jerrika feels relieved to see her friend smile again, even if for a moment. The stylist continues her work; she is almost done.
"Anyway, I was excited by the whole taboo of the situation. Jerrika, it was hot. I mean, really hot. I've never felt anything like it with any of my previous partners. I got excited about seeing him. I wanted to see him. He is such an enigma."
"Was that last part a poor attempt at a joke?"
". . . Maybe. But it's true. He is fascinating. But I started realizing that he would keep me distant, never fully indulging me. He wouldn't reciprocate some of the intimacy we shared, and he only came when it was convenient for him. So, I called him out on it. And that's - that's when this happened."
Eliza gestures to the injuries broadly. She again meets her friend's eyes, "I was so scared, Jerrika. It was such a drastic switch. Legit, like they say, flipping a switch. But I thought maybe I was special for some stupid reason. . ."
"Of course, he's an unstable criminal, Eliza. That doesn't surprise me."
The client nodded in agreement, feeling shame because her friend was right. They should not even be discussing this as a current issue. The Riddler should be sent back to Arkham with a Bat-a-rang up his ass for all Jerrika cares.
"Babe, you're acting like a fix-a-ho," the stylist stares pointedly at her friend. "He is an insane, unhinged murderer. Nothing good will come from this, no matter how charming, handsome, gag, whatever."
Jerrika finishes the last bleach application and slides a clear plastic cap over her friend's head to protect her from the bleach and also to heat the chemicals for adequate effect.
"We'll sit for 30 minutes before washing."
"Okay."
They sit in silence for quite a few of those minutes, each contemplating what the other had previously said. It is Jerrika who speaks up first.
"What are you going to do now?"
That is the part that Eliza cannot answer. She does not know. She needs to call it quits, to cut the relationship off at the quick, but something is holding her back. She likes the excitement, but not when she is hurt. She likes Edward, but not when he hurts her. She thinks he is so charming, but not when he is choking the life out of her. This sounds too much like a Harley Quinn x Joker situation for her liking.
Jerrika is right. She needs to stop this.
Eliza's hand unconsciously reaches up to touch the large emerald that Edward had given her - no, he made her work for it. What a fucking sociopath.
"I guess I will have to tell him I don't want to see him anymore."
"You guess? You guess! Eliza, you are not staying with this man, period. Look at what he did to you. You think a man capable of change does something like this? No. It's one thing to hope your man will stay away from the video games long enough to help you around the house and make you feel pretty. It's another to hope that he won't strangle you."
"I know, but-"
"Eliza," Jerrika leans down to level her vision with Eliza. "No buts. This man is bad for you, no matter how interesting or handsome or smart or intriguing or whatever words you want to call him. He is bad news. He's been in and out of Arkham who knows how many times, and every time he escapes, and repeats the same scary bullshit.
"Whoever did this to you," she points again, directly at the bite mark, "is no man. They are not human. I don't care what freaky, fetish, dominant/submissive shit you're into - this is not okay. Do you hear me?"
Eliza, hearing her friend's words, grimaced and dropped her vision low once more and bit her sore lip, tasting fresh blood. Jerrika, seeing her friend still struggling within herself, worries that she still did not get through to her.
"Yes, Jerrika, I hear you."
For some reason, Jerrika did not feel better even after Eliza's verbal capitulation. However, Jerrika, being the good friend she is, will not continue to berate Eliza. Eliza needs love, support, and understanding in her delicate situation. Eliza needs help, whatever that may look like.
"Alright, Babe. Let's get you washed up, we'll dry you, and I'll make any changes to the cut if needed."
Eliza smiles, nods, and follows her friend to the sink to find a new woman.
Always given,
Rarely taken.