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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25	By : Meursault Category: DC Verse Movies > The Dark Knight Views: 9298 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, nor any of the characters from it. I have not and will not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters are fiction. Story is set after the Dark Knight movie by Christopher Nolan.

Chapter List
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Chapter Eleven
When I wake up the next morning, light’s already streaming through the window. I look down and see the Joker still sleeping, his head resting on my shoulder. There’s face paint smudged into my sleep shirt. I can’t believe he sleeps with that crap on; it must be horrible for his skin. His eyes move back and forth under his lids; he must be dreaming. It’s another good reminder he’s only human, just like everyone else.
I carefully scoot out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom. There are more bandages under the sink and I gently rebind my arms. The skin around the scars isn’t swollen and red anymore, but the cuts themselves are still painful to the touch. They should heal nicely in time, as nicely as cuts can heal.
“What are you doing?” a voice asks from my left. The Joker is standing in the doorway, a creepy smile painted across his face.
I startle a bit. “Oh, you’re awake!” I say, “I’m just fixing my bandages. I don’t want to get an infection.”
“Ahhh…” the Joker says and then comes into the bathroom, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Sooo,” he smacks, “how did you sleep?”
“Better than yesterday.”
“Well I slept beau-ti-ful-ly,” he answers. “Which is good, I’ve got a big day. Going to cause some mayhem in the city, maybe blow up a school!”
“Great,” I answer sarcastically, “I wish you tons of luck. Hopefully, Batman won’t stop you.”
“Oh, I hope he tries. It won’t be any fun until he shows up!” the Joker laughs.
“Right…” I answer, “I’ll go make breakfast.” He doesn’t protest, so I go downstairs and make some oatmeal with fruit, cinnamon and yogurt, placing it on the table when he comes downstairs in his usual purple trench coat.
The Joker makes a face when he sees the oatmeal. “It’s really healthy,” I explain, tasting some to show him it’s not poisoned. “Oatmeal is good for you. And the yogurt is for some protein. You need to start eating better.”
“I’m not a uh, a tree hugger,” the Joker gripes, but eats the oatmeal. I join him at the table and begin to eat myself.
“Oh!” the Joker says, pulling a small bottle from his coat pocket. “This is for you; I was going to give it to you last night, but your poor excuse for ‘entertainment’ changed my mind. Sorry it’s not wrapped!” He tosses me the bottle and I catch it. It’s a medicine bottle with Prozac, enough for a month or so.
“Thank you!” I say genuinely, “Really, thank you. This should help the depression.”
“Well, your psycho-girl drama was staring to ah…annoy me slightly. Hopefully this will make you stop crying so much.”
“I’m not going to cry anymore!” I almost blurt out, but stop myself. Telling him would only encourage him to test that resolve.
“I’m off,” the Joker declares, standing up and coming over to me. He stretches his arms out to me and reluctantly I stand up. He hugs me tightly, burying his face in my long auburn hair. I feel his warm breath on my neck as he inhales my scent. I stand there dumbly, pat him on the back a bit, but don’t hug him in the slightest. Suddenly, he grabs my face in his hand and tilts it up, forcing me to look at him. His green eyes bore into mine, as though reading my soul. We stand like this for what seems to be an eternity.
Finally, he begins to fiddle around in his pocket and draws out a knife, flicking the blade open. He places the blade against my lips, tracing them lightly with the sharp edge. I shiver and take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. ‘It’s nothing worse than he’s done to you before,’ I tell myself.
Finally the Joker speaks. “Are you going to miss me Elena?” he asks softly, still tracing my mouth with the blade. I nod my head, but it’s obviously not what he’s want.
“I said, are you going to miss me?” he snarls.
“Yes,” I reply minding the knife, “I’m going to miss you.”
“Prove it.” he sneers, pressing the blade into my lower lip. I wince as it cuts the skin lightly. What does he want me to do? Kiss him? And why’s he suddenly in a bad mood? I take too long to respond to his demand, so the Joker squeezes my jaw tighter, and slides the knife into my mouth. I grab the front of his jacket to steady myself. The cool tanginess of the metal slides across my tongue and sweat begins to bead up on my forehead. The sharp edge of the knife scrapes against my gums and teeth. I know he wouldn’t kill me, not now at least, but he wouldn’t hesitate to disfigure my face.
The Joker’s still staring at me, waiting to see what I’ll do. I carefully reach up and grab the hand he’s using to clutch my face, prying the fingers off slowly. He doesn’t resist; curiosity flickers over his eyes. I then open my mouth wider and take a step back so the blade’s no longer in my mouth. I lick my dry lips, eyeing the Joker as he stands there with the blade in his hand. I step towards him again and plant a swift kiss on his cheek and say, “Be a dear and get me some more clothes while you’re out, all of mine are stained with blood.” I say straightforwardly.
The Joker stares at me for a moment and starts laughing. “I’ll take it,” he says, slipping his knife back into his pocket and walking out the door. I breathe a sigh of relief. Honestly, I don’t even know what I did; I just figured maybe if I was witty enough, I could get out of doing something horrible. Like kissing him, which would ultimately lead to unconsensual sex. And hey, this time it worked. Looks like I did learn something from last night!
I spend most of the day finishing up chores I didn’t do the day before. In a cabinet in the basement I find some kind of paint. Deciding to have some fun with it, I go into the spare bedroom that is unlocked and begin to paint a mural on the empty white walls. I start with painting one whole wall bright red. While that dries, I paint flowers on another wall. Flowers are basically the only thing I’m good at painting. I then go back to the red wall and use a marker to trace an outline of the Joker, which I’ll paint black later. The whole experience is invigorating; it’s nice finding different ways to let off emotions, especially fear. I just have to make sure he doesn’t find it.
Later that day, I’m able to have a nice quiet lunch, finishing Steppenwolf and picking up Shelley’s Frankenstein. I wish I could find a book on how to deal with psychopaths. By the time I get out of here, I could probably teach a course on it.
Dinner comes along and I prepare vegetarian lasagna (heh heh). It’s ready around six thirty, but the Joker hasn’t come home yet. A few hours pass and at eight I decide to just go ahead and put the lasagna in the fridge to save for tomorrow. For myself, I take out the bread and eat a pbj sandwich, which is my favorite. After I eat, I sit tensely on the couch, staring at the door. Why isn’t he back yet? Not that I care, but I don’t like being surprised by his sudden appearances. After another hour or so, I find myself nodding off. Well, time for bed I guess. I retreat to his- well really our- room and brush my teeth. After digging through his closet, I find a worn t-shirt I think would be okay to sleep in. Lying down in bed, I will myself to go to sleep. However, I’m restless and paranoid, terrified of being unguarded when he comes home. It takes me hours to settle down enough to close my eyes.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25