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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 Twelve
I must have slept a least awhile because when I open my eyes, it’s morning. I quickly turn over, expecting to see the Joker beside me on the bed. To my surprise though, he’s not there. I go downstairs and look in the kitchen; he’s not there either. He would have woken me up if he wanted breakfast. I guess he’s still not home. A bubble of relief rises in my chest: best day ever! I’m too awake to try and go back to sleep, so I use the opportunity to take a long hot bath. It cools my aches and the fading bruises that still speckle my skin. The cuts under the bandages look pretty scabbed up by now, so I imagine it’s safe to leave them exposed. I throw the bandages away and apply some Neosporin just in case. After that, I experienced one of the most tranquil days of my life.
I fret for a bit in the morning that the Joker will come home unexpectedly. However after a few hours, I face the fact that he probably won’t come home anytime soon. If I’m lucky, Batman caught him and he’s in Arkham right now. Out of curiosity, I look outside the kitchen widow. It didn’t occur to me to check before, but maybe there’s no one guarding the house since the Joker’s gone. Unfortunately, a handful of men still wander around the front yard. It’s not worth the risk of escape, not yet.
I don’t feel like playing the piano or reading, so I continue my painting in the spare bedroom. I finish painting the Joker’s silhouette black, and use the red paint again to etch on a creepy smile. God, I really hope he doesn’t see this. He might think I’m obsessed with him when really I’m just trying to express my fear of him. I have to remember the Joker is just human. He’s got to have a weakness somewhere.
After drawing some random squiggles and shapes I put away the paints and eat lunch. Since I have no idea how long the Joker’s going to be gone, I go into his closest and pull out a few dress shirts I haven’t seen him wear. Taking scissors, I hack the long sleeves off, making some sort of ratty dresses for myself. It’s at least better than wearing anything with blood stains on it. The rest of the day is pretty uneventful; I read, play the piano, write in my journal and do some introspection, mope, read, play the piano, take a nap, read…you get the picture. I eat dinner around seven and laze around for a few hours. Although this has been one of the best days ever, it is also one of the most boring. I need to find some new hobbies. For the first time I have a fleeting wish that the Joker will come home soon. At least I would have someone to talk to.
To cure my boredom I decide to put in a few more hours to my painting. The ‘mural’ is actually coming along nicely; it’s very abstract since that’s the only kind of art I’m decent at. The hours past swiftly, and it’s quite dark outside when I realize I’m getting sleepy. Right as I begin to clean up my paints, I hear a door bang open and heavy footsteps coming up the stairs along with a jumble of cussing. Shit, just when I was getting comfortable, he had to come back.
He sounds really pissed about something, so I figure it’s best to stay out of his way. However, I can’t help myself and peak out the door into the hall. The Joker is standing outside his room looking much more grimy than usual. His purple coat is spotted with what looks like mud or oil. His face paint is runny and smeared haphazardly across his face. Looking down, I gasp loudly as I glimpse dark red blood seeping through his pant leg. It runs down to the floorboards, staining the old wood. As soon as I gasp, the Joker snaps his head around and sees me. He beckons me angrily with his hand yelling, “Get the fuck over here,” and walks into the bedroom.
I enter the dimly lit room, and the hot pungent smell of blood fills my nose. I cough and try to breathe as little as possible. The Joker is reclined on the bed, stripping his clothes off. He motions for me to come over and help him, so while he tugs off his vest, I pull at his shoes. Finally he’s left in just his pants, and I begin to feel queasy. The last time he took off his pants I got mouth fucked, and I’m not eager to do anything that could lead to that again. He unbuckles his belt as I scoot away from him on the floor. His eyes flash up to meet mine, fury rising in them. “Pull these off!” he bellows. I shake my head, fearful of what will happen if I don’t, but more so if I do.
“Elena,” he growls, “despite how irresistible you think you are, I am in no mood to fuck around with you. However, if you don’t take off my pants RIGHT NOW, I will fuck you and then gut you like a fish.”Well, I get the hint and quickly tug his pants off, making him groan in pain. After what I see, I gasp again. There is a huge jagged gash in his left leg, running down his thigh to his knee. It appears he got knifed pretty badly by someone. Blood is slowly flowing out, painting his white skin a dark red.
“What should I do?” I ask desperately, my stupid ‘help the hurt person instincts’ kicking in.
“Go get the sewing kit in bathroom,” he says angrily, “and bandages.”
I quickly run to the bathroom and grab the sewing kit under the sink as well as what’s left of the bandages. I also bring a washcloth, rubbing alcohol and some sort of tape stuff. Now, I don’t know much about first aid, but I like to think I have the basics down.
I kneel in front of the Joker, and using the tape, wrap it around his leg tightly as sort of a tourniquet thing.I then dump rubbing alcohol on the washcloths and begin to clean the wound.
“Fuck!” the Joker screams, slapping me hard across the face, “Fuck!”
My head snaps back painfully. “What the fuck?!” I yell back. “That hurt!” I start to stalk out of the room, “Fix your own damn leg and be happy I don’t just finish you off!”
“Elena!” the Joker calls back coldly, “Don’t think that just because I’m wounded I still can’t take you. You’re smart enough to know I’m significantly stronger than you. Now come be a good girl and sew me up.”
Furiously, I walk back to where the Joker is and not being gentle, continue to wipe away the excess blood leaking from the wound. I take the needle and ask, “What color of thread would you like?” The Joker reacts with trying to slap me again, but I dodge it. “Ok then,” I murmur, threading simple black string through the needle. I stare at his leg for a bit, unsure of how to proceed. This was a lot different than sewing in Home Ec. class.I take a deep breath, pushing down the nausea that’s growing in my stomach and poke the needle into the top of the Joker’s leg. I use my other hand to kind of push the two flaps of skin together and start weaving the needle in and out, making sure the stitches are small.
I’m about half way done when I can’t take it anymore, lean my head over to the side and throw up on the ground. The Joker’s staring at me with a look of disgust and smirks, “Yuck…”
“Oh shut up,” I replay as I quickly finish the stitching, without being careful anymore. It would make an ugly scar, but the Joker was no stranger to those. I wipe down the wound again with rubbing alcohol and wrap the bandages around his leg.
“There,” I say, standing up. “That’s the best I can do. What happened anyways? Why were you gone so long?”
The Joker starts to laugh. “I did a little…experiment. It ended up working quite well.” He stops and looks at me. I can tell he wants me to ask what the experiment was.
Curiosity gets the best of me. “What did you do?” I ask.
He laughs gleefully, “I captured a class of students from Gotham Elementary along with their teacher. Then, I ridged a bomb to the building they were in and set up a video camera. I gave the teacher a knife…” he starts laughing harder, holding his sides, “I handed the teacher a knife and gave her instructions to choose two students. One would be given the knife and forced to kill the other.”
“You made children kill each other!” I interrupt, putting my hand to my mouth in shock.
“No, no, no,” the Joker said wagging his finger, “the teacher was the one who made the decision to let murder happen. It’s not my fault! I didn’t decide who dies and who lives. Anyways, one kid would have to die by midnight or I would blow up the whole building. It was great,” he says, almost gleefully, “Everyone was watching on the news, waiting to see whether the teacher would sacrifice all of her students for the good of humanity¸ or make one murder the other. Batman ended up coming and saving them of course, but not before the teacher chose the two kids! Yeah, I’m pretty sure I just earned some therapists a lot of money!”
“But Batman stopped you? No one died.” I asked relived.
“No, no one died, but that’s not the point. I showed all of Gotham the evil, sick choices people make in certain circumstances.”
“Ug, you’re sick,” I spit at him.

The Joker looks flattered, “Thank you for the compliment!” he says, grabbing my shoulder and giving me a sort of half-hug. “You wouldn’t believe how much I missed you; torturing Gotham is my passion, but torturing you is sheer entertainment!”
“Great,” I remark flatly. “I’m going to bed.”
The Joker clears his throat and points. I follow his gaze and see the puddles of blood and vomit scattered around the room. There’s also blood all over the bed sheets. “I think you need to clean that up first…” the Joker comments.
I groan and get to work, cleaning as quickly as I can. By the time I finish, the Joker is already asleep. Instead of sleeping by him on the bed, I go to the couch and collapse.
- 11
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- 13
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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25