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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
- 16
- 17
- 18
Chapter Seventeen
After taking a purposely long shower, bandaging my arm and putting on my pjs, I exit the bathroom to thankfully find the Joker already asleep. Since I’m not very tired, I curl up on the couch to read for a bit. It’s nice and warm in the room; my eyes start to droop. Soon, I begin to nod off. Quietly as I can, I ease myself to my feet and crawl into bed next to the Joker. Luckily, the bed’s bigger than the one at the house and I’m able to spread out without touching him. Soon, I drift into sleep.
I’m still warm and comfy when I wake up. Smiling, I open my eyes, begin to stretch and then freeze instantaneously. I’m not on my side of the bed; I’m cuddled up in the crook of the Joker’s arm, my hand resting lightly on his bare chest. He isn’t holding me to him; he doesn’t have a hand on me. Embarrassment spreading across my face, I scoot away and eye him warily; convinced he did something to make me snuggle against him. I can’t accept I did that of my own accord.
The room is dark, but I can still make out the taunt muscles of his pale chest and arms. If he wasn’t aggressive and cruel…or a psychopath. I shake my head warily; I shouldn’t be thinking these kinds of things. My main mission is to escape before he inevitably kills me. I can’t have my instinctive human impulses getting in the way.
I softly slide out of bed and stretch my sore back. Since there are no windows, I can only assume it is morning since I feel well rested. In the bathroom, I scowl as I examine my reflection. The Joker insists on wearing that god-awful paint all the time, even to bed. As a result, I feel like I always have some trace of it on me. Right now there’s some smeared across my arm. I squirt some soap in my hand and rub the paint off. The cut on my face is looking a little better; it’s starting to scab at least. I apply some Neosporin to it as well as my arm. Just another scar to add to the ever-growing list.
I almost bounce up and down in excitement when I find a tray of breakfast food waiting on the coffee table. Someone must have snuck in while I was in the restroom. Creepy, but food is food.
I perch myself on the edge of the couch and spread berry jam on a piece of toast. I never ate last night, and so gobble down the toast like an animal. After another two pieces and a bowl of fruit, I’m finally filled up. As I pour myself a cup of mint tea, I hear the soft creaking of the bed. The Joker has lifted himself into a sitting position and grins when he sees I’m already up.
“Sleep well?” he asks cheerfully as he pulls himself out of bed. He crosses the room in long strides and sits on the armchair opposite me. “I imagine you must have been tired from our fun last night. I know I was.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t that tired,” I tell him and then add cheekily. “Maybe I just have more stamina than you.” The Joker eyes me curiously and then laughs.
“We’ll just have to test won’t we?” he prods. “I get off work early tonight, why don’t we-”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I cut in quickly, seeing the danger in my comment, but continuing to play along. “I’m bound to exhaust you and I wouldn’t want to do that before you complete your big plan.”
“You’re so sweet to worry about me,” the Joker coos, rising from his seat and plopping himself next to me on the couch. “But I’ll take my chances.” He winds his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close so my head in almost squashed into his chest. I squeak as in one swift motion, he lifts me up and over so I’m seated on his lap. I squirm and manage to get away, falling on the ground in the process. The Joker doesn’t make a move to stop me, instead contemplating my actions.
Trying to regain some dignity, I carefully sit myself back down on the couch, making sure to add distance between me and him. The Joker raises his eyebrows at me. “What was that about?”
“Well for one, I’m still eating,” I explain, picking up the teacup. “So naturally, I’m not in the mood to be poked at and picked up. Plus…I didn’t really want to sit on your lap.”
The Joker grins evilly. “If I remember corrected, Elena,” he sneers, “You’re the one who brought up the subject of stamina.”
“That’s true, but I was only joking around. I should be able to joke around without being harassed by you.”
The Joker rolls his eyes. “Oh please, you really do just need to admit it to yourself- you want me. And I uh, I know you were all snuggled up to me last night. It was definitely a welcomed surprise…” He licks his lips.
I blush, embarrassed that he knew about the cuddling. “That was an accident,” I reason. “You can’t blame me for what I do in my sleep.” I pause for a moment. “And you know what, maybe I would actually ‘want you’ if you were nice to me for a change. Have you ever considered that?”
“Oh Elena,” the Joker whines. “Being nice isn’t in my nature. The last time I tried to be nice to you, feelings got hurt and you yelled a lot and hurt my ears. I think you should just accept me for who I am- it really is the noble thing to do.”
“Noble,” I scoff since I can’t think of anything else. Changing the subject I ask, “Why aren’t you eating?”
The Joker purses his scarred lips. “I’m not hungry,” he answers sharply and for no reason at all, begins to stare daggers at me as I finish my tea. I return the hateful gaze as the minutes tick by. Finally, I become uneasy and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Upon my return, the Joker is in his same spot, still staring me with eyes full of fury. The only sound I can hear is that of the air conditioner whirling and the very faint muffled noise of people somewhere in the building.
“Are you mad at me?” I finally dare to question. It would have probably been best to leave it alone, but his eyes-yes, his dark murky eyes- were starting to freak me out.
The Joker shrugged his shoulders. “Not really. More like annoyed.” He chuckles in a way that makes the small hairs on my neck stand on end.
I laugh half-heartedly, trying to diffuse the tension. “Well, how about you tell me why? The best way to get what you want is honesty.”
The Joker snickers at this. “Oh, I wish it was that easy,” he says seriously.
I exhale, beginning to get annoyed. “You’re being really difficult,” I blurt out. “Just tell me why you’re annoyed with me.”
“Well, I’m not really annoyed with you. I have a decision I have to make involving you, that is complicated.”
“What decision?” I ask, my heart beginning to pound.
“Whether to fuck you now or wait until later,” the Joker replies flippantly with a wave of his hand.
I let out a loud groan. “I knew it; I fucking knew you were going to say something like that! You’re despicable.”
The Joker grins, as though he was hoping for that response. “Well, you wanted to know, kitten. So like you see, I’m not really annoyed at you but the situation. I just can’t make up my mind. On one end, it would be a lot of fun to fuck you, but-”
“Shhh! Just shut up!” I yell, standing up. I take a deep breath, keeping the anger from clouding my mind. “I don’t care to know the details of your dilemma. This isn’t a real problem; you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Maybe,” the Joker responds. “But you don’t know that for sure. Don’t you care about what I decide?”
“Of course,” I snap, “But I also know I can’t do much to change you mind- it’s obvious you won’t hold up your end of the deal we made before. For all I know, you’ve made your decision already.”
The Joker strokes his chin. “See, this is a perfect example of why I’m having so much trouble. You’re a complex person Elena; sometimes I like it, I like it a lot in fact. But sometimes though, it just drives me up the wall!” The Joker smoothes back his greasy hair, which I’m pretty sure he hasn’t washed since we got here yesterday.
“Part of me wants you to resist, to fight me as I take you.” I put my hands over my ears, but the Joker raises his voice so the words permeate through. “And part of me wants to break you first, to have you begging me to fuck you. Such a difficult decision…tsk. What do you think?”
I uncover my ears and before I can stop myself, I dive at the Joker’s throat. I clench my small hands around his windpipe and squeeze as hard as I can. The Joker’s face begins to pink behind the paint. Too quickly though, he breaks my hold and crushes my own neck in his grip. Grabbing his arms, I try to force them apart, but within seconds I feel dizzy and panic. I try to twist away as finally my vision begins to go. As instantly as it starts, it ends. I feel air returning to my lungs and gulp down oxygen like it’s, well, oxygen.
I open my eyes and see the Joker leaning over me, shaking his head. He pats me roughly on the cheek a few times. “You’ll learn sooner or later,” he assures.
“You know what you should do,” I say softly through coughs. “I mean about your ‘dilemma’?”
“Hmm?” the Joker mumbles, studying my sprawled body.
I gently sit up and lean against the arm of the couch. “We did these chart things in one of my therapy groups. It was like a pro/con chart. Say I wanted to go to a party- I would make a pro/con chart about going to the party and a pro/con chart about not going to the party. It helps sort out ideas by putting it in actual writing. It was always easy for me to make a decision after making a chart.”
“You want me to make a pro/con chart about whether to have fuck you now or later?” the Joker asks, dumbfounded.
“Not really…but it really freaks me out when you’re pissed. You get violent and often exert that aggression on me. I rather you just make the goddamn chart than hit me in the face-again.”
The Joker grabs my face and pulls me close, studying the almost-closed raw skin on my cheek. I wince as he pokes at it. “Eh, doesn’t look that bad.”
I pull away. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?” The Joker jumps off the couch and goes the dresser, donning his classic light blue shirt, green vest, random tie and purple suit.
“You’re right, I should be heading off. Hopefully this morning I can get Stage One of my plan completed.”
“Are you going to tell me what your plan is?” I inquire.
The Joker looks me over briefly. “Nah, it would freak you out too much. I don’t want you becoming all sad and depressed, ha.” He laughs harder than I would deem necessary. “You did pack your medicine, didn’t you?” he then asks me.
I nod my head and he smiles. “Did you pack your birth control pills?”
“What?” I asked, befuddled and a little exasperated. “You know I don’t take those. I never have.”
“Tsk tsk, well I guess we’ll have to take our chances.” He finishes tying the laces on his shoes. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t try to break out while I’m gone; you’ll just be wasting your time.”
“Do you think you could bring me a clock and oh, what was the other thing…a computer?” I ask hesitantly.
The Joker bursts out laughing. “Sweetcakes, I’m not going to bring you a computer! I’ll bring you a clock, but not…haha why would you even ask? Stupid.”
I frown. “It’s not like I’m asking for one with internet. That way I can play the little games or write a story or mess around with power point. Just something to pass the time.”
“Heh, no.” the Joker laughs, but more sternly. “Too much time in front of a screen will melt your brain. Read, make the bed, work on your stamina.” The Joker walks over to me and plants a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you later, Elena.”
He walks to the door, takes out a key and unlocks it. “I’ll work on that chart!” he chimes before closing the door again. I can hear his laughter drift down the hall before fading away entirely.
“You do that,” I answer him, though he can’t hear me. At least I would get a clock; it is kind of sad how so much of lives depend on what time it is. Honestly, I should wake up when I want to, eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m tired. But having no idea of time or day would disorient me too much. I have to know whether I’ve been here a few days or a few weeks.
I pick up the tray of food and set it down by the door. Might as well help whatever poor soul- or man who’s killed a baby- who has to wait on the random prisoner. The next few minutes I spend staring around the room absentmindedly, thinking of all I could do. I decide it would be best to work out a bit since I don’t know the last time I’ve been to the gym. Stretches are first, followed by some aerobic exercises to ‘strengthen the core’ I learned from some workout tape. Afterwards, I do some lunches, push-ups (like five) and sit-ups. That’s about all I can do in such a small space, it’s not like I can go jogging. Maybe I should have asked the Joker for a treadmill. I scan the book shelf and eye the selections. There’s a book of poetry by Sylvia Plath, a collection of Shakespeare plays, The Color Purple, Grapes of Wrath, and some short stories by Flannery O’Connor. Added to that are the books I brought from home; Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Animal Farm, Paradise Lost, and Dracula. Picking up the book of poetry by Plath, I flip through the pages. It looks interesting enough, so I lay down on the bed and lose myself in reading. After what seems like an hour or two, I begin to get bored and close the book. Sylvia Plath is a splendid writer. She writes about very personal things, including her own suicide attempts she made throughout her life before finally succeeding. This shared experience makes me feel a little closer to her, as I often feel with other depressed individuals.
My stomach is growling steadily. Hopefully someone will come with lunch soon. The breakfast tray is still seated near the door. It’s probably almost midday and I decide I should probably change out of my pajamas, even though it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I pad across the floor to the wardrobe to find something to change into. I slip into a comfy summer dress and go to the bathroom to brush my hair. It’s being weird today so I put it up in a loose bun. I then lay on the bed, praying that someone comes with lunch.
Finally, the lock on the door clicks. My head pokes up and my mouth begins to water as the door creaks open. I spring and run to the door, prepared to attack whatever food I’m offered. I slide to a halt, however, as the Joker comes in with another tray.
“Ek,” I shriek softly as I almost bump into him. “What are you doing here?”
The Joker shoves the tray into my hands. It has two sandwiches, some fruit, pretzels, and some tomatoes. I hurriedly set the tray down on the table. The Joker comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I told you I’d come back at lunch time.”
I shrug my shoulders, removing the Joker’s hand in the process. “I guess I forgot... do you have my clock?” I ask, turning to look at him. His face paint is slightly smeared; his plan is obviously a ‘hands on’ procedure. I realize then that I have never seen him without that paint on; I wonder what he really looks like.
The Joker pulls a small pocket watch out of his jacket and hands it to me. It’s small and made of old brass, engraved with silver flowers and swirls. “This is beautiful,” I comment, “Where did you get it?”
The Joker makes a face. “I’ve had it for awhile; I didn’t have time to go out and buy you a clock, but I didn’t want you going too crazy.”
“Well, thank you,” I stress and set the pocket watch on the bookshelf. “Ug, I’m so hungry. You should have come earlier!” I hurry over to the table and pick up a plate, loading it with a sandwich, some fruit and tomatoes.
The Joker snakes his arms around my waist and whispers in my ear, “Mmm, if I knew you were so eager to see me, I would’ve come as quick as I could.” I pull away gently, making sure my food doesn’t fall.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m more excited to see the food than you.” I take a seat on the couch and begin to eat. The Joker sits next to me and reaches over to grab the other sandwich. We eat in silence, concentrating on our food. I’m still nibbling on a few chunks of pineapple when the Joker finishes. He puts his arm around my shoulder and sighs contently. I stiffen under his touch and begin to shrink away when he turns to me.
“A-ta-ta-ta-ta. Don’t do that.” He shakes his finger at me but then smiles. “I have a question for you Elena. I was reading or maybe watching something online, I don’t remember, but a par-tic-u-lar idea caught my attention. Someone made the point that, ‘Crazy people never think they're crazy. They think they're getting saner. So, sane people shouldn't think they're sane, but that they’re going crazy.’ What do you think about that?”
I finish chewing the pineapple. “Well firstly, ‘crazy’ isn’t a nice word to use for people with mental illness, but for the sake of the argument, I’ll use it. I don’t really agree with the statement exactly. It sound nice, and is true in some cases, but there are times when a crazy person does think they’re going crazy. This happens especially in the beginning of their illness. Perfectly sane people know they’re sane. It’s only those who have a little madness or fear or disorder that think they’re going crazy when they’re not. Of course,” I add, “you could say that having a little madness or fear counts as being a little crazy.”
“Well well well,” the Joker drawls out, “looks like someone has a strong opinion on crazy people.”
“That’s what happens when you have a mental illness; you become interested, you do research, you talk to people and form opinions. Or at least I did, I don’t know about other people. I’ve considered switching my major to psychology, but I probably won’t, I like literature too much.” I can’t help getting excited; I really enjoy talking about psychology.
The Joker’s lip curls into a cross between a smile and a sneer. “So doctor,” he articulates, “what about me, hmm? Am I crazy?”
A laugh escapes my lips. “Oh come on, of course you’re crazy. You kidnapped me, harassed me, emotionally abused me, and god knows so many other things. Honestly, you’re a textbook sociopath. You have a grandiose sense of self-worth and no empathy towards others, yet you have a sort of charm about you. You’re manipulative, refuse to take responsibility for your own actions, you’re impulsive and do not control your behavior well. I don’t know about your childhood, nor do I want to, but besides that you check almost all the boxes on Robert Hare’s psychopath checklist.” I take a breath, realizing I might have gone too far as I see a flash of darkness in the Joker’s eyes. He’s not smiling anymore either. Quicker than I thought possible, the Joker has stood up and knocked the tray clean off the table. It smashes into the opposite wall, shatters the dishes and scattering the remaining food.
He then sits down again and grabs me by the arms, shaking me. “You can’t just put me into a little neat box,” he rages, licking his lips. “I’m a complicated guy, Elena. You try to stuff me into your stupid box of crazy, and I’ll blow it up!” I turn my face away, scared to look the Joker in the eye. “Hey, hey, you! Look at me.” I close my eyes. “LOOK AT ME!” he bellows. This time, I do as he says and gaze into his face.
“You think you’re so smart with your checklist and research, don’t you? But did that ever save anyone? No. Is labeling me a sociopath going to save your life? No. You see, identifying crrrazzzy people may be easy. But containing them, that’s another story. And curing them! HA! That’s impossible.”
“I know that,” I protest, “I know sometimes they can’t-”
“Shhhhh!” the Joker hushes, slipping out his knife and holding it against my face so it scratches the wound on my cheek. “You had your turn to talk; now it’s my turn. Actually, you know what, I’m done talking. You’re not going to understand. Give it another week or two and then maybe. We’ll sit down and have this conversation again, how about that, in another week or two?” He grabs my head and makes me nod. “Goody! That will be something to look forward to!”
Finally, he lets go of me and settles back into the couch, twirling the switch blade in his hand. I cower on the other side of the couch and bury my face in my hands. I definitely didn’t mean to provoke him like that; I was just thrilled to be discussing mental illnesses with someone.
“I’m sorry,” I finally whisper softly, glancing at him. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.” What I don’t say is ‘but you totally freaked out and I don’t give crap if I hurt your feelings.’
The Joker smiles mockingly at me and then fishes for something in his pocket. “Oh, I have to show you the chart I made.”
“I don’t really want to see it,” I entreat.
“I insist,” the Joker orders as he scoots close to me once again. “Take a look!” He hands me a tattered piece of copy paper and watches as I grimly unfold it. I glance over the chart he made and feel sick to my stomach.

Pros for fucking now
Cons for fucking now
Pros for fucking later
Cons for fucking later
-she’ll resist and get mad
-on vacation
-fun
-finally get what I want
-she won’t try hard
-occupied with plan
-she’s being bitchy
-will complain

-she’ll have to beg me for it
-she’ll be more into it
-won’t whine afterwards
-won’t be distracted by plan
-will have to wait
-might be boring

I fold the paper back up and hand it to him. He smiles and puts it in his back pocket.
“So did you like it? What do ya think?” he provokes.
“It didn’t look like you made a decision yet.” I observe.
“Well, like you said, I’m a man of impulses. What happens will happen; even I don’t know what will happen!”
“Great.”
“Hey, I know you’re looking forward to it,” he leers, placing a hand on my knee and raising himself to his feet. He then looks down at his shoes and makes a face. “I don’t know how these get so dirty,” he mumbles. “Elena, be a dear and clean them for me.”
I scoff at his request. “I am not cleaning your shoes.” The Joker shoves me down off the couch so I’m inches from his dark violet shoes.
“Clean them,” he demands through gritted teeth. “Clean them with your tongue.” I try to raise my head, but it’s like pushing against a concrete wall. Rebelling, I spit on his shoes.
“Oh, very lady-like, Elena.” the Joker derides, and deals a smarting blow to my head. I clasp my face, praying my ear stops ringing soon. It was better than licking his shoes anyway. I look up and see the Joker already by the door, turning the handle. “Pick up that broken glass over there and set it all by the door so someone can come clean it up,” he informs me. “And don’t be a naughty girl and try to cut your wrists again, or you know what will happen to your family. See you in a few hours, darling.” He blows a kiss in my direction, as I stare indifferently in his. And then with a bang, he slams the door and locks it shut.
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- 18
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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25