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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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- 24
Sorry this chapter took me awhile to write. Finals are here and have been taking up time. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter Twenty-three
My favorite part of the Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien is when Sméagol/Gollum and Bilbo have a game of riddles. If Bilbo wins, Sméagol must show him the way out of the mountain. If Sméagol wins, he gets to eat Bilbo. Fun game right? One of Sméagol’s riddles is about darkness:
“It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,

Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,

It lies behind stars and under hills,

And empty holes it fills,

It comes first and follows after,

Ends life, kills laughter.”
            In the dreadful darkness of that room, my laughter, if I had any left, was extinguished. My life, in some ways, had ended. Swallowed from existence, I could not distinguish time or space. The pain in my arms and stomach was the only indicator I still lived. As much as I feared the horrors the light was sure to bring, the darkness was efficiently making me insane. I slept until my body refused to tire. I then attempted to free myself, but quickly gave up. While I could possibly wiggle out of a rope bind, handcuffs were more difficult. And I didn’t have any handy bobby-pins or paper clips like in the movies. My arms became stiff in their raised position and I quickly realized that resting them upon the bar would provide some support. Even after this discovery, they began to ache profusely.
            I lost track of time; hours could have passed, or days. It made no difference. My hunger left and came back in waves. Ebb in, ebb out like the tide. When the hunger took me, I actually thought about eating my nails and hair. When the hunger was absent, I was in utter bliss. I found true empathy for not only blind people, but those who often go without food. How do they survive? How do they function with empty stomachs? In my opinion, hunger is one of the worst physical pains; it is remorseless and cruel. And even in the industrious city of Gotham there is poverty. No wonder crime’s so abundant; most people would quickly abandon their morals to sate their hunger.
Time passed slowly. When I wake up from my fourth no…fifth nap I can’t help smiling to myself; at the moment my stomach doesn’t ache with hunger. And there’s a chance I can get back to sleep before it returns. Or even better, food will come. The Joker’s not ready for me to die; it’s that reality that keeps me from utter despair. He’ll have to feed me sometime.
            I begin to hum. The humming soon turns to singing. It’s not something I’m good at, but it’s comforting; my sisters and I always sang while doing the dishes back home. My weak voice echoes through the room, calming me. The music gives me a sense of existence despite the black that surrounds. After awhile, my throat becomes parched and I stop. I’ll defiantly have to do that again though. My mind returns once again to escaping. There’s no way I can get out of this room but once the Joker lets me out, the options are vast. Sometimes that large black van is outside. How hard it would be to steal it? I could make a lock pick, sneak out to the van and drive away. It would give me a large head-start.
            Or there are knives in the kitchen. Ever since I tried to kill myself I haven’t messed with them, but they could come in handy. If I managed to hurt the Joker somehow, it would give me an opportunity to get away. In the end though, I will only risk an escape if I’m sure to reach my family before the Joker does. On the news, Commissioner Gordon said my family was in police custody, but I have no doubt the Joker could still get to them. I won’t have them murdered because I botched up a half-assed escape plan.
            Just then my stomach growls. Ug no, not again. I hate being hungry. There is a part of me that feels egotistic for complaining so much, but I just can’t help it. I don’t think it’s our human nature to be humble, minus a few special individuals. A pang begins to grow in my right side and I groan. I close my eyes, not that it makes a difference, and rest my head on the bar. I am about to try and sleep again when the inside of my eyelids changes from black to bright red. Slowly, I slit open my eyes. A bright light fills the room. Allowing a little more light to enter, I peek open my eyes until I can see clearly without tearing up. In some ways, this is the first time I’ve seen this room. The last time the lights were on, I was a bit preoccupied with the Joker, the television, and being tied up. But now, I take in the full view of the room. The walls are off-white while the ground is grey concrete. As I knew before, I’m handcuffed to a steel bar a few feet from the ground. The door’s opposite me, with the small TV still by it. A toilet is bolted to the ground a few yards from me. Seeing it reminds me that I kind of have to go to the bathroom. Now I’m really hoping someone comes; the last thing I want to do is piss myself.
            However, all of that is nothing compared to what else lays in the room. A bar thing with attached manacles is bolted to another wall. It appears to serve the same purpose as normal handcuffs, but whatever. A long chain dangles from the ceiling in the corner- I do not want to know what that’s used for. Also by the door is this cushioned reclining table, like one you’d find in a dentist office. Except this one has stapes and bolts to hold someone in place. By this chair hanging from the wall is an assortment of whips, riding crops, and baton things.
            “Holy shit,” I whisper frantically. “Shit, shit, shit. This is like a fucking torture room.” I’m surprised there isn’t a medieval rack of some sort. For the first time in awhile, I struggle to free myself. But no matter which way I turn my hands, they won’t slide through the handcuffs. I grab hold of the metal bar and recklessly attempt to yank it free from the wall. Just as I’m about to inspect whether I can unscrew the bar somehow, the door bursts open and the Joker saunters in. I have to say I’ve never seen him look so pleased; though he’s not smiling, some kind of frenzy glints in his eye. For one of the first times, he’s not wearing his violet suit, just his shirt, vest, tie and pants. With him he carries a wooden chair, which he sets up a few feet from me and silently takes a seat. He doesn’t speak, just tapping his finger against his ragged mouth.
            Finally, after a long pause I give in. “I think I’ve been punished enough. Will you please let me out?” I ask shakily, already knowing the answer.
            The Joker eyes me. “You obviously haven’t been punished enough, judging by your lucidity. We still have some work to do.”
            “What is that suppose to mean?” I prod. The Joker doesn’t reply, just flashes a grotesque open-mouth smile.
“Are you just here to stare at me?” I snap. “Don’t you have better things to do? You’re creeping me out with that big fat grin on your face.”
            The Joker chuckles. “Hey sweetie, I’m having plenty of fun just looking at you. Besides, you know I love to smile.”
            “Funny,” I mutter. “How long have I been in here?”
            “A-ta-ta-ta, not telling you that. It’s part of the ah, the fun,” the Joker tsks.
            I turn away and stare at the handcuffs around my ankles and wrists. Resting my head against the bar, I turn towards the Joker again, who is now slumped lazily against the back of the chair.
            “I need food.”
            “Later,” he insists with a wave of his hand.
            My stomach growls. “No, now. I’m starving. Keep the lights off, leave me chained to this stupid bar, fine, but give me something to eat.”
            The Joker’s lips twitch. He reaches into his pant pocket and pulls out a bag of almonds. He throws it to me and I’m able to catch it. Clumsily, I open the plastic bag and stuff a handful of almonds in my mouth. Few things have tasted so good. Within minutes I finish the whole bag, feeling hungrier than before. I look up at the Joker, who’s been watching me this whole time.
“I’m still hungry,” I sigh pleadingly.
The Joker sniggers. “You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. This’ll be good for you, you’ll lose some weight.”
I can’t help but gasp. “I don’t need to lose weight.”
“Oh I didn’t say you needed to,” the Joker giggles, tapping his gloved finger on the chair-back. “You’re beeeautiful, angel face, don’t get me wrong. I just know that uh, that women are always so worried about their appearances. So caught up in what the mirror shows that they never pause to look at the shadows growing within. I can only assume you’re the same and would relish losing some weight, whether you need to or not.”
I frown in disgust. “You’re so stupid sometimes,” I scoff. “For one, I know I’m at a healthy weight. And women are only so worried about their appearance because of society’s expectations.”
“Heh hehe, you don’t think vanity plays any part in it?”
“No it does, people are egocentric,” I agree, “but when everyone is valued by how they look, it only promotes vanity further.”
   “You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?” the Joker says with a lick of his lips.
“I’m just saying not everyone fits into your cookie cutter prototypes, and you know full well that I don’t. Plus, one of my friends had an eating disorder, so you could say I’m very passionate about this stuff.”
The Joker smiles and scoots his chair a little closer to me. “You know, passion makes people do craazzy things. I hope you know how to control it. Otherwise, it might take over.”
“What does that have to do with appearance and society?”
The Joker snorts. “Nothing. It has to do with you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter.
“Yes you do,” the Joker insists. He pauses. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
I glance over at the toilet in the corner of the room. There is no way in hell I’m going to the bathroom in front of the Joker. “No,” I answer.
The Joker giggles and stands up. “I’m not going to watch you! What do you think I am, a freak?” He walks towards me, takes a key from his pocket and uncuffs my hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn around.”
Grabbing me by the arm, he drags me across the floor. My knees scrape against the concrete ground. I try to tug my arm away. “Just uncuff my ankles!” I yell, but I’m ignored.
After dropping me near the toilet the Joker does as he promises (for once) and turns away. I ease myself up and pull my shorts down, eyes never leaving the back of the Joker’s head. This is so awkward…
When I’m done, I realize there is no toilet paper and roll my eyes. Lovely. I stand and pull on my underwear and shorts. It’s when I reach to flush that I notice the small swirls of red.
“Fuck” I whisper. I slide my hand down my shorts and feel something wet. Pulling my hand back out, I find my finger lightly coated in blood. I must have just started my period today. “Fuck,” I whisper again.
“What are you complaining about?” the Joker asks from over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” I assure quickly and flush the toilet. Like this couldn’t have happened a week ago? Talk about bad timing.
The Joker turns around but makes no move to help me. Carefully, I sidestep back to the bar without falling and take a seat. Finally, the Joker approaches and cuffs my hands to the bar again.
I settle into a comfortable position as he sits cross-legged in front of me.
“Why aren’t you fighting me anymore?” he asks suddenly, dark eyes bearing into mine. He seems legitimacy annoyed.
I’m surprised by the question. “Why do you care?” I murmur.
A switchblade suddenly appears in the Joker’s hand. I scoot back a little as he runs his finger along the blade. “How about you humor me this once,” he suggests.
I gulp. “Maybe I know how to pick my battles. I’m not in a position to be pissing you off right now. Maybe I’m just saving my energy.”
The Joker makes a face. “That’s a decent answer,” he concurs darkly and puts away the knife. “Why did you have to help that stupid kid escape?” he then asks.
I stare wide eyed at him as a laugh escapes my lips. “Are you serious?” I ask. “I helped him escape because I…I have morals. I couldn’t leave a little kid to be tortured by you.”
“It cost you your freedom.”
I laugh in shock again. “It was worth it.”
The Joker smiles and pats my knee. “You won’t be thinking that after a few days.”
“We’ll see,” I snap back.
The Joker scoots closer to me. He places his hand upon my bare leg and begins to caress it. I make a face and scoot farther from him so I’m just out of reach. A frown creases the Joker’s forehead.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been lonely. I know you’ve prayed for someone to come and keep you company,” he mocks.
I shake my head. “Not from you,” I assert, even though I’m lying.
“You missed me, didn’t you,” the Joker leers, leaning in closer to me.
I persist. “No.”
The Joker gets up on his knees and closes the gap between us. He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Just admit it, and all of this will stop. Obey me, be my slave, and you won’t have to stay in this room another second. You know you want to.”
I almost whimper. The offer sounds incredibly enticing; I need food desperately and don’t want to be alone in the dark again. But I can’t let him win.
“You’re a freak,” I say through gritted teeth. “Now go and work on another psycho plan and leave me alone.”
The Joker backs away from me, stands up, and stretches. He goes to the door and knocks twice on it. Two of his men enter, each carrying some kind of club. The Joker nods his head in my direction and lounges against the wall.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out what’s going to happen. As the men approach, I look over at the Joker, who’s staring back at me, face filled with simultaneous glee and resentment. There’s no use pleading.
“You’re going to enjoy this aren’t you?!” I holler at him spitefully. He just smirks and nods in reply. As the men reach me, I turn away from them, cover my head with my arms as best I can, and draw my knees up to my chest.
The first blow lands on my back, followed by one to my shoulder. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but don’t last long. Soon, I’m shouting out weakly with every strike. Although no blood is draw from the dull clubs, my body aches all over with a wicked fire. My mind begs me to fight or flight, neither which are possibly.

“Stop!” I yell through tears from under my bruised arms. “Please, stop!”
Surprisingly, the blows do stop. I look around over my shoulder and see the Joker with his hand raised, ordering his men to cease the beating. The Joker motions for them to leave and they do, taking the television and chair with them. He then comes up to me and kneeling down, pulls up the back of my shirt. I try to struggle away from him, but my body screams out as soon as I move it. I’m forced to remain still as the Joker runs his fingers down my back, examining the bruises. I flinch and shudder as he presses down on one particular spot. Then, he’s standing again.
“What did those men do to you?” he asks calmly.
I look up at him, tears dripping down my face. “They beat me,” I answer, confused.
“And who stopped them?” he asks, a small smile flickering over his scarred lips.
“Fuck you,” I seethe. “You can’t trick me; I know what you’re trying doing.”
“Oh really,” he glowers arrogantly, folding his arms across his chest.
“Yes really. Maybe you stopped them, but you’re also the one that made them do it in the first place. This ploy isn’t going to work.”
The Joker kneels again beside me and cups my face in his hands. I attempt to jerk my face away but he keeps hold of it.
“Shhh, shhhh,” he coos at me. “Calm down.” He runs his finger over my lip. “I’m just trying to help you, Elena. Sometimes that means using force, but I will watch over you. I will protect you.” He kisses my forehead, stands, and walks to the door. It takes me a few seconds to clear the fog from my head. It’s not until he’s turning the handle that I’m able to respond.
“I hate you,” I reply dumbly. It’s the best I could come up with. He doesn’t look back as he goes through the door and locks it behind him. A minute passes, and then I’m enveloped in darkness again.
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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25