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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Six
When I wake up the next morning, I purposely keep my eyes close. Even though I lost conscious yesterday, I remember I am still the Joker’s prisoner. The longer I take to wake up, the longer I can delay the ugly scene that was bound to happen. Feeling chilled, I curl up into the fetal position, trying to drift back to sleep.
            “Good morning Elena, did you sleep well?” came a sickly sweet voice too close for comfort. I jerk my eyes open and roll around, to find the Joker sitting on a chair two feet away from where I lay on the floor. There is a blanket around me, and I quickly look under it, relieved to find my scrapes of clothes still on. I glance back at the Joker, as he continues to stare at me with those deep green eyes. Trying to trick myself into calming down, I say in a lighthearted voice, “Hey can you please stop knocking me out? I don’t think it’s very good for my brain.”
            The Joker smiles widely at me, “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood dearie. You know you’re not in the place to be making demands. Besides,” he gets out of the chair to sit by me on the ground, putting a hand on my covered leg, “it’s your own fault.” I shiver as he reaches up and puts a strand of hair behind my ear.
            “Oh, guess what?” he asks excitedly. It doesn’t sound like a question I have the choice to ignore.
            “What?” I answer exasperated.
            “We’re going to start playing a little game, just to make your visit more amusing.” I don’t like the sound of that, but don’t say anything. ”You see Elena,” he continues, “I am very interested in you, more so than you might realize. There is a reason I chose to kidnap you over other young ladies.”
            This actually comes as a surprise. “What might that be?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer.
            The Joker smiles, “I’ll keep that to myself for now, but if you think on it hard enough, you’ll probably figure it out. Now for the game; due to your ah, failed ‘escape plan’ resulting in a broken window, this is actually your second room if you hadn’t noticed. You can see it’s quite bare to say the least.” I look around the room again; yep there is not one piece of furniture anywhere in sight. “However,” he lectures, raising his hand before setting it down on my leg again, “you can earn furniture, or items for a price. Al-”
            “What’s the price?” I jut in before he can finish.
            “A-ta-ta-ta-ta, don’t interrupt me now. As I was saying, all you have to do is tell me stories about yourself, your childhood and particularly where you got your many scars.”
            “Do you have a fetish or something?” I ask sincerely. The Joker starts to laugh and says, “you could call it that I guess. More like an interest though. Anyways, that’s the game. May the best player win!”
“I don’t see how I wouldn’t win. I get whatever I want and all you get is some random stories.” I say.
The Joker smiles at me, “You’d be surprised what you can learn from people’s stories.” He pauses for a second, looking off into space before adding, “Oh, and you don’t get to keep this blanket as a free-be” as he rips it away from me. The cold morning air makes goose bumps on my skin, and I rub my arms rapidly to stop the cold.
“Now, on the subject of yesterday,” he begins, “it was really quite ah rude of you to run off like that, and without saying goodbye…Haven’t I been a gracious host Elena?” the Joker stares into my eyes, daring me not to contradict him.
“You have,” I begin hesitantly, and then continue on more harshly¸ “except for you won’t tell me where I am, or why I’m here. I’ve haven’t eaten in who knows how many days, let alone showered. And for the majority of the time, I’ve been tied to a chair. So yeah, you’ve been a great host. I’ve had a fabulous time.” Even though I refuse to make eye contact with the Joker, I feel him staring holes into me.
“You know what Elena?” he asks, “There are a lot of people worse off than you. Elena Poe Davett comes from a nice well-to-do family, has inspiring dreams, never went hungry, and lived in comfort. You want to know how many people are dying of starvation right now? And all you can think about is how you haven’t taken a shower.” He grabs my face hard in his hand so that I’m forced to look into his gleaming eyes. “Life isn’t fair little Elena, get over it.” I feel myself crumbling on the inside, knowing in my heart that he is actually right. I honestly don’t have that much to complain about at the moment. He smiles at me, knowing he won this one.
“Also, just so you know,” he says, tilting his head, “if you so much as open the front door, my men are allowed to tackle you and do whatever they want until I’m able to deal with you.” At this point, I know arguing won’t get me anywhere except maybe a slap, so I keep my mouth shut. I do however; move my leg so the Joker’s hand isn’t rested against it anymore.
The Joker continues, pretending he didn’t notice, “Today you’re going to ah, start your chores so to speak. There are a lot of clothes that need washing in the laundry room downstairs. I expect dinner in seven hours. That should give you enough time to whip up something delectable.” He then leans forwards, so our faces are almost touching, and smells my hair. He wrinkles his nose a bit, “Also Elena, you’re right, you do stink. Be so kind as to shower.”
            “Oh, I stink?” I ask incredulously, “Do you even know what a shower is? Ever heard of shampoo?”
Instead of getting pissed, the Joker chuckles, “For your sake, I hope you’re this entertaining for a long time.” He then looks at his non-existent watch. “I’m out, don’t forget to shave,” he says grinning widely as he stands up and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I slowly brace myself against the floor and rise, stretching my sore back as I go. My head spins a bit from hunger, which only reminds me of the conversation I just had with the Joker. He made me feel like a fool, like a whiney little brat. I vow to myself never to complain out loud again. I won’t give him that pleasure. And I will come out of this alive, one way or another.
I walk towards the door, open it and peek down the hallway. A few doors over I find the bathroom and take a long shower, scrubbing off as much dirt as I can. When I step out of the shower, the first thing I notice is that my ragged clothes are gone. In their place lies a clean white v-neck, a pair of blue jean shorts, a black bra and lacy black panties. The clothes look comfortable, but I frown at the underwear, not feel entirely comfortable that the Joker knows what I’m wearing under my clothes. Sighing, I tug them on, scrunch my hair a little so it won’t dry funky, and make my way downstairs. Thankfully, the Joker is nowhere in sight. I walk into the kitchen and look in the fridge, finding some yogurt and gulping it down. Returning to the fridge, my heart drops a little when I see a thawing chicken inside, with a little note by it reading, ‘Prepare for dinner’.
It might come as a surprise, but I never really learned how to cook. It’s just not my thing. I can do pasta, sandwiches, eggs, uh…bagels? Never have I cooked a chicken before. I take the chicken out of the fridge, set it on the counter and stare at it. I feel like it’s taunting me; images fly back into my head of my mom asking me if I wanted to learn how to cook before leaving college, and me shrugging it off, saying I would later. Damn my laziness. I set the chicken back in the fridge; it’s only about ten in the morning, I’ll deal with it later.
The rest of the day I spend exploring/cleaning the house. The house is two stories, but not exceedingly large. The front door led into the kitchen, the living room being right beside it. There is also a small bathroom under the stairs. Upstairs I find two empty bedrooms- mine and another, as well as one locked door, which I presume to be the room where I broke that window. There is also a master bedroom, which is probably the Joker’s and so I don’t stay long in. There is a bathroom up there of course, and some kind of study the pervious owners must have had. In the basement there’s a washer and dryer. Tons upon tons of clothes are strewn about on the ground.
“I guess this is what I’ll be doing today,” I think, picking up all the clothes and sorting them by color. I let myself relax as the clothes are being washed and dried, and even drift off to sleep at one point. When I wake up, I look at the clock on the wall. It’s about three in the afternoon already. Time sure flies when you’re ‘having fun’. Having no idea what time the Joker will get home, I decide to start dinner.
I walk upstairs to the kitchen to see what food there is. Not much, is what I find. There is a potato which pleases me since I actually know how to make a baked potato. I also discover random vegetables, which I can make into an interesting salad. Alright, cool, I’m getting the hang of this.
I stick the potato in the oven, make the salad and hang out until about five. Now for the chicken. The easiest way I remember seeing my mom cook chicken was by pan-frying it. I take the chicken breast and dust it with salt, pepper, basil, and rosemary. I then put some olive oil in the pan, turn the heat on, and lay the chicken in. It starts to crackle instantly, so far so good. After a few minutes I flip it over to the other side, it sure looks well cooked, maybe this isn’t so hard after all.
Suddenly the front door bursts open and I jump a little as the Joker strolls in. “Elena!” he chimes, spreading his arms wide. When I don’t move, he scoffs and says, “What, no welcome home hug? I’m offended.”
I shrug my shoulders in a ‘sucks for you’ way, but he ignores it and sits down at the dining room table.
“Dinner better be ready,” he says looking at me expectantly. I glance at the chicken in the pan; it seems to be done, smells good in any case. Pulling the potato out of the oven, I place it on a plate with the chicken beside it. I also bring along the salad I made, and set everything in front of the Joker. He stares at the food for a second and looks up at me, annoyed. “Am I supposed to eat this with my hands?”
“Oh, sorry,” I say and quickly go back to the kitchen and retrieve some silverware and a napkin, placing it in front of the Joker. Instead of eating, he looks up at me again.
“You really do suck at this don’t you?” he asks. I don’t answer, as it sounds like a rhetorical question. “Since this is your first time, I’ll go a little easy on you. Whenever I sit down to a meal, I usually like utensils, salt, pepper, butter, and something to drink. That’s not so hard now is it?” I shake my head no. “I didn’t think so,” he says with a smirk. Quickly, I gather everything from the kitchen, set it in front of him and slowly start to back out of the room.
“A-ta-ta-ta-ta!” the Joker says loudly. “Come take a seat and keep me company.”
“I actually rather not,” I whisper.
“Good thing I wasn’t asking, sweetie,” and he pats the chair next to him. I slowly walk over, nervous in his presence. The Joker cuts through the chicken with his knife and stops. “What is THAT?” he growls as he grabs my arm, tugging me so my face is close to the chicken. The chicken is really really pink in the middle, definitely not cooked all the way through. “You stupid bitch!” he shouts, swinging me by my arm so I land hard against the wall. He then gets up, comes over to where I am, grabs me by my shoulders and forces me to walk in front of him to the kitchen, stopping in front of the stove.
“Now Elena,” he says irritably in my ear, “you’re going to cook it again, and this time you’re going to do it right. No one will ever want you if you can’t cook goddamn chicken.” At this point, I’m shaking a bit, frightened by his sudden anger. I reach over and take another chicken breast, seasoning it again and dropping it in the pan with more oil.
The Joker continues to stand right behind me with his hands on my shoulder, his face only inches away from mine. I can smell his foul breath as he leans in close again, grabbing my hands and forcing me to pick up the flipper. “Now,” he dictates, “each side of the chicken needs to cook for fifteen minutes. I can’t believe I know this and you don’t.”
His hands wrapped around mine as he makes me flip over the chicken. We stand like this for a few minutes before he releases my hands. I’m about to give a sigh of relief when I suddenly feel his hands start to caress my shoulder. They slid down my back, massaging as they go. He then wraps his arms around my waist and holds me tightly against him. I try not to move much since I’m standing right by a pan of sizzling oil, but it’s difficult for me not to run away screaming. He brings me closer to him and I suddenly feel a bulge growing against my lower back. I realize what’s happening, what he’s doing and nausea hits me in a rush, increasing even more as I feel the Joker’s lips on my neck. He starts by kissing lightly, and then more deeply, sucking the skin, most likely bruising it. His lips move around the back of my neck to the other side, where he begins to nip at my skin as well as kiss. I must admit, had it been anyone else, I would have been turned on. However, he was a sociopath, which made matters very different. I wince as his arms abruptly come off my waist and crawl up my chest, where he begins to stroke my covered breasts.
“Ok,” I think, “this is where the nonsense stops.” Minding the pan of oil, I carefully try and wiggle out of his grip, but he only presses himself into me more vigorously, the kisses deepening.
“Get off me,” I say brusquely, but he doesn’t. My adrenaline finally kicks in and I stomp hard on his foot, elbowing him in the stomach. I then whip around and give a sort of attempt-punch in his face. It’s sufficient, and he loosens his grip on me enough so I can slip away. I run into the living room, hearing heavy footsteps behind me. I make for the bookcase and grab a handful of books, turning around and chunking them at the Joker, who’s fast approaching me. He easily dodges most of the book flying at his head, and suddenly he’s right in front of me. He grabs my wrists tightly in his hands, making me lose my grip of the last few books and wince in pain.
“Shhh, shhhhhh, calm down Elena,” he says coolly, as I struggle to get away from him.
“Hey!” he then says more forcefully, “I said calm down!” At this, I stop twisting though I’m still pissed from the whole ordeal. “Good girl,” the Joker says, smiling and letting go of my wrists.
“You can’t touch me like that,” I say glowering at him.
“Last I remember, you’re my prisoner, so actually I can do ah, whatever I want with you,” the Joker replies logically.
“No way, I’m not some ditz who’s going to obey your every sick whim. Don’t touch me again,” I say shaking my head. If he crosses me again I swear I’ll break his face.
“Perfect, I love it when a girl puts up a fight! It really gets me going!” the Joker says gleefully, clapping his hands together.
“You can’t make me consent to this,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Ha! I don’t need you to consent. Like I said, it’ll make it even more fun.”
I can see there’s no way I’m getting out of this, so I switch tactics. “Please,” I beg, “please don’t do this.” The Joker obviously thinks my pleading is amusing because he starts to laugh loudly, spit spraying from his mouth. After collecting himself, he reaches up and softly cups my face in his hands. I don’t protest-yet.
“I don’t want you to uh, be uncomfortable,” he begin, suppressing a grin, “so how about we make a deal? I can touch you wherever I want, whenever I want, except your ah ‘private areas’. Understand?”
“Yes,” I reply, frowning, “but I don’t agree to the deal.”
“That’s okay, because I was only offering it to be polite. It’s either that, or we’re going to get physical another way,” he says as he flips open a switchblade, tossing it from one hand to the other. “So precious, what’s it going to be?”
I do not like the idea of that knife anywhere near me. “Fine ok, we can do your stupid deal.” At this point my agreement is sound as smoke.
            “One last thing,” he says, “the deal will only last for a month, or until you willingly kiss me. At that time, I can touch you wherever I want, no exceptions.”
            I gag, “Why the fuck would I willingly kiss you?”
            “Stockholm syndrome,” he replies profoundly, “you won’t be able to help yourself.” He then walks away, calling back at me, “you can go to bed once you finish cleaning up the mess you made in the kitchen. I don’t expect that kind of nonsense to ever happen again.”
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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25