Twisted, But So In Love *The Joker*

Why?

      I couldn't get his face out of my head, even when I sketched it at least three times my trial to rid him from my mind failed miserably. I felt like I was going insane, thinking of every possible explanation for every little thing he said and did, even if he didn't say much at all. He made my skin crawl, but even then there was also another side of me that couldn't wait to see him again.

     That feeling of being watched never went away and only got worse as the days came and went, even when I was working I felt it, I knew it was him.

     It has been two weeks since that encounter with the Joker and things were feeling much different then before, somehow I felt safer knowing that he wouldn't let anyone touch me or do anything to me that night, but this was the Joker. For all I know he could be waiting for the right moment to kill me.

     I've missed almost every other day at work and was on the brink of getting fired, I was trying to stay away from people, I was starting to feel more antisocial than before.

     I was shaken out of my thoughts as a loud noise came from the TV in the room in front of me, I wasn't really watching it, more staring at the wall. I lightly touched my hand to my heart trying to breath from the noise that made me jump.

     I finished with the dishes and stood in front of the counter with my arms crossed in front of me, I decided to walk over and turn off the TV when the sound of footsteps made me turn. I turned to see the face that I had been seeing over and over in my head, the face that I was craving to see, the Joker.

     He walked towards me and stopped as he stood almost one foot away then spoke, "You really are beautiful, aren't you?"

     I heard a switching sound and looked in his hand to see a small switchblade, he held it up to my face and took my face in his other hand, his soft grip surprised me as I stared at him.

     "Is it the scars?" he asked in response.

     "No," I answered plainly.

     "You wanna know how I got them?" I did find myself wondering and as I didn't answer his grip on my face tightened, he continued, "My father was a drinker...and a fiend. He'd beat mommy right in front of me. One night he goes off crazier than usual, mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit."

     I felt my heart drop into my stomach as I listened when he pressed the blade to my lips and started again, "So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. Turns to me and says 'Why so serious?'" he growled the words of his father, "Comes at me with the knife- 'why so serious?' He sticks the blade in my mouth- 'Let's put a smile on that face'"

     He put pressure of the blade enough to cut me but pulled the knife away before he had the chance, he turned around and covered his shaking head with his hands.

     "Why aren't you afraid of me?!" he screamed and turned back to me with wide eyes.

     "Because I'm not afraid to die," my voice was soft as I saw something flashing through his eyes, an emotion that he was holding back.

     "You're making things so difficult!" he shouted and covered his ears, scratching at his hair, he seemed to calm as he said quietly, "I keep trying to kill you, Jesse, and every time I do, I can't."

     I stepped closer to him and he just looked up at me, dropping his hands and using a threatening voice, "Why are you doing this to me?"

     I didn't exactly know how to answer his question, but I replied with, "Everyone needs someone that they know they can trust."

     "How do you know I won't just turn on you?" he put the blade up to my lips once again, "Doesn't it bother you?"

     "I don't, and it doesn't,"

     "Then why even make the effort?" he growled.

     "Because I have nothing to lose," he once again dropped the blade from my lips, throwing up his arms in an act of frustration, "I can't get you out of my head..."

     "I don't understand you..." he sounded almost sad as he whispered these words but I couldn't tell if it was real sadness of not.

     I watched him as he paced back and forth in front of me repeating the words, "What to do with you," until he stopped and turned back to me.

     Something flashed through his eyes when suddenly he turned around and neared the back door, I had to ask, "What's your real name...?"

     He stopped halfway out the door with his back to me, I turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder, it took him a few seconds to reply, "Jack," and then he was gone.