↳ ix. strawberry swing

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It's been a few days.

The night Allison and I left the hospital, it had been almost midnight, and she dropped me off at my apartment building in silence. I don't think either of us knew what to say. When I got inside, I spilled to Devin- everything, and then forced him to own up about the antidepressants. I promised him we would work it out. I think I might have threatened to fight Thomas Wayne and the social services people. Who knows. I was exhausted, more than I really had any right to be.

But it's been awhile.

I saw Penny Fleck's tiny obituary in the paper yesterday. It described her as a loyal secretary for Wayne Enterprises for thirty years before retiring. It said she was survived by her only son, Arthur Fleck. I closed the paper. Not the time. Everything still felt fresh. Feels fresh. Still, I hope Arthur's okay.

And now? Now it's late at night and I'm sitting on the fire escape, looking out over Gotham. This city is a mess. I don't think Thomas Wayne can save it. I don't think anyone can. I think all you can do is try to do it, maybe make the place a little better for it. But we'll always slide back into the shambles we made it. And now everything feels incredibly tense. The subway killings were just another step in the wrong direction. The entire city feels like a tight bowstring two seconds from snapping. And what happens when it does?

Riots are starting to break out all over Gotham. People in clown masks, setting shit on fire, killing people, holding up signs screaming fuck the rich, and honestly, I don't blame them. A few nights ago there was one at City Hall that was exceptionally crazy. The string has snapped, you know? They've started a movement, more power to the poor and, apparently, eating the rich. I kinda like it. The only reason Devin and I haven't joined in is because they're riots, violent ones, and I don't feel like dying today.

So I don't think about it.

And I don't think about Arthur, either. Or at least I try not to. I take jobs and sing my heart out, smile like I'm delirious with joy, play love songs for new couples and wink at pretty girls in the audience. I don't think about how I wish it were us I was singing about, and I definitely don't dwell on how I'm absolutely miserable and can't do a damn thing about it.

Until I get a text from Allison. We haven't talked, haven't seen each other or sang together since that night. I haven't even been back to Pogo's since. But she texts me, can we talk? And then she sends fuck it and then calls me.

"Hey," I say, picking up.

"Mars," she says. "How are you? Haven't seen you in a bit."

"No," I agree. "Been takin' other jobs, y'know?"

"What happened at the hospital?" she asks.

I sigh. "It's complicated."

"This whole thing is complicated. You can explain."

"Yeah, whatever," I laugh dryly. "He essentially accused me of pretendin' to be his friend to be a dick."

"Oh shit," she says.

"Yeah."

"And you haven't seen him since?" she asks.

"No," I reply. "His mother died, by the way- saw it in the paper."

"That sucks," Allison says quietly. I just breathe. "Look," she sighs. "So I have a friend, her name is Sophie, right?"

"Sure," I nod along, going back inside because it's getting cold on the fire escape.

"She lives in Arthur's building."

"Okay."

"And... he's in her apartment." she says.

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