He truly scared me that night a few short months after my mothers death. The smile carved on his face. The blood running down his cheeks made it have an eerie red glow, as we sat there in the silence of our kitchen. His tears mixing with his bloodran down his lip, to his chin. The cold hard wood floors chilled me as I sat on the ground next to my fater. His arm wrapped around my sholders with his fingers intwined with mine. Looking at him as he cried i wiped his tears and blood and hugged him. We sat there he didn't talk. He held me as he silently weep. I kept asking him what was wrong. “ Baby there is nothing wrong”.
I remembered the call. I didn't know who to call so I called Stacy. She was a doctor she would help my dad. She did what she could for him.
His spiral out of life continued. He started stealing and robbing people. The people called him the “Joker” because he wore make up, a mask of his true self. I was there, I heard his screams in the night. I was there to comfort him. I was a child.
The years moved by fast. School got tough. He got tough. He was one of the most wanted people in Gotham, but he still cared. He never put me in harms way. He protected me from everything. Him being the Joker put me in harms way. I’ve told him that. “But this is who I am” is what he said every time. No you are the guy I looked up to. The guy that comforts me, not the other way around. I’m the one that should be screaming in the night.
Sometimes I blame my mother for what happened to him. Sometimes I blamed myself. I tried to make this stop. I tried and tried.
Times got tough. He would disappear for days on end. I loved him, he loved me. We took care of each other. The Joker and his work was just a speed bump.
