Memories from Arkham pt 4

16 3 5
                                    

☼︎ TW

☾︎ Disturbing thoughts

☾︎ Manipulation

✩ Enjoy!!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Joker, Arkham Asylum, 7 and a half years ago 

Two weeks have passed since she was assigned to me. We get closer and closer, even after being moved to a decidedly less comforting atmosphere: a cold, sterile discussion chamber where I'm in a straightjacket from beginning to end. Harley's deadline is in two more weeks, and I aim to be free in one. I asked her for the machine gun yesterday, and I am 90% certain she'll give in and get me at least one by the end of this week.

The next day, Sunday, she comes in as usual (she works every day, thank God. It gives me more time to work with). However, I notice she's wearing a color and style of clothing that she's never worn before.

She's wearing a magnificent, low-cut blood-red dress, and it clings to every single one of her curves, stopping just above her knees. Her hair is down and she's wearing almost no makeup. She looks amazing. My thoughts quickly deviate south, and I have to remind myself:

Eyes on the prize.

I grit my teeth. Good lord, it's gonna be hard to leave her once I escape.

She will only weigh you down.

"So. What's with the dress, Sweets?" I ask. "You usually stick to the innocent kinda of clothes. Red isn't very innocent, and neither is the way that fits you."

She looks down, suddenly self-conscious. "Do you not like it? I found it in the back of my closet, I just haven't worn it in awhile..." Her voice trails off as she fidgets, hyperaware of herself.

I smile and lean forward. "You look delicious."

Her face quickly turns the same color as her dress.

I take in every inch of her. She looks like a goddess, come to take me to Olympus.

Say that. Say it now, before you think twice.

"You look like a goddess, come to take me to Olympus," I say mischievously. "Tell me, what's it like, being so beautiful that you don't look human?"

She's at a loss for words, stunned by my compliments. I love seeing her so scattered. She's always so organized, so put together... Taking that away gives me a high that cocaine never managed to.

Her chest rises and falls more rapidly. I can see her struggling to find a response.

"I just..." her voice comes out in a whisper. "I like red."

I lean back, studying her with a small smirk on my lips. She flushes under my gaze, looking away. "Look at me, Darlin," I say, enjoying every second of this. I notice that she didn't object to the pet name. She tries and fails to meet my eyes, hugging her arms around herself. I would take her face and (gently) force her look at me, but this damned straight jacket is making flirting hard.

"Sweets, I can't talk to you when your focus is on the floor," I say, my smirk widening. She looks up at me slowly. "You need to learn how to take compliments......" I say, emphasizing the first and last words. "Because you'll be getting a lot from me."

She nods quickly, pulling her notebook out as usual. I notice her hands are trembling slightly. She casts her eyes toward the heavens, breathing still a little erratic.

"So, how are you feeling today?" She asks quietly after a minute's pause. Her eyes rest on my shoulder, not my face.

"Eye contact, Princess," I say lazily. "Polite people usually make eye contact. In fact, I find it hard to keep a conversation without it."

AddictedWhere stories live. Discover now