Haly's Circus ~ Jerome x reader

21: Lunatics and Idiots

Dear diary

I have been locked in a square room with a wooden chair, a bed and a toilet for 177 days. I haven't said a word in 177 days and I don't even know if my voice still works. The time I've spent here is writing this little book and crying, screaming, trying to kick in the door and inspecting the rose. That rose, which he gave to me just before he died in my arms. Sometimes I wonder how I can still hear his voice and he often says something to do with me having to fight back. Right now I'm curled up in the corner of the room. But the weird thing is that it feels like he's with me, in the same room. I haven't thought about my family for a minute, except for the family he promised to give to me, but he lied to me. A drawing of the three of us is no use if two of them don't exist.

Every day I think of all the beautiful memories we shared together because we did everything together for as long as I can remember. We could run away from Gotham, oh god I had it all planned in my head and we could have bought a nice house with a garden. Yet that is not true, because Jerome is different. But I think any 17 year old girl would wish that. Not with a monster, though. Jerome is not a monster. Everyone takes him for what he does but not for who he is, because let's be honest, evil isn't born. Evil is made by the people that surround us and we can't choose who they are, we just have to live with it. He had to live with it for seventeen years and I'm still glad he and I ended his suffering.

In at least every chapter of my journal I mention how the most beautiful sound I ever heard was Jerome's heartbeat. And how his hair was the most beautiful color I've ever seen. How his scent totally obscured me and how his voice and laughter were the nicest things to listen to. How his skin was always covered in bruises from his stupid actions but also from his terrible mother, and yet it felt nice to caress it with my fingers. And now I will never be able to do that again. But I'm not giving up on you Jerome, because I'm going to find out who you really are.

Jerome never revealed much about his childhood to me, of course he trusted me, but apparently not enough. Which I understand and respect. Now he's dead. And he can't tell me anymore. But he did tell me about his diary and his brother, Jeremiah. I have to find him. I'll find him as soon as I get out of here.

"Y/n Gordon, that's right, isn't it?"
I don't answer.
"It says here that you tried to take your own life."
A few taps from the keyboard and a beep from the computer.
"Do you want to talk to me about it?"
No, I think. Fuck off, leave me alone. Get me out of here and I would want to talk to you. You don't even realize that you're already the third therapist who will make a fortune after you get a word out of my mouth. But you're not going to succeed and they didn't succeed either.

"Arkham Asylum is not a place for you and we both know that." She sits a little too close to me. What is she saying? I've been wearing the same clothes for 177 days and haven't looked in the mirror in 177 days. A smile grows on my face. I don't even care. I want Jerome and he's the only one I'll talk to.
"Know it wasn't your fault, y/n. Jerome was a first class mass murderer with a pathetic need for attention. He has swallowed you up in his game." I stare at the floor. She doesn't deserve to say his name out loud. Whose side is this woman on? I look at the ceiling and turn my head around until I find the camera.

Got you. Everything here is recorded.

"Have you tried to sleep?" Trust me, I've tried many times but every time I wake up screaming at the idea that that horrible dirty Theo cut my boy down his throat. And every time I'm too far away and it's already too late. I can't stop him. I should've stopped him why didn't I jump infront of Jerome?

A shot rings out from inside the building. "Was that a gun?" Another one. The therapist whose name I don't even know screams and dives under the table and tries to drag me along but I won't get off the couch because what do I have to lose? Next to hear is screaming, a group of people running through the corridors, and not such a small group either. The door swings open and the therapist is shot in the leg. More idiots in clown wigs and face paint and weird clothes come storming in and this room isn't big but from what I can tell it's at least forty people of different ages. I don't know where to look.