The Scarred

Chapter 6

The night air was gentle, forgiving as she walked the path upstairs. Her tired eye grew heavier with each step as she fiddled with the bunched up fabric of her turtleneck in an effort to keep herself awake. By the time she reached her floor she was practically sleepwalking, her feet almost sliding against the floor with what little energy she had left. When she reached the door she noticed that it was ajar and she huffed, lightly pushing it open.

"Liam, how many times -"

"Ah, there she is!" Penelope stilled after having slammed the door shut. Her head slowly turned to the direction of the unknown voice, face paling at the sight before her. "Just the girl I'm lookin' for!" The green-haired criminal stood at her counter, setting down one of her few glass jars a little too roughly for her liking.

"For a while now." Her voice was as even as she could make it, unwilling to let him know how terrified she truly was. The man knocked over a salt shaker with a gloved finger. He watched as she stared at him with a blank expression, however he caught a light glimmer behind it and it brought a wide grin to his face.

"You are an oddball, aren't cha?" He began taking slow steps in her direction.

"You're one to talk." The Joker cackled, but it was far from genuine. He stopped just a few feet in front of her.

"It's the scars, yeah?" He motioned to his mouth with a flailing wrist, but her eye stayed locked on his.

"Why are you toying with me?" Another cackle.

"Because you're fun!" His laughter suddenly stopped and she pressed herself further against the door, trying to make it as subtle as possible. "I like fun." The Joker's tone had been deeper, sending a chill down her spine. "Everyone else is so," He paused, motioning with his hands with a gaze cast upwards as he tried to find his words. "Boring." His blackened gaze met with hers once more and he stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. "They're all the same. Begging for their lives, strikin' a bargain, but you,'' He poked at her shoulder. "You haven't even bat an eye."

"I suppose I've been expecting you."

"Kept ya on your toes, hm?" He leaned closer, growing intrigued.

"You could say that."

"After all those nights and here I am, still keeping ya on those toes."

"The whole city is on their toes."

"Oh, they should be. But you've had your little - ah - friend to lean on." Anger flashed in her eyes and he swayed on his feet in excitement.

"There ya are!" He turned away to walk further into her apartment. "For a moment there I thought you were, like, a sociopath or somethin'!"

"Like yourself?"

"Oh, no no no no no, exactly the opposite." The Joker turned around to face her again. He pulled out a switchblade from his trench coat and flipped it open. "But I prefer creative."

He reached her faster than she could comprehend, cold metal held against her throat with just enough pressure as to not break the skin, but enough to where if she moved it surely would. His other hand pushed her into the door, placed against the top of her rib cage to have some form of control over her breathing. But she remained still. Patient. She looked him in the eye, daring him to do something. A challenge.

Her phone 'ding'ed and her eye snapped to where her bag sat on the floor, the painted man's own eyes never leaving her form. When she looked back at him he held a mischievous glint in his eyes that no one would be able to miss, hummed, then he suddenly removed the blade.