The Knowhere Girl

[25] Playthings

I AM A COWARD.

I gave playing hero my best shot, and pretend I was. I'd always been good at pretending, whether it was to fit in with the rest of my family, or as simple as playing Cowboys and Indians with my brother. God, I tried last week. My God, I tried. But now I knew I was a coward. After the deal I made with Joker, I knew I was a coward-I was going to give him anything he asked, everything I could possibly remember. Absolutely Every Last Detail.

Here is the deal we made. "Let's try this," giggled Joker, as if he were a kid on Christmas. "How could you be bribed?" And I said I wanted my clothes back.

It seemed pathetic, now. I was sure he expected something defiant and Robin-like- "Go fuck yourself" or "I'll stick Donald Trump so far down your throat you'll shit carrots"-but I just didn't have any fight left in me. The warmth of the orange Arkham Inmate jumpsuit was worth more to me than integrity.

[THREE MONTHS EARLIER]

I coughed and shivered in the dark. One of my eyes was swollen shut, the other itched. I closed them and I actually hurt to do so. My entire body throbbed, everything hurt, minute by minute, hour by hour, with no relief. I wanted to move, but the piano wires keeping me strapped to chair were tight. I didn't think I could walk if I tried though-don't know where you pick up the skill for disabling a person without actually breaking their legs, Psychotic School of Assault and Battery? It wasn't permanent, but it'd leave bruises for weeks. Blood trickled from my nose and mouth, dripped down my chin, and dropped into the ever-growing puddle at my feet.

I didn't know how long it had been, but if it had been over 72 the chances of being found were slim to none. He hadn't even questioned me, so this had all been for fun so far.

The place certainly hadn't been insulated to keep out the cold and damp, and my dress had been taken away. There was horror and humiliation in that I was stripped down to my undergarments and slowly taken to pieces; a tactic used only for the modest and the vain. It smelt like sweat and sulphur in the basement. My hair stuck to my tear-stained face.

A single bulb hung above me, flicking weakly as it illuminated a tiny island of light around me in a sea of blackness. There was a staircase to my left somewhere, leading up. My own bloody handprints drag down the rails.

Just beyond my island of light, I could just make out a tripod and the reflection of camera lens.

Whatever pain grasped my body was overwhelmed by a physical sickness clawing at my skin at the thought of who might be watching.

My own breath hit my ears like a drum.

I knew the risks when I stayed in Gotham. I knew my capture or death could happen. I was so afraid it would, too. I was so afraid of being here, and of not being with Jason. But I had never thought I'd be taken down so easy.

I'm still so afraid to die.

Too young.

I wondered if this was what it felt like for Gita and Jason all those years ago. The anticipation of what he will do is every bit as sickening in a dream as when it is really going to happen. Where they this scared too?

I sighed. I wet the back of my cold teeth with my tongue.

At least I knew Jason would come.

The thought gave me a small sense of security, the same one I always felt with Jason. It filled my cell with a rare warmth, and I closed my eyes, letting myself imagine the rescue.

If he could find me.

I didn't let that thought overwhelm me.

Maybe I wouldn't even need a rescue. Be the Prince Charming of my own story, take down the dragon and save myself.