The music throbbed like a migraine behind your eyes, and the taste of tequila clung to your tongue like poison. The club blurred at the edges—just bodies and bass and pain.
He told you to stay out.
Told you he had "business" to handle.
So like a fool, you waited. Outside the VIP lounge. Obedient. Pretty. Quiet.
Until she saw her.
Harley Quinn.
Perched on Joker's lap like she never left. Laughing that high, unhinged laugh. Her hands on him. Him letting her.
And that's when something in you snapped.
You didn't cry. You didn't storm in. You just turned away and reached for the nearest bottle, because if he wanted to play pretend, so could you.
You drank to forget.
Drank to hurt him in return.
Drank to feel something other than the hollow ache sitting where your heart used to be.
People touched you. Pulled you close. Whispered things you didn't hear. But you didn't stop them. You let their hands roam, let yourself be spun, laughed too loud and danced too hard.
If Joker wanted his little toy to behave, he should've picked one that didn't bleed.
By the time he found you again, you were sitting on the bar, lipstick smudged, eyes glassy, legs swinging carelessly as some stranger whispered in your ear.
The club went silent around them when he grabbed the guy by the shirt and threw him to the ground like trash. But you barely flinched.
"Get your fucking hands off people that don't belong to you," Joker growled at the man, stepping over him. Then his eyes snapped to you. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, princess?"
You didn't move. Didn't smile. Just looked at him, empty and aching. "Oh, now I belong to you?"
He blinked, caught off guard.
"Don't look so confused," you slurred. "You didn't seem too concerned when she had her hands all over you. You didn't even flinch."
"Harley's got nothin' on you. That wasn't—"
"Don't." Your voice cracked. Loud. Shaky. Raw. "Don't lie to me. Don't try to spin it. I saw you. You didn't look uncomfortable. You didn't push her off. You let her sit on your lap like she still mattered. Like I didn't."
He stepped closer, but you slid off the bar, stumbling slightly before catching herself on the edge.
"You always said I was different," you said, voice trembling. "Said I wasn't like her. That I was yours. That you chose me."
"I did."
"No," you spat. "You chose what was easy. You chose history. You chose her, J. You didn't even look for me after."
"I told you to stay out."
You laughed bitterly, tears slipping down now, fast and hot. "And I did. Like a good little doll. But guess what?" Your voice cracked. "I'm not a doll. I'm not some quiet, obedient thing you can put on a shelf until you're ready to play again."
"Baby—"
"No! You don't get to talk!" You shoved his chest, hard. "I waited for you. I loved you. And you humiliated me."
His jaw clenched. "You think I don't care? That I don't fucking feel this too?" He growled.
"Then why didn't you come find me?" You whispered. "Why did I have to drink myself numb just to forget what your love felt like?"
Joker reached for you again, but you stumbled back, eyes swimming.
"If I'm not enough... then just let me go."
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
He stared at you—ruined, furious, beautiful—and for the first time, scared.
Because he knew he'd pushed too far.
And you wasn't bluffing.
