Skream (A Joker story [Sequel to Hush])

4: My Medication

When I got home to my house, I looked at the front of it with an obvious frown. There was nothing familiar about this house. It was two stories, the front door was a nice, deep brown, littered with little intricate designs carved into the boarder of the clear glass window near the top of the door frame. The windows beside the door on either side were arches of clear beauty, not a spec of dirt on them, which would have amazed me if I didn't have a maid who fixed them every time she sensed an imperfection upon them. A light, immaculate brown smothered the house, complimenting the roof. The roof was also pretty nice, nothing I felt the need to stare at, but it did the job. 

The lawn was perfectly cut, with rich, thick ivy finishing the rich, immaculate look by crawling up the side of the house in precise, delicate notions.

This house gave the impression that rich people lived inside, and I guess I was rich, but I never really thought about my riches. Never really cared.

I walked into the unfamiliar home and set my purse on the couch in the living room, after walking past the kitchen and the dining room. There was nothing out of place in my house, and all the unfamiliarity that I felt whilst in this area all vanished when I saw a little ball of blue in a rich, mahogany crib. 

A swarm of joy overtook me, I walked over silently to make sure I didn't disturb my little Arsen. He was asleep, with my maid, Rose, on the other side of the room, exhaustion clear on her porcelain face. Her red hair came out in uneven tufts from her ponytail, as if she had been playing with her hair every time she got nervous.

I smiled apologetically at her. "Was he a good boy?"

She nodded, though I could plainly see she was half lying. I chuckled, walking over to the crib and leaning over it, watching as Arsen's chest rose and fell in his even breathing, small beads of perspiration upon his upper lip, his light pink mouth curved in a slight, peaceful smile, his closed eyes showed little veins along his eyelids that ran down to his eyelashes, plentiful and sweet.

His blonde, messy hair was already strangely long, as if to remind me he held the features of the husband, as if to tell me what my husband looked like. It was a sign, but I couldn't grasp it with such minuscule information.

Rose walked over to me and sighed, laughing lightly. "Miss Harper, I put all your laundry away and I cooked you dinner. It's on the counter in the kitchen."

I smiled thankfully. "Alright, thank you. What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock."

"Alright, you can do whatever, I don't care."

She beamed. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you worked overtime! You deserve some time for yourself." I spoke as I walked to the kitchen, taking a bowl of spaghetti, sitting down on the tan couch in the living room, right next to Arsen's crib. She smiled and went to her room, since she apparently lived with me (no idea, really) and saw as she walked away, she had a recording device in the pocket of her jeans. It surprised me, I was given the exact same one, but for work. At the Gotham City Police Department.

My feet slid across the wooden floors as I stretched, I turned on the TV and turned down the volume, groaning as I saw something new flash on the screen for the News.

"Attention everyone, Joker has once again escaped from the police, we're not sure of his whereab–"

I changed the channel. Work was not going to follow me home. I was going to watch something interesting.

I went onto my Netflix account with my PS3 and put on Doctor Who, leaning back in my chair and watching it, eating my spaghetti as I tried to predict what would happen in the show next. Of course, the show was hard to predict, but that made it more interesting.

Like work. Work sucked, but the fact that it kept changing made it bearable.

After a couple of episodes, I turned off the TV, put the dishes in the sink and picked up Arsen gently, carrying to my room. I set him in the crib I had in it, the same exact shape and form as the other one, and lay him in it after gently kissing him on the forehead.

He was the only cure to my pain.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and felt the piercing pain of unfamiliarity smack me as I looked at a photo on my desk. It was me, in an elementary school portrait, I don't know why it was on my desk but it was. I went to it and put it down.

I lay on my bed and let exhaustion take over, hoping that maybe tomorrow, I would be able to remember why I was able to make it this far in life.