Senseless | Jerome Valeska

III. Roayl Flush

We rode back into camp, it was more crowded now seeing the show was over. Jerome honked at a few performers passing in front of us. He parked the car where we'd found it and hopped out. We walked back towards my trailer dodging the occasional clown and keeping up a conversation about the hotdogs we had ate previously. Parting ways, he went back to his own trailer, and I started back to mine when a hand
Caught my arm. Thinking it was Jerome, I turned with a smile. To my surprise it wasn't Jerome but one of the Graysons. My expression dropped and I gritted my teeth. He took notice of my outward expression of anger and made no comment to it.
"You're the sword swallower's daughter," he observed, extending his hand for me to shake. When I refused he continued. "The acrobat, I'm assuming you must be pretty angry about us denying your request to join us. I apologize, but I've come here with more than an apology," I narrowed my eyes and folded my arms, listening eagerly. "One of our performer was hurt this last show, broken leg, won't be able to perform for a few weeks." He grinned, then looked over me, keeping his smile. "I wonder if you wouldn't want to join us?" I chewed on my lip, running through my options. If I said no, than I would probably never receive another opportunity.
"Sure," I said shortly. I caught him looking over me again and turned my head to find what was so distracting. Sitting on one of the picnic benches was the Lloyd girl, fuming. I turned back to Grayson, "what's wrong with her?" I asked.
He chuckled, directing his attention back on me, "jealous ex," he said simple.
"And your teasing her?... By talking to me?" I asked, thinking out loud. He hummed, confirming my accusation. As villainous as it was I enjoyed making this girl I had never met, envious. His attention made me feel like I had some authority over her, and so I played along. I looked back at the Her, batting my lashes and giving a wink.
"We're practicing at eight, be there." He instructed. I nodded my head as he walked back towards a group of acrobats.
I have no place to be and I figured my father would be expecting some sort of dinner, and so I went back to my trailer. Kicking off my boot and sliding out of my jacket I peeked around to see my father wasn't present, and so I assumed he was bed. I walked to his bedroom door, I knocked softly and hesitantly entered. There my father was sitting on the edge of his bed, still clad in his performing outfit. He threw his cigaret in the ashtray and stood up upon noticing me. He walked over to me, tense and angry.
"Where've ya been?" He asked, blowing smoke in my face as he talked. Nervously I looked to the floor.
"I've- me and a friend, I- we just went," when it came to my father I had a difficult time communicating. The fear of him clouded my head and usually made my sentences come out sounding like alphabet soup. I looked up quickly, to see an annoyed scowl on his face.
"Where?" He said in his usual raspy smokers voice. I took a minute to organize my thoughts and prepare a legable sentence, but in my lack of confidence I only spoke one word,
"Gotham." He nodded his head, but not in the "approving father" type of way. He let out a frustrated grunt, then swung the back of his hand across my face with virtually no resistance. I held my face, I could feel my cheeks become warm, my eyes start to well up, and my throat beginning to close. I sat there, with my chin tucked by my right shoulder, not attempting to look at my father. In my Perfield vision I seen him lean in, and felt his warm breath on my neck.
"Do-not-leave this camp, ever again." He ordered. He walked out of his room, and out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him.
It was only five by now and I decided to dedicate my remaining time before practice to sleeping. I brought my quilt up to my chin and squeezed my eyes closed-exhausted from an adventurousness day. It might have been five minutes, maybe thirty, when I heard someone pound on the door. I groaned, rolling over and shoving the pillow over my head to block out the noise. And for a minute I thought it had worked, until they knocked again, louder and more obnoxiously this time. I growled more cohesively, "go away!" But the culprit was slamming on the door so absurdly that they didn't hear my plead. My eyes shot open and I threw the pillow off of my head. I looked to my nightstand, finding a half empty glass of water. Rashly, I took the glass and chucked it out of my room. It hit the kitchen wall and broke in to a million shards. I whipped my quilt of and marched to the door. "WHA- t," I was met with Jerome's bewildered eyes. He cleared his throat a little and ran his hand through his hair.
"Hey Rhae, hope I wasn't interrupting anything," he apologized. I averted my eyes, embarrassed.
"Uh- yeah no, I wasn't- c'mon in," I ushered. Jerome stepped inside, wiping his shoes on the door mat, slipping off his jacket and stepping over the glass casually. I went to the fridge, pulling two cans of Pepsi out. I sat down at the table, sliding a can to Jerome. He opened the soda and took a gulp, wiping his mouth with his sleeve afterword.
"So I was.." He started. He leaned in a little closer. His eyebrows were knitted together in curiosity and confusing. "Say, uh, why's your eye red?" He said, pointing out my left eye. I lifted my hand to hold my cheek, and I felt them light up red.
"My dad, just.. Got angry s'all" I said, yellowish. Jerome sat back down, and took a sip of his pop. He looked off into the corner of the room like he was in deep thought, then he sniffed, brushing it off. "What were ya gunna ask?" I was curious to know what was so important that he had to come furiously bang on my door.
"Right, right," he chanted, "I seen ya talkin' to John early," he trailed off, expecting me to explain.
"The Grayson boy?" I asked for confirmation. I suppose I shouldn't call him a boy, he was probably a few years older than me. He nodded his head, eager for me to proceed. I twiddled my thumbs, deciding to leave the part where I purposely tried to make the Lloyd girl jealous. "He.. Just.. Offered me a spot," I said quickly. I got this unnerving feeling that Jerome would be mad, or sad, or even jealous- considering he didn't have a part in the show. He hummed as he leaned back in the chair, taking in the information. I studied him, trying to decipher what emotion his features were embellished with. He defiantly wasn't sad, but he didn't exactly look happy either. I took a sip of my pop, trying to fill the awkward silence that had fallen over us. Jerome sat up quickly, smacking his hands down on the table and nearly slipping his drink.
"John's trying to make Mary jealous," my eyes went wide, how could he have figured that? Unless I suppose this happens quite often. "It's perfect! They're both overrun with emotion, and that can be easily manipulated," I gave him a quizzical look, not sure what he meant or were he was going with it. He noticed my expression and explained further, "the Graysons and the Lloyds are two of the biggest families here. Mary and John are.. The.. king and queen, if you will." He stood from his chair, and began to pace with his hands folded neatly behind his back. "They tend to get away with more than the rest of us, always sneaking favors from the ringmaster." He looked down at me, smiling and I looked up at him with anticipation. "You could use this opportunity to.." He began, nodding off, "lay down a royal flush."