A Painted Smile (A Harley Quinn Fanfic)

Balancing on the bed frame.

Four months ago, four whole months. I remember sitting there, in my not so padded cell, when I was a child I remember how it was apparently the men in white coats who took you away, how they'd put you in a padded cell, and all I could think was how cosy that sounded and how it sounded so much better than another day with my dad, a dad who pushed my mum away and would later push me away, a man I've not seen in over ten years.

Yet here I am, far from cosy, the walls seem to get closest everyday and mistah j seems to get further away, I worked out that if I stand on my bed and lean into just the right position, pressing my face against the glass I can see him.

Barely.

But barely right now is better than nothing. And as I get into position, my feet balancing on the edge of my bedframe, a bved frame I can hear creaking, a bed frame that feels like its about to break any second, I once again press my face against the glass for just a little glimpse and just as I see a sneak of his hair (his beautiful green locks) a black shadow covers my gaze.

Just the slightest bit confused I pull away and its him, the puppeteer of my current misery and the thorn in mine and my be trothed side. I step off the bed frame, flinging my body ongto the mattress, I put my hands behind my head, interlocking my fingers. I wait for him to speak, yet he just stands there.

'What's up? Cat got your tongue?'

He moves closer to the bullet proof, escape proof, needs a clean glass and finally speaks ' I'm not here for your idle chat Quinn'

I sit up, cross my legs, pull a lose thread from my knee, i look up at him as i blow a bubble with the now flavourless gum in my mouth, intrigued.

'So why has the b'man come to see little old me' I mock him as I move closer to the glass, closer to his gaze 'you know, if you've come to ask me out to dinner, I'm busy tonight, washing my hair, a girls gotta look her best'

His scowl gets more intense and then he speaks in his ever so cheerful tone 'the murders of Tweedledee, what do you know about it?'

He thinks that I killed that huge Lump of flesh? Like I literally have nothing better to do. 'What makes you think I killed him?' I whisper coyly blowing another bubble and then popping it with my finger.

'Your DNA was at the crime scene Quinn' he rasps, I can hear the anger in his voice, I say this yet can hear a little bit of chirpyness today.

'Listen b'man, I never killed him, in all honesty I have no idea why my DNA was at the crime scene, but listen if I was gonna kill him I'd do more than push him off a building, something a little more, sassy, you know what I mean?'

He smiled, no seriously, he smiled, it was tiny, but it was there

'I never said how he died Quinn'

'Shit' that's all I could hear in my head at that very moment. 'Shit'

His cape enveloped him as he walked away into the dark confines of the Arkham corridor. I leaned up to the air vent, and pressed my lips against it.

'Mistah j, mistah j'

My words muffled, my lips cold from the cold dusty metal of the air vent and on top of that I could see 'face' rolling his eyes at me, like he's so much better with his half human half bargain basement horror movie face, I glance over to him our gaze catching each others.

'Hey face, don't you look at me like that, least I can make a decision without flipping a darn coin'

He walks closer to his glass, growling at me, I mean really? Growling? What is he a dog?

'Mistah j, b'man might know about Tweedledee' I scream to him, my words muffled from the uncomfortable position I'm stood in. Then I realise I never could tell those two apart.

'It might be Tweedledum, I can't remember honey, but he did say your DNA was at the scene, you know, when you pushed him, though he did make a lovely splat noise when his fat ass hit the floor'

Then I heard him, from the shadows.

'Thank you Harley'

He hadn't gone, he was stood there waiting, listening.

'Double shit'

I get into position to see mistah j again, my foot once again balanced on the bed frame, my face pressed again against the glass and I can see him, he's not happy with me, I upset my puddin

I lie back onto the bed, pulling the bedsheets over me, their roughness caressing my skin as I whisper to myself 'sorry mistah j'.

The Lights start to dim in my room, and in everyone else's room for that matter and as they do I doze off.