Predator. Prey.

Emotion(less)

The minute my patient left the room, the air felt too stuffy and I became light headed and confused. A visitor? And what the fuck just happened? Who was in charge anymore? Harleen Quinzel or a doctor willing to let Joker do anything he wanted just to earn his trust? I sighed, I wasn't able to come up with an answer to any of these questions. I realized my neck was no longer in any pain, but a headache had appeared. The shining steel grey desk and charcoal walls were becoming too hard on my eyes. I needed more colors in here. I rubbed my temples, waiting for my so called 'visitor.' I was relieved when the door opened to see it was a familiar sight of wavy brown hair and a bundle of energy,

"Alex. What are you doing here?"

I looked up at her to see she was eyeing me with intense concern. She sat down in the chair Joker had been in a few minutes ago, and I was struck with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt. Shit. Breakfast. I missed it. She raised her eyebrows at me,

"I waited thirty minutes for you. You never showed up."

I silently read her face. I had a million excuses: the graffiti on my wall, the lips on my hand, the green hair I saw every time I closed my eyes. But I didn't have the energy to explain myself. I was too fucking drained. I played with the pen in my hand, refusing to make eye contact with my best friend,

"I'm so sorry, Alex. I completely forgot. My phone died last night,"

"You own three fucking chargers."

I gazed up at her through my eyelashes to see her face: a face I used to be so used to. Now it just seemed like I was gazing at a different person, a stranger, someone I had no interest in anymore. I sighed,

"Alex, you really didn't have to visit me at work to yell at me. You could've called."

"I do call. You just don't answer."

I reached for my phone, it read four missed calls. What? I haven't heard my phone ring all day. She interrupted me as I scrolled through her missed calls,

"It's him, isn't it?"

I looked up at her, emotionless. What does she mean?

"Don't lie to me. He's fucking with you and it's working. Am I wrong?"

I huffed in annoyance, sitting straight in my seat,

"Alex, I'm the fucking doctor. He is the patient. He's not messing with me. I'm earning his trust, I'm treating him my way and it's working!"

"And how have you been feeling since you started treating him 'your way', huh?"

The way she emphasized those two words caused me to stand up out of rage, but when I stood, I became lightheaded and my headache intensified. I ignored the pain, desperate for her to hear me out. Can't she see that I'm fine?

"You need to understand that I am qualified to treat him, and I've done better than any other psychiatrist at Arkham. I need more time with him, but he's starting to respect me. I can save him, Alex. I can help him. I just need more time."

She looked up at me, arms crossed at her chest. She stood up to be eye to eye with me, and reached over the table and grabbed my hand,

"You're scaring me, Harls."

The way she said my nickname caused me to crumble internally. What was I doing that was so different than who I normally am? Why was she so afraid? I smiled,

"Please don't be. I'm fine. Honestly. I just haven't been sleeping enough. I'll run to walgreens on my way home and pick up some Motrin PM; that shit knocks me right out."

She let out a small laugh and I let out a sigh of relief. Good, she knows I'm okay. Things are fine and back to normal. I'm still me, she's still Alex. Nothing has changed.

I walked her to my door and apologized for keeping her visit short, explaining I had a lot of paper work to do. 

I had none. I just wanted her out of his chair. And out of my mind.

I made promises to meet up for lunch this week, and then she hugged me tight. I hugged her back, but without the feeling of gratitude and love I normally feel every time I smell her strawberry shampoo. She walked out slowly, still eyeing me as she shut the door. I immediately walked back to my desk and opened Joker's case file, rereading it again to block out the emotions Alex had caused me to feel. I read the papers again and again. Memorizing the words. His words. And imagining how he must have used his hands to highlight the important moments, and his eyes to highlight the dramatic ones.

'Mine.'

'Mine.'

'Mine.'