SUICIDE SQUAD HARLEY QUINN AND JOKER IMAGINES

Part 4

Hey guys just a quick update whilst I'm studying, next one I will try to put out on Saturday.

Thanks for the reads by the way! 3k!!
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The house was silent, so silent that just a breath would unsettle the quiet air. He sat there, in that deathly silence and just listened. Listened to his heart that beat inside his chest, listened to his blood that pounded within his veins, he listened to the rain that scattered gently across the roof, quiet enough to be snow. Quiet enough to be nonexistent.
Quiet enough to be her.

She sat across from him, knees curled to chest, an untouched drink in her hands. Steam curling in a wicked dance away from her body. She stared at the bookshelf, her eyes scanning its contents, not a whisper leaving her lips, her blinking the only proof of her life.

He had wanted to cry when she came back, he had wanted to grab her, to kiss her, to hold her so she would never leave again. But then, when he reached out for her hand, she flinched.
Eight weeks after their last meeting and she flinched.
As if she was afraid.
As if she was afraid of him.
And he had to stop himself from reaching out again.

What had happened to her- to his sweet Harley? To make her flinch?

Or had she always flinched, and he only now was seeing it?

Harley had lost weight since the last time he had seen her, now her bones jutted from her flesh, and her cheeks were hollowed to that of a skeleton. Her hair had grown wild and in the faint light that illuminated the room the joker could see the pale marking of a scar. His breath constricted within his throat as he stared at the mark, a silver line tracing her jaw , a single strand of silk against the moonlight of her skin.
He opened his mouth but the words turned to ash on his tongue.

He swallowed his questions and just looked.

Because here she was. Her. Harley. His Harley, sitting there in the flesh, in person, as if she had risen from his dreams into reality. But she was silent. Why? Why wasn't she talking?

He cleared his throat and took a sip from his tea, his eyes not moving from her face, she was intentionally avoiding eye contact, purposely staring straight ahead, and the joker wanted to know why.

Harley stared at the bookshelf, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay, it was new, expensive, polished down to a shined wood that gleamed under the pale light that filtered into the room. In it was every book that she had ever spoken about, every title that she had ever asked him to read. It was filled with years of stories that she had whispered to him whilst he lay his head in her lap, smiling up at her, just content to be in her presence.

The wall behind the bookshelf was painted a dark brownish-grey, conservative in its ugly hue, she had told him that her favourite colour was grey, once, years before, but this was not the grey that she had meant. This grey was angry, cold, and harsh, and Harley hated it.

She could feel his stare burning into her, she wanted to shy away, to hide from his gaze, but instead she stayed still, her drink still full within her grasp.

"Did you miss me?" Her voice was quiet, a decibel above a whisper, and slowly, dangerously, she turned her head to catch his gaze.

He was terrified by her question, because for the first time he actually became aware of himself.
He had changed everything about himself for her, he had waited months. He had stopped living because he had thought he'd lost her. The realisation came as a shock, a shock that left his body cold and anger building a slow heat within his stomach.
Because he had given everything up for her.

She held him in the palm of her hand, the decision to destroy him or love him completely hers alone.

The joker found that he didn't like her having that choice. He didn't like her having full control, and he hated that she had left, that she had put him through that pain.

He found that for all the love he felt for her, he didn't trust her. Not when she had that power over him.

She had hurt him, broken him, and now the psychotic monster inside of him wanted revenge. So the joker opened his mouth, and he spoke.

"I missed you at first, but then you didn't come back and I realised that I missed you out of habit and not need."

He watched the confusion rise in her eyes and knew he had gone to far. But he didn't want her to know that she had an upper hand and spoke again, this time his voice was bittersweet and left an acidic feeling against his tongue.

"Why did you come back?"

In the pale light he watched as she lifted her hand, a ring, his ring, circled her finger and he paled as he saw it. She lifted her hand to the scar and traced her thumb across it in a single, swift movement. Her voice was only just louder than before, words crashing down over him like a the crashing of waves. Crushing everything. Leaving only the debris of his sanity in its wake.

"They tried to kill me."