❝Some people bring out the best in you, others brings out the worst, then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that'd follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting...
This playish green-haired psychopath before me, radiating with nothing but power and insanity, had me enthralled. He was mesmerizing in every way. The faint glimmer of the afternoon sun ghosted over his pale skin and eyes as deep as the heart of the sea.
It has been a month and a half and I have finally accepted the fact that I do like him.
I like him.
Liking him was never my plan or intention. And, if somebody had told me that, the first day I met the infamous Joker, I would have picked them as my patient and tried to cure them. But, if it was my plan, I like him more than I originally planned to do.
I have had many restless and sleepless nights where I just stay up all night, thinking of the sessions with him, reading his letters, smiling at his presents, having weird dreams about him and wake up to miss him all over again.
I try to forget about him but he is all I think about.
At night, I cant sleep and in the morning, I cant wake up.
And, some days I wake up feeling convinced that I don't have feelings for him anymore, but when I enter his cell, and meet his enchanting waves of blue eyes, it all comes back like a slap.
A hard painful slap that leaves a red mark on my cheek.
I know what I have for him is more than just like but I will stick with it for now, because I dont want to think about the other strong and powerful L-word.
I watch as he moves his hands in the air, the muscles of his pale skin, flexing as he does, his blue eyes filled with wonder and delight as he explains one of his adventurous nights with Batman, his red-lipsticked mouth moving wildly and his electric green hair flying up, and becoming a hot mess as he bounces in his seat. His laughter echoes around the room, an evil cackle of his crooked little mind that I admire.
"... Harley?"
The name of mine rolling down his tongue stopped me from my thoughts and I woke up to face reality. Blinking rapidly, I said, "Yes, Mr. J?"
His eyes narrowed at me as his leant forward, giving me a wide grin, his grin was evil, like he knew something about me.
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"Tell me ... about your childhood." He said in his deep throaty voice, an erotic tone underlying it.
"My childhood?" I asked, my voice sounding higher than usual and I coughed a little, feeling flustered.
"Um ..." I paused.
I had a pretty crappy childhood and I was scared of what he would think of me after I tell him about it. Will he think less of me? Will he look at me in disgust? Will he think I am weak? What if he doesnt find me interesting anymore?
