Black Eyes

Chapter 15: I Smoke Instead

I refused to leave my room. After taking a shower and brushing my teeth about 5 times I flopped onto my bed and burst into hysterics. I couldn't calm the heavy breathing and tears streaming down my face. My throat burned from holding back the tears during the car ride back.

The Joker kept praising me for my "craftsmanship" and found it hysterical that I threw up all over his poor henchman's shoes. His words kept ringing in my ears: "You've got to admit that was funny! Turns out I wasn't wrong. I knew I saw potential in you."

I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to strangle him and then whip the wheel around and drown us in the harbour or crash the car and let it burn. My heart hurt. It hurt for myself, for the man I condemned, and for the Joker... My heart hurt because I not only earned myself a one way ticket to hell today, but I couldn't deny I enjoyed it in the end. That was what condemned me. I enjoyed the adrenaline. I enjoyed the way he looked at and applauded me, yet I still felt sick. Not just sick to my stomach, but sick in the head.

There goes any chance of finishing my criminal psychology education, if there was ever one before today. I pictured myself sitting in an interrogation room. A young woman like myself was facing me asking all of these questions about why I sliced a man's stomach open and sealed a bomb inside. She kept asking me why I listened to the Joker and why I did what he asked... That woman should be me; all right with the world and doing some good in it while scum like the Joker tried to rip it apart.

I heard creaking at my door and I immediately tried snapping out of my fit, listening intently. "Hey uh, sweet cheeks. Come on out." I really hoped he hadn't heard me crying, but judging by his sympathetic tone, he did.

I scoffed and replied bitterly. "No."

"Then I'm coming in." He opened the door and stepped inside.

"Have you ever tried asking before entering or are you just used to getting your way all of the time?" I huffed into my pillow. "Get out. I don't want to see you."

"That's a little harsh dontcha think? After all, I did you a favor." He plopped himself next to me and patted my back awkwardly. I started laughing at his comment and failed attempt to actually be comforting.

"A favor? I'll never be able to forget that. It'll be forever engrained into my skull forcing me to relive it everyday and don't you ever tell me what you plan on doing to that guy cause I don't want to hear it." I sat up, not wanting my back turned to the man in the clown makeup. I looked to the window and ran a hand through my hair, anxiety overtaking me. I was suddenly grateful that I remembered my pipe.

"See, I believe that whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you stranger." We both stood up to face each other. "Aren't people always saying how bad it is to be normal? Be different." He mimicked.

"Normal is looking pretty good to me right now." I shrugged, wiping the last of the tears from my red, puffy eyes.

"You'll see one day just how ahead of the curb I really am. People deep down want what I have, but they need a way to see it." He spoke to me gently, as if he was sympathising with my sensitive state.

I raised an eyebrow at him in response. I wasn't going to argue with him. Dr. Crane was right. He was unfixable. Although, did he really need to be fixed? He had a point: normal is boring. Maybe the world did need some change.

"Let's celebrate your beautifully strange, little self, huh?" He turned on his toes and walked out the door. I stood in silence until he backed up and pointed at me. "You. Out here. Now."

I folded my arms over my chest. "I'm being held here against my will. I'm not celebrating anything with you."

The Joker gave me a deathly glare. "You are insanely stubborn." He sounded a little irritated, but then his face lit up with an idea. I could practically visualise the lightbulb over his head when he said, actually almost pleaded, "Doc, I need someone to talk to. That's why you're here isn't it?"