Black Eyes

Chapter 17: Scars

I found that if I didn't want to smoke weed, the next best stress reliever was drawing and listening to music. I ran out of my stash and was literally biting my nails off out of anxiety. Yet, for the first time in my life music and art wasn't helping. I've done less artwork and more sitting and thinking. A place by the window was my new found sanctuary.

I developed a nasty habit of biting my fingers after the many times that the Joker burst into my room. I never knew when he would come barging through. I even started changing in the bathroom as to avoid an awkward half naked encounter.

Putting my fidgety behaviour aside, the window helped sooth me. Gotham actually looked peaceful from up here, especially at night when the lights blinked amid the darkness. It's funny how darkness could easily disguise what's really there. Of course once my mind got to thinking about darkness I began to think about the Joker. A dozen questions filled my head whenever I thought about him. He was so mysterious and confusing to me. What exactly were his motives? Why was he so obsessed with the Batman? Why not ask him these questions myself? I mean, like he said, I'm here so that he could talk. Something I noticed was that he loved to talk, especially when it was about himself.

I made my way to the kitchen which connected to the living room area. Surprisingly it was actually kinda nice here even though it didn't have much of a theme. It was cozy and oddly simple. With the way he dressed I was sure his house would've been more eccentric. Though when I really thought about it, he never came across as the materialistic type. He stole from practically everyone but never really kept much for himself. It was all about his image and proving a point, though I speculated he probably had more money then he could deal with.

I poured myself a glass of white wine (I was feeling classy) and figured the Joker would want whisky or something so I got out another glass for him. I was still learning where he kept everything, though it's not like he had much. I glanced at the couch to see him fast asleep with his makeup smeared and faded. He actually looked peaceful for once. I guess everyone did when they slept, but seeing his face so relaxed was almost enticing.

I poured a glass of whiskey on the rocks, remembering what he had poured himself the other night and went over to the couch. Great, I even had his favourite liquor memorised.

I clinked the glass on the side table by his head and he slowly lifted his eyelids. "Take a picture it'll last longer, sweet cheeks." He drawled, sitting himself up slightly.

"Oh, I was just getting you a drink that's all."

"That's all huh?" He skeptically replied.

"Well actually..."

"Ah, there it is." He mumbled, taking the swig of alcohol I poured for him.

"I was just wondering... Do you have a... Like a... Real name? Like you know, before you became known as the Joker?" I fidgeted with my glass, not knowing if this question would be the death of me. I had no idea where his sensitivities or limits were, especially when it came to his life before being the Joker. He sighed heavily and sat up, then he just kind of stared at me- or maybe he was staring through me? I couldn't tell.

"What makes you think I'd tell you my name?"

"Dunno. I'm just curious, that's all. I figured, I'm here for you to talk so... talk." I shrugged.

"And what happens when I tell you my name? What other questions will come out of those pretty little lips? See, you give someone an inch and they take a mile. Basic psychology. You should know that, doc." He paised and then added, "Anyway, I'm not that person anymore. My name is the Joker."

"At least tell me where you are from."

He gave me a sideways glance and rolled his eyes, getting up and making his way to the bar for a refill. I took the last sip of my wine and followed his lead. He was pouring his glass when I came up beside him with my Pinot Grigio in hand.