Rotten & Damaged

Chapter 2 - Love You...

Chapter 2- Love You...

It coils in my stomach and sits there as I walk into the room with way less confidence than yesterday: Fear. I see him daily, yes. Like that's not begging for insanity to come knocking on my door. But, I'm strong. Stronger than all of the other psychiatrists here in Arkham Asylum.

He looks up at me from the table, he was waiting for me, and a snarl overcomes his face, "You're not wearing it."

I jump at the venom in his voice, "It's a little inappropriate for work, Mistah J. You'll understand that I can't come to work wearing lingerie."

He scoffs, "That wasn't lingerie to me, sweetheart."

"I brought it, though." His eyes light up.

"Ya gonna put it on? In front of me. My, my, I underestimated you."

"No," I answer, sitting down calmly, "So you can keep it and give it the next whore you meet. I'm not wearing this, period. And I never will. I'm surprised, though. You got my size perfectly. And how your men managed to get in my room was tempting my temper. You're lucky I woke up feeling better than I went to sleep."

He laughs, harder than I've heard so far, " You tried it on? Oh, do you have pictures for your dear friend, Mr.J? And I'm lucky, huh? You realize, I could kill you right now. I really could. But, you're just too much fun. I rather enjoy our time together."

"Shame, it's a little one-sided then," I'm a little cranky, but it's his fault. I throw the bag on the table and push the little thing over to him. It's black and red, in a harlequin style (ha ha, I get the joke). It's two pieces, a tight corset-like top that pushes up my tits and a thong. He sniffs the thong and grabs it in his silver-capped teeth with a smile. In a flash, it disappears.

"Ta da!" he exclaims.

"Where'd it go?"

"Why, you want it? I want the pictures." How did he know I took pictures? Careful, Harley, you give up power, he'll take more. But I really like the outfit. No, you make him beg. You told him you didn't want it. So, now you don't.

"No, I just wondered." I grab my pen and scribble down the usual information. I look up and he's staring at me. I smile, "Do you remember your real name, Mistah J?"

"No," he snaps. No smile, no laughter, just staring at me with a slight frown.

"Do you remember how you came to be... like this?"

"Yes." Hope rises in me and I poised my pen for the answer.

"Can I hear the story, Mistah J? I promise not to tell," my Brooklyn accent again, dammit. The excitement shows in my voice.

A small smile, but then he asks, "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"That. Cover up that beautiful accent of yours to blend in."

"I don't like sticking out." Much.

He laughs, "It seems like it. Taking on THE Joker's case, wearing high heels that make lots of noise, pretty blond girl that could've been a model but chose instead to become a psychiatrist. Oh yeah, you don't like sticking out alright."

I growl, low in my throat, "You don't understand."

"I could if you let me in. C'mon, doll, how hard can it be. I did it yesterday. I'll tell ya anything ya wanna know." He leans forward and I want nothing more than to nail him in the face. But, if I do this, it could be my big break. I can get all the information I desire.