Punchline

Chapter Three: Pre-Game

Chapter Three: Pre-Game

I didn't sleep. Needless to say, but important to mention because although Jerome hadn't touched me or really "harmed" me, aside from knocking my lights out in the patrol car- I harbored a great ominous feeling that he was a light sleeper and quite mischievous during a full moon. I did my best to keep both eyes open, constantly waivering my sight to something different to capture my attention to stop the inevitable slow nodding of my head to drift to sleep. If I could have paced or stood up, perhaps it would have made an easier task.

Silence in the dark bedroom. The little table lamp...I wished it would turn off by itself. It made the environment look much more frightening had I been sitting in the pitch black. Combined the yellow cast off from the little light bulb against empty shadows in a foreign place along with Jerome's airy breathing, my stomach turned uneasily as I stared straight ahead at the door in front of me, hoping to see it bust open with Gordon and Harvey ready to have my back.

I waited all night long, hoping against all odds of such a thing to happen in Gotham.

It didn't.

I know that for certain that I managed to make it through the night because after hours of eerie moonlight and shadowy corners and unidentified movements against the walls, finally I could breathe easily as peaks of sunlight crept through small patches of window that the blinds didn't block.

Such a dreary place.

It must be nice outside.

I could barely think a single, solid rational thought when Jerome's body began to move beside me.

Instantly, I had my wits about me, straightening up with uneasiness when Jerome's eyes opened slowly to realize that I was still there.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Jerome chortled, rising to sit up against the headboard. "You look a little nervous."

"I wake up like this," I said, annoyed.

Lack of sleep, lack of food, peaking dehydration and unpleasant company...I wasn't in the mood for his shtick.

"You been up all night," Jerome said, amused. "How'd you do that without any drugs?"

"What makes you think that I did?"

Jerome grinned approvingly.

"If you were capable of that kind of fun, the night would have went differently."

"For some guys, the night goes about the same," I muttered.

"Aren't you just a morning person. Someone stayed up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Yeah? Uncuff me and let's see."

Jerome cackled out loud. I didn't think it was funny. He sure did.

"You know," Jerome breathed, "once I'm done here with this whole ransom thing..." He grinned and it made me truly nervous. "I'm gonna have to steal you back."

I gritted my teeth thoughtfully.

"So you don't intend to keep me here?" I suggested. "You intend to set me free?"

"Unless I decide you're more fun to have around the house instead of on the losing team-yes," he shrugged. "But, as I said, Shaunessy James, you'll warm up to me. They always do."

I shrugged my shoulders back as his voice itself crept across the hairs of my neck. Eeesh.

I didn't like how it seemed that his voice could roll as if the sound were like fingers trailing across my flesh.

I didn't scare easily.

But he scared the hell out of me, all the while being obnoxious and infuriatingly flirtatious. As fondly as he reacted to anything I said, I wondered if he actually liked me enough to keep me alive or if he was just talking smack.

I didn't know the truth. I didn't prod anymore than what he said.

If everything I did amused him, he'd never let me go. If I bored him, he'd probably kill me. I was stuck between a rock and...well, Jerome.

"I'm thirsty." I admitted, trying to gulp but couldn't with my incredibly dry mouth. I could feel a sore throat coming on.

"Oh, of course, where are my manners," remarked Jerome. "Guess I gotta be the host, huh? Can't let you be wandering around the place tryin' to get your fill. You might pop through the window or run out the door with a lie about having to go to the bathroom or whatever you women lie about." Jerome gestured to his face, grasping for the turn of phrase, and then snapped his fingers knowingly, "Right, right. 'Oh, excuse me, Sir, I have to powder my nose.' What's with that? Why powder your nose? What good is that anyway? Just the nose?"

"Pretty sure," I guessed, "that it's just an expression now."

"Have you ever powdered your nose?"

"I can't say that I ever have." I said truthfully.

He nodded.

He got bored.

Jerome slid off the mattress and strode around the foot of the bed to poise his right side against the bedpost, holding the knob of the post with a gloved hand thoughtfully.

"So, I'll go get you something to drink. But when I get back, we're gonna play a little game-you and me."

"A game..." I said. It wasn't a question. Just a disappointed declaration. "Don't imagine you're gonna play Yahtzee."

"Uh, no." Jerome said with disgust. "Everybody knows that game is rigged. Dice, odds, chances. Too easy. Nah, we're gonna play something a little more...Hands on."

"Nothing sexual, I hope?" I muttered.

"Seriously, what kind of dude do you think I am? Get your mind out of the gutter." Jerome shook his head, mouth agape, as if I was the one who decided to chain myself up to the bed and hold myself hostage.

No, no, excuse me. I'm the one with the fucked up head.

"That's not nice," Jerome reprimanded.

"I didn't even say anything."

"You didn't have to. I see it on your face. Don't got a poker face in you at all. See? That's why we're not playing any kind of card game, poker game, bluffs, or anything that wouldn't be fun to play because if you can't hide that shit-what's the point?"

I nodded.

"Fine." I sighed.

"Great. And remember, you gotta play nice, and I'll play sort of nice. But if you fuck up-"

"You'll fuck me up," I repeated to him back to what he repeated to me.

"It's a lot more cool-sounding coming from you." Jerome complimented, or what I thought was a compliment. "Alrighty then. B-R-B."

He slid out of the room and I let out an exasperated sigh.

He's a hard man to keep up with.