It was way past midnight, but Scarlett couldn’t fall asleep. She was tossing and turning on her favorite queen size bed surrounded by the ‘comfort circle’ made from weapons of various sorts and kinds. He promised to be home by midnight, but didn’t show up, even though she watched the clock without blinking as hard as she could manage, for Scarlett believed that concentrating her thoughts on something would magically turn those thoughts into reality. Not like it ever worked, but she believed anyway.
At first she tried to distract herself by watching criminal chronicles of the day. That was her favorite kind of news, robberies, mass murders, plane crashes, bits and pieces of dismembered human bodies. She always giggled on the most gruesome parts. This night though she didn’t feel like laughing, however the voices in her head did…
By the time the clock showed 12:40 am she was almost certain that Joker doesn’t love her anymore and decided to leave her for good. The tears came right after the conclusion. What would she do without him? Where would she go? What if the gun she’ll pick to blow her brains out wouldn’t be his favorite and he’ll be mad at her for the rest of his life? What if she’ll wear the wrong dress and they’ll bury her in it? All those questions overwhelmed her mind so much, she had to slam her head into a metal pillar, which resulted in yet another portion of tears and a huge bruise on her forehead.
Around 1:30 am Scarlett managed to calm down, even poured herself a glass of wine and turned on some music. The bruise was covered with makeup, smudged eyeliner fixed and the nightgown perfectly adjusted. Perhaps he just got stuck at work, perhaps some asshole didn’t want to die properly or his favorite razor got jammed in someone’s rib cage. Some people have extremely tight rib cages, you know? Perhaps something else came up, he was a busy man after all, there’s always people to maim and big deals to make.
2:05 am. The house was silent as a grave. She turned the music off and drank all the wine. The only thing she could do now was pacing in circles around the arena, stumbling over various objects from time to time and cursing under her breath.
By the time the door finally swung open, Scarlett was almost certain she was being delusional and seeing things that weren’t there.
“Daddy!” – She yelled on top of her lungs lunging onto him from the other side of the room – “I was waiting for you all night! See? I got all dressed up for you!”
“Easy there, princess. Daddy’s tired. Ok?”
She blinked in confusion. It wasn’t new for him to push her away, some days he could ignore her completely or even hit her a couple of times if he was in a bad mood, but this was different. Something was wrong, she could sense it. He wasn’t angry, he was… tired? Exhausted? Hurt?
“Puddin? Are you alright?” – Scarlett blinked rapidly, glancing down at her palm that had red stains on it. Instinctively she checked out her body. No, this couldn’t be right, he didn’t hit her. – “Are you bleeding!?”
“Go to bed.” – Joker grumbled, his annoyance growing rapidly.
“No. You are hurt.” – She stomped her foot as if that could prove her determination.
“For fuck’s sake! It’s just a scratch. You want daddy to get better? Then get into the damn bed!”
She didn’t move, but he didn’t bother arguing further. She could be extremely stubborn at times and the whole thing would most certainly turn into a fight that he wasn’t in the mood for. Joker cursed under his breath, looking for a first aid kid. With their constant battlefield they went through them like candy. For a moment he completely let Scarlett out of his sight. When he finally found the damn aid kid on one of the lowest shelves and looked up, she stood on the other side of the bar, her pale bruised fingers clenching a razor blade, wicked grin playing on her lips.
“You better put that thing down or I’m gonna take it and shove it right up your ass.”
“Put it down.”
She shook her head and taking a step back pressed the razor against her arm, sharp blade digging dip into the skin. All of her was in that sudden reckless gesture. Other women would get upset, angry, worried, hysterical, but not Scarlett. He refused her compassion so she found a way to show it without his approval.
The blood was dripping on the floor in big crimson droplets now. She grinned madly, throwing the razor away and focusing her attention on him once again.
“What the hell?”
“You are hurt. So I’m gonna be hurt too.”
Scarlett batted her lashes and shrugged as if she was talking about sharing breakfast.
“Never do that again.” – He hissed, as he took a few steps towards her and roughly grabbed her by the arm, pressing his fingers to the wound – “Never. Fucking. Do it.”
She winced in pain, but managed to hold back her tears. She didn’t care that he was angry. Was he really? He tried to shake that thought out of his mind. Stupid goddamn kid. That what she was. Stupid stubborn fucking kid.
He pulled her closer, pressing her into his chest. He hated her in moments like this. She was making him mad. She was making him alive. She was his weakness, his worst habit, his favorite habit.
“Are you mad at me?” – She asked finally, her voice shaky from pain.
He pulled her towards the bed and tried to open the aid kid, her arm still clenched tightly in his hand.
“I love you.”
“I know. Hold still.”
“Did you kill the bad guys that hurt you?”
“All dead. Stop wiggling, would you now?”
She giggled and bit her lip, watching him try to open alcohol bottle with one hand, his frustration growing by the minute. She liked him this way, when he pretended not to care, though she liked him in all other ways too, madly, unconditionally, always. She closed her eyes, imagining him gunning down the assholes who dared to raise their filthy hands on him. One by one. Heads popping like watermelons. She wished could be there, so she could kill them too and make sure it was the most slow and painful death one could ever suffer.
“Aaah!” – Scarlett let out a loud scream as he poured the alcohol onto the wound.
“Not so ballsy now, huh, princess?”
“Wait for your turn!” – She teased pouting her lips.
She couldn’t sleep that night. She laid on her favorite queen size bed, watching her most favorite man as he slept soundly, resting her head on his chest and holding a gun tightly. She couldn’t live without him. He was her universe, her whole wide world, she wouldn’t take a single breath if he died. She was a part of him, his worst part, his favorite part…