“I can hear sirens, sirens
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
I can hear violins, violins
Give me all of that ultraviolence…” (c)
There’s not enough words in the whole wide world to describe how much she loves him. She loves his pale skin and crooked smile, smell of his cologne and that cute little smirk that plays on his lips when he tortures people. She loves his creepy laughter and fancy designer suits he wears, the way he talks and the way he holds his cigarette, but more than anything she loves to make him happy.
Joker likes to hurt people, he likes to make things scream, bleed, whimper in pain and cry in agony. Torture is his very own personal form of art, but no one can cry as good as she does. She’s not scared to play his games, she doesn’t set boundaries, if he wants it then she can take it.
She lays on an old relaxer, watching him fiddle with his tools, rather childish curiosity in her eyes. Where others would see a sadist and a madman she sees a man she loves. He takes his time cleaning the tools with alcohol, setting the ones that are ready to go in front of her. She giggles, mix of fear and excitement tying her stomach into hundreds of tiny knots.
She shakes her head and giggles louder, reaching for a glass of whiskey.
“Oh, you should be scared.”
He grins back at her, leaning closer and running his hand across her pale bony thigh. He loves her cold pale skin, her perfect slender complexion and that almost maniacal spark of excitement in her eyes, which only adds up to the challenge. Nothing could compare to ruining something so perfect and she sure as hell knows this.
She asks rather teasingly pouting her lips. She’d make a perfect victim if she wasn’t enjoying it so much.
“Are you gonna hurt me?”
“Oh, Carly-girl, I’m gonna hurt’cha really, really bad.”
He speaks slowly, taking the time with each word he says, wide, innocent smile playing on his lips. He looks almost like a little boy who got brand new toy for Christmas and can’t wait to play. She finds it disturbingly adorable.
“How about a drink first?”
Joker furrows his brows, which according to Scarlett, makes him look so much like a teddy bear.
She nods, watching him pour a glass of whiskey. She knows that game all too well yet it doesn’t make it any less exciting. He sets the glass aside, reaches for her wrist and begins to draw invisible patterns on it with his thumb before piercing it with a thin yet very sharp blade. Scarlett lets out a loud cry mixed with hysterical laughter as she watches her blood pour into a glass, mixing with alcohol in pretty whimsical swirls. Joker winks at her playfully as he piks up his drink and finishes it off in few big gulps.
“Oh, baby, you taste so good… What is that? Does it hurt? You poor sweet darling.”
J throws the glass aside, letting it shatter into pieces and lifts her up, running his fingers through her hair ever so gently. He leans closer and presses his lips to hers, she can still taste her very own blood and it makes hot tears run down her cheeks faster.
“I want more.”
Scarlett looks at him with almost animal hunger. She loves it when he hurts her, if she could choose her own death it would be in his arms, or to be more precise from his arms. No one can do it as good as he does.
“You want more, huh? You want?”
He almost roars in her ear, slamming her head against the back of the chair, which brings another wave of crazy laughter. He raises his arm and slaps her across the face, sharp stinging sound pierces the air, once, twice, but she keeps on laughing and scratching at his back like a cat.
When he loses his grip to catch his breath, she wiggles out of his embrace just enough to grab a knife from the nearby tray. Her eyes sparkle with mad glee as she presses the blade against his neck.
“You wanna fight!?”
J smirks, staring right back at her. They say she’s crazier than him and in moments like this he’s almost ready to believe it. He grabs her wrist, digging his nails into a wound he made earlier. Scarlett screams out in pain, the blade slips our of her hand. He pushes her back, throwing her all the way across the room and picks up the knife.
“Do it! I dare you! Do it!”
She giggles madly once he’s on top of her, this time his hand pressing a blade to her throat.
“Fine! Then I will!”
She lifts up her head, pressing sharp blade into her neck.
“You goddamn psycho!”
He throws the knife across the room and hits her again, this time with his fist. She teases him, she knows his weakness and brings it up in all the wrong times. It takes all of his restraint and willpower to not smash her head against the floor. He looks down at her, his eyes boiling with rage.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I love you.”
“Of course you fucking do.”
He leans closer and kisses her harshly, biting her bloodied messed up lips, she moans in pain as he moves lower, teasing fresh wounds and sores with his tongue till she can’t take it no longer. Loud animal scream escapes her lips, her body twists in convulsion of pleasure and agony.
She whispers, looking up at him standing above her like a vulture, his hands covered in her blood. The last thing she sees before everything goes dark is a smile on his lips. Nothing looks more precious than that smile, she would gladly die for it if she had to…
When Scarlett opens her eyes the scent of antiseptic and freshly brewed coffee tickles her nostrils, she can fill a tight bandage wrapped around her wrist. Her body aches all over, but she finds this pain comforting. It will take awhile for bruises and cuts to heal, but she will wear them with honor as a reminder of their everlasting love and rage that always go hand in hand together.
She tries to sit up, but fails miserably, falling back onto the pillows.
Joker’s voice makes her cheeks flash. She knows he sat there all this time, watching her, fixing her up, playing with her hair. Sometimes she’d pretend that she’s still unconscious just to enjoy that moment of tenderness.
“How long I was out?”
“About an hour.”
“You know I like it when you ‘die’ for me, Carly-bear, though that trick with the knife was too much.”
He frowns. She can’t see it, but she knows he does. He frowns and looks away, so she won’t be able to see that glimpse of emotion in his eyes, emotion he himself could never comprehend.
“You need anything?”
He asks, changing the topic before she can catch him on his words. He hates being nice, which only makes it more enjoyable to her.
“There is one thing… Can you stay?”
“You know I’ve got lots of work to do.”
“Pleeeeease… just for a little.”
He sighs in surrender. If she wasn’t feeling so weak she’d swoon out loud and lunge onto him like a dog, but in her current condition a smile is the best she can manage.
“You better take it easy with your acrobatics today. It took three stitches to fix you up.”
“Why are you that obedient only after I nearly kill you.”
“Cuz I like it when you do?”
She giggles, leaning closer to him. They say a woman needs to be mysterious, but she doesn’t know how. She wears her heart on her sleeve and spills her guts like there’s no tomorrow. After all you never know if there’s indeed one.
“Do I make you happy?”
“Why do you have to ask? You know the answer.”
“I just like it when you say it.”
“That sick obsession of yours is rather cute.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Aww, you know it was!”
She smiles, making herself comfortable on his lap. No matter how hard he tries to deny it, she knows it’s there, somewhere deep inside his heart he’s obsessed with her just as much as she’s obsessed with him. And to her it’s more than enough…