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You woke to your room dimly lit with a cold glow from the usual overcast skies of Gotham outside your window, stretch back slightly into the warm familiar weight now against your back, an arm draped possessively over your side, the pale fingers interlocked with yours. You could feel the Joker’s slow and steady breaths fluttering strands of your hair and you could smell the traces of alcohol and smoke still on his breath from the night before. Your back was to him, but you could imagine what his face would look like right now - gaunt face, smeared, uneven lipstick, and the shadows around his eyes even darker than usual against his pale complexion. He would be a state – likely having only been home for an hour or two ago and having collapsed next to you in a drunken stupor.
It wasn’t unusual behaviour and you’d grown use to it - just enjoying waking up next to the warmth of his security - but your gaze now moved over to his hand that enveloped yours, the familiar tattoo ink against the alabaster skin, his fingers twitching slightly in sleep – but then you saw it. Lipstick on the back if his hand but the smiling tattoo.
Not his either.
Something snapped in you then and you threw his arm off you, jostling J aside as you pushed yourself angrily out of the bed. Your rough shove was enough to wake the Joker, who blinked stupidly, momentarily confused as you now stormed across to the opposite end of the room.
“Where do you think you’re going, dolly?” He growled, his voice husky from sleep and the remaining alcohol.
You ignored him, pacing angrily, as you grabbed clothes randomly, throwing them into a pile on the floor whether they were clean or dirty. It didn’t matter.
“Get back here, doll.” The Joker growled, his voice darker now, not appreciating being ignored, as he now pushed himself upright. He snatched at your arm as you reached to grab something at the foot of the bed.
“No.” You snarled defiantly, slapping his hand away, taking him by surprise at your gall before then you shoved him in the chest and turned to stormed away again. The Joker wasn’t having any of it though, snatching your arm as you turned, then easily yanking you onto the bed with him. He ignored your cries and shrieks for him to let go of you as he wrestled against your struggles, spinning you so you landed on your back on the bed, then straddling your hips, pinning you down under his weight, his hands around like manacles around your wrists, restraining them against the mattress either side of you. “Let go of me you – you – you pig!” You shrieked hysterically, squirming under him, desperately fighting to break free as he held you frustratingly easy. The Joker let you writhe and thrash beneath him, watching you with a sick, humourless mix of grin and snarl until you began to tire. Then, he pulled at your wrists – preventing you from lashing out at him – bringing your face up to his, your legs still pinned beneath him.
“Do we…” You squirmed more, trying to pull yourself away. The Joker jerked you sharply and you winced, seeing it was useless and allowing yourself to hang where he held you - watching him with loathing. “…have a problem, kitten?” He finished, dangerously calm as h grinned down into your face. You could practically taste the alcohol on his breath now.
“Whatta you think?” You snarled, then spat in his face.
He snapped his head away at that, and you made the most of his distraction to snatch your hands of his grip, scrambling from under him, and running from the room, storming down the hallway, the familiar haunting laugh echoing coldly throughout the flat.
You had abandoned any idea of packing a bag or grabbing anything – knowing your window was small – and heading straight for the front door. “Where do you think you’re going, princess?” J asked, appearing behind you with a cold grin.
“I’m leaving.” You growled, not bothering to turn around, your eyes on the door that was only a few strides away. He growled, snatching your arm and pulled you around to face him. “Let go of me!” You snarled, wrenching your arm free again, shoving his chest backwards again and you using the last of your strength to throw your weight into a slap aim at his face.
His head snapped around at the impact but before you really register what you’d done, a hand was suddenly at your neck, crushing your throat and ramming you back against the nearest wall. You cried out in pain as your skull collided painfully with the brick, something smashing on the floor nearby as your leg smacked into the table next to you.
You could hear J growling above you, but it seemed far away, and you momentarily feared for your life - his grip too tight on your throat, your oxygen limited and your vision blurring with watery tears. But, the next thing you knew, J’s lips were on yours, swallowing up your gasping sobs. As much as you should be disgusted by him – should hit him, smack him, kick him, bite him – you… Loved him.
You loved the way he made you burn red hot and crazy – just like him. You’d been with him for close to two months now and he was creeping into your mind, your thoughts, your actions. You never would have attacked him the way you had - rarely ever acting on your temper - but now you were willing to give in control to that blinding anger. You spun around in the heat of your dance, this time J smacking into the wall, your lips breaking away. You tried to pull away from him, but he wrenched you back with his strong grip on your neck, his mouth finding yours again, and you lost your senses in his lips - even trying to take charge for a moment, running your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders. The Joker wasn’t one to hand over any power though – in anything - and he shoved you roughly backwards, seeking the nearest surface, and you found yourself pushed into the large living room and thrown onto one of the sofas, J bearing down on you, his hands roaming your body, biting and pulling your lip.
And you gave in.
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You lifted your head from your hands where they rested on your knees that were pulled close to your chest. Your eyes were red from your tears and you now let your arms now hang over your knees as you stared at the bed in front of you - the duvet screwed up and untidy, the pillows skewed and one even on the floor. Your back was against the bedroom wall and a bottle sat next to you - some sort of flavoured vodka, you thought - though it wasn’t like you couldn’t really taste anything, you felt numb and raw.
As soon as your moment of passion had been over with J, you had felt the full regret of your actions, turning away from him and curling into a shameful foetal position on the bed. J, meanwhile, simply pushed himself out of bed without a word, leaving the room and locking himself away in his office like he always did after moments like this. You had heard several crashes from the room since then.
These moments seem to be becoming more and more frequent between you and J. The fighting, the ‘makeup’. Of course, though you played this tug of war, but J was always the one to win – even though you were always in the right, and you didn’t know why you even bothered to be mad anymore. He never changed, and you just ended up like this with another bruise.
It hadn’t always been like this though. When you’d first met J, he had almost been a gentleman to you – as much as the insane clown could be – showering you with attention, falling hard for your body and attitude - you falling hard for his danger.
He was like an angel with wicked schemes to you – extremely wicked schemes.
But you had never exactly been an angel yourself either.
But the Joker was unlike any other man you knew – not surprisingly - and, when he wanted something, he made damn sure he got it. So, he got you. All of you. Every part of you. Leaving you with nothing, but him. No friends, no family, no job, no freedom. J was your everything.
Sadly, however you didn’t seem to be J’s.
Most nights now he would be out planning, thieving, murdering, or drinking and smoking himself till he would pass out in his office or, like this morning, next to you in bed. Sometimes if he was in a good mood he might treat you like the first time he met you, but those moments were now few and far between - the novelty of you clearly wearing off.
Yet, when you tried to leave this happened. You had scars, bruises, healed ribs - all from mornings like this.
He didn’t want you to leave - that much was the only thing clear to you - but you couldn’t think why. He ignored you most of the time after all, came back with traces of his obvious exploits with other girls – dancers at his clubs – so why did he need you? He didn’t. So why didn’t he let you leave? You didn’t know why - because no one was allowed to leave the Joker?
You’d rather he’d just kill you sometimes. But he always held back, after the first few crunches of bone he seemed to remember himself and he’d either walk away or redirect his anger into a fit of raging, passion for you.
You dropped your head back into your hands, not believing this circular life you had fallen into – being mentally hurt by J, trying to leave him – to save yourself – only to end up physically hurt by the clown instead, then making up with the promise to yourself that you were sure he’d change this time - only for it to happen all over again.
You needed to get away from this. Maybe not for good - you doubted you could escape J for good - but just for an day – an evening – a few hours. Just a tiny period of time without his possessive gaze on you, without feeling like you every movement was monitored - an evening where, for a moment, you could feel like you had your freedom back.
You lifted your head again as an idea struck you. You had wasted most of your time berating yourself, sleeping fitfully, and crying hopeless tears and now, once again, the evening was drawing in. J was in his office and - if tonight panned out the way every night did - he would now likely spend the rest of the rest of his time in there, drinking until he passed out in the early hours of the morning. You glanced over at the window on your left. You could do it. If you played your cards right, you could slip out the fire escape – if only for a few hours – and return without J ever knowing you’d left. You couldn’t, however, let yourself sit here too long and overthink it, or else you’d begin to pick holes in your plan. Instead, you scrambled to shaky legs, cringing at the soreness in your muscles, before wiping your eyes and hastily, but silently, making yourself look more presentable. Finally, you cracked the window open enough for you to slip out, then threw one last cautious look back to the closed bedroom door before you swung yourself out the window and onto the metal fire escape.