Chapter Text
Oh, where to begin, where to begin. I guess an introduction is in order! Hi there, nice to meet’cha. I’m Harley, but I’m sure you coulda guessed that by now. Or maybe not, this is only the third sentence. Anyway, ever since I left Gotham for this much less interesting or fun place you all call reality, I’ve realized somethin’: ya got a lotta shit wrong about home. Granted, some stuff is good, like those movies with Barbie in ‘em, but even those are so off the money in so many places. I’m here to set the record straight... and maybe feel a li’l better about the way everything went down in the process. Maybe. I dunno, mental health was more the other gal’s digs, but we’ll get to that.
In any case, this is my story. I waffled for a while on where to start us of, there’s a good case for a couple cases. Birth, obviously, but cliché. My first murder, but Harleen contests that one (again, we’ll get to it). Perhaps with college or maybe working at Arkham. Maybe we center things around him. But, no, this is my book, I should (probably) be the main character. The vat dive, then? Ooh, maybe the Blood Orgy! Nah, we gotta save the good bits for later. Can’t blow our load too early. I think I’ll start us off the same way I did Gotham! That’s right, my first public appearance as the one and only Harley Quinn. Wasn’t anything too crazy. Well, that’s by our standards. Don’t touch that dial, now!
I sat on that couch, in that gutted place. Once a place for family-friendly fun, now still fun, just for the kinds of people who kill your family and friends. The leather stung where it touched my skin and sweat made it worse. The burns were invisible in most places, but I could feel them. Everywhere. My whole body bleached and itching. The spots where I was naked were a little better, but even what was left of my clothes irritated me.
But through it all, I smiled! Smiled so much it hurt. Not that he’d let me stop. It was for him, it was for us, it was for me. I had been freed! And now after I had proven that the chains were indeed broken with all the pain and the murder and the violation, we could finally be together, like I wanted. Like we wanted.
“Hm, what do you think, darling?”
An angelic voice cut through the uncomfortability. Calmed me. Oh, there he was, my Mr. J. My Puddin’. My everythin’. Suddenly none of it seemed that bad. Suddenly, I had a reason to smile.
He held up a tight red & black bodysuit, themes of the card suits throughout.
“Fitting for a Joker’s harlequin, ain’t it, doll? But it might not leave enough to the imagination...”
“It’s perfect! We can show off what a lucky man you are.” Looking back, I spoke a little too quickly.
That’s right, folks at home, he asked, and I agreed. Now, do I think he woulda taken no for an answer? Probably not. Do I think I shoulda put up any kind of fight? Definitely. Trust me I’m gonna regret this. It was not “perfect.”
Even just gettin’ into the thing was a pain. It was tight. It clung. It would’ve been worse if the bleach had left any body hair to speak of. I gotta admit, though: it did accentuate all the right features. This’d just be a temporary thing, right? J changes his outfits all the time! God, I hoped so. The real problems started once I was in it. It was leather or latex or something like that. Whatever it was, it was hot. It stung, like the couch, and it would only get worse the longer I was in it. Thing was... the pain? The lightheadedness? After everything, it kinda felt good. Like a contact high, literally. Ha!
We both looked at me in the mirror and marveled. I felt like a million bucks, but I think he knew that was going to wear off. That I’d realized how exposed I was. I was lucky to have kept functioning underwear, but you could see my belly button in the thing. Still, in this moment, I felt wanted. Sexy. Free.
“Lucky, indeed.” His voice soothed any doubts I had.
I was finally going to be free. I had a look, a name, an identity. All thanks to him.
“Oh, Harley, dearest?”
“Yes, Mr. J?” God, I sounded like an outdated cartoon stereotype of a woman.
“We can’t have you meet your adoring public in half a costume, can we?”
He held up a jester-looking cowl and domino mask, clearly from the same set. I wasn’t enthused, but the way he smiled... I would do anything for him, be anything, and tonight I would finally become...
“Dr. Harleen F. Quinzel is still at large alongside infamous criminal The Joker. Dr. Quinzel was initially a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum assigned to the Clown Prince of Crime, but reports are coming in from staff that they had a more intimate relationship. The facility has yet to make an official statement.”
I was seething. Weeks had gone by, and no one had said anything about me? Just speculation and rumors? Not even the other bad guys had been talkin’ about me? I knew then that it was worth it for Mr. J to take the weeks to fix me up, make me presentable. Make me perfect... but did no one really care about Harleen Quinzel? Good thing we killed her, then, right!? Damn it all, though, I was ready, and impatient. Stationed backstage at that news studio, I couldn’t wait any longer. I went to move, but he stopped me.
“Harley, Harley, Harley! Patience, my dear. We have to make your big moment just right, let me reveal you to the world.”
I couldn’t help but pout, huff. But acquiesce.
“Good girl. Now, I’ll cue you, be ready.”
Then he left me in suspense. The Joker never told me what the plan was, at least never all the way to the end. He always said he wanted a “genuine audience, with real shock and surprise, but without all the screaming.”
Speaking of, it was shortly after that something landed on the news desk. Before anyone knew what to make of it...
BLAM!
Gotham’s nightly news anchor was splattered all over the camera lens.
“Oops, wrong grenade, I guess.” J looked like you had just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. It meant nothing to him. “Hello, Gothamites! Your favorite chaotic clown here, taking over the airwaves to shed some light on the latest news in Jokertown!”
Audience and staff tried to run for the exits, but our planted guys made everyone stay put. A captive audience.
“I bet you’re all curious what happened to my poor therapist. How did I take such a fine member of your society, with such a promising career, and make her do the unthinkable? And I don’t just mean spend her nights with me.”
I laughed, audibly. Then the teleprompter came up, and the audience nervously followed suit. Joker looked at where I was off-screen, annoyed. I felt guilty.
“Well, I bet you’re expecting I killed her. Which is true! In a way. You see, Gotham, the good doctor was trying to cure me of everything that makes me, well, me, but I think I ended up curing her of everything wrong with you sorry folk. I cheered her up, gave her a sense of humor, showed her true potential, and stuck her brain in a blender on max! And what came out, you ask?”
I was enamored, enthralled. His presentation was immaculate, his voice suited for radio, and a beautiful porcelain face with a strong jawline that belonged on the silver screen. I was so enchanted I almost didn’t notice him obviously gearing me up.
“Introducing the new and improved... HARLEY QUINN!”
The audience cheered. I danced onto the set, tommy in hand, finally feeling that freedom he promised, finally showing off to the world. Whether at gunpoint or not, I didn’t care, they were cheering for me. I didn’t have to hide anymore. I wouldn’t be locked away ever again... metaphorically, at least. I controlled the world.
“Tell me Harley, what were you like before we found each other?”
“Well, Mr. J, I was a pretty quiet and normal girl.”
A doting “aww” from the crowd.
“And did you find that kind of life... fulfilling?”
“Well, to be honest, Mr. J... no, sir, not really.”
“But, but Harley! You had success! You had security! You had what these fine people here dream of!”
“Maybe, but you know what I was missin’, puddin’? A little bit of fun! Excitement! Edge! I just felt so pent up, y’know?”
“Mhm, I think we all know the feeling, Ms. Quinn. Tell ya what, sugar, if you could do anything in the world right now, what would it be?”
I looked out on the crowd and thought for a moment. And her voice kicked in. I heard her from in my head. The me from before.
“This isn’t right. You belong in here, not me! God, we need our anti-psychotics.”
Get ready to hear that a lot. Gosh, she’s so annoying. I looked out at the crowd again, down at my red costume. And I craved.
“Anything, puddin’?”
The voice in my head was overtaken by whispers and commands. Lust.
“Anything, Harley! You have all my resources at your disposal.”
Louder, louder, louder. Indecipherable, but I knew what they wanted. I wanted it too.
“Oh, well, it’s nothin’ crazy! I just wanna kill that whole crowd with my bare hands!”
“Really, all of them?”
I nodded, eager.
“By yourself?”
Again, nodding. Anything to shut up the voices in my head. To feel complete.
“Well, then folks, grab some popcorn and watch the show! I know I’ll enjoy it. I missed her first.”
I jumped out into the crowd like a kid into a ball pit, and proceeded to spend the next hour drowning myself in blood and viscera as I tore those 30 or 40 people to pieces. And I enjoyed it. And for the first time, I was happy.