NOTE:

(:

I'm back.

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Going insane could be easily compared to something like being tossed against your will into a lake with shackles on one's feet. The water is murky and cold, emotionless. You see nothing, you feel like you're about to die. No matter how hard you swim, you'll never win against the weight of the shackles and water. And when you do finally surface, you are already too far gone. In my case, I was pushed into the water with extra heavy shackles by none other than the man who is known as the Joker, the absolute terror and subject of many nightmares in Gotham City. He strikes fear into hearts with a simple dagger, maybe guns and bazookas; explosions of all kinds. He's the devil in the form of a clown. He is a tormented soul, and now I am too.

The world looks so much different with the mind of a murderer. A bloodthirsty, hated person who spends their free time trying to torture others and just watch the city crumble down to nothingness. Yes, that is what I've been turned into. The city of Gotham can thank the Joker for turning a doctor into something doctors hate – the very cause of the wounds they nurture. And here I am, sitting in a bed, completely exhausted. My bones and body feel brittle; tired and so sore. But knowing the Joker, I won't be given a day of rest. I find myself not wanting to rest, either. I want to ruin something. My eyes dart around the room, trying to find a sign of life. They land on a man across the room, his pitch black eyes piercing my own. He offers a small, knowing smile. He is well aware of what he has created. His face is painted white, lips red and eyes charcoal black. His hair looks like it has been dyed lately. I tried to remember if he had the dye in his hair while he… violated my personal bubble. From my memories, his hair was mostly brown. He must have dyed it while I was asleep. How long had I been unconscious?

"Finally awake." He clucked his tongue and pushed off the wall, fully clothed in his normal attire. I tried not to imagine the muscles underneath, combining with my own. I tried not to picture my life from before. Did I want to go back? The insanity that was feeding on my brain said no, but the small, tiny, miniscule amount of sanity I had left was screaming. The screams were being drowned out by thoughts of murder, the Joker's unfortunate downfall. Revenge. Despair. Cries of torment. What was wrong with me?

When his clown-painted face came nearer to the bed, I was suddenly very aware of my nude body underneath the sheets. I pulled the quilts closer to my neck, but no sense of fear swept over me. I was perfectly nonchalant about him being near me, which was strange. He was a madman, and I was a woman.

A mad woman, thanks to him. Oh yes, he will always be blamed.

The Joker obviously noticed me pulling the covers closer to myself, as he smirked the tiniest bit. "Don't flatter yourself, girl, I've seen it all already." He mused. No blush sprung to my cheeks like it would have before. The comment did nothing to me except make the voices in my head get louder. Seeing me unfazed by this made him grin so widely that I could have sworn those stitches on his mouth would just rip open. Fortunately, they didn't. Laughter broke out through the entire room and my ears did not shudder in response. I was unfazed once more. The laughter from his vocal chords made me want to join in as well. When I started chuckling awkwardly, any evidence of noise in the room ceased. I felt his gaze burning into me with satisfaction. It didn't make me uneasy.

"Can I have some clothes?" I asked aloud, only to see those eyes just dance in amusement. There was no longer a smile playing on his lips, just a straight line. He almost glared at me, but I knew he was simply examining his work. Normally I would have felt really used, violated, abused. But now, I knew better. My mind was totally its own, the mind games no longer worked. I was already insane; his thoughts mirrored my own, if not then they were even worse. Thinking about the death of so many innocents that could be on my hands almost made me want to check into Arkham Asylum, but the demons in my brain quickly covered that up by more grim thoughts, evil memories. The sound of gunfire, bombs, screaming and destruction. Why, oh why did I crave this? Perhaps if I'd been turned by a crazy person who was just a little less crazy than this man, I would be a more pleasant madwoman, who lived with her fifty-seven cats in a small house and fed them food instead of myself. I'd be totally innocent, just me and my cats, harmless to the people around me. The Joker wouldn't be bothersome. What would he want with some cat lady? But no, I had to choose to be a doctor. I had to choose to look out the window that day. The day Patrick died.

I no longer cared about my friend's death. He had no meaning to me now, I was just an emotionless wreck who did nothing but hate everyone in the world, including my creator/master. There was still a smile planted on his face, making my stomach twirl into little knots and my eyes feel as if they'd burn a hole into his face any second. There was something about the thought of his blood seeping out that gave me some sick, twisted satisfaction, and I immediately thought better of it. If I wanted to stay alive, I had to either work with the Joker or kill him before he killed me. Yes, my options were quite limited, but they would have to do. Life may not be that important to me, but revenge sure as fuck was.

Seeing as the other insane person in the room wasn't about to hand me some clothes, I sat up with the sheets pulled tightly around my pale, fragile body. I would need to work on that if I wanted to survive in the world of crime. Being weak was probably going to be my absolute worst trait when it came to this new life.

But why was I thinking so much about crime? It wasn't what I wanted to think about, it was more of what I was being forced to think about. It seemed as if my thoughts were being injected by a needle filled with some kind of disgusting medicine; an elixir straight from the Joker's laboratory. I smiled the tiniest bit, and to my pleasure the Joker didn't notice. Or rather, if he did, then he said nothing. It probably didn't concern him what my smiles were about now, since I was thinking about the same things he was. Anyway, I wouldn't put it past him to drug me in order to force these thoughts into my head. Maybe I wasn't even really insane? Paranoia swept over me and I looked up at the man, who for some reason looked totally innocent. Innocent, him?! I snorted, which made him stare at me in slight amusement and a little bit of confusion. His face gave off that he was being cautious, feeling unaware, and his eyes showed the tiniest hint of annoyance.

I continued to sit up with the covers wrapped around me, looking around the room for something to wear. "Where are my clothes?" I questioned, only to get silence as an answer. I could still feel those eyes boring into my back, so I turned quickly to see him right smack dab behind me. I looked up at him. "We will be going to get you some." He smirked. "Your old ones just didn't, uh, fit you right. Purple suits you better." I frowned when he emphasized "we will" as if it was supposed to make me nervous. I wanted him to know that it didn't, but would I speak up? No. How dumb would that be!

I don't remember how long I've been with the Joker. It must have been awhile, since a lot of my memories are beginning to fade away from my normal life, before Patrick died and before I met this masked man in person. There are days I wish I could go back to the boring lifestyle I once had, but now I know that I would just be back there wishing for something exciting to happen. Well, I guess I finally got my wish. Something exciting happened. My friend died, I was kidnapped by Gotham's most wanted criminal, and I lost any sign of sanity. Hip, hip hooray! What could possibly be more exciting?!

Little did I know that it really could get more exciting.

It didn't take long for him to be back to his normal, horrifying self. His eyes were still as black as I remembered them always being, but the fear I once had for them was no longer there. Why? Because in this new state of mind, I knew that he couldn't hurt me. No, scratch that, I knew he COULD but I knew he would not. How long had it been since he had an actual accomplice who had the same way of thinking as him? Well, I'd never heard of one before for all the years he'd terrorised Gotham. Either way, there was just something tucked away in the nooks and crannies of my mind that told me I was safe with him.

We were in this together for the long haul.