When I walked through the doors of Arkham, it was still early; seven o'clock, to be exact, but considering that I had fallen asleep at around 3:30pm the day before, I wasn't exactly expecting to sleep in till seven or eight like usual.

It wasn't a problem, however. Patel came in around six (if he even left, that is) and I knew that he'd already be in his office, stressing over the problems he has and problems that were sure to come. Once I reached his office, I knocked a few times out of courtesy, but let myself in soon after anyhow.

Patel didn't seem to care, and gestured to the chair placed at the side of the room. I dragged it over so that I was sitting across from him.

I cut right to the chase.

"Have you come to a decision?"I asked steadily, suddenly very afraid to hear his answer. If he denied me to see the Joker after what happened, I wasn't sure what I would do. He was like the best rollercoaster in the park—now that I've had the chance to experience him in all his exhilarating, breath-taking glory, all of the others just felt dull.

Is that really why you want to keep seeing him?

I promptly squashed the annoying voice in the back of my head, my full attention on Patel.

"I have," He returned, and my jaw got tighter. I knew he liked to draw things out but this was the one time where it really was unbearable.

"You've made excellent progress with the Joker, even with the limited time you've had so far. I honestly don't want to, and think it would be unfair to you, if I took this opportunity away from you after one bad run in with him. So, to answer your racing thoughts, yes, you can continue your sessions with the Joker."

I hunched over in relief, though I was well aware that although Patel claimed to be doing this for me, and that it would be unfair to me if he didn't, he really only wanted the results for himself.

"Don't think this excuses him, though. If you still insist on no orderlies in the room, then fine, seeing as how the one you did have didn't exactly do much anyway." I cracked a smile at this, though probably shouldn't have, which Patel made clear by the look he gave me. "But at the very least, from now on instead of handcuffs, he'll be in a straight jacket during your sessions."

I nodded slowly. I could live with that. Actually, it was preferred at the moment. Why they didn't have the Joker in a straight jacket from the start was beyond me.

"Actually, Patel, there was something else I wanted to ask. Would it be possible to have more than just two sessions per week with the Joker?"

Patel seemed surprised by the question, leaning back in his chair as he examined me. "I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm surprised to hear that," He admitted, though he didn't really need to. His surprise was evident enough. "I admit, I originally did want to give you more sessions, but thought it might be too much of a strain on you."

"Not at all," I lied dismissively. It was true that even the two sessions per week had been wearing me out, and it was only the first week, but I honestly didn't care. Nothing a little coffee couldn't fix. "Besides, it's not me that matters, it's the Joker. He needs more attention than just two times per week."

Patel was nodding slowly in agreement, placing his interlaced hands on his desk. "Well then, I'll leave the schedule up to you. You're the only one assigned to him, so anytime you want a session, it's your call."

My eyebrows raised considerably, surprised that Patel was giving me this kind of authority. I didn't dare voice my thought though, lest Patel choose to take it back.

"Oh, did you manage to find out what the Joker did when he wandered out of his cell?" I asked suddenly, just remembering. I doubted they did, but it was worth a shot.

"I think so," The bespectacled man answered much to my surprise, taking off said spectacles and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Nothing major, but the footage from your session is missing. My guess is he went to go erase it, presumably because he didn't want us to be able to know what it was that triggered that violent outburst."

I nodded, as if in agreement. If only he knew the person who had tampered with the footage was the gal sitting across from him. The question was still standing, though: what did the Joker do while on his own?

"So tell me, Quinzel," Patel said seriously, his voice suddenly lowered as he leaned forward. "What exactly did happen in that session?"

I stood up then, going to adjust my glasses, when I remembered they were no longer there. "Ah, ah, ah. Patient confidentiality," I winked at him, leaving his office and closing the door swiftly behind me.

And thank God for that confidentiality, indeed. It allowed me to disguise my secrecy with professionalism. I was smirking all the way back to my office, and as soon as I entered, I booted up my computer.

It was still only around 7o'clock, and thanks to my new leeway, I planned to have a session with the Joker today, but it was too early. Not that he'd be sleeping (did he even sleep?), but if I had the session with him now, I'd be bored for the rest of the day.

And so, I opened the Word document I had created a few days prior, the one with my notes for the book on the Joker.

The inner turmoil hadn't released me just yet, and I still wasn't sure I should go through with it, but I didn't abandon it just yet. Even if I didn't end up making a book out of these notes, they were good notes to have nonetheless.

I listened to music and typed away my thoughts for a few hours, addressing the Jokers past, all of the known stories of the scars that he's told the nurses and orderlies while contained, and why he wears the make-up. In fact, I was surprised he was still so…Joker, even without the make-up. That was like his shield, his weapon—most people would become timid, defeated, even weak, if it were to be taken away.

Most people.

The general population assumed the Joker was a performer; that if you stripped away his fancy clothes and make up, he'd be reduced to nothing. Even I thought that way, at once. But he still managed to maintain who he was, despite the Arkham suit and bare face.

He was still human, though. It was easy enough to shun him and wish the death penalty upon him when he was covered by a mask of black, white and red. But what would Gotham think if they saw what I saw? What would they think if they saw ragged skin, tousled dirty blonde hair, and the colour of flesh?

Someone knocked at my door then, and I jumped, quickly saving the document, ramblings and all. I closed it before the door opened.

I was surprised to see Joan, no clipboard in hand for once, offering me a friendly smile as she stood in my doorway. I stood up and walked around my desk, offering a winning smile of my own.

"Joan! Nice to see you; with all that's happened, it feels like it's been longer than it actually has." I greeted, though I had gotten the feeling she'd been avoiding me.

"I agree," she responded curtly, always so professional. "I was wondering if you wanted to grab some coffee with me? I'm on break."

I glanced to the clock, noticing it was about eleven thirty now. I had been typing for longer than I thought.

"I'd love to. Come on." I ushered her out of my office, closing the door behind me. We walked to the staff area in awkward silence. There was no way she just wanted to spend time with me, I knew that. I was just waiting for her to hurry up and bring up whatever it was she wanted to bring up.

"How do you take it?" Joan asked, once we got to the coffee machine.

"Just black," I lied, enjoying the surprised look on her face. She complied, offering cream and sugar a few times, but I waved her off, accepting the black coffee.

"So," I started, deciding to be the one to start the real conversation. "Is there anything you wanted to talk about?"

Joan shifted uncomfortably, though her face showed no sign of anything but professionalism. Brushing her dark hair behind her ear, she looked down into her coffee, then back to me.

"Are you sure you can handle the Joker?" Was all she asked, and I resisted rolling my eyes.

"I thought we were past this. I do believe I can, and so does Patel. Though I'm sure you're about to educate me on why we're both wrong." I was almost shocked at the last part of my sentence—shocked at how defensive I was getting. But, there was no way to take it back, and nothing to do but see how she responded.

Joan almost looked offended. She did? I was the one who was currently in the process of having their capability questioned. It was the same old song and dance, and I wasn't really in the mood to hear a list of reasons pertaining to why I shouldn't be dealing with the Joker, so, I saved her the time.

"Look, Joan. We can talk about this another time. I have a session with the Joker."

I only got to enjoy the look of shock on her face for a split second before I turned my back on her and began to walk away, black coffee and all.

I was so busy replaying the scene over and over again in my head that I didn't realize the bright flash of orange closing in. Not until the source of the orange stopped me, and pointed to my coffee.

"Where can I get some of that?" The woman asked, her voice just the right mixture of firm and feminine.

As soon as I got a good look at her, I wanted to cover myself with a paper bag. She was beautiful, with bright, red hair, fierce green eyes, arched eyebrows, and full lips. She was also tall, the Arkham lab coat hugging her angelic frame perfectly, while her long, slender peach legs popped out from the bottom.

I had never seen her before, and the mere shock of running into her had made me forget what it was she had asked.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked sheepishly, thumbing my coffee awkwardly. The red head tapped my coffee with a long, manicured nail, a slight smirk on her face as she looked to me. "Any more of those?" She inquired.

"Oh! Yeah, of course. Back there; coffee's already brewing." I gestured behind me, and she nodded her thanks, and I watched her as she walked away. For a split second, I questioned my sexuality, before I came to the realization that I didn't want her, I wanted to be her.

Why must all the women in my life be mature, tall, and gorgeous? I wondered angrily, and glanced back once more as I walked away.

I had never seen her before. Was she lost? Did she think this was a modeling agency of some sort? No, she was wearing the Arkham lab coat, so she must work here. What did she do? I could turn back, pretending I forgot something, and start a conversation.

Though that meant I would also have to confront Joan, and the idea was unappealing enough to dilute my curiosity for the new woman. I'd run into her again—not like she was easy to miss.

Part of me couldn't help but keep wondering what she did, though. She looked too proud and sophisticated to be a nurse…Could she be the new director? Was Patel resigning? Unlikely, seeing as how he probably would have told me. Was she an assistant? The idea that she could be a psychologist crossed my mind for a moment, and I almost smiled.

The only psychologist friend I had was Simon, but he was my boyfriend. Selena was great, but having a gal pal who understood the strains of being a psychologist and what came with it would be nice.

I resolved to try and find her again as I walked to where the Jokers cell was. An orderly was loitering around, and I told him to get the Joker geared up into a straight jacket and ready for a session.

The man complied, though not before grabbing a few other guys to help him put the straight jacket on. Although I'd never actually heard of the Joker resisting the straight jacket, better safe than sorry, I guessed.

I ran back to my office quickly, remembering to grab my clipboard and notes, since I haven't been doing much of that lately, and Patel still expected full reports and progress.

I had told the orderlies which room to deliver the Joker to, and I made my way over quickly, not wanting to keep them waiting. Two orderlies were on either side of the door, and I nodded to them as I pushed the door to the examination room open awkwardly with my hip, due to my hands being occupied by coffee and papers.

The Joker had his head down, looking at himself—presumably his new straight jacket. As I set my papers and drink down, he looked up at me, an amused half smirk on his face. I only stared back.

As I turned to close the door, I was surprised (well, surprised is a bit of an understatement. Flabbergasted, perhaps) to see that the little red light of the surveillance camera was off, indicating nobody watching.

It seems Patel decided to do a complete 180, personality wise. The Joker attacks me, and so he decides to not supervise the sessions? I wasn't complaining, I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

As soon as the click of the door shutting and locking sounded through the room, the Joker's voice filled the silence.

"So, I must have really scared you yesterday, huh?" He asked, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing, with his head, to the straight jacket. I sighed and pulled out the chair across from him, shuffling my notes as I sat down.

"The straight jacket wasn't my call, though I'm not exactly against it. Can you blame me? Where exactly did you go yesterday?" I demanded, suddenly feeling the outrage that I hadn't felt yesterday. More than that, though, I felt betrayed.

When he didn't say anything and only continued staring at me with those all knowing black holes that he claimed as his eyes, I broke eye contact, knowing full well that if he didn't want to tell me, there was no way I was going to get it out of him.

"I got you a coffee," I said, sliding the untouched, still hot black coffee I had gotten back from Joan towards him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then lowered them, staring at me as if saying, come on, really? It took me a moment to figure out what was wrong, before I saw him lean down to try and lick the coffee like a dog.

"Right. Your hands." I mumbled, suddenly feeling very stupid. I hadn't yet gotten accustomed to the straight jacket.

I got up from where I sat, walking to where he was perched and standing behind him as I held my hands out, unsure. My eyes flickered to the camera that wasn't recording, and I swallowed. He could kill me with the coffee mug: shatter it into a million pieces and lodge them into the flesh of my throat, or my eye sockets.

I thought these morbid thoughts as I was unbuckling the various straps that restrained him, and I wondered vaguely if I had some deep seated wish to die.

As soon as the straight jacket was off, the Joker stretched his arms and twisted his back, and began doing some stretches that I had seen in some of Selina's aerobic videos, all the while never getting up from his chair. I chuckled to myself at how ridiculous he looked, but he paid me no mind.

Once I was seated back in front of him, he dragged the coffee towards him, looking down in it. He raised his eyebrows again in surprise, and I cocked an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" I wondered, watching as he took a small sip, testing the waters. He then swallowed a few mouthfuls.

"Oh, you know…Girl like you, giving me some of her coffee? I was expecting some, ah, whip cream, maybe." After he said that, he finished the rest in one gulp, and I watched his throat move as he swallowed.

I scoffed, taking the empty cup back after he nudged it back into the middle of the table. "I'll have you know whip cream is actually pretty damn delicious in coffee, but that was for you." I looked down to my notes as soon as I finished saying that; I could only guess what kind of look he was giving me.

I was surprised when the mockeries never came—no snide comments, no asking why. Just silence. Eventually it was enough to make me look up at him.

I instantly regretted it.

He wasn't smiling, didn't look amused, and didn't even look like he was analyzing me. He was just looking at me. I didn't know how else to describe it, but he was truly looking at me, trying to see every part of me he could find, as if he was trying to see through my skin and to my muscles.

He didn't look like he would be done anytime soon, but I couldn't stand the silence, and so I asked the question once more, the one everyone wanted to know:

"You're really not going to tell me? What did you do yesterday? Where did you go? You can tell me, the camera's off, as you can see." Unlike last time where it was on and unsupervised, now he couldn't deny that it was unsupervised, as it was off. I stared into his eyes, though it was hard without my glasses. They had provided me some sort of shield.

Though, like the Joker, just because my security blanket was taken away, I wouldn't let it change how I acted.

The Joker tilted his head to the side, rolling his eyes up in thought, before turning them back on me. "I was making….friends," He said simply, smacking his lips as his eyes lazily wandered the room.

"Friends?" I repeated, crossing my arms across my chest and raising an eyebrow. He only nodded.

With a frustrated huff, I decided to give up, scribbling away angrily at my notes, writing generic things such as he still doesn't trust me fully, etc.

"I gotta say though, doc," The Joker started, and I only looked at him with my eyes as I continued to write down what Patel would accept. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon…I'm pretty, ah, impressed."

I put my pen down, giving him my full attention again. "Yes, well, you're my patient. If I ran away from the Joker after one violent outburst, then Patel wouldn't have assigned me to your case."

"Ahh, Patel," The Joker hummed, rolling the name over his tongue, tasting it. He smacked his lips then, leaning forward and looking around the room as if making sure nobody was there, before back to me. "What do you think of him?"

I raised my eyebrows, surprised at the question, and leaned back, pondering it. The proper response was, "The business between me and my employers is none of your concern", but I didn't care. He wanted to know, and I wanted to tell him.

"Time for the juicy gossip?" I joked lightly, but then answered seriously. "He's a bit annoying—dramatic, even. Likes to get a reaction out of people. Too serious for my tastes, though he's dedicated to his job, and hard working. Cares more about Arkham than Dr. Arkham himself. If you're asking me whether I like him or not, I'd say I respect him, and tolerate him." I checked the camera again for safe measure, expecting for the red light to suddenly be on.

I expected the Joker to disagree, to go on about Patel and how horrible he was, but he only stared at me yet again, and when he spoke again, it was completely unrelated.

"Hey, doc. I've been wondering…Why don't you, uh, ever ask me about these?" And then he smiled, showing all of his decayed teeth as he pointed to the scars. I took this opportunity to be able to look at them again, without being rude. Though I doubt the Joker cared—he probably liked it.

I shrugged so slightly it was more of a twitch, still keeping my eyes on his scars. "Because, I want to save you the effort of coming up with another story, and save myself the time from having to listen to them."

The Joker stared at me blankly, and then the next second, without fail, his cackle was filling the room. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back as he giggled, and I adjusted myself in my seat, not sure if I regretted saying that or not.

It was true, though. Why would I ask him a question that's sure to result in lies? And who knows if he himself even knew how he got them.

He leaned forward again then, and there was a slight giddiness to him now. His legs were spread open, both of his hands resting on the area of the chair between them, and there was a slight bounce to him now.

"Little Harlequin doesn't like story time much, huh? It almost hurts my, ah…feelings." He said it in a tone that would imply anything but hurt feelings, but I humored him, nonetheless.

"It's not that I'm not curious," I answered honestly. "Who wouldn't be? But I'm sure you've heard of the boy who cried wolf, so…I guess that makes you…The man who cried scars. Besides, I'm here to talk about you and to you, the Joker. Not whoever you were before…this." And I gestured to him with both of my hands, as if presenting him.

The Joker perked up at that, and sat forward, leaning on one elbow as he pointed his index finger into his temple. "But what if the explanation to how…crazy I am, is all in the past? What if the explanation, is in the story? Isn't that how you psychologists, uh…do things? Look into the past and see what, ah, fucked us up?"

I weighed what he said, bobbing my head left to right, though finally stopped when I had an answer. "Not necessarily. Sure, hearing about your past would definitely shine some light on your situation, but it wasn't trauma or how you got your scars that made you like this."

The Joker only raised an eyebrow, encouraging me to go on with his hands.

"You were already like this. An incident from your childhood, or however you got your scars…that's not what made you the Joker. You are the Joker. You always have been, and will be. And because of that, knowing your past or story won't really make a difference to me. I'm here to talk to you, the Joker, right now."

The Joker looked amused—almost jolly, as if he was enjoying some inside joke that I wasn't a part of.

"So then, doc. If I always have been who I am, and won't ever change, tell me: why…am I here? Aren't you supposed to help me?" He leaned back, waiting for my response, licking his mouth as he stared over at me.

I almost wanted to look at the camera again, to make sure, but I knew it wasn't on, and I didn't want to break out of the spell that we were holding each other in.

"To be honest, you're not here for help. Everyone has already labeled you as untreatable, a lost cause, even. You're here…" I paused, looking up into the ceiling light, tapping my chin with my pen. "Because people don't know what else to do with you. Like dropping off a misbehaving kid to military school. They're scared of you. It's a desperate attempt to heal you, but now that they realize it won't happen, the best we can do is not to 'cure' you, but try and figure out why you do what you do.

And no matter what you do, you'll always come back to Arkham, because it's a vicious cycle. They want to heal you, but cant because you're too insane, and so they'll try and figure you out, but can't because you're too insane to understand, so then they want to heal you…and, in the end, everyone is just wasting their time."

The Joker hadn't said a word throughout my whole speech, and he had turned his head down to listen, not even moving. Now that I was done, though, he looked up at me slightly, and I couldn't tell if he was smiling slightly, or not.

"So, doc. Where do you fit into all that?" The Joker asked, turning his head back to the ground, his green tinged hair tousled and falling around his face.

I pondered this. "I'm not sure. I'm certainly not trying to heal you, and never claimed to. If you recall, the very first questions I asked you besides your name, was why you do what you do. I'm trying to understand you, I'd say. It's a bold statement, but I think I'm starting to. More than anyone else in this building, anyway."

The Joker looked back up then, leaning forward and gripping my face in one of his hands, so that my cheeks were squeezing together.

"You understand me? Well, Doc…Now that's a problem. You said it yourself—they try to understand me, but I'm—I'm too….crazy!" And then he let go of my face, standing up and making a big movement with his arms. "If you understand me, or think you do…well, I'm sure there are extra cells in Arkham."

I rubbed my cheeks where he had dug his fingers into, hoping he didn't leave marks. "No," I said flat out, looking up at him as I let go of my cheek. "That's where they're wrong, though. You're not insane, and I'm not insane for understanding you. They just can't grasp the fact that, just because you aren't another exact copy of a 'normal' human being, it doesn't mean you're insane. It just means you're different. And if they ever do finally figure that out, well, you'll finally have a nice cozy cell in Blackgate Prison."

The Joker rested his chin on his wrist, his stare alternating between me and my notes. In case he could read them, I pulled them back and put them on my lap.

"Anyway, enough about me and what I think. I'm your psychologist, here to talk about you. So—"

The Joker interrupted by slamming his hand on the table, causing the coffee mug to clatter against the table. I leaned back in surprise, and when an orderly from outside asked if everything was alright, I told him everything was fine.

"Ah, ah, ah. I wasn't done, doc. Got one more question for ya." He held up his index finger, waggling it, waiting for my response.

"Alright, go ahead," I allowed, my curiosity and enthrallment, once again, winning out over my professionalism.

"How do you know I'm not manipulating you? Were you really like this before our…sessions, together, doc?" he leaned back, rubbing his hands together as if he was in for a treat.

"I've thought about it," I started, looking over to see him raise an eyebrow. "Maybe you're trying to convert me to your ways, your thoughts, as a way to get out of here. And I've come to the conclusion that I don't care. I wouldn't call it manipulation; you've just made me more open minded—opened my eyes, in fact. I agree you're not insane, but if you think that means I have some sort of loyalty to you, or that I'd help you break out of here, then you are insane."

The Joker said something then, but the buzzer went off, drowning out his voice. I knew he wouldn't repeat himself, so I just sighed in defeat. The door was locked, and the Joker picked up his straight jacket off of the floor, sliding it on. I went over to him to begin buckling it back up, a cold sweat on the back of my neck. Last time I was this close to him, it didn't end too well for me.

As I got to the higher straps, I looked up at his face, and the first thing I saw this time, was not his scars, but the circles under his eyes. He didn't even need to paint his eyes black; his natural dark circles were enough.

"Christ, how much sleep do you get?" I said aloud as I finished up the last strap, and then tiled my head to look up at him. Without thinking, I reached up to his face, stroking the dark rings with my thumb. "You really did need that coffee," I commented quietly, absentmindedly. As soon as I realized the gravity of the situation and what exactly was going on, however, I jumped back.

The Joker was looking down at me, his eyebrows raised and his eyes half lidded as he stared. I retreated quickly, back to the table to gather my notes and grab the empty coffee mug.

The orderlies were starting to get impatient, considering they couldn't get the door open due to my locking it. As I was looking down and fumbling to unlock the door, I felt the joker slink up behind me, and he nudged the back of my head with his shoulder.

I hissed and whipped around, cupping the tender spot with both of my hands. The Joker laughed mischievously then, like a little kid who just got away with something. There was another look there, though, and I think he liked that he was the one who caused that pain.

Refusing to reveal the back of my head to him again, I reached behind me to unlock the door. As soon as I did so, the orderlies stormed in and I moved out of the way, allowing them access. I watched them carefully, though, to make sure that they weren't harsher than necessary to the Joker. Said man complied though, and I watched as they dragged him away (the Joker had stopped using his legs, to make it more work for them) and I couldn't help but laugh. The Joker look back at the noise, and I quickly hid my smile.

As he slipped further and further away from my view and around the corner, I just barely managed to hear: "Hey, doc. Just for future reference, I like three sugars!"

I threw my keys on the coffee table as soon as I entered my apartment, and sat down, flipping open my phone. I had spoken to Patel after work, basically just to get some answers.

One, why he turned the camera's off for the session. His response was, when we were unmonitored that one session, the Joker was more himself, and he wanted more of that. Though of course now the Joker needed a straight-jacket.

Patel trusted me to take perfect notes now, due to the lack of camera evidence, but I still left out some various things. For example, the conversation we had on why the Joker was at Arkham, I kept all of the Joker's lines the same, but skewed mine. If Patel heard what I really said, about how everyone thought the Joker was a lost cause, he would not be very pleased with me.

I also managed to ask him who the mysterious red-headed beauty was, and he told me her name was Pamela Lillian Isley, a botanist. When I had been confused on why we needed a botanist, he explained that she was an expert at making various medicinal serums using nothing but various plants and flowers. She had studied under Woodrue, who was set to fly in from South America soon to join her at Arkham.

She was about my age, and although she wasn't a psychologist as I had hoped, it would be nice to have someone in the same age group to talk to, and (hopefully) become friends with.

Speaking of friends…

I was about to text Selina, but decided to call her instead, realizing with shock that I hadn't spoken to her since my first session with the Joker.

Though, part of me piped up, she hasn't tried to contact you either. Maybe she wants some space.

At the depressing thought, I hesitated, staring down at my phone. I had already typed in her phone number, and started to delete it one by one.

She probably doesn't want to talk to you because she thinks you're just going to go on about the Joker, and he's not exactly her favorite person.

I dropped my phone on the couch beside me and went to look at the calendar. It was Friday today. Should I go in for work tomorrow?

"Not like you have anything else to do," I lied to myself. I could call Selina, but…

Besides, Arkham wasn't a store. Working on weekends was entirely up to the person, and considering the Joker was my only patient…

Shouldn't you take a break from him, though? Normalcy might be good.

I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do.

It came to me quickly, and I grabbed a red sharpie, circling tomorrow's date with a circle, and on the inside, wrote:

Session with the Joker. Make friends with Red.

Aand Poison Ivy is introduced! Well, sans the poison, of course. And yes yes she will turn into poison ivy in this story. And writing the end of this chapter kinda depressed me. Made me realize how alone Harley is without the Joker. In the comics the only other person she really has is Pam. Kind of Selina, I guess. But not really.

Anyway, if you like my story, I'd love if you dropped me some reviews. Or even if you don't like it, some constructive criticism is always welcome. ^^

Until next time!