Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25

So, it's been awhile. Sorry for such the slow update. Just so you know, I do have the whole story planned out so even if it takes awhile, I will finish it. Thanks to everyone who keeps on reading! And as always, your comments and critiques always help.

Chapter Twenty-four

Life passes in a blur. The next time the door opens it’s not the Joker but one of his henchmen. I sit upright and draw my sore legs under me.

“Where’s the Joker?” I ask.

The man ignores me and places the small tray of food he holding in front of me. There’s a stale piece of bread, and a cup of water. Seriously…?

“Not to sound ungrateful or anything,” I gripe, “but what the fuck? This isn’t the Middle Ages. Can I have something with protein for God’s sake!?”

The man jabs his finger at me. He has a tattoo of skull running down his left arm. It looks cheaply done. “Watch it missy,” he snarls. “Where I come from, women get beat for having a sharp tongue.”

“Again, this isn’t the 14^th century,” I huff. “We both know I haven’t had anything to eat in awhile. I need more food than this.”

 “Bitch,” the tattooed man sneers, kicking the tray over so the food scatters across the floor. He trudges towards the door.

“Hey, wait! Come back!” I call after him. The man ignores me and exits the room, shutting the door behind him. I sigh as my stomach grumbles and curse myself for being so hot-headed. I probably could’ve gotten more food from him if I had been patient. My stomach growls again. Carefully, I move my legs in front of me and manage to drag the chunk of bread closer. Straining my arms against the cuffs, I reach down and grab the bread, stuffing it in my mouth. For a few seconds, I feel relief as I chew and swallow the food.  But as soon as I’m finished, I drop my head in my hands and groan. If it’s possible, I feel even hungrier now than I was a few minutes ago. I need food.

Besides the pangs of hunger are the pangs of being a woman. I am determined to stay strong and not ask for medicine, but it’s becoming difficult to resist. Not that it would do any good; they wouldn’t give it to me even if I asked. Lovely, my body really has the worst timing ever.

My complaints must have reached the Joker’s ear because after that I get served three meals a day. Although I’m given more food, it’s not enough to sate my appetite and I’m always still famished after I eat. For awhile I try to ration out the food and save it, but this plan quickly fails and I end up eating it within minutes. Every once in awhile, the tattooed man, who I’ve dubbed Chicken for no other reason than amusement, comes to uncuff me so I can use the restroom. Sooner or later, my period cramps become unbearable and I beg them for medicine. Of course, I am denied. Most embarrassing is the small pool of blood starting to surround me. My underwear and shorts are thoroughly soaked with blood. The smell of blood is nauseating and I’m blatantly harassed about it by Chicken, who obviously hates guarding me. I’ve demanded to talk to the Joker many times, but am told he doesn’t care to see me.

The lack of food and being in the dark too long begins to affect me. I swing from feeling erratic and talking to myself to feeling depressed and sobbing in the dark. Mostly though, my thoughts rest on the Joker. He is the only one with the power to let me out, but I haven’t seen him in the longest time. I’ve stopped asking Chicken about the Joker’s whereabouts since all he does is ignore me. During a particularly painful wave of cramps, I finally resort to screaming for him until my throat goes raw. But no matter what tactic I use, I cannot get the Joker to come.  

The one day, I snap. I don’t know what time it is, but I’m shaken awake by Chicken.

“Food’s here and I’m to let you use the toilet,” he grumps. I extend my arms so he can uncuff them from the bar.

“How long have I been in here?” I dare to ask.

“Don’t speak,” he replies.

I breathe out in aggravation. “Just tell me, okay?”

“Don’t speak,” Chicken seethes, enunciating his words. He cuffs my hands back together and drags me to my feet. After I use the bathroom, he leads me back to my spot.

“Sit down,” he says.

“Um, just so you know,” I tell him innocently as I remain standing, “one of the links in leg cuff is becoming worn and breaking.”

Chicken seems indifferent, but is obligated to check. “Don’t move,” he demands as he kneels down to examine my leg cuffs. My mind begins to reel as I see his exposed neck. This man hasn’t really done me any harm, but I’m not thinking clearly. Within seconds, I lift my arms over the Chicken’s head and wrap the chain around his neck. I pull tightly so the chain presses into his throat.  

The man reacts quickly against my attack. Honestly, I’m not that strong; he could’ve easily defeated me. However, as he scrambles to remove the chain from around his neck, it gets tangled together. Stupidly, he stands up and I’m dragged along with him. Now I don’t even have to apply pressure anymore, gravity is doing all the work. Chicken drops again to his knees as his face begins to go red. I think I’ve won as I see the Chicken’s eyes flutter, but with sudden clarity and force, he grabs me by the head and slams me against the concrete wall. Pain explodes through my body as I slump to the ground, closing my eyes. Though I’m still conscious, I’m unaware of what is going on. The sounds of feet thunders through the room and I feel my hands being freed. There is intense coughing and low angry voices. Just as I’m about to open my eyes, another blow is delivered to my head, the pain becomes too much, and I fall into unconsciousness.

I jolt awake as ice cold water is dumped on my head. Sputtering, I try to sit up, but find that I can hardly move. Looking down and blinking water from my eyes, I see that I’m strapped onto the chair-thing in the corner of the room. I wiggle my body back and forth, but the leather straps hold me in place efficiently.

“Stop moving,” wheezes a voice from the other side of the room. I look over and see Chicken. A dark purple bruise encircles his neck. I must say, it looks pretty legit; who knew I was that strong? Chicken is messing with something in his hands. I stare intently and realize he’s sharpening a knife. My stomach flip-flops and I gulp; this man wouldn’t murder me, would he? It’s true I tried to kill him, but the Joker would skin him if he laid a finger on me.

I shiver from the cold water and goose bumps pop up on my arms. “Hey,” I call over to Chicken, who stares daggers at me. “I’m sorry about what happened…was it yesterday? I didn’t want to get you in the middle of this.” I give him a pitying smile, but he doesn’t say anything in return.

I lie back down and wince as my head touches the back of the chair. “Shit,” I wince.  My head hurts like a bitch: that’s what happens when it’s smashed against a concrete wall.

“Hey,” I call to Chicken again, who doesn’t look up, “I really need to talk to the Joker. Can you get him for me?” No response.

“Look, no hard feelings, right?” I offer. “I was acting on impulse, I haven’t had enough to eat, I’m on my period and I’m not getting any Prozac. That’s just a recipe for disaster.” In truth, I don’t really regret what I did. Killing people is wrong. Period. But I need to get the Joker’s attention somehow; I’ll do anything to get out of this room.

Suddenly Chicken walks over to me with the knife. He takes a few paper towels and places them under my arm.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to mask my fear.

Chicken simply takes my arm, holds it still, and presses the knife against my skin

“Stop, stop, stop!” I insist, the fear creeping into my voice. “You don’t want to piss the Joker off do you? This is such a bad idea. Don’t hurt me!”

I shriek as Chicken cuts into my arm with the knife. The shriek dies down to a whimper as he cuts six small lines into my forearm. Blood trickles down my arm, soaking through the paper towels.  

“You’re always asking how long you’ve been in here,” Chicken says calmly. “Here’s your answer.” He points to my arm. “Six cuts, six days. You’ve been here six days.”

I stare up at him in utter disbelief, tears staining my cheeks. “What’s wrong with you? You’re screwed in the head. You’re as bad as the Joker.”

There’s a crash. Chicken and I both swerve our heads as the door bangs open. In all his glory, the Joker struts in, a grin plastered across his painted face.

“You’ve got that wrong, toots,” the Joker says with a hearty laugh. “Compared to him, I’m a saint. However, on that note,” he approaches Chicken, “I know you’re all pissy about getting beat by a girl, but don’t go all psychopath on my belongings. There are plenty other ladies out there for you to prey on. Consider this your only warning. Now get.”

Chicken scowls but nods and exits the room. The Joker comes over to me, takes a few band aids from his pant pocket and slaps them over my bleeding cuts. He then leans against the chair.

“It was a bad idea to put him in charge of you anyways,” he says nonchalantly. “He has a temper and needs to be outside, like a dog heheh. I would kill him, but he’ll be useful for my next plan.” The Joker pauses and brushes my damp bangs from my forehead. “You alright?”

“Chicken hurt me,” I mutter, staring at the bandaged cuts on my arm. “I know he was mad, but I didn’t think he’d disobey you.”

The Joker makes a face. “Who is Chicken?”

I laugh breathily. “Ha, that’s just what I call that man who was guarding me. Stupid really.”

            The Joker shrugs, “Hey whatever works for you. And he didn’t disobey me, heh no one disobeys me.”

            “What?” I ask, confused. “Are you saying you-”

            The Joker cuts me off with a wave of his hand, “Forget it. So how are you doing?”

I stare at him blankly, opening and closing my mouth like a fish.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” he sneers.

“I’ve been so…lonely,” I exclaim sadly, surprising myself with my honesty. “And honestly, I can’t believe you’re here. Where have you been?”

A small smile flickers across the Joker’s face. “Well this is new,” he drawls out, running a hand through his grimy hair. “I can remember the last time you were pleased to see me.”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” I reply hurriedly, blushing fiercely. I take a deep breath. “I just want…I really want to get out of this room, please. I can’t take this anymore.”

“It’s not that bad,” the Joker insists flippantly.

“No, you don’t understand,” I say, trying to sit up. “Wait, can you untie me?” The Joker reaches over and unbuckles the straps around my arms, legs, and waist. I sit up slowly, stretch my back and cross my legs. My head throbs fiercely and I close my eyes.

“Can I have some pain-killers?” I ask the Joker.

“No.”

“Please?” I beg.

“All you did was bump your head” the Joker says. “I think you’ll survive.”

“I didn’t bump my head; it was smashed against the wall!” I snap. The Joker raises his eyebrows and I lower my eyes.  

            “Sorry,” I apologize quickly.

“That’s alright,” the Joker responds. He leans over and takes my hands in his. His hands are soft and I don’t pull away.

“Will you let me out?” I ask hesitantly.

The Joker sighs. “No, you’re not ready,” he replies apologetically. “You are making progress, but you still have much to learn.”

“I don’t understand!” I interject. Tears well up in my eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me.” The Joker pulls me closer to him and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. I cry into his shoulder, dampening his jacket. Finally I pull away and say more calmly. “I will do anything to get out of here. I’ll listen to you and obey you. I’ll do anything you want, just let me out.”

The Joker pauses and stares into my eyes. A few moments pass. “Anything?” he asks finally, without blinking. There’s an intonation in his voice and a glint in his eyes that makes me pause. I bite my lip. Would I really do anything for him? No, defiantly not. But at this point, I’ll say anything to be freed.

“Yes,” I answer him steadily. “I will do anything.” The Joker leans in again, and presses his scarred painted lips against my ear.

            “I don’t believe you,” he whispers seductively, as he takes my earlobe in his mouth and sucks on it. I pull away quickly.

“I’m not lying,” I vow, rubbing my ear. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“Elena, let’s not play this game,” the Joker laughs, stepping back. “I know you’re lying, I can see it in your eyes.”

I collapse against the padded chair as a wail escapes my dry lips. “Please,” I cry. “You must let me out! You can’t leave me in here!” I look over at the Joker. “Please, please…” I beg between sobs. I clutch his vest in my hands, “Let’s make a deal, if-”

“Dearest, you’re dirty,” the Joker interrupts, slapping my hands off his vest.

“What?” I say, confused. Then I follow his gaze and look down at my clothes. They are extremely dirty, especially my shorts which are caked with dried blood.

“There’s nothing I can say or do to convince you to let me out?” I ask desperately, looking up at the Joker through my eyelashes and smiling flirtatiously. He smirks at my sad performance and shakes his head.

“Fine, if I truly am to say in here,” I say, wiping the tears from my cheeks, “will you at least allow me more food, medicine, and some clean clothes?”

The Joker snickers before composing himself. “I’m not going to give you more food,” he states coolly, “but you can have some Advil for your cramps.”

“Oh god, thank you. What about clothes?” I beseech.

The Joker runs his eyes over my body. “We defiantly need to uh, get rid of those rags,” he observes. His eyes then flicker up to mine and he smiles predatorily. “Take them off, Elena.”

“Take off my clothes?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Now?”

The Joker groans and pinches the bridge of his nose in impatience. “Yes Elena, now.”  

“I…I don’t,” I begin to resist.

“You, you don’t what?” the Joker mocks, annoyance creeping into his voice. “You do want to get out of this room sooner or later, yes?”

I nod my head.

“Then by all means, indulge me and do as I say.”

I blink my eyes rapidly and look at the Joker once more. He smiles widely like he’s trying to contain a laugh. Hands shaking, I lift my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor. The Joker’s eyes widen and he takes a small step in my direction. I fumble with the button to my shorts but finally succeed and step out of them. Standing in front of the Joker in only my filthy underwear and bra frightens me, but I don’t dare stop now. Quickly so as to get it over with, I unhook my bra and let it fall. I take a deep breath for confidence and lower my blood soaked panties to my ankles. As soon as I’m done undressing, I kneel down, covering my privates with my hands.

The Joker continues to stare at me without moving. “Are you going to get me something to wear?” I ask him, somewhat impatiently. Breaking from his trance, the Joker picks up my soiled clothes. Suddenly without warning, he walks over to me, reaches down, moves my hand aside and shoves his index finger into my vagina.

I gasp in shock and pain, and slap his hand away. “Stop it!”

The Joker doesn’t seem fazed and examines his finger, which is slick with bright red blood.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be getting you new clothes,” he replies. “You already ruined these and would obviously dirty anymore I give you.”

“Well if you gave me some tampons or pads, I wouldn’t bleed all over everything!” I shriek frantically. “Here, give me those back!” I motion to the old clothes in his hands.

The Joker giggles and leers at me. “You don’t need clothes; you look better this way.” He wipes his bloodied finger on my shoulder, and walks away towards the door.

“Where are you going?!” I call after him, rubbing the blood off my shoulder.

The Joker looks back and grins arrogantly. “I have a life Elena, I can’t spend alllll my time with you. But I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.” He opens the door and walks out. Another man, not Chicken, walks in. His eyes bulge at the sight of my naked body, but he quickly recovers and, grabbing me by the hand, leads me back to my spot by the wall. After cuffing me back to the bar, and glancing at me once more, he leaves. A minute later the lights turn off and once again, I’m left in the darkness to cry and talk to myself.