Go Home [Harley x The Joker]

Summary: Why did the Joker have baby clothes in his lair? What if Harley lost something other than her Puddin’, what if she lost something she never had? What if she lost a life?
Warnings: Graphic description of violence, abuse, implied non-con, blood, sexual themes. Rated E. This is a very dark piece looking into Harley’s mind.
Part II is [here.]  The playlist for this fic is [here]. Prequel to Life and Death.

We laughed at the darkness
So scared that we lost it
So tell me your secrets
I just can’t stand to see you leaving

 It must have been the car crash.

 After all, the impact had thrown her half-way out the wind shield, leaving her out of breath on the hood while fragments of glass cut into her middle. She didn’t feel any pain back then, grasping for the knife hidden underneath her thin dress and lunging at her rescuer. The force of the crash had been enough to throw off even her; she had felt the air pressed out of her as the plum purple car drove into the banister separating the road from the harbor.

 After that, she was drifting in and out of a playful state of mind, not really thinking at all. Back and forth, her head was way too crowded. She did not exist, until reality dawned on her with a literal blow to her head and she was back in the hole they called a prison, thick bars and grey walls, heavily armored guards everywhere.

 That certain guard was still there, oh how she hated him, that creepy plaything, “Alpha01” written on his armor. When she got out, and she knew she would, he would be the first to taste her gun. She would shove it down his throat and choke him with it. Until then he was her personal devil, but she knew how to dance with them.

He grabbed her scalp and welcomed her back with a grin as he threw her onto the floor again. Harley just couldn’t resist fighting back. When she woke up later, she had a faint memory of his hands prying her fingers from his throat. She had laughed at him as he straddled her, all the while trying to bite his face off. He had pushed her thin arms down, reaching for something out of her sight, and then she was screaming.

She had woken up eventually, after floating in and out of consciousness for a while. She was still on the floor, wearing her filthy and torn prison clothes that hardly covered her body anymore. She was too gone to form any coherent thoughts, but the laughter spilled off her lips nevertheless. They must have given her a heavy dose; it was like someone was trying to press her eyelids together.

 She waited until the haze lifted.

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