My Boyfriend Is a Psychopathic Clown: Harley Quinn's Story

Silver Thorns and Bloody Roses

I got the title from Don McLean's song "Vincent". Everyone should listen to it; it's beautiful and sad.

"Did you get them done?"

"Of course," The Artist replied, showing off her new creations. They looked just like regular glowsticks to me. I didn't understand why Mr. J wanted them.

"We're going to the Flashback's Best concert tonight, and we'll pass these out just as it gets good, and then...BAM!!!!!! See, they don't explode right as you snap them...they're time-release. I timed them to blow right in the middle of the concert."

"Don't you mean, 'BOOM'?" Mr. J questioned sardonically (he was getting more and more irritated at her lately, maybe because of the Wayne Manor fail, though we'd pulled off at least ten successful heists afterwards), and she flipped her hair.

"Whatever. I have to go change." She was dressed like a rock groupie under her Artist costume, switching out the smock for a leather tube top coated in rhinestones - what a slut! Where was her whip, I wondered, because she looked like a total domanatrix. I wore a Seagulls T-shirt and leather costume with my unitard underneath, but still stayed true to my clown makeup. It was a 70's and 80's bands' concert after all - people would be dressed weirder than I was. Puddin' costumed himself amazingly so that I almost didn't recognize him, even though he didn't make up his face. They'd probably just think he was a Hug groupie trying to emulate Jean Simon.

The arena was so packed for this huge comeback concert we wouldn't have had seats if The Artist hadn't gotten them for us. She said she had "connections" (I personally wondered if she'd bought them legally or traded some sexual favor for them).

"Want a glowstick?" I innocently asked the young teenage girl next to us bobbing her head to the song.

"Yeah," she grinned, taking two purple ones and hooking them through her big hoop earrings.

"King's nothing without Eddie Quicksilver," my angel added (he seemed pretty into this. Could it be possible he loved something other than crime...and me? I watched him and The Artist weave through the crowd, passing out glowsticks (which almost everyone took). All these people were going to die, I realized, but when Puddin' came back, he nudged me and whispered, "We put in some regular ones...so it's kind of like Russian Roulette. I love gambling with lives!" He stood on his seat and screamed,

"SCREW YOU, BATMAN!" but everyone just ignored him. They probably thought he was a druggie too strung out  on acid and now having hallucinations. I loved his briliance...I just wished so many people didn't have to die for him to show it!

I was actually letting myself enjoy this, as band after band took the stage: The Moving Rocks, Steel Blimp, Knives and Tulips, Aerohead, Brunette, YY Bottom...even the remaining members of the Beagles were there to sing a few of their hits. When Mr. J nudged me, though, I docily followed him out of the stadium...and waited, then listened to the crashes and screams as we sped away, with him laughing and laughing and laughing.

The tension between The Artist and my lovin' sweetheart was steadily increasing, but she was in his good favor since the exploding glowsticks had gone so beautifully.

"Seventeen people died," he raved. "What a good job we did, my girls!" I was glad he was happy enough to include us in his praise, but I wished he could just leave her out. 

"What's this?" he demanded two weeks later, grabbing a sheaf of papers from the table. The Artist, still in her skimpy bright purple satin slip that was so short you almost saw everything every time she sat or stood just smiled as she nibbled her Pop-Tart (hey! Those were mine! Jerk!)

"They're new plans I thought of. I figured we could use them."

His face went an odd shade of lavender that I didn't like...but it was better when he slapped her and backed her up against the wall.

"I make the plans around here. All of them. Got it, sweets?"

"But that's not fair," she argued. "Just because Harleen isn't smart enough to come up with ideas-"

"Hey!" I shouted. "Who went through med school here? B-!"

"Let's leave the catfights to Selina Kyle, ladies. I planned a great scheme for tonight. We're robbing the Gotham MOMA."

"The Gotham Modern Museum of Art?" The Artist questioned, then her look turned to dreamy.

"I always wanted to have work there someday...."

"I was going to replace some of the most famous paintings with yours."

"Sure, but I get to pick which ones. I have a better eye for art than you do." She was too bold. Someone was going to get her comeuppance soon....

I saw him packing one of his spare guns and asked why.

"In case anyone gets in the way," he smiled, and wouldn't tell me more.

She got us in after it closed, and Mr. J headed for the safes while The Artist went wild snatching paintings and sculptures and replacing them with her pictures and the Joker's signature playing cards. He'd already shot one security guard, who we'd dragged into the closet and locked it. I followed The Artist to the Exclusives Gallery where Puddin told us to meet. He was standing next to the famous Vincent Van Gogh painting "The Starry Night"...his knife poised above the canvas? The Artist paled beside me, and I watched her go weak-kneed, then feral.

"No!" she pleaded, desperate sobbing. He tossed the long blade back and forth in his hands, watching her fret, then charge toward him, leaping and grabbing the knife too late, as he shot her in the heart, then again in the head, so she slumped, bleeding under the canvas.

"She went loony," he explained to me as he placed the knife in her hand, and his gun. "She was going to vandalize the painting because she was jealous...." Numb, I helped him carry the sacks of stolen art out to our getaway car...and waited to hear about it on the news.

"Didn't she work with you and Joker?" Poison Ivy asked me on the phone.

"I hated her." And I realized I was so glad she was dead.

Now I didn't have any competition!