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

I Suddenly Learn Everything

"I can't believe I'm letting you do this. I hate shrinks," Hush mumbled, but I only wagged my finger at him mockingly.

"You did promise."

"And now I wish I hadn't," he replied. "I didn't think you were actually going to hold me to it."

"Coffee?" I offered, to break the tension, but he shook his head.

"My hands are my best tools, besides my mind, and coffee makes them jittery. I used to drink it, but I quit. Anyone who says caffeine withdrawl isn't a devil of an ordeal to go through is a lying dog."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then I cleared my throat, adjusting the glasses I never wore anymore since I wasn't treating patients, but I'd pulled them out for this. They made me feel on equal intellect with Hush, who I knew was incredibly intelligent.

"Let's start with your childhood, shall we? Your parents were close friends of the Waynes, correct?"

He sighed deeply, almost painfully.

"We were like brothers...more than brothers, even, but everything's all different now. I was so jealous of him until his parents died. They were stable, unlike my drunkard father and cowardly mother. She never could stand up to him. It was because she was poor, and she liked the way she lived now - the Tiffany jewelery, the personal shoppers, the designer clothing practically fresh off the runway. I hate her."

"She's dead, Tommy," I reminded him calmly.

His eyes were dry ice.

"Who says you can't still hate the dead? Every year on her birthday, their anniversary, and every other major family holiday, I drive to the cemetary...and I spit on her grave! She never deserved to live even a single second."

"You hold strong feelings against your mother. Have you ever considered letting them go? You could forgive her, and it would take such a great weight off your conscience."

"I killed my parents. I cut the brakes on their car. It was so easy...and I'm not sorry at all. The old, swaggering brute bullied me whenever he felt like it, especially if he'd swallowed a few scotches, and she sat back and did nothing at all to help me, ever. He died on impact, but she was only at the brink, and that puffed-up idiot who until then I'd wished was my father, Dr. Thomas Wayne - he saved her life, and got recognized for it, too. It was a risky surgery and all over the news. She was a waste of his time. He could have saved someone deserving...but he wasted it on her."

I'd heard enough of Elliot's maternal-directed rage.

"Tell me about Peyton Riley."

"Hey, Tom. How's your mom?"

"Still alive, unfortunately, though not for my lack of trying. Your father?"

She begins to weep, her soft blond hair falling into her face, curves rising and falling with her sobs.

"Matthew went to rehab yesterday night. I said I'd be ok with a drinker, but my father insisted our engagement was terminated immediately. I know I'm going to have to marry Johnny - he's a greasy old gangster goat, just like Dad!"

She presses her head into my chest, and I hold her there, enjoying the soft feel of a woman.

Months later. We sit with our hands entwined on a firefly-speckled night, out on the patio.

'"I think I'm falling in love with you."

Her eyes are bright with ideas.

"Let's run away together, forever. After you get your mom's money.... We can go to California, or Vegas...It would be so fun to be a showgirl!"

She is beautiful enough for it, I think, but keep this to myself.

The next time we meet, I am fuming.

"The old crone wrote me out of her will. I get nothing, Peyton! Not one thing! Not even a penny of all that money! I heard her talking about it with the lawyer on the phone. He's coming tomorrow."

Her pretty face is grave.

"I can help you."

The ink is barely dry on the document when the lawyer leaves. Suddenly, I see a bright flash of red - Peyton's convertible; her father is Sean Riley , Irish Mafia ringleader, and he likes for her to have flashy, expensive things, since she is his only daughter. Then it rams into the sleet-gray Subaro, sending the car spiraling, spinning off the road.... Peyton calmly gets out, takes the will from the car in her long gloves (so cautious) and rips it into pieces. I watch her until I go back inside the house and, fitting my hands around Mother's throat, calmly strangle her.

Peyton is jittery with excitement.

"Well, let's go!" she keeps saying, but I turn my back on her. She is sweet like a lollipop, just the perfect size, but too needy, just like Mother. Women always want you to take care of them.

 I'm ready to live my own life now.

"She's taken over for Arnold Wesker," I tell Hush after he finished his story.

"Peyton? A ventriloquist?"

"The Ventriloquist," I corrected, smiling.

"How do you know this?"

"She was my cellmate once in Arkham. She goes by Sugar now, because that's what Scarface calls her. You still love her?"

Hush scowled.

"Women - helpless, insipid Barbie dolls, every one...even you. The only difference is, you, I trust."

Well, this was flattering! I was touched. Mr. J had never said anything like that in all our years together. Maybe I really could move on....

"Harleen." His voice was desperate, and husky.

"I know the identity of Batman."

"It's Bruce."

"Bruce Wayne."