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

Psycho...Bang Bang!

That Dr. Queenie Hartz was enamored with my Puddin'. This much I knew. He hadn't opened up to her like he had me (no matter what Batsy said, I knew things, secret, special things); actually, had probably given her a big load of hooey, but she'd fallen in love just the same. What could I say? He had that charismatic power. You really couldn't blame her - except for shouldn't she have known he was mine? Sure, our twosome - company - got crowded sometimes, but I just couldn't stand a threesome, in any way, shape or form.

"She's packing heat," Black Mask whispered to me when Peyton and I were playing checkers in the rec room, and I totally blanked.

"What?"

"She has a gun - it shoots red glitter tranquilizer patches shaped like little hearts. She's already had to use it on Zsaz twice, and she just got it, we think. Isn't that illegal?"

Well, Doctor Queenie Hartz played by her own rules, I was noticing - from the slinky clothes she wore under her white coat, to her manner of dealing with patients...and now this. I'd seen Puddin' around, and he actually seemed to like her. It was her saucy, rulebreaking manner he was drawn to...he wasn't actually attracted to her, being loyal to me. But Dr. Hartz (or Queenie-Poo), now she was so smitten she was tripping around in a lovestruck fog that seemed awfully familiar...though, of course, I was much less ridiculous.

Peyton and I were bored with the usual troublemaking, so we decided to get to the bottom of the gun mystery - I "casually" asked about it the next time I had a session.

"Yes - a patient made it for me. I guess he considers it kind of a love offering - it's been very helpful in keeping the... rowdier patients in line."

They said she only used it on the patients she liked - further proved when Puddin' stumbled out of her office, a tiny, glittering red, red rose-colored heart on his cheek catching the light as he slumped to the floor.

"Jonathan, did you make that...weapon for Dr. Hartz?" Peyton accused Gotham's deadliest nerd, and his sallow, lantern-jawed face flooded with color.

"Well, yes - of course you wouldn't tell anyone in charge?"

I was tempted to, but Dr. Jonathan Crane had taken enough flack from life. His mental condition - bullying gone bad - depressed me; the same common situation could create a million other "Scarecrows", if you will.

"Well, she isn't interested in you," Peyton told him. her lips twitching sorrowfully.

"Women never are."

"She's making the moves on Mr. J!"

His shoulders slumped, heightening his already horrendous posture.

"Why does he get all the women? No one ever offers to be my sidekick."

"You're so smart you don't need one. And it's a harmless crush," Peyton said assuringly.

"I mean, please? Is she not desperate if she's hitting on Gotham's kookiest pyscho - and it's not like he goes solo, either."

"Right!" I chirped, the picture of happiness, but, honestly, this situation was stressing me out. Sooner or later she was going to take drastic measures...or else I  was. Seeing that red-lipsticked smile for 20 minutes each day (she'd gotten permission from the higher-ups to cut my session times back, making up some fake excuse. when, really, she couldn't stand me) and knowing its head was full of incriminating thoughts about your man could make a lady crazy. Dr. Leland, though she didn't know the cause of my anxiety, slipped me some meds (good old Joan - at least I still had a friend in power at Arkham. She'd forgiven me for the time I played them all), but it wasn't helping any.

It was late - all the staff who weren't orderlies or matinence had gone home...except for Dr. Hartz. I knew she'd been planning and plotting for weeks, distracted in our sessions (which were more like screaming matches full of insults about the other one's figure, or questioning their paternity - though Dr. Hartz swore at me like a biker chick banshee). Tonight, all of it was culminating.

I had to go warn Mr. J!

I ran to his room, but he wasn't there!

I had to go find him; no one could stop me from my mission. I barreled down Arkham's halls, interrogating inmates, elbowing orderlies out of the way until I found them. She'd dressed him up in civilian clothes and a disguise, and was sneaking him out the back.

She was going to run away with my man and leave me locked up! How dare that hussy!

"Puddin'?"

His face broke into a nervous grin.

"Harley-girl! You won't betray your Mr. J, right? Queenie here is taking the liberty to spring me free from this slop heap...and I'll send someone to come back and get you, ok?"

He was going to leave me here. He wasn't even going to come back for me himself.

I collapsed to the floor and sobbed until I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in my cell, but Peyton had been moved out.

"We can't have him coming back for you, because that would mean you'd still be alive. So I'm going to do him a favor and get you off his back. They'll think you hung yourself. No one will know the story...."

She stood me up on the bed and looped the rope around my neck, but I grabbed my spare gun from where it was hidden inside my bra and, taking a deep breath, squeezed the trigger and shot her three times in the chest, happily watching her plop to the floor, bleeding out....

"