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Part Fourteen: Chapter 91: Always Planning

The Joker lays with his hands behind his head on his cot in his cell. A smile spread over his lips. He had the young, naive, gullible Dr. Quinzel precisely where he wanted her. She would walk over broken glass for him now. The Joker could tell a man's never made her feel that way before. The poor doctor had never been properly fucked before, and the Joker enjoyed tooting his own horn. Women were sensual creatures that enjoyed the sense of touch. They were delicate like a newly bloomed flower. Men were more primal in nature. They didn't mind roughness, and could handle considerably more.

But then the smile slowly began to fade from the clowns face. His mind couldn't help but start to think of Bruce. It wasn't primal roughness with his beloved bat. Bruce's tender touch had a way of warming the Joker's cold heart. He had the ability to remind the Joker that he even possessed a heart. Bruce's soft passionate kisses made the Joker no better than the common female. Weak. Needy. Emotional.

The Joker growled and quickly sat up straight. He hated how weak that damn bat made him feel. But at the same time he loved that he loved him. The Joker hated the way Bruce made him despise the man he had become. But at the same time he loved that he creates enough hell to catch the bats attention at all. He hated the confliction...but he loved it, because it felt real. It was perhaps the only thing in the Joker's entire life that had never presented itself as a joke to him.

The Joker didn't give two shits about Dr. Quinzel or her delicate fucking sensibilities. He didn't care if he hurt her. He didn't care if he let her down. He didn't care if he made her cry. He didn't care if he drove her insane. And the fact that he didn't care felt liberating to him. He really wished that he could extend that inate uncaring on Bruce Wayne. His life would be so much easier if he could simply not care.

But he did care. He cared about that stupid bat when he didn't even give a damn about himself. Bruce Wayne brought him most of the true joy he felt...and at the same time, bitter discontent. It was beyond frustrating. He hated it! He hated loving! Loving another is basically giving them the consent to hurt you. He wished he could take that power from Bruce. He wished he didn't need him to validate his own purpose in life. But goddamnit he did. And it just wasn't fair.

The Joker looks up as a guard approaches his cell.

The guard smirks and let's his baton fall into the palm of his hand, over and over. "So how much is it costing you to bribe that pretty blond doctor of yours? She's actually in her office right now, on the phone with Dr. Arkham, pleading with him to give you liberties around here. You might have her fooled into thinking you're the poor mistreated patient, but I know better. I watched you kill three of the five guards I worked with the last time you bust outta here."

"Three you say?" The Joker eyes him. He slowly stands and walks to the glass. "Well, obviously the other two of the five were pussies who were hiding. Because I assure you, if I would have seen you, I would have certainly killed you."

"How is it nobody's killed you for that big mouth of yours?" The guard glared.

"Well, I don't die so easy. I guess in that aspect, you could compare me to a cockroach. Did you know that cockroaches can survive a nuclear fallout? They can live a month on a single fingerprint. See everything else on this planet is a process of evolution, but not the cockroach. It was perfect to begin with and didn't have to adapt to survive. And it will always be the last man standing."

"Let's see if your smart ass can stand so tall with busted kneecaps?" The guard takes a taunting step closer to the Joker's cell.

"I'm right here sugar," the Joker sasses and blows a few air kisses. "Show me what you can do with that baton in your hand.

Or are you too scared, like your dead colleagues that froze like deer in headlights. It was like shooting fish in a barrel," the Joker smiles maliciously.