* J *

Part Twenty-Six: Chapter 195: Untitled

Harley awoke in more pain than she's ever known. It was her first time to be shot. She's seen so many clowns be shot, and they acted like it was nothing. She must not have been as hard as them, she was after all, just a girl. And to her, being shot was awful. She hopes she never has to take another bullet, especially not for Jason's sorry ass. He could have gotten her killed. At the rate he was going, he was going to get all of them killed.

Harley raises her head and Jason quickly comes into view. "Don't try to sit up," he tells her and gently pushes her down by her shoulders. "How do you feel?" He smiles at her lovingly.

"Like I got shot," she moans.

"Are you in much pain baby?" He asks and takes his hand in hers.

She quickly slides her hand right back out of his, "Yes, it hurts a lot."

"We gave you a lot of Morphine. But I'm sure you know that your blood weakens it. I'm sorry, I wish there was someway to make it hurt less beautiful. Is there anything I can do?" He politely asks.

Harley rolls her eyes, "Yeah, next time ya could take tha bullet fer me."

Jason laughs out loudly, "You crack me up baby."

Harley couldn't believe her ears. Did this motherfucker think she was joking? Cause she wasn't, she was being completely serious. She wanted Jason to take a bullet and have it kill him. And as he lies gasping for air, she'd laugh and rejoice in his departure from this realm. He was so fake. Harley hoped they could all survive the bastard. #bringtherealjokerback.

"I crack ya up? That's all ya got ta say ta me??" Her brows scrunch at him.

"Well, what would you have me say?" Jason shrugs.

"How bout, I'm sorry Harley fer involvin' ya in my stupid cocaine addiction an gettin ya shot?" If she could have yelled the words at him, she would have.

"And I am sorry baby. I'm gonna make it up to you, I promise," he smiles.

"Don't ya get it? Ya can't make up for gettin shot. There ain't no makin it up ta me," she stares at him in disbelief. Did he actually think that she cared about him?

Jason frowns emphatically, "Oh come on baby, you know you can't stay mad at your puddin."

Harley threw up in her mouth a little. He was not, nor would he ever be her puddin. Every time he referred to himself as that, made Harley want to punch him in the dick. Hard. Real, real hard. No. Scratch that. She wanted to cut his dick off. She hated that awful appendage more than she hated the man himself. It had invaded her against her will. It was still an invasion when she consented.

"Look, I'll call ya Mistah J all ya want, but let's keep it light on tha puddin's. Deal?"

Jason's mood then shifted abruptly. "What? I'm not good enough to be called that? It's just a stupid name," his tone progressively getting louder.

"It's sumthin private between me an my husband and ain't meant ta be used fer nobody else," Harley glares at him.

Jason grinds his teeth together and his fists ball. "I'm your husband now," he growled.

"That may be, but ya ain't my puddin." Jason rares back a fist and rushes at her. Harley doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Ya think I'm scared a ya? Please. I've gone up against biggah an scarier men than you. Hit me if ya want. I don't give a shit. But I ain't callin ya puddin."

Jason clamps a hold of her throat, "You'll call me what I tell you to call me," he states threateningly.

Still, Harley showed no response. "I'll call ya puddin ovah my dead body."