Joker Imagines

Bruises (II)

⚠ Smut Warning ⚠
(I'm trying to get into writing smut, so hopefully as this series progresses, I'll get better 😪)

Arthur had been working nonstop in hopes of paying his bills, but shit had hit the fan today.

He had accidentally dropped his gun in a children's hospital and gotten fired.

His coworker, Randall, who had given him the gun had lied to their boss and said he had purchased it on his own and that he had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Which was a complete lie.

Randall was a liar.

Is a liar.

He and Randall were going to have a little chitchat next time they met up, and he was going to show Randall just where he got his gun from.

With a sigh, the green wigged man, smacked his head again the glass of the subway.

All was quiet until three drunk men in tuxedos stumbled on board and immediately started harassing a woman reading her book quietly.

He hadn't meant to laugh, but his laughter wouldn't stop.

It seemed to be an endless episode of regretted laughter until one of the men came forward mocking his laughter, while another sung a song tauntingly. 

Tears started to stream down the clown's face as the men got closer and closer to him. 

One of them yanked off his wig and yanked at his real hair with his free hand.

He was prepared to accept defeat once they started jumping him, until he remembered that he had Randall's gun.

It all happened so quick.

Two gunshots and then a third.

But the third one wasn't fatal.

He watched the man frantically try to escape his fate, but Arthur couldn't allow it.

His brain was screaming at him to get vengeance.

He has been abused too many times to let this criminal live to see tomorrow.

So, he did what he felt like.

Fuck the rules.

Fuck the good boy mentality.

Everyone had always treated him like a piece of shit on the pavement.

Like he deserved to be stepped on and scrapped off the bottom of society's shoe.

And now, all he wanted was for the noise in his head to stop.

With a grunt of anger, he managed to catch the last idiot in a tux and shot him multiple times in the back.

Once he was sure he was dead, he ran to the nearest telephone booth and punched in a few numbers that he was reading frantically off of a piece wrinkled paper.

He had been staring at these numbers for over a week and a half now. Angel's scent was barely on it anymore, but it still brought him the tiniest bit of comfort that somebody wanted to know who he was.

Kinda like how he wanted to know his neighbor, Sophie.

The woman avoided him like the plague after she called him out for following her to work.

A tired voice answered the phone. "H-Hello?"

He was speechless. 

Amazed that she had answered and scared to confess his sins.