A Starr is Born

I open my eyes. It’s dark, I’ve established, and I’m in a bed, I’ve also established.

What happened? Did anything happen? Am I at work? I was at work. I don’t remember going home, but I’m in bed. I’ve got to pee. I should get up.

Shit.

This isn’t my bed.

How do I know this isn’t my bed? I’m tied down to it. The events of the night come cascading to the forefront of my memory. Was I just kidnapped? Was I just kidnapped by the Joker?

Shit.

Again.

The bonds are tight. I think about trying to break free, but it seems like a useless expenditure of my little energy. There’s no breaking free. One would expect that I’d be hysterical right now, but that was never my nature. If I lose a pair of socks or something, I go crazy. This seems a little more serious, and I figure it’s time to remain calm.

It’s the Joker. He’s best known for being a psychotic mass murdering clown, but does that necessitate my rape and murder? I try to avoid the obvious conclusion, which is, “yes, you will get raped and murdered.” I truly can’t imagine what he’d want with me, considering I have no affiliation with anything. He’s supposedly the master of chaos. Am I just part of that? Some random person he chose to torture, rape, and kill just to terrify the masses even more? Maybe he just wants to talk or something? Maybe he just wants unconditional free coffee from Dough from Joe Schmo’ . . . I only joke to myself to keep sane.

I truly have no memory of how I got here. I have a mild headache, so I guess he knocked me out? I look around my surroundings. The room is pretty dark except for the moonlight emitting from the window next to me. Though it’s a full moon, most of the room is shrouded in mystery. I see foliage outside my window. Could it be true the Joker really put his hideout in some stupid and isolated place in my pathetic little town? I didn’t realize anyone wanted to take up residency here by choice…

Have I been violated? I look down and see my uniform is still on. This is the one time I’m happy to see myself in this uniform.

My attempts at sanity are interrupted by a noise at the door. My body stiffens. I remember that I’m actually terrified and any attempts at jest are just attempts to hang on to threads of my own humanity.

The door opens. The light from the hallway silhouettes his body, casting his face in shadows, but his silhouette is unmistakable. I’ve only ever seen that hunch before on Bob Fosse, and I have a sick feeling Bob Fosse wasn’t coming into the room.

He closes the door behind him, his body now in total darkness, save for the moonlight. I can feel him leering in my direction. He strides over to the bed, and I can still feel him smiling down on me. As he approaches, the moon lights up his face. He smiles with half of his face, his eyes amused and hungry. I can’t get a read on him. I don’t know if he’s going to talk to me about Nietzsche or fuck me with the sharp end of one of his knives.

“Well, hello there,” he says, as he sits down next to me. I try to push my body as far away as the restraints will allow.

“A, ta, ta,ta, that won’t be necessary.” He smiles as he scoops me up easily and pulls me back towards him, “You’re not going to make it far.” He leans over my body and strokes my hair, “If you want to remain alive, I suggest we get along. What’s your name?”

I stare back at him, dumbfounded. I can’t figure out a way to answer him. He apparently doesn’t like that and drags me up by my shirt. He eyes my nametag.

“Auburn? Hmm?” He releases his grip, and I collapse onto the bed. “What kind of name is that?”

“What kind of name is ‘the Joker?’” I reply before thinking.

He stares back at me. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. The stress had accumulated and I snapped. Was that a fatal mistake?

He laughs, and he starts loosening my bounds. After he finishes, he stands back and looks me over.

“Get up.”

I hesitate. He comes charging toward me and I leap to my feet, a little unsteady having just been unconscious and tied to a bed for who knows how long. He approaches me, his eyes looking sinisterly into mine. I want to look away, but I somehow can’t. I feet violated by his gaze, like he can see everything I could possibly be thinking, like he knows my past, my present, and most terrifyingly, my future.

He towers over me, and I look away from him only to have his gloved hand grab me roughly by the chin and force me to look back into his eyes. He can feel I’m shaking, and he smiles. His teeth are rotting. I try not to inhale. He releases me and backs away. He reaches into his pocket and removes a knife. He taps it gently on his face, “Hmm.” He seems deep in thought. He looks back towards me, gleaming.

“Strip,” he says, simply. Normally I would be glad to get out of this outfit, but considering the circumstances, I preferred to keep it on. Before I could finish the thought, he’s on me. He grabs me by my hair and forces my face inches from his. My eyes begin to tear from the pain of his excruciating grip.

“We have rules here,” he growls at me, “Rule number one: when I tell you to do something, you do it. You understand?” He jerks my head on his last “understand” and nods his head hopefully. I don’t understand. Gripping my hair even tighter, he brings a knife to my face.

“Rule number two,” he adds on, “when I ask you a question, you answer. You understand?”

I nod, weakly, still being incapable of forming words.

“What?” His face gets even closer. I can smell the greasepaint. I try to turn my face away, but his grip is impossibly tight.

“Yes,” I finally manage to say. He loosens his grip and steps away, apparently satisfied.

“Now, strip.”

I don’t hesitate. I remove my clothing at once, starting with my regulation non-slip shoes. I’m shaking as I do so, and I know he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. I unbutton my pants and let them fall to my feet. I step outside of them, and shakily remove my shirt over my head.

I’m standing in my underwear, and he looks at me. I look back at him because I’m afraid to face his wrath. He doesn’t seem to expect anymore of me, so I keep my underwear on. The knife is gone. I notice his fists are clenching at his sides, empty handed. His tongue flickers over the scar on his lower lip. He’s holding back on something, trying to maintain some type of control, and I’m thankful for it because I’m modest, but not ignorant. The uniform does a pretty good job at hiding what’s really underneath, but now I’m almost totally exposed.

He comes back towards me, towering over me once more. I look away. I don’t remember “eye contact” being one of the rules. I feel his gloved fingers take my chin, gently, and bring it back towards his face. I comply.

I’m now looking the monster right in the eyes. He smiles with half of his face, but his eyes don’t join in. It’s truly terrifying, seeing him lost internally. I don’t want to imagine what he’s scheming for me.

He licks his lower lips putting his hands to the sides of my neck, one of the last places I would want his them to be. My legs are shaking so much I’m about to collapse. His fingers tickle the sides of my neck, not yet gripping. I can’t tell what he’s thinking yet I’m almost positive he knows everything I’m thinking. He wants me to look at him, so he can study me, and I’m an easy study. Everything I feel is so easily projected onto my face. I’m a terrible liar, always.

He fingers trace up my neck and cup my face, almost gently.

His eyes close, and he goes to kiss me on the lips.

I turn my face away.

I brace myself mentally for some physical torture, but instead he laughs quietly to himself and backs away, hands raised in the air.

I refuse to look at him. He’s crossed the line one too many times. No one forces intimacy on me.

“You’re right,” he says, “that was too bold.” He begins to circle around me, trying to pry once more into my soul, but as he tries to look into my eyes, I look away. I can’t face him. As he circles, he says, “I’ll make a deal with you. I can touch you anywhere I’d like, aside from your, uh, privates-“

“You can’t touch my anywhere-“ before I finish the thought, he’s roughly grabbed my face and has given me no choice but to look him in the eyes. He turns his face to the side looking at me from the corner of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t say you’re in any position to make demands, considering how reasonable I’m being. It’s either this third rule, or I kill you. You understand?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

“Good. So I can touch you wherever I want,” he moves my face in accordance to his words, “besides what I can’t see right now, until you let me kiss you . . . on the lips. You understand?”

“Yes,” I nod my head.

He smiles and releases his grip, and I collapse back onto the bed. He goes to leave the room, but stops.

“You should get some sleep. You’ve had a long night.” He steps into the hallway, and turns to me, “Oh yeah, you might want to take a shower. You shit yourself on the way here.” He laughs maniacally and slams the door shut.

I hear him laughing all the way down the hallway.