The First To Pull Away

Aubree saw the man on the news, sitting in her office, and it nearly made her faint to the floor. His voice, thought metallic and eerily childish, was still his. She forgot where she was, forgot everything. Everyone else saw the face of a madman made up like some morbid clown. She saw what was behind the makeup, and knew the name everyone was clamoring for, the name behind the alias, the Joker. He began cackling again, making her flinch, her insides turn and twist until she thought she would be sick. Jack…

…Jack King and Aubree Kenton had been dating for a year or so when he proposed. Everything seemed beautiful and priming for a bright and happy future. Both young people where well-off, as they were both heirs of substantial wealth and fortunate name. They seemed like the perfect couple, he a handsome young man and she a lovely young lady. Everything was falling perfectly into place.
The very unfortunate happened one night as they were on the way back to their apartment from a party late one night. Though neither of them had been drinking, a driver nearby had been. Jack was driving and was aware of the man’s apparent intoxication and was trying to be safe around him. Suddenly, the road curved and the man in the other car nearly smashed into Jack and Aubree. Jack spun the wheel away from him and they went off the road. Jack lost control and they ran right into a tree.
Aubree could remember waking up in the mangled car, looking around and wondering what had happened. She then looked over at Jack and was horrified. The windshield had cracked and a large piece landed right against his face.
“Jack?!” she cried out. Finally, after what seemed like hours, an ambulance and police came. They managed to get her out of the car with only a few minor abrasions. But she heard later that they had to cut Jack out of the car and he lost a lot of blood.
A few days later, she was allowed to go and see him in the hospital. They had his face wrapped so much and had him completely unconscious because of the pain he would be in otherwise. She held his hand, spoke soft, reassuring words that she could only hope would seep into his subconscious and would make him believe that things would be alright.
“I love you,” she would say while holding his hand in hers. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, Jack, I promise.” Was another frequented phrase. Over the next few weeks after the accident, doctors tried to fix the wounds on his face so that the scarring would be minimal. But the more they tried, the less it seemed to work.
A few weeks later, a completely healed Aubree got the call that Jack was healed and awake. On the way, she was excited, ecstatic to see him again awake and alive. But when she got there, got to him, she was momentarily frightened. He was healed, but there were terrible, twisted scars on either side of his mouth, forcing a grim grin. He looked at her with sad eyes. She had tried to shelve her shock before he saw it, but she was not quick enough, and Jack turned away from her.
“Jack,” she said, her voice quivering involuntarily. She got up her courage and walked over and sat down on the bed next to him. He ignored her, trying to keep his face turned away from her. “Jack, look at me, look at me,” she said gently, reaching for him, trying to pull him near her. He gave in, but when she wrapped her arms around him, he did not respond. “I thought I lost you, I love you Jack, love you love you love you,” she whispered. When she pulled back and looked at him, something was different. His eyes were not the same warm brown they had been a few weeks earlier, no, these eyes looking back at her were cold, dead, and unresponsive. A shiver crept through her, making her stomach ache with worry.
It was only a month later, but somehow, nothing had improved. If anything, their relationship had diminished even more. He didn’t respond too much of anything anymore. No returned I love yous when she would tell him she loved him, no kisses, no more passion.
Finally, one day, another day when he would not bring himself to get out of bed, he called her in.
“Aubree, I don’t think we need to keep up this façade any longer,” he said, coldly, his eyes focused somewhere outside the window. She started shaking, her eyes welling with tears.
“But, Jack, I thought we loved each other, what are you saying?” she said, her voice shaking on the edge of a sob.
“It’s over, I am ruined and you deserve better,” he explained.
“No, no, I love you, only you, the scars don’t bother me,” she cried, kneeling in front of him. She tried to hold his hands, but he would not let her keep hold of them.
“Leave, Aubree, just go,” he said. She searched his eyes, trying to find something, something familiar in the eyes of the man she loved, but could find none. He had changed entirely and she could not find him. His eyes were vacant, his voice as hollow as an echo. She buried her face against his knees.
“No, Jack, please, please, I love you Jack,” she pleaded.
“No!” he growled angrily, pushing her away. She jumped, then pulled herself up, wrapping her arms around herself. And she left, for good. She didn’t even come back for her things. She sent someone for them. None of that bothered him, didn’t even make feel anything. It wasn’t until she mailed him her engagement ring about a week after the man came for her things. Jack opened the envelope and out tumbled the ring. No note, no letter, nothing, not even a return address. With the small ping noise it made when it hit the floor, it was like something in his mind finally came loose. He finally felt the pain for what he had done. He had pushed the one and only person away who loved him, was willing to carry on loving him, claiming to not even care about the scars. That one little ping from the ring he had given the woman he loved was the beginning of a crack that worked it’s way through his psyche, separating the real from the horrid things he thought of himself every time he thought about the way he had pushed her away, turned away her love. And that’s when he cracked…

…Aubree got in her car, setting her briefcase and purse in the passenger seat of her cute little foreign car and pulled the door closed. She was going to fasten her seatbelt when something caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Someone was in the back seat. Frightened, she tried to scream, but he was fast and covered her mouth and nose with a cloth, muffling any sound she managed to get out. Chloroform; she fought briefly before she slumped forward. He got out of the car, looked around. No one was around, no one had seen anything. He breathed a sigh of relief, though he wasn’t quite sure why he should be nervous. He was a mass-murderer, a cold, callus killer with no heart, no soul. He opened the driver door, looked down at her motionless body. She had grown up some since he had last seen her, looked older. He carefully placed her into the backseat, quickly tying her hands together with a rope, just in case she would wake up sooner than he planned…

…The next thing she knew, Aubree was slowly waking from a very heavy, drugged sleep. Her eyes felt heavy and she had a bit of a headache. Looking around, she realized that she was home, in her apartment. How she got there, she couldn’t remember. She tried to move, but found her hands tied behind her back. Everything was still fuzzy when he finally stepped into her view.
He walked toward her and stopped just a few feet from her. She shivered, wondering what was next. She remembered now, the shadow in her rearview mirror, the new report.
“Jack?” she slurred, looking up. He said nothing, only stood there. The name touched something in him though, almost warmed him. She sat there, unable to move, studying him. His hair was messy, dyed some odd shade of green, like a highlighter or something. His face was crudely painted white with thick black shadow around his eyes, and bright red all over his mouth, including the scars. All of his makeup was smeared and running. He was dressed in a well-tailored, but very cheap appearing purple suit. He looked like a monster, something out of a nightmare. “What happed to you?” she asked.
And still, he stood there, unmoved and quiet. It was then that she noticed the knife in his hand, at his side. She hung her head down against her chest, beginning to cry. How could this thing, this monster have ever been the man she loved, was engaged to. He came forward and knelt in front of her. His face was mere inches away from hers when she looked up again. She jumped, startled. She began to sob audibly as large, hot tears rolled down her cheeks. He watched, some of the tears carrying with them the expensive mascara she wore to the office. He reached a purple leather gloved hand up to her cheek, wiping them. Her face was so perfect and smooth, it’s only lines formed by time and age. She flinched at his touch like a scared animal in perilous proximity to its predator. After a moment, her sobs quieted to low whimpers in her throat and sniffles. His hand dropped to his side.
“What h-happened to you?” she repeated. Still silent, he just stared at her. Suddenly, he stood back up, and she flinched again.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Aubree,” he said. His voice was cold and metallic, echoing through her large, open apartment. He raised the knife, still in his other hand, touched the blade with gloved fingers, stroked it. She shivered, writhing against her restraints. “Ah ah ah, don’t fight, I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then untie me,” she almost demanded.
“You and I both know I can’t do that. You’re too jumpy, I can’t trust you not to cause me undue grief,” he said, sounding sure.
“You’re pathetic,” she muttered. His eyes fixed back on her.
“What was that, beautiful?” he asked.
“I said you’re pathetic. Look at what you’ve become?! All over a few little scars?! I loved you, and you turned me away! Why, why are you even here?! You wanted nothing to do with me then, why now?!” she said, the words beginning as being angrily spat, then turning into frustrated sobbing. And again, he was back to saying nothing. He walked around behind her, out of her sight. He yanked the clip out of her hair roughly, making her yelp, and throwing it across the room. It hit the floor with a hollow clank. He then ran his fingers through her long red hair, letting in loose from its tight twist. The feeling of his fingers on her scalp made her shiver, arch her back. She hoped her didn’t notice. He came around in front of her and knelt down, unfastening each buckle on her Manolo Mary Janes, sliding each expensive shoe off. It was then that he realized she was wearing panty hose. He reached up her skirt and slid each one off, one leg after another. Her legs were perfect, smooth and long and toned as he remembered. He took her feet into his hands and held them. And suddenly, he rested his head against her knees. For a moment, everything was silent. “Jack?” she said. He lifted his head, but didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he moved a hand along the inside of her thigh. She gasped, the contact startling. She looked down and saw it was the hand with the knife moving steadily up her skirt. She jumped, almost screamed before he put the other hand over her mouth. She shuddered, attempted to writhe, and suddenly, he was rubbing the smooth handle of the knife against the front of her panties. She jumped.
“Ah ah ah, just enjoy, remember, that blade could do a lot of damage,” he rasped. “And we wouldn’t want two of us scarred up, now would we?”
The emotions inside Aubree were so conflicting. Part of him had to still be the man she loved, but a big part of him was this toxic, cruel monster he had become. Part of her wanted to give in, at the idea of having the love of her life back, even just for a little while, while another part fought hard against trusting anyone who tied you up and held a knife to your bare skin, love or not.
But he rubbed the hilt of the blade against her panty-covered opening, over and over. After a few moments, he took the knife away. He took his gloves off and felt her with his bare fingers.
“My my my, Aubree, you are a bad girl, look at how wet you are,” he said, stroking her pussy with his rough fingertips. She shuddered, arching her back. She groaned deep in her throat, making him chuckle. He pushed up her skirt and sliced the panties away with his knife, then tossed them in the pile with her hose and shoes. She whimpered as the cool air hit her nakedness. He took the handle of the knife and pushed inside her up to the hilt. She moaned softly, his cue. He fucked her with the knife handle a little, her wet absolutely soaking it.
Suddenly, he jerked it out of her and dropped it to the floor. His wicked gaze came back to her beautiful, flushed face, parted lips, and drowsy eyes. He undid his pants, his erection springing free, long and hard. He pulled her to the edge of the chair and pushed inside her about halfway, then pulled her down straddling him, letting gravity impale her on him. She cried out, her pussy immediately gripping his shaft.
“Mm, tight,” he rasped. She moaned, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Just the way I left you.” He chuckled, starting to move inside her. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
“I left,” she corrected him. Her mouth hovered close to his, threateningly. He surged up into her, and she chose that moment of complete abandon to kiss him. He stopped her, ripping open her blouse and attacking her breasts with his mouth and tongue. He did this all while fucking her, hard, making her pant and moan. “Untie me,” she said.
“No,” he said back, pumping in and out of her hard now, passionate and rough.
“Please, please Jack, let me touch you,” she pleaded. Somehow, he couldn’t turn her down again. Something inside him was definitely beating again, if only temporarily. He reached behind her and tugged the rope, freeing her. Without even fully removing the rope, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him to her. He knew she was close to coming, as she was clinging to him. He smiled at his ability to still call her movements and reactions. He nuzzled her neck and breasts, all the while fucking.
“Jack,” she sobbed, her orgasm crashing down within her. And with the contractions of her pussy, he came too, holding her still as he came.
“Aubree,” he groaned, burying his face against her chest. They held each other there for a moment, both wishing they could turn back the clock. He was the first to pull away. It was then that he found that she was crying.
“Please, please don’t leave, we can-“ and he chloroformed her again. Her body fell limp once more, this time against him. He gathered her up, carried her to her bedroom and put her in her bed. He cleaned up the part of the apartment where they had been, and then slipped off into the night…

…The next morning, Aubree woke up, wondering what had happened. She couldn’t seem to separate a likely dream from an unlikely reality. That is until, she saw the white and red smears all over her. She showered, went to work, moved about as usual. Better even, because now she knew that some part of Jack still existed, loving her as he always had. The Joker killings reemerged, but he never mentioned her, and she never said a word.