black_hat

A Harley Quinn fanfiction

There’s just something about saying it with a smile that changes everything.

She’d been taught to play a part, a very specific part by rote, and that is the part of sex appeal. Oh, she had brains, but the smart thing to do was never let 'em know. Sex makes the world go round and round, and it’s sad that it had gotten so old. There are a couple of rules a girl’s gotta know, and the big one is how to see what people are saying underneath the veneer of polite society.

Even a request for sex is polite, nowadays. She’d always known how the world works. It’s why she was such a damn good psychiatrist. She was a natural, because the ugly was just as good as the pretty. Sometimes better. Naturally, more colorful, more forbidden.

Have you ever heard that song, let’s give ‘em something to talk about? Before, she never could get them to talk. Because of the whole polite society gimmick. Her professors just loved her to death, they just ate her up, but you couldn’t talk about that in polite society! No, no, no, so she’d sit ‘n wiggle in her chair, knowing what that man in his nice suit was really like.

Everyone knew, they just didn’t want to talk about it. Part of her interest in the mind of a psychopath was that everyone talked about the psychos much more than sex scandals. Everyone tuned in. And she thought, to be able to expose such ugliness and the whip it back around to link them, the audience, into it. Oh, the guilt, the scandal, the shock, we’d all fall down!

The inclusive fall of innocence in apple red.

Her book was never going to be a best-seller in that respect. But she’d hardly think they’d forget it. Boom, and you’d have a romance. Romance…

Yes, romance was possibly the best worst. It brought out all the wicked things, and people called it beautiful, then. Justifiable crimes of passion. It had been something she had wanted, to be a legend, to be the Dido to fall upon the sword, then burn for good measure. All these feelings just bubbled to the surface, and everyone cared. They’d cry, they’d mourn, and they’d love her, even though she had been a bit of a fool.

A Loveable Fool.

In matters of the heart, no one can judge; it was the one sane thing in this rotten, big apple of a world. An inexplicable flicker of a moment where...

(Even now, she can't describe it. She can not describe what isn't there for her to know.) Where whatever, whenever, it doesn't matter.

Yeah, the whole world was off its rocker (she had hated it, just a little. The things a girl’s gotta do to get a little attention now and then). Yet it was her oyster, though she hated fish. See, it made sense, or was made of sense. Whatever.

She was beautiful, and worst of all, she knew it. They’d talk to her once they were up a creek, oh, then they’d want to hear her speak. Because someday that beauty would die, just up and go away, for another, another day. To steal her thunder. So she had to hurry, you see. Time was awastin’.

Any man she wanted she could get. Except one.

Deep down, she understood what’s wrong with her. Or rather, she could feel what’s wrong with her. It was in a place she just couldn’t scratch. It had been a great joke, the psychiatrist flipping her wig, and that’s why she went for it, tooth and nail. How loony does one have to be to listen to a bunch of nuts?

She’d do one better! Oh yes, she’d do one so better, so best, that it will be the only love story that mattered! Forget Cleo and Tony! Move aside, Bonnie and Clyde. How loony, how wrong, does one have to be to fall in love with a psycho? Knock ‘em dead, girl!

The strenght of her love was rooted in the ashes of hate.

It was to laugh.

For it was better to laugh than to cry.