My Boyfriend Is a Psychopathic Clown: Harley Quinn's Story

P. I

My Puddin' was back, and he had my dad!...My dad? Oh, I loved him! I LOVED him forever, even if he hit me and ran off on me and treated me like two-bit trash sometimes. This erased every thing he'd ever done, every screaming-breaking things-crying on the floor-fit I'd ever had over him.

"Harleen?" my father whispered, haunted. His hair had gone gray, and his middle was pudgier than in the past, but his round, practically rimless glasses still slid down his nose. I clung to this familiarity as I hugged him, remembering: watching him unwrap his annual Father's Day tie, taking pictures before Prom, writing letters back and forth while I was at Gotham U.... Mr. J had, up until seeing his face again, fit perfectly into the puzzle called Parenthood. He was more than a boyfriend to me; a mentor, a father, a confidante, a comerade. Even his furious temper and impulsive behaviors felt like discipline. Besides, I would just be complaining if I said I had it bad. Mr. J had taken me in. The things I had to do for him were perfectly normal, and I enjoyed my life of crime. Breaking the law gives you a certain adrenaline rush, especially when partnered with your genius lover....

Now my father turned round and faced Mr. J.

"Is there any way I can talk to my daughter alone?"

I froze, waiting for my angel to shoot Dad's face off for sass-mouthing him like he wasn't the most infamous criminal in Gotham, maybe beyond, but he was either feeling generous or had done enough maiming and killing for the moment, though I could never really predict Mr. J's moods. going on and off of meds while he was in and out of Arkham made them change as often as the sky outside...or that was what I had decided, using my skill as a former psychiatrist to come up with the conclusion.  Instead of flipping out, he shrugged.

"Use the kitchen. I'm going off to feed the hyenas, Harley. Bane ambushed an armored truck he thought was full of gold, but it was really full of rotting meat. Turns out it was a setup by the cops. I convinced them with a little Joker Venom to drop it off at our place. It's so easy to get people to agree with you when they're smiling...."

"But won't it make them sick?" Call me a sappy, sentimental fool  (Mr. J did) but I was kind of fond of those rascal mutts. They bit everyone else, but when I was in the room, they would be gentle and sweet, let me pet their coats and scratch their heads. Puddin' just looked at me like he didn't understand (a very familiar look around here) and walked out.

I took my dad into the kitchen, which was clean (I cleaned twice a day while I was waiting for Puddin' to arrive home), but nowhere as high-tech as our kitchen at home. Dad looked around.

"You're...happy here, Harley?"

I laughed at his stupidity.

"Of course. I've got everything I need: shelter, food, clothes...and a man."

He still wasn't getting it, but tried different tactics.

"You aren't pregnant, are you? Not with...."

I couldn't understand why having Puddin's baby seemed so awful! It meant he'd get a grandchild, something my brother wasn't going to give him of late; he was a player, and none of his pretty, bubble butt, bubble brained girlfriends stayed long, intimidated by his intellect.

"No, Dad! We...we haven't even had sex. Not one time in all the years we've lived together." It was an embarrassing admission, but too true. The situation wasn't that I didn't get those urges, but that he didn't seem to care about it, no matter what I did to myself, from getting wrapped head to toe in bubble wrap, and glitter underneath, to racier, more daring things, some that I invented myself, or stole from TV, books, or magazines.

"What is he, some kind of pervert? I thought it was the Mad Hatter who liked little girls...or maybe it's...."

I couldn't believe him, accusing my perfect Puddin' angel turtledove of ...this, so I did what I had to to protect my man's honor.

 I actually slapped my own father.

Instead of getting enraged, he sank to the floor and began to cry, pounding the linoleum.

"I have to get you out of here! Where's my sweet girl? My sweet baby girl?"

"I'm not a child anymore! I have my own life now, Dad."

"But this isn't a good life! You can't be happy living like this!"

" I love him, Daddy!" I shouted.

He stared at me, slack-mouthed. At this point, I'd be happy if I never saw him again...estatic if he just keeled over and died (something that Mr. J could take care of in a few seconds, easy).  But his eyes became hard, steely. Before I could duck out of the way, he lunged forward, grabbed me around the waist, and hoisted me up over his shoulder, charging out the door.

"Puddin!"  I shrieked, hoping he'd swoop in (not like Batman, though) and stop my kidnapping, but the hyenas beat him to it, racing into the room, snarling and nipping my dad's legs. He tried to push through the furry fray, but was forced to put me down.

"Trying to take me away by force? As I stressed, I am an adult. You don't have legal control of me, unless I'm incapable of making my own mental decisions, which is not the case. I'm happy here with my Puddin'. My life with you is over, kaput, done."

 This was the clincher. I stared him straight in the eye.

"Don't ever come back."