The Skin That Crawls From You [A Jonathan Crane Fan-fiction]

T̶r̶u̶s̶t̶.

Jonathon Crane is gone, and I'm peeling down the road in the back of this dingy van, slamming into the sides of the metal vehicle like a box of pizza.

He called me a weapon; and left me in this vehicle as if I had been sold to the first buyer he could find. He's left me paralyzed and alone, and I can't even cry. I can't move a muscle.

It doesn't make any sense. His words especially. Me, a 'weapon?'  I can't even begin to comprehend who he thinks I am.

When the buyers find out I'm simply a ruined woman- his scape goat- god knows what they'll do to me. What they'll try to do to him. That doesn't matter, I'm sure he's long gone by now.

"Trust me,"
I hear his voice ringing in my head.

I played a game, he caught on and took control; weaving me into his twisted plan instead. I have been a fool, mistaking his physicality for affection rather than manipulation. I was putty in his hand since I laid eyes on him. I'm a fool, for trusting him, for beginning to fall for him.

It seems like his plan has all gone right. He escaped Arkham; released his serum on the narrows for whatever morbid purpose, and sold me to criminals.
I'm not his problem anymore? It seems like too much work to come back for me; just to throw me away. I wonder how many patients he's been fooling and how many he's made a profit off of. It all must have been worth it to him.

I can't believe I trusted him. He didn't give me a single reason to do so, yet I did. Without a second thought. Hoping and praying; cultivating that small bud of idealism in that dark hospital as if it would ever bare fruit. As if I could ever hope to have a normal life again. The second he offered me aid, i let my guard down. I let myself dream about him. I saved him. But he's gone and i'm too tired to keep fighting. Too tired to keep searching for answers.

Finally my motor skills begin to return, my eyes begin to twitch open to reveal a rusty unlined roof of a vehicle. My fingers twitch, toes curl and a soft groan escapes my lips. I push into it, begging each muscle to flex until my limbs begin to thrash- slamming against the metallic ground.

"No no no."
I hear a raspy female voice beg- we come to a halting stop and I slide into the front wall.

"The fucking bridges!"
She curses.

I scramble to my feet but as I reach them; my wobbling legs give out and I plummet to the floor with an unearthly crash. An echo of pain radiates through me.

"What the-"
The woman asks, she turns about, her thin face flashing fear through the screen divider between us. A thick fog fills the van fully.

Her tired eyes widen and she disappears. Her door slams and the back handles rattle.

Fog smeared streetlights filter into the van as the doors open and she stands just in front of me, a thin tank top and a trench coat upon her frail body. She stares at me for a moment, her body heaving from shallow breaths. Her eyes wide again as they search me. She lunges into the van and pins me against the ground; clawing at my face fervently. I scream and grab a chunk of her short magenta colored hair ripping it out. She screeches but keeps clawing at my face. By the time I realize what she wants- it's too late. She yanks the engineered mask off my mug and takes off into the blur. I choke on a flurry of smoke-like fog, and Crane's scent, that deep metallic bite lurks just beneath it.

That's when it all begins.