Joker Imagines

Friends (I)

⚠ Mentions of Physical Abuse ⚠
⚠ Verbal Abuse ⚠
⚠May seem self-harmish ⚠

Fem!Reader x Joker

Determining who was a friend and who wasn't was something (Y/n) always struggled with.

She'd label someone as a friend and think that they were a friend, only to realize a year or two later that she was being hoodwinked.

Friendships always felt one-sided. One second she would be laughing with them and smiling about something and the next she'd be at home wondering if she was annoying them or not.

The idea of being a nuisance always kept her up at night.

(Y/n) never valued herself because no one ever stayed.

No one ever confided in her.

No one ever noticed her absence.

No one ever asked how she felt.

They'd just keep ber around, use her, and then leave.

After her last "friend" robbed her and stabbed her multiple times, her doctor had sent her off to visit a therapist.

His excuse was, We've got enough psychopaths in the world. I don't want to see anymore.

So she went.

Her therapist, Dr. Gray, wasn't exactly the nicest or most friendly, but she was honest.

(Y/n) couldn't hate her for that.

All she had to do was answer her questions, show her journal, and then make an appointment for next week.

"So how are you feeling today, (Y/n)?"

"I've had better days."

"How so?"

She shrugged. "I just don't feel happy."

"How are things with your mom?"

"O-Ok." She dug her nails into her palms.

Dr. Gray arched a brow as the (nationality ex. Italian) woman started playing with her long sleeves.

"It's a tad warm for a hoodie, don't you think?"

"..."

Dr. Gray sighed. "Still no friends?"

(Y/n) froze at the word and Dr. Gray immediately tensed up. "..."

"Fuck. Sorry. Trigger word." She scribbled down a few notes. "Are you interacting with other people?"

"N-Not really."

Her therapist sighed realizing that the whole session was now compromised due to her slipping up. "Did you bring your journal?"

She held it out for the woman.

It was the same sketch over and over.

This was something that always seemed to make her therapist think that she was still stuck in the past.

She didn't understand what betrayal felt like.

She didn't understand how bad her meltdowns were around people or how much she hated living with her mother.

Dr. Gray treated every problem she had like it was trivial.

The woman continued to thumb through the book, examining each sketch of the same picture.

One stick figure stabbing another while red ink colored in the blood.

"You're still reliving that night."