Jðkêr//Är†hµr x RêåÐêr ïmågïñê§ & ðñê-§hð†§

• Inmates (pt.5)

"Sorry Doc, Fleck says he doesn't want therapy today." One of the guards informed her, grimly.

She bristled, feeling herself crumple inwardly.

Arthur didn't want to see her.

She shouldn't have been surprised given the circumstances of their last meeting.
But still she had nursed hopes of him wanting to come. Of wanting to see her again.
If truth be told it was those hopes that kept her functioning. Without them she would've lost all sense of purpose. She wouldn't know what to do.
Arthur Fleck had been the focal point of her life for the past two years.
Without him, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do.
And to have come so close to understanding him, only to be rejected now after all her efforts and hard work, was more than she could bear.

Perhaps that was part of the problem.
She had come too close.
Too close to the man behind the makeup.

For her he'd gone from being a mere mugshot in a case file, the grainy image from TV footage, a photograph in newspaper clippings, to a living, breathing man in the flesh.
A man who she had fought with. Talked with. Laughed with.
Kissed.

Damn. What an extraordinary man he'd turned out to be. Not to mention an extraordinary kisser.

The line between Doctor and patient had been distorted from the start due to her deception, and it had only become fuzzier after that first heated encounter in Arthur's cell. When she'd impulsively kissed him as a deterrent. To stop him from hurting himself.

After that, the kiss had played on her mind. Creating fevered dreams about his sinewy body, wrapped around hers. Providing her with many unwanted sordid thoughts, in which she'd secretly fantasise about his strong hands holding her in their powerful grasp, as his soft lips devoured her mouth.

But fevered fantasies aside, she needed to see Arthur again. She couldn't stand the thought of him despising her. Of feeling ill used by her.
The very thought of never actually being able to see him again terrified her.

It was then that she realised her obsession may run a lot deeper than she'd first anticipated. She was infatuated. Smitten with the charismatic, yet deadly, former killer clown.

***

The next day when Arthur was a no-show, she felt she had no other option than to exercise her authority.
Yes she had given the Arkham inmate the right to chose if he attended the sessions or not, foolishly believing that if he chose to come then it must mean something.
That he felt something for her, like she did for him.
Clearly she'd been fooling herself.
But she did still want to help him, and that meant every second counted. So his refusal was no longer acceptable.

When the guards brought him forcibly to the room, to say he was unwilling to cooperate, was an understatement.

Sitting slouched in his chair, he sat chain smoking, staring blankly at the ground as if she wasn't even there.

"How are you feeling today, Arthur?" (y/n) asked in the airiest tone she could muster, even though the shallowness of the enquiry almost choked her.

She actually wanted to say she was sorry. To convince him that she'd never deliberately intended to lead him on. It had just happened. And...it wasn't leading on.
Whether she liked it or not, she wanted Arthur Fleck. Even though the unrequited feelings were bound to ruin her.