It was Saturday night in Gotham City and half of its residents were buzzing with excitement and anticipation over the party that Bruce Wayne himself was hosting in his very own penthouse. The lucky ones who were invited obsessed over looking their best and to keep up appearances, and the unlucky ones skulked and accused Bruce Wayne of being a snobby rich kid with favourites (which some could consider true, but I didn't exactly follow him in the media or anything).
I was one of the lucky ones. I was invited by Cassidy (but I still thought Bruce Wayne was a snobby rich kid).
I wasn't really much of a party person, or a socialite for that matter. I just must've got lucky on that bus when I first met the Joker, my confidence being supported by his casual sense of humour. I sometimes smiled at the thought, how human he seemed, how different of a person he was when I really got to know who was. What he was. That seemingly fateful event made me realise the importance of first impressions, and how crucial they would affect one's perception of you. First impressions also made me think long and hard about the reality of loving somebody unattainable- like high school crushes. The people you'd love from a distance, without really knowing anything about them. Loving somebody from a distance was easy enough, you'd get the general idea of who they were, and just the mere idea, the warped perception of perfection of somebody, was enough to have you gushing in their presence. It was so easy. Then, get to know a person... and it could change everything. That's why high school crushes never work like they do in the movies. Perception of reality.
I was hoping that this damn 'perception of reality' theory applies to this party. I wasn't particularly looking forward to it, and I hoped that it wasn't as scary as I thought it'd be. Sometimes I thought about the amounts of people who'd be there and my stomach churned.
I took a turn in the mirror and twisted my torso around, trying to glimpse at my best angle.
At least I looked pretty.
The dress I wore was one of Cassidy's- in fact, it was her second prom dress. And I say second because she'd had multiple boyfriends who were younger than her, and she'd had the blessing to go to prom six times- a prom queen's dream. The dress fitted me perfectly; it was a black cocktail dress that flared out just above my knees, and it was strapless. I wore matching black heels that I couldn't even walk in, and a strapless push up bra that sorta made me look like a hooker from the eighteenth century.
But a pretty hooker, I guess.
I smoothed my hair out and smiled at myself. I'm dressing for me. I'm dressing for me. I'm dressing for me. I convinced myself of that fact as I strutted into the living room, ready to say goodbye to mom.
"Mom?" I asked, looking at her lazy form sprawled out across the sofa. She was hungover. She groggily looked up at me, looking careless and tired. I grimaced in response and shrugged, picking up my phone from the coffee table. "Y'know what? Never mind. Have a nice night mom, whoever you're screwing." I scoffed and rolled my eyes, only to hear a baffled groan in return.
I waited by the front door and checked my messages. I raised my brows and felt my stomach twirl at the sight of one name. A single letter.
From: J
Received at: 10:13pm
That dress looks pretty sexy on you, if i do say so myself sweet cheeks. Makes your legs look longer. See you toniiiiiight
I thought about what he meant for a moment, nibbling at my lip, before assuming that he was planning to invite himself over, and I knew for a fact that I'd have no say in it one way or the other, so I simply accepted it.
I quickly eyed out of any nearby windows after reading his complimentary comment, wondering how he even knew what I was wearing. I didn't catch any sight of the Joker anywhere, but damn, he had his ways of watching my every move. I took his opinion-slash-comment in appreciation, smiling a little to myself. He was a freak, but even the falsest of compliments boosted my self esteem a little.
