Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, drugs and smut. In other words, the usual. I have taken som artistic liberties in this piece, fyi.

"Come and take a ride into paradise
Let's go on a journey hidden in the sky
Open up your heart and let me in, let me in
I will not let you down
Don't trip, I gotcha"

- Psilocybin - Jhené Aiko

Blinking slowly at the light through half-lidded eyelids, she rolls over to the body next to her, nudging him like a cat. The height is there, sweeping over her, a million exploding stars all over her field of vision. Sinking back into herself, following the velvet wave, she goes in for a ride. She's tripping over the stars, wanting him to share the vision with her.

His blue-tinted eyelids are closed and his mouth slightly open, red lips gleaming. He's in another realm, far, far away, sailing on the open wide sea. Harley rolls on top of his body, feeling his ribs underneath her weight, he's so thin behind that skin and muscle. Come closer, let me feel you.

"It's so good so good so good," she laughs butterfly giggles against his throat, letting her teeth sink in for a moment. "Wake up honey." She can do anything; she's a goddess sweeping him into her arms.

He's the taste of melted chocolate ice-cream, nicotine on the tip of her tongue, deep bliss ringing in her ears.

She is rewarded with a sloppy kiss when he comes back to her. It's only she and him alone in the universe of a million different hues, rainbows spilling from the ceiling like rivers of light. She could lie here forever, just gazing at the squares and dots blasting from every angle, but he always grows bored in the end.

Right now she is immersed in this moment, doodling figures with her pinky finger on his tattooed stomach. She can't get enough, can't come deep enough. She wants to pull his skin off his body and eat him.

Let me in. I won't hurt you. I'm not gonna kill you, I'm just gonna hurt you -

She's surfing on the synapses in her brain, feeling the weight of deep pleasure expanding every cell, holding on to keep herself on the edge, a tickling feeling spreading all over. This part is the best, before the memories, the thoughts and the doubts. She pushes them back for another while, watching her body in so many colors she never knew existed, a strange hue of pink? black?- it has no name and it doesn't matter.

When she's in her deepest, he always gets up, restless, and decides what he wants to do. Sometimes he leaves her on her own if she isn't able to pull herself from the floor. Other times he drags her with him, out into town.

Joker sits up, energized - as if the mushrooms had opposite effect on him – a maniacal grin in place as he stretches his limbs.

His voice floats back and forth, like turning up and down the volume. "Harls, do you know why I love avocados?"

She thinks out loud, licking blood from her fingertips. "To make guacamole!"

His shrill laughter echoes along the walls of ACE chemicals, along the ledge they're resting on, spreading like a deadly disease. It spreads over the bodies on the floor, their faces twisted in morbid grins.

"Oh Pumpkin. Daddy just loves to gut people."

x

Memories are only fun to look at like this, but she can never avoid them. Like holding a photo in her hand, she can physically turn it around, see all the strings connecting it to the universe in the back, smash it to pieces if she wants to, like she's watching a movie. A complete cocktail hitting her in the face all at once when she least expect it.

This memory is no different. Each different way to get high gives new experiences.

"What you got." Frost, ever stone-faced, eyed the man in front of him. The guest seemed equally unfazed behind his black shades as he handed over something. "Two pounds, pure."

Frost accepted the brown, plastic package. In the enclosed VIP space at the club, they were seemingly private.

Joker leaned back in his seat, face unimpressed. "And?"

"And?" The man seemed brought out of his tracks.

Joker leaned forward, pouting his mouth and raising his eyebrows. "What about the rest?"

The man swallowed, the sunglasses not hiding his concern.

"Can't the Italian mafia find any good help nowadays?" Joker grimaced and let his hands fall out in a dramatic gesture, releasing the building tension, before abruptly standing up and leaning over the man. Frost's weary eyes followed his boss back and forth.

Joker wagged his finger back and forth. "Do I look like the kind of guy who likes to repeat myself? Where is the rest?"

"I- I … I can fix it. No problem." A bead of sweat collected on the guest's upper lip.

"Aw, you shouldn't have!" Joker cackled. "Let's see…" He snapped the package from Frost, turned it upside down a few times and pretended to sniff. Harley giggled from her end of the couch, while inspecting her nails.

"You mix it up to get eight pounds," the man informed them, a slight tremble in his tone.

Joker pretended to nod agreeably, before tossing the package away carelessly.

"Let's say, I want twenty-five pounds. By tomorrow. I'm feeling generous today." He gave a sickly smile.

The mafia member seemed to regain his composure. "First payment. 'Ndràngheta wants no delays." It was clear to them all he was heavily armed behind his fancy suit.

Frost returned to his stone-like stance, waiting for orders to bring the cash up.

"Oh yes, the payment. Harley, my dear."

Joker watched intently as she got up from the seat, swinging her hips. She settled her eyes on the man, seeing no reaction in the corners of his mouth. Boring. Widening her smile, she closed the distance to the mafia member and felt his cologne mix with her own perfume.

The guest's voice was calm and collected. "100k per package. No compromises."

"Of course," Joker shrugged. "But have my gift first, I insist."

Harley leaned close, coming face to face with the thug. She let her fingertips touch his face, detecting a hint of sweat, feeling the rough texture of his shaved skin.

"How about we play a little game?" She spun around, wrapping herself around J's body. He pushed her away, maniac eyes locked on the man. "Get on with it. I ain't got all night. "

"Ya hear that?" Harley whispered in the man's ear. "Let's get right to the good stuff."

He didn't relax; he was smart. Warily he eyed her through her sunglasses, measuring the situation.

"I have my men outside," he warned them, nodding through the tinted glass to his bodyguards. Joker pretended like he didn't hear.

"Okay, these are the rules. Promise I'mma make you cry at the end." Harley blew a kiss at him and brought up a taser in her hand, that had been hidden underneath her dress. "When you get it up, it's gonna down."

His eyes widened as the first electrical shock hit him, leaving him to her mercy. Joker sat back to watch while Frost left to examine their goods.

.

Harley lost track of time until a good while later, when Frost returned with the package and respectfully placed it on the drink table. Joker looked up from his phone when he heard the annoying singing, that matched the rhythm of the beating. She had taken his cane.

"Harls."

"Lollipop", thud, "lollipop", thud, "lollipop."

"Harley."

"Call my baby lollipop…" double thud. "Shh, I'm keeping count! He's sweeter than an apple pie..."

He sighed dramatically.

"And when he does his shaky rocking dance… Man I haven't even got a chance!" The cane hit the smashed body another time, sending blood splattering across the walls and her dress, that twinkled with the various fluids.

"Harley!" The word was uttered through his teeth; he was impatient, taking the package back in his possession.

She twirled around, shaking her butt. Thud and smash. "Lolli, lolli, lolli, pop." Her laughter spread in the dimly lit room as she threw her weapon away.

Sneaking up to the Joker and caressing his shoulder, she whispered in his ear. "Date night?"

He set his jaw firmly, not outwardly denying her as he pulled her out from the VIP booth.

Another kind of tension settled like a rush in her, but it was too strong, like nausea.

She followed him mindlessly through the club, to the highest private floor with a panorama window that showed the harbor. Watching the city from above was her favorite pastime. The pretty lights never went out, taking over the night sky. She'd rather be standing on a bridge in this weather, but she was content wherever he wanted to be.

Ripping the package open, he spread an ounce of the fine white powder out on the polished surface of the coffee table. Two lines laid out for them both, how romantic. This doesn't happen often, so he's gonna want to take his time.

She would rather not, but wherever he was going tonight, she was gonna follow. That was the oath she made, she would go without questioning.

He had taken it before she had time to breathe; he was ready to take over the world. She felt the change in his posture, his pupils swallowing his eyes. He'd never been more beautiful than this, with coke in his blood.

She didn't hesitate; she sunk to her sore knees in front of the table, felt his heavy breathing of euphoria behind her. She couldn't wait to join him. Fire through her veins, spreading in her bloodstream, she was a volcano ready to burst.

She prayed for him to touch her, to take her deeper.

x

Afterwards the world is mellow, bland. Useless.

Sometimes a trip can turn bad without warning and then she's stuck.

When she comes around she is screaming, and she can't stop until he places himself on top of her and covers her mouth. Against the cold rings on his fingers she is gasping, screaming, where am I, where am I?

She doesn't know how she got there, or what she had taken. When she looks around, she's alone watching the city, like a bird, but something is closing in on her. A darker shadow, a bird of prey with a row of sharp fangs. Paranoia sneaks up on her from every angle, the shadows overwhelming, voices multiplying, whispers and screams turning into one tune. A foggy line of shadows.

The taste of his fingers in her mouth brings her back, seeing him roll his eyes. A faint taste of blood from his nails. When she eventually stops hyperventilating he lets her go. He sits on the edge of the bed and lights a cigarette with his back against her.

For a moment that's how they are. She detaches her fingers from her skin, seeing the red imprints from her nails.

Then the words spills out of him. Harley, sweaty and shaking on the messy sheets, feeling her cold pulse, listens. It soothes her wracked nerves, the panic that paralyzed her, to hear him ramble on about nothing and everything. The smoke dims his figure and everything is alright. Here, in this room marked by smoke and sweat and a strange coldness.

He speaks about his past, things she won't remember the day after, but she can imagine. She can see him, a young boy walking alongside the water down in the harbor, his hand curled around the knife in his pocket. His jacket is torn, his tie hanging loose. She can even picture the sparrows on the electric cables – or maybe they are crows, foreboding death. No one is safe in this city.

She can't picture his face, what it looked like without scars and acid. She can trace his steps, see his figure moving towards ACE Chemicals, and be a part of him even then. She can see him around other people, standing out, walking alone, and her heart bursts with childish, overflowing empathy and love for this man.

She is his shadow, watching from above.

The world is still, they are the only ones breathing.

"I found something out," he tells her as he rolls over on the bed again, putting out his cigarette and tossing it away. He laughs to himself. Like it matters.

When she doesn't answer his temper flares and he reaches out, grabbing her jaw.

"Wh-what?" Harley slurs, still day-dreaming about the young Joker she pictured – even though he can't compare to the man who is now lying beside her in all his bared glory.

He withdraws his hands, places them on his stomach, staring at the ceiling.

Some chit-chat at the club had caught his ear. A little bird told him. Or maybe it was nothing else but a name someone uttered. He never planned to search. To look. That name was stuck in his brain, burned with metal, and he needed to get it out.

The mafia had connections. A woman, a body count.

That name.

Harley feels cold; she pulls the covers around her naked body.

"I saw her floating in the river."

She listens, has no words to utter. Maybe that is for the best.

"Jeannie..."

She doesn't know if he is talking about a recent event, or something that happened five, ten years ago, maybe it happened in a dream. A part of her should rush up and yell at him, because no one should exist in his orbit except her. But that already isn't true. She does share him with someone.

Maybe it's all another fabricated piece of his memory, it doesn't matter. Harley waits for his laughter but it won't come, he doesn't laugh it off. Her blood boils and she bites her tongue.

"J."

He doesn't answer.

"Who's Jeannie?"

He turns his eyes to her, a strange calm settling in his face. Genuine confusion sweeps over it. "Ya mean the hotel maid we killed on ya birthday?"

Then something changes in him. She sees it like a storm sweeping over his eyes, darkening it, his face turned to stone again, and she is suddenly afraid to breathe.

He rushes up from the bed and slams his head into the wall with a force that knocks the mirror off her vanity table.

She reaches out for him. "J…"

A growling sounds escapes him, but it sounds dead, empty, and not at all threatening.

As if the air has left him, he goes slack and she coaxes him back to the bed. His hand twitches as if it wants to wrap around her throat, but he doesn't, he lies still and empty on the mattress.

"Just breathe," she whispers, she is the psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel again, anxiously stroking his hair. "I'm sorry Puddin'."

She lays beside him, and when he moves they both roll off the bed, ending up in a mess of discarded clothes and weapons. She waits, heart rushing with worry, as he settles down again. She wants nothing else but to be in oblivion again, with him.

He shudders and smiles. "Ya know, they couldn't identify her. She was still wearing the school uniform. I saw her."

Harley doesn't move.

"I went to kill them all. They ambushed me, and naturally, I thought I would have an advantage. They said I would join her." His voice was completely neutral, as if he was a weatherman presenting the weather.

"I skinned three of them," he continued.

He shudders, closes his eyes, then looks up at her. "Watcha doin', Harls?"

The corners of his mouth are twitching, as if he's about to smile. He's back.

"Puddin'?" She wraps her arms hard around him, pressing his frame to hers. The storm has blown over as fast as it hit, and he's calm. His hands settles on her hips, heavily.

She wants to forget about this, forget about everything, she wants mushrooms again.

Rocking slightly against him, she watches his eyes, and he remains calm. When she feels him harden in response to her movements, the rush goes straight to her head. She lifts herself up and sinks down on him, softly, seeing his eyes almost roll to the back of his head. She rocks together with him, spreading her thighs for the ride and her pheromones are getting all the way up in his head.

He starts pulling her down hard on his length, his nails burying in her skin, and she rides him faster. Kissing him hard, all teeth and tongue, harder, harder, he presses the tip of his cock deeper.

This feeling is better than psilocybin, it's just his arms around her body, their bodies connecting in their inner cores, and she's finally together with him in every way. The head of his member kisses her cervix, she is wet and delirious, and they come together. She holds onto him and rides out the wave.

Nothing has ever felt better than this.

Fin. Reviews are very much appreciated and inspires me to write more.