Green and purple.

Purple and green.

How 'bout another color to add to the mix? Or let's change it up a bit.

Green and red. No. Too Christmas-y.

Purple and red. Doesn't match.

Ah ha! Here's a match:

Red and black.

He's so funny.

So how come, when he tells a joke, everyone just looks so serious?

Why is it that I'm the only one that laughs?

His laugh is contagious. Almost like yawning. You almost have to laugh with him.

That's why he changed from using dogs, to real life hyenas.

They've killed a few of us, but there's always some ups and downs to new things.

Plus he likes them. They're like us.

They laugh.

I hate Batman.

I know we'll never have a normal life.

We'll never settle down in an adorable house with a red and black picket fence.

We'll never have children.

No wedding bells ring in the upcoming future.

Batman ruined him.

And somehow, I know this little charade will never end. It's boundless.

He's ill. The Batman hurt him.

I should help him.

I should end the being that's causing him so much pain.

The being that's stopping us from being together in peace.

I should end him.

Itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.

Down came the rain and…..

WASHED THE BATMAN OUT!

Mistah J was gone. He left to some mission.

And I'm winning.

The Batman was trapped before me. And I've never smiled this big before since the first time me and Mistah J have met.

He thinks he's so smart.

I don't see what Mistah J sees in him.

He's Gotham's puppet. Dressed in a tight suit, using rich gadgets to save lives.

It makes me sick.

I'm excited. Bubbly.

Once this bat is done for, me and Mistah J might have a chance.

After all. I am his Harley Quinn.

The Bat tries to talk to me.

Says Mistah J doesn't care about me. Says he lies.

He doesn't lie.

He's told me many times before what I am to him. I'm his. His other half.

His Harley Quinn.

But why do the words hurt me?

Are they true?

They can't be true.

I broke him out of Arkham. I stayed by his side—I survived.

I'm more than an escape route. I'm not a puppet.

I'm his Harley Quinn.

Don't say Harleen Quinzel! You don't know what you're talking about.

None of you do.

Only me and him can understand this bond. This…connection.

Not even the Bat could understand.

"What are you doing?"

He's mad. I've never seen him this angry before.

"I'm helping us, Mistah J! He's making you sick!"

I'm trying to make him understand the truth.

This is no joke.

Okay.

Fine.

I'll admit.

I'm his puppet. His doll.

But I don't care.

As long as he gives me some attention, I'm fine.

I crave his attention.

I want him to touch me, even in hurtful ways.

I long for him to talk to me, even when he's yelling.

After all, he's my Mistah J.

Mine.

I'm lucky.

He let me back in, with only another yelling spree.

And then we laughed.

But I knew then that he was the only one allowed to catch the Bat.

He made that very clear.

I didn't mind.

At least I was back.

With him.

That's all that matters to me.

"Jump off a building."

"How high?"

"Go kill someone."

"Who?"

"Get me a match."

"What brand?"

"Clean my knife."

"Which one?"

"Run after them!"

"How fast?"

Need I say more?

Once he pulls my strings, I obey.

When he gives me a gun, I shoot.

If he gets angry, I try harder.

He's my puppet master.

And I'm his puppet.

Yin and Yang.

Fire and water.

Hot and cold.

Nice and mean.

Tired and energized.

Blue and red.

Wait. These aren't right.

Let's try again.

Red and black.

Black and red.

The Joker and Harley Quinn.

The two jesters.

Two.

Not one.

Two is better than one.

He's a simple man.

With simple tastes.

Me?

I'm tricky.

Sneaky.

Devious.

Unique.

He likes gun powder.

I like his hair.

He likes dynamite.

I like his suit.

He enjoys fire.

I enjoy his laughter.

Now who's the one with simple taste?

I watch him.

I've seen a side of him that nobody has.

He's told me things that only I have heard.

I won't tell anyone.

I know how he became the Joker.

I know his real name.

His age is memorized in my brain.

I know almost everything about him.

Almost.

He watches me.

His little toy. His doll. His harlequin.

His puppet.

Watches how I've changed.

From a sophisticated, intellectual doctor.

To a lively, obedient puppet.

He's proud.

Of himself.

Many people question why I'm who I am.

Why I don't argue with him.

Why I'm so submissive.

Or how I can put up with my Mistah J.

Why do I put up with his changing mood swings?

Why did I throw away so much, only to become who I was now?

I belong with him.

He belongs with me.

No matter how many times he denies it, he likes to have someone else like him.

Someone who can laugh at his humor.

Someone who can actually survive at his side.

Someone who understands.

Someone who will do anything to make him pleased.

That's why I'm here.

You may say I'm sick.

I say I'm alive.

You say I'm a bad image to wall women.

I say knowing how to shoot a gun is pretty darn good for a woman to do.

You may say I'm stupid.

I say I'm smart.

You may say I'm desperate.

I say I'm in love.

You may say I'm weak.

I'd point out the fact that I'm surviving.

You may say I'm nothing like him.

I say I'm everything like him.

You may say he doesn't care for me.

I say he does.

You may say I'm nothing.

Now that may be true.

But I don't care.

I'm his puppet.

I'm his Harley Quinn.