-Authors' Note-

(Helloooo~ At the time I wrote this I was really into making plushies so pardon my obsession with needles and felt . ANYWHO~ Please feel free to leave a review or a like :3 Happy reading, loves~!)

-DISCLAIMER-

(I do not own The Joker or anything pertaining to the Batman series, movies, comics, etc. I simply own my OC, Scarlett.)

Chapter One: Miss Meaty Hands

It's been about four years since I've been admitted to Arkham Asylum. Four miserable, lonely, unsatisfying years. I rubbed the sleep from my green eyes, hoping by some miracle that I would wake up somewhere else. Nope my eyes met the same padded white ceiling that greeted me at the beginning of everyday for four years straight.

Fucking great… Turning onto my side I took note of the piles of colored felt, strings, stuffing, and needles that sat at the corner of my padded cell. This was a gift from the lovely psychiatrist that I've been forced to see whilst in this hell hole. He said I needed a hobby… what kind of psychiatrist would give you something that reminds you of what you did to get put into this nut house?

Sighing I sat up in my bed, which had still looked like I hadn't even slept in, which is partially true. I didn't trust anyone here, so I tried my best not to sleep. Though sometimes I just couldn't stay awake. When I did sleep I didn't move, which is really odd, I admit.

Standing up, I looked at the crisp white linen on the standard twin sized bed everyone in this shithole had. I flattened out one wrinkle that had formed in the middle, then sat in the corner of my room, next to the felt pile. I picked up one of the needles and pressed my thumb against the pointed end, not sharp enough… Shrugging I grabbed the black string and threaded it through the eye of the needle, that familiar feeling washing over me, like a warm blanket.

I grabbed two pieces of white felt, bringing them together, my hand shakily holding the needle. I bit my bottom lip as I brought the needle up touching it to the coarse fabric. Before I could puncture it, the door to my cell swung open, making me drop everything I held to the floor.

The chubby nurse that gave me meds every morning was standing in the doorway, glaring at me as if I had done something wrong. I quickly shoved the needle and felt back into the corner and stood up, fixing the shirt of my uniform. My eyes threatened to roll as the nurse grunted and turned to grab the pills off her cart.

I could have showed her right then and there what I was in here for, but now was not the time…

She turned back, facing me with two small plastic cups one with about twelve pills the other with water. She handed the pills to me and I took them, knowing fully well that if I didn't she'd force them down my throat with her chubby man hands. Once all the pills were gone from the cup she gave me the one with water which I swallowed quickly. She then handed me a fresh uniform, cocking her head as if telling me to follow her.

Shower time, oh how I hated shower time…

There weren't very many women in Arkham which made the showering far more uncomfortable, but at least it wasn't the hose… I hated the hose. The nurse waited for me to walk out of my cell, shutting the door behind me and motioned me to walk down the hall, towards the showers.

I made my way down the hall with the nurse following close behind. There was a line in front of the shower door, about five other women. Three of them were in their late fifties, the other two were in their late thirties, making me the youngest one. I was twenty-two.

"Mornin', Li'l Red." One of the guards smiled at me and made a small wave, earning a glare from my nurse. I was quite popular with the men at Arkham, which could be both good and very very bad.

Paul was relatively kind, he snuck in some extra sweets with my dinner every now and then, I gave him a small smile and waved back. He was around his late forties but was very sweet and reminded me of my grandfather.

Li'l Red was my nickname here, mainly because I was petite and had blood red hair. I also had a little red heart tattooed on my right cheek with a bold black outline. Everyone thought having a tattoo so close to the eye was a strange thing, especially for a woman, to do. What can I say, I was young and had a fascination with needles…

Each of the women had their own nurse whom went into the shower with them, bathed them, and dressed them before escorting them to the breakfast area. It was quite annoying to have Miss Meaty Hands bathe me like an unwanted dirty orphan every other morning.

After a few seconds of the nurses prattling with one another they led us into the showers and began the early morning ritual. The Arkham showers reminded me of the dreaded high school years, where all the girls showered together after physical education class. It was the worst feeling, having strangers see you naked. Sometimes they would even start rumors about your cup size or they'd tell the boys in our class that we were hairy and disgusting to look at without clothes.

I hated high school…

I hated Arkham…

We were all stripped down to nothing, and placed in a row under the shower heads, the water was turned on high. I flinched as the water nearly scalded my pale flesh making Miss Meaty Hands give me a mean look. The other women were thick skinned and never flinched at the steaming streams of water hitting their flesh. But I was still young and very sensitive to heat.

With no words, the nurses began to roughly and cruelly lather their patients, scrubbing vigorously and quick. My nurse was extremely rough to the point where I would definitely have bruises in the morning. She yanked me and pulled at my hair as her nails dug into my scalp, scrubbing harshly at my red hair, as if she wanted to wash the color itself away.

She lathered me with soap until my skin was cherry red, then she pushed me under the steaming shower head letting me rinse off until there were no soap going down the drain. Miss Meaty was always the first to finish, she yanked me away from the water and grabbed a scratchy towel and vigorously rubbed me down until I was somewhat dry.

She then fastened the ugliest bra anyone has ever seen, around my chest, which were C-cups at best. Once rubbing my underarms with cheap deodorant and tugging up white panties, she threw on a clean orange shirt over my damp head. I pulled it down over my chest and she nearly threw the pants at my face, tapping her foot on the wet tiled floor as I hurriedly put them on.

The she took me to the benches on the other side, the drying side, of the showers and grabbed a comb, roughly pulling the tangles from my wet hair. I winced every so often as she found a knot and pulled harshly until it was out.

I hated this place…