"I was more addicted to self destruction then to the drugs themselves ... something very romantic about it."
–Gerard Way

ALEXANDER NORMAN lived on the third floor of a relatively upscale apartment in downtown Gotham.

Like me, Alexander was born and raised in Metropolis. Following in his late fathers footsteps, he became a quite successful dealer by the age of twenty-one. At twenty-seven, he graduated with his Master's degree in Sociology, moved to Gotham, and made well over a million dollars in profit.

Norman didn't quite fit the profile of a drug dealer. In fact, most individuals had a difficult time believing that he was the one dealing them hardcore drugs. Simply put — Alexander Norman was a total dweeb, but the man knew his shit. He had the best marijuana I'd ever smoked in my life.

Joker had stuffed the bulky envelope into his thick, theatrical coat pocket, slender digits laced tightly around the rubber steering wheel as the van tumbled down a familiar path. My clammy palms rubbed anxiously together as we rapidly approached Alexander's luxury pad.

What would he say about Joker?

"What're yah all jumpy for?" My boss pried, his sudden comment startling me slightly as I flinched.

"N-Nothing." The words caught in my throat, disrupting my speech as the Joker shot me a perplexed glance.

"Doesn't-er, seem like nothing, buddy." Joker cooed, softened chocolate orbs meeting mine momentarily before I hastily diverted my gaze.

"It's just been a long day." I dismissed, focusing my stare on the passing vehicles as we turned down Alexander's road.

"It's only eigh-t in the morning." He slyly countered, delivering a confident wink as my cheeks instantly grew hot.

What a smartass.

"It's been a long four hours." I corrected, earning a satisfied chuckle from my employer. I returned the snigger, lips curling into an involuntary smile as I attempted to conceal it.

"It's up here to the left." I added, Alexander's apartment coming into view as Joker took the van down a bumpy, dirt road path that lead to the rear of the building.

"We should-uh, probably use the back entrance." He began, thrusting the gear shift into park beside an awfully smelly navy blue dumpster.

"People tend to stare." The man added, motioning towards the greasepaint present on his features.

"Understood. I'm sure Alexander won't mind. There's a staircase that leads to his back porch." I informed my employer, unlatching my seatbelt as I shimmied from the vehicle.

Joker followed pursuit, adjusting the loosened collar of his hexagon printed dress shirt, along with his vibrant tie. For a ruthless, painted-face man: The Joker had some style.

I directed the madman up a series of metal steps, which creaked beneath our weight as we ascended. A dainty woman with electric blue hair sat reclined on her porch on the second level, a half-smoked cigarette held firmly between two wrinkled fingers as her dull stare met ours.

She lingered on the Joker's complexion for several moments too long, oval eyes widening in curiosity as her lips slightly parted.

"Fuck off." The Joker barked, ungloved fingers trailing along the steel circular handrail. I struggled to contain a smirk of amusement at his reply to the womans insensitive glare. Clearly, the diminishing woman had herself a sugar daddy in order to afford such a luxury apartment complex. That, or she was merely a prostitute, out on a smoke break.

Alexander's particular balcony was the largest, wrapping around the front and left side of the building. The faded, beige tiles were cracked in several places, an occasional tile missing entirely.

Bland, off-white plastic patio furniture littered the surface, complete with three chairs, two recliners, and a stained, oval shaped table, accented by a multitude of smoked cigarettes and the absence of a proper ash tray.

"He sure is a slob, 'specially to be livin' in such a ni-ce place." The madman observed, hoisting his lanky legs over the railing of the balcony. A response failed me as I hitched my leg upwards, the toe of my sneaker grazing the metal railing as I struggled to climb over it.

The glass patio door lay ajar, the inside concealed by a thick, teal curtain, which swayed along with the insistent gusts of wind. I clearly heard the Joker mutter incoherently beside me, a series of phrases had been uttered at such a low volume that I was unable to properly distinguish them.

"What was that?" I pried, my voice choppy and shy as I instantly regret asking anything at all.

However, the Joker must've not heard me at all. He inched forward, darkened gaze focused on the askew doorway as he raised a gloved hand in preperation to knock.

Silly me assumed the fucker would just barge right in. It appears that the man did have some manners...

Apparently, I'd spoken too soon.

Joker's palm flattened against the glass door, the presence of the gloves preventing any prints as he shoved the door widely open.

My heart threatened to burst cleanly out of my chest at his abrupt action, the resonance of the door squeaking open sent violent shivers down my spine as the man strut into the apartment like he owned the fucking place.

Staggered breaths escaped my parted lips as my jaw hung lowly, absolutey appalled at how insanely confident the man I worked for was. Although he was frightening, impulsive, and clearly unpredictable: I found myself wanting more.

I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to know about his childhood, about the toys he played with as a wee tot, and the friends with whom he shared priceless memories. I wanted to know about his parents, and what they were like. Were they still around?

Most importantly, I needed to know about the scars. I craved every single detail, every visual of what horrific event must've occurred to result in such a drastic facial deformity. I could only hope and pray that the psycho hadn't done it to himself.

With severely shaking knees and a cluttered brain, I tumbled into the apartment. The air was thick and musky, and reeked of freshly smoked pot. There was a severe absence of light in the crowded space, prompting my eyes to contort into slits as I impulsively squinted.

The elegant hazel hued wooden floors creaked beneath the soles of my feet, worn clothing discarded in petite piles as I maneuvered my way around the home. I'd never been inside Alexander's home, only his back porch. The inside of his luxurious pad, however, was extremely unattractive.

"Je-suuuuuus." Joker drawled, scanning the discarded piles of clothing surrounding the living room. His glimmering Glock-17 sat tightly in his clutch, the barrel resting atop his broad shoulder as I dodged out of aims way.

"This fucker is a fucking pig." My boss added, obscenely white nose scrunched in disgust as he navigated his way around a three-foot tall coffee table, which was littered with used mugs. Month old coffee rings lined the ceramic mugs, which nearly covered the entire surface, along with empty movie cases and dirty plates.

"Yeah." I breathed, my respect for Alexander instantaneously plummeting as we buried ourselves deeper into the disgusting pit he called home.

So far, there was no sign of him.

An extremely large flatscreen television hugged the right corner of the room, the picture fuzzy and grained as it attempted to display an old rerun of Tom and Jerry. The sound was absent, creating a low, undeviating hum that filled the void. My ears uncomfortably rang in response to the nettlesome noise.

"Maybe we should come back another time." I suggested. "I don't think he's here."

Unfortunately — as usual — I'd spoken too soon.

A red-eyed Alexander rounded the kitchen corner, appearing in the doorway as a bottle of Hennessy lay laced between his fingers. The thick rimmed spectacles present on his face magnitized his dull, brown eyes by nearly twice their size, as well as further intensifying the drastic color that currently overshadowed the whites of his eyes.

"Chris!" Norman slurred, thin lips curling into a surprisingly large smile as he extended his arms outwards.

Was he trying to hug me?

The fucker approached me rapidly, toothy grin growing by the second as his lanky arms eventually laced around my stiffened shoulders, enveloping my heavier frame into a boney hug that lasted a bit too long for my liking.

Joker stood frozen several feet to the right, eyes widened in puzzlement as he exchanged glances between an absolutely smashed Alexander and a confused me.

"Er, Alexander?" I began, politely prying the skinny boy from my uneasy frame. He luckily obliged, taking several steps back before meeting Joker's hardened stare.

"Oh!" Alexander chirped, the tone of his voice shifting to a higher octave.

"Whose your friend?"

"U-Uh–" I stammered, at a complete loss on how to introduce the Joker. The painted face man deemed it appropriate to take over from here.

"Joker." He clipped, extending his arm to offer Alexander a genuine handshake.

Norman's skinny fingers met Joker's, keeping the weak shake short and brief before dropping his hand rather abruptly.

"What can I do for you boys?" My drug dealer questioned, expression gleaming as he rotated his stare from Joker to myself several times. He must've not noticed the shiny pistol that claimed my employer's shoulder quite yet...

"I wan-t whatever you're on."

Alexander giggled at Joker's completely serious request, bringing the bottle to his lips before downing a considerably large gulp.

"That'll cost yah, buddy." Alexander snickered, wobbling around the severely messy room in search of his stash.

Joker's glare met mine once more, an unreadable expression plastered across his features as I merely shrugged.

Fuck, this was so embarrassing.

As Alexander busied himself with fetching some quality weed for the Joker, I found myself beginning to roam the living room. Several picture frames littered the tawny tinted walls.

One photograph in particular displayed a cheerful, bright-eyed and sober Alexander Norman, slender arm slung around a pretty blonde with electric blue eyes and pearly white teeth. He'd never mentioned the presence of a special girl in his life. In all honesty, the only story I knew about this man was that of his deceased father and introduction to the world of drugs. His father — Benjamin Norman — Was murdered in cold blood by a dissastisfied customer on the eve of Alexander's fifteenth birthday. I felt a bit sympathetic for the boy, but I'd never known my father, so I wasn't quite sure what it felt like to lose one.

Of course, my mother died when I was sixteen. She, however, was so far from a parental figure that I still didn't have a clue what true family felt like. Nobody seemed to stick around.

It was as if I was a bad omen.

Once I'd managed to catapult myself back into reality, Joker had shifted his position, now hovering over a bent over Alexander, who rummaged through a substantial box full of goodies.

His right arm claimed his hip, drawing back the theatrical coat only just. The firearm had been tucked back into the depths of that very same coat — I'd come to realize — As his left hand lay empty, tangled in his greasy curls as he aimlessly toyed with several strands.

The innocent action proved to be somewhat cute, and I merely gagged at the thought of Joker doing something cute...

He is not cute. He's a man. A psychotic, evil, broad-shouldered man... (with sparkling brown eyes and the perfect shade of blonde locks and an overbearing amount of confidence)...

Jesus fucking Christ, Horton.

My mind reeled with conflicting thoughts as Alexander eventually straightened his posture, lanky fingers curling around to his backside to tug down the shirt that had managed to ride up his back.

Eventually, the man handed the Joker a hefty bag of marijuana, along with a significantly smaller bag of something indistinguishable from my stance. The madman wordlessly thanked the dealer, slapping his palm against Norman's back three times before handing him over a wad of Howard's hard-earned cash.

"Horty!" My boss called, twisting on his heel to face me once more.

"Y-Yes sir?" I countered, twiddling my thumbs anxiously behind my back as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

"We're going, now." He simply stated, nodding curtly in Alexander's direction before strutting straight out the back door.

"I'll be seeing you?" I croaked in Alexander's direction, earning a stifled nod from the puzzled man before racing through the room and out the door.

The Joker was already halfway down the metal staircase, taking it two steps at a time as I quickly shuffled behind him, struggling to keep up with his exceedingly quick pace.

I stumbled into the van, the engine roaring to life nearly an entire minute before I was able to properly catch up. As I basically fell into the passenger seat, the Joker let out an amused chuckle, tossing an unsealed envelope in my direction.

The heavy paper fell to the floor, wedging underneath my foot as I repositioned myself in the seat. Frantically, I bent over to retrieve it, nearly knocking myself unconcious on the dashboard as the hard plastic collided painfully with my forehead.

With watering eyes, my stare met Joker's, who remained unfazed in his seat as he thrust the van into drive.

"What's this?" I inquired, straightening my posture as my shaking fingers peeled back the flap on the envelope. Widened eyes took in the sight of a considerably large amount of hundred dollar bills rolled nicely inside.

"Your cu-t." The man monotonely replied, peeling the vehicle from beside the dumpster before speeding down the road.

I carefully tilted the envelope, allowing the printed bills to tumble into my open grasp. Cautiously, I unraveled the bills, quickly counting the amount in my hands as my jaw dropped.

Five thousand.

The coarse bills slid through my fingers as I counted and recounted the stack, even more appalled every single time as I got the same exact number.

"It's half," Joker began, lounging in his seat. One hand sat on the steering wheel, whereas the opposite lay discarded to the side, palm upwards, fingers parted. Something deep within me begged to hold his hand — To grab it and squeeze tightly and never let go. I brushed the disturbing thought away before slipping the hundred dollar bills back into the envelope.

"Roughly half, at leas-t. I spent eigh-t hundred bucks at your friends place. So, that's half of what I have lef-t." He expanded, claiming a vacant parking spot directly in front of the outdoor Inn.

A steady hand clamped down on my shoulder, fingers squeezing the rough skin as I fidgeted in place.

"Try'n ge-t some sleep, bud."

With an audible gulp and a wordless nod, I stuffed the folded envelope into my pant pocket and clambered from the van.

An assortment of multi-colored pebbles crunched beneath my weight, violent gusts of wind temporarily concealing my vision as bothersome strands of hair went astray.

I stood frozen in place, watching intently as the van removed itself from the space, eyes slightly watering from the abundance of wind as the Joker took a sharp left and disappeared from sight.

A/N: Typically I create my characters from scratch instead of basing them off of an actor, but I keep seeing Alexander Norman as BJ Novak,  (for any The Office fans — Ryan!!) also, don't be afraid to point out any mistakes this chapter, I did a quick skim because I was too excited to publish

Big chapter coming next... lots of jealousy from lil ole Horty... be prepared...