“ @urushiol “ ASKED, MAKING AN ENTRANCE …
“i often wonder in these later days if anything about him was as it seemed.”
IT WAS LIKE THE LONGER she was stuck in this place, the more she seemed to relate to these people. ah. people. being considered a person was rare in arkham. the other psychiatrists, the guards, the staff as a whole seemed to have long given up hope for the lot that found themselves here time and time again. truth be told? sometimes harleen could see where they were coming from. not that she would ever admit that out loud, but some of them weren’t ready to be helped. there was only so much you could do for somebody when they thought there was nothing wrong with them, and that was the case for the bulk of the inmates — patients — whatever the hell the staff decided to call them that day. all she could do was try to convince them that she really could do something for them that nobody else had.
that wasn’t to say that she couldn’t get through to all of them. she had a few patients that were promising and those were the ones that kept her coming back. they made her job worth it. dr. quinzel didn’t mind a slow process, not by any means. that slow, painful buildup each and every day until they reach an explosive breakthrough? oh, it was one of her favorite things in the world. the trigger could be anything; the color red, a fairy tale, a monday. a mother… a father.
family was a touchy subject in general. this wasn’t exclusive to the criminal populace, no. harleen herself had a tumultuous childhood largely thanks to her family. whether you like it or not, family was what made you who you are. when she looked at her patients, tied up and staring back twice as hard, sometimes all she saw was who raised them. psychology would never be an exact art, but she did pride herself on having a knack for figuring out the gist of somebody’s childhood just by talking to them. that was the case for one pamela lilian isley.
MISANTHROPE, MISANDRIST, mother earth nutjob. that was how the newspapers described poison ivy. files from her old psychiatrists told similar stories, claiming she had a lack of empathy for humanity entirely. she would have bet money on those issues starting with a poor father figure. when they first began their sessions with one another, harleen would have agreed with the empathy theory. pamela was less than friendly towards her with her complaints being of the most miniscule details; ‘ you’re using paper? the corpses of dead trees? are you trying to die!? ‘ it was later that week when harleen came in with a recorder instead of pen and ink when she admitted, ‘ no, uh — i didn’t really care about the paper. i was just — i didn’t expect you to actually… accommodate me. thanks, i guess. ‘ the rest was history. minus a couple of small details that may or may not include a flower somehow finding its way to the ecoterrorist.
months after their first meeting, dr. quinzel sat across from her with her recorder and a stack of files she never bothered with anymore. her leg bounced as they spoke to one another, vibrating the table between them every so often. pamela didn’t need to be restrained anymore with her, despite the guards’ protests. it began with the usual small talk; the how are you’s, the rambling of some plant she was reminded of for one reason or another, the segue into something more serious. sometimes it would lead them into new understandings. a lot of the time they would hit a wall. it was productive to harleen either way. this time, she asked about her mother’s lilies.
“ everytime you talk about that garden it makes me wish i could’ve seen it for myself. “ harleen smiled. “ you mentioned lilies. wanna tell me some more ‘bout them? “
“ there were a few kinds. there was lilium auratum, of course. you can find those white ones at any supermarket. lilium canadense. and… lilium bulbiferum.” a pause. she stared at the dirt caked in the tiles. “ i really loved those. ”
“ lilium bulb… bulby ferum? agh, i can’t ever say those scientific names right. “ a fly landed on pamela’s files. harleen closed her eyes. “ that last one. gimme a visual on them. i wanna imagine it with you. “
IT WAS SILENT. harleen cracked an eye open to see her patient with her eyes shut. she looked peaceful. beautiful, even, but sad. she quickly closed her eyes again when she heard her begin speaking.
“ they were orange, with the tips of each petal deepening to red. the other lilies were pretty, but these ones had these bumpy freckles. i once asked my mother if they were sick because of those bumps, but she told me they were fine as long as they pointed to the sky. they were the only ones that bloomed upwards.” a full pause. “ my father only ever gave her orange lilies once. on valentine’s day. it wasn’t an apology plant, surprisingly enough. just… a present. “
harleen heard the chair screech against the floor, then a set of steps drawing closer. she didn’t open her eyes. she felt a hand dig into her labcoat. she stiffened, but didn’t open her eyes. she heard a piece of paper rip. she would have opened her eyes if she hadn’t started speaking again. trust the process, harls.
“ do you know what orange lilies symbolize? “ a rhetorical question, but she still shook her head. she focused in on the sound of a pen scratching on paper. “ lilies are considered the flower of sadness. orange lilies specifically can symbolize pride. contempt. hatred. i doubt he knew the meaning. all he knew about plants is that my mother loved them and thought he did too. i often wonder in these later days if anything about him was as it seemed. “
THIS TIME, the silence between them was solemn. harleen opened her eyes to see the paper pushed towards her. she picked it up to see a drawing of the flower exactly as she had imagined it. soft, curved petals pointed upwards with freckles at the base. she looked to her with a soft smile.
“ what? you seemed interested in them. “ pamela subtly smiled back, avoiding her gaze. “ now you know what they look like if you spot them out in the wild. “
“ thank you, ms. isley. now, do you want to unpack that last part? “
“ no, i’d rather talk about plants. “ she said in a deadpan.
harleen laughed. “ i wouldn’t have guessed that, poison ivy! “
