Harley groaned, staring down into the watery brown mush that passed for food here. With her sleeves rolled up, it was easier to ignore the crime to fashion plastered against her skin. What else could she call it? Orange never had been her color.

Harley gritted her teeth. Maybe if she didn't eat, she wouldn't have to go to her appointment. They wouldn't let her starve, right? Dr. Leland would just have to find something else to occupy her afternoon. Joan could use the time to finally get her office organized.

Her grip tightened on her fork. Every time Harley looked up, the chipped grey walls seemed closer to her than they had before.

She wasn't supposed to be here!

Sure, Harley wasn't Arkham's first patient to say that. But when she'd finally gotten out a few weeks prior, a clean bill of health in hand, she'd promised herself that it would be the last she ever saw of it.

And it would have been, if Maggie had kept her sticky fingers to herself for once. If rumor from the infirmary was true, she could barely hold a pencil now. A nurse had to feed her! Though Harley had only meant to give her a few bruises, it served her right. If that bird had half a brain then she wouldn't so much as look at Harley's favorite hairdryer again.

And if she did... Then, at least in Harley's professional opinion, she deserved to be here.