Once Harley's bat bouncing brutally across your date's head and her body slumping to the wet ground, she looks up, her expression unreadable as her breathing slows. I glance at the cold body beneath her, then back at you. I blink a few times as your expression turns fearful, even horrified.

"What's wrong, baby?" she whispers, taking slow steps toward you, her boots clacking in the pool of blood that formed beneath her, still gripping the bat tightly. "I did you a favor. This jerk was bothering you, wasn't he?" she asks, a lie she desperately wanted to believe. How could you go out with someone else? Wasn't his love enough for you? Harley loved you, more than anything. She'd die for you, and this is how you repay her?

She approached gently; the moonlight barely reached the dark alley you had (unfortunately) chosen to walk through. Her fingers caressed your cheeks, and she smiled slightly. "The love I have for you made this happen."