How Did The Joker Actually Get His Scars Novels & Stories

The moon had long since set, but Aria could not sleep. She sat curled on the edge of her bed, knees pressed tight to her chest, the shadows of the room pressing in on her like a cage. Her gaze never left the seared mark on her wrist. It pulsed faintly under the torchlight, its glow soft but unyielding, mocking her with every heartbeat. Her nails had scratched the skin raw. She had tried again and again to scrape it away, to draw blood until nothing remained but torn flesh. Yet no matter how much she clawed, the mark endured bright, damning, cruel.

“I'll teach you a lesson.” “Come on now, Xander.” Oliver's shouts were slowly morphing into laughter. “I was only messing with you.” “And I'm messing with you too.” I grinned, even though I wasn't sure he could see me. “ Since your idea of messing with me is riling me up with Kieran, then you'll just have to endure some pain.” “Look.” Oliver's laughter was uncontrollable now. “Look, I'm sorry. I was just joking. Have you forgotten im The joker?”

Light and playful questions were tossed about between the couple until Jordan was sure that she had eased up enough and was now more open to answering his grave questions, moreso, Emerald seemed to have sensed Jordan's concern and inner turmoil because by herself, she chose to steer their discussion towards that direction. “How did you get your scar?” she whispered, stroking his jaw while tracing said scar that ran across his skin. “From my father,” he paused, catching her gaze. “He wanted to stab my mother with a pocket knife one day, but I got in the way and got beat up just like every other day.” Emerald's eyes widened as she watched different conflicting emotions play out in his eyes.

I ignored Jonas’ protest and went to stand beside Lisa, my eyes pleading. “Please lift your hair and show me your neck.” “Okay, okay. Calm down. Here, look.” Gently, she turned her head, exposing her neck where the scar was. I gasped, my heart pounding. It was the same. The same shape, the same size, the same location. It was Kiara’s scar. It had to be. “How did you get this scar?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s from horseback riding,” she replied, her voice trembling. Her words left me gasping for breath, my mind reeling with possibilities.

Noticing my dazed expression, Jack came over and chuckled, "What are you thinking about?" "Nothing." I gathered my thoughts, hurriedly shook my head, and answered his earlier question, "I'm feeling much better, not as painful as yesterday." "That's good." He placed a bag on the coffee table, "I got some scar cream for you from the hospital. Your injuries are quite serious. Although they're not on your face, they still can't be neglected. You’ll still need to prevent yourself from getting scarred." Perhaps knowing the situation, I felt a bit guilty and very grateful, and I was particularly obedient, "Okay, I'll use it when I change the bandages tonight. There’s no rush"

The rest of the day seemed like a blur, filled with pats on the back and admiring glances from the younger boys who now saw him differently. Night eventually settled over the orphanage. Jack lay face up on his cot, the ceiling above him dissolving into shadows. He was thinking of Harley. She was the only girl on his mind, her image flickering behind his eyes like a candle he refused to let burn out. Jack held up the Joker card, turning it over in the moonlight that slipped through the window. He twirled it in his fingers, watching the way the light caught its worn edges. Jack smiled, a small, private smile meant only for himself. "Harley," he whispered, "you could be the start of my better l

My fingers mistakenly graze a stab wound and he shivers at the touch. “You need to lift up.” I murmur clearing my throat. He hisses when he lifts his body up and I manage to get his t-shirt all the way to his shoulders until his entire back is on display. He has multiple scars. Some from gunshots, some from knife fights, and others from whips. The tattoo covers most of them. My hands itch to touch his imperfections. They are the scars of his life, what shaped him into the man he is, the one he’ll become.

I was tracing the lines of his chest, my fingers following the path of a faded scar that ran along his ribs. " How did you get this?" I asked, my voice soft. He looked down at the scar, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “ It was through a rogue attack," he said, his tone casual, but I could sense the underlying tension. " A long time ago." " I'm sorry," I said, my fingers stilling on the scar. " Don't be," he said, covering my hand with his. " It's a reminder of why I do what I do. Why I fight to protect this pack."

It burns like shit. “If you’re good, the Doc will give you a lollipop when he’s done,” Jackson snickers. I’m starting to think up ways to kill him. But he leans over, inspecting the cut on my brow. “Oh, now your perfectly handsome face is ruined. But don’t worry, chicks dick scars.” I look at an old scar above his right eye and sigh. I can’t, right now, remember the event that caused that one — he’s been hurt so many times.

“What did you do?” “Nothing. I did nothing.” “Mhmm.” I prepared my own coffee and sat right next to Jayler. I could still see the clear scar on his head. It’s all healed up now but hair can’t grow anymore and Jayler preferred to have buzz cut now since you can easily see the scar even with hair growing around it and it does not look good. Apart from the scar on his head, he also has a huge scar on his left elbow. It had to be cemented because the truck really hit him hard. He had a lot of surgeries and thank the lord that even when he’s comatose, he managed to survived all of them.