Jessica? Listen to me.
It started how it always started, because if she didn't hear him, didn't listen to him, he couldn't do anything. But the command lasted twelve hours and he never went twelve hours without saying it. Jessica wished sometimes to deafen herself, if only to escape from this Hell. And with what she had a feeling he was going to do, to save others from it as well.
Go to Trish's apartment.
She had gotten up to go almost immediately. It was a folly, but his command wasn't precise and that voice in the back of her mind-her voice-was always, always screaming at her and her mind sometimes couldn't work fast enough to find a loophole, to find a way around what he had told her. To find some way out of this. Away from him. Away from herself. Away from it all.
Not yet! God, do I have to tell you everything?
She was so far past being able to be catty. She was so far past saying that he wouldn't have to if he let her go. That with the way she was now, it was only him to blame if her traitorous body displeased him in any way. She wanted to vomit. She didn't.
Go to Trish's apartment. Knock on the door.
He had gone on and on, telling her what to do. She was on the street the moment he finished. She fought the address that came to mind. Tried the entire walk to listen to her own voice screaming in the back of her head that she couldn't do this, that this wasn't right, that she didn't want to do this. Of course that was the issue, wasn't it? Every word from his poisonous, killing lips made her want to. And the voice in the back of her head was a screaming animal in a cage and there was nothing it could do, because somewhere in the back of her mind where her voice was, the vague memory arose that it wasn't just Kilgrave's Jessica that had wanted this. It was her own person too. It made her sick. She threw up on some man's shiny shoes. He was displeased. She didn't give a fuck. The only thing she cared about was the order. And the time limit.
Go to Trish's apartment. Knock on the door.
She could practically hear the venom in his voice. That seeping, oozing black thing that rested in his breath and in his vocal chords. In his stench. And this time it had sounded so much like petty, disgusting jealousy that it hurt her. She had fought the words, but he had asked and asked and there was nothing she could do against telling him the truth. Nothing she could ever do. The time limit sang in her veins, her need, her want screamed at her. She ran the rest of the short distance to Trish's. The distance was nothing.
"Miss Jones!" the doorman had said. She hadn't replied. Simply walked right past him and gotten in the elevator.
Knock on the door.
That's what he had said, and the walk over had given her a little time to try to work around the orders. To listen to the screaming in the back of her head, in the sound of herself, and find the loophole. So she went to Trish's front door, not the glass one like she always had. Maybe then, maybe that would have been warning enough. Maybe that would be strange enough. The elevator dinged, she walked with purpose to the door she used to live behind.
Knock on the door. Make sure she hears you.
She had wanted to tap lightly. To never, ever get past the barrier protecting Trish from herself. Or not herself but it was all so fucked and mixed up and nothing was right and everything was right. She knew she didn't want to, but she did. She did. So she knocked. Pounded, really, and if she had hit the door any harder it would have probably come off its hinges. The first knock heeded no results. Her voice screamed that there was no way Trish couldn't have heard it. The other her screamed back that maybe she hadn't. So she pounded again. Again, she tried to pull away. She had to have heard. Even if she was asleep there was no sleeping through a knock like that. Again, that command rang in her head because what if Trish hadn't heard her.
A third time and the loudest yet. She stood a moment. Nothing.
When she lets you in,
That's what he had said.
When she lets you in,
There was no clause for if Trish didn't let her in. She could go. The rest of the order moot now that Trish wasn't letting her in. She could have cried in relief. That screaming voice in the back of her head figuring a simple, simple way out of it. She'd go back, and bear the brunt of his fury. He'd make her do horrible things to herself, to her body, with him, and maybe he'd forget all about it. Or maybe it would be worse. Maybe he'd send her back with orders of violence. It didn't matter. It was a risk, and it was the only thing to do. She turned her back and began to walk back down the hall because
When she lets you in,
And then she heard the door click open and God Damn everything because the orders now clicked into place and she wanted, wanted, wanted. And she didn't.
"Jess," She heard Trish breath, and she turned around slowly, not even aware that she was crying and she wanted. But she hadn't been let in just yet. She hadn't, she hadn't. The door had been open to her but she had not been let in.
"Trish…" she choked out, and it sounded foreign. Not her voice. She wanted to beg, to scream, to tell her not to let her in. All of a sudden, she felt the touch of another human being for the first time in months. Trish's touch. And it was simple. A hand on her arm, gentle and given, not taken. "Trish…" she said again.
And then Trish did the exact wrong thing. Did the unthinkable. She pulled Jessica towards her, towards the door. The two or three steps Jessica had gotten away were lost. Just like that. All her hard work. All her determination. All her weaving through all these things and avoiding his intention. His damned intention. But it didn't matter because she wanted to be let in. Just like he had said. "It doesn't matter, Jess. None of it matters," Trish said.
But it did matter because then she was over the threshold and the next desire took hold. The voice in her head was screaming, was the cause for the tears on her face. And the voice was strong, but he was stronger and she couldn't fight. "Trish," She said as she was sat down on the couch. Trish turned away just before Jessica had time to grab her again. Her body taking just that moment too long to catch up to Kilgrave's order.
"Is that all you can say after all this time? My name?" Trish joked. It rang like a sitcom in Jessica's head. Like a dream of a dream. Like this banter, like this snarky thing that they had had once upon a time was just a fairytale.
When she lets you in, kiss her.
Jessica followed Trish to the kitchen. Took the water from her hand. And kissed her just as beautifully and gently as she had always wanted to. Or was it Kilgrave who had wanted her to. It felt like the desire had been there for forever. For always. Jessica kissed her and it was beautiful and Trish tasted like red wine and salt. It was everything. And nothing. Not right. Not right it would never be right because the voice was screaming and for all her muscle, her damn brain just wasn't strong enough.
And then Trish pulled away, and they entered into dangerous territory because Jessica had wants, orders, wants. Wants that she had to fulfil. She clenched every muscle in her body. Trying to fight everything in her. Her lips longed to be doing something else, to be kissing and kissing and never stop kissing Trish like she was a Goddess among men. Like she was everything, because she was. Because all Jessica could do was make it pleasurable.
"Trish…" she ground out, her teeth clenching, "Trish, please."
She watched Trish take a step back. She watched herself take a step forward.
After you kiss her,
Trish turned and tried to walk away, but Jessica grabbed her. Grabbed her a little too hard and Jessica's eyes could see the fear, the pain, but Jessica's body didn't care. She wanted. Oh how she wanted and the longer she was with Trish the more confused it all became. At first it was just him, now the voice was screaming not to hurt her. Just don't hurt her. And the memory was iced over and foggy but she wanted. Didn't she? Not to hurt, but she wanted. Wanted Trish.
"Jess," Trish said, the pain in her voice stabbing fresh at a heart that no longer belonged to Jessica Jones, "Jess, don't."
But she had to. She had to. And she wanted to but not like this. Trish turned away. Jessica yanked her back and this time the pain was clear because Trish whimpered and the next command rang in her ears, rang and rang. And she wanted to. But didn't. But only not like this. The words ripped their way out of her throat like sandpaper. Rubbing her throat raw and she was crying. "Trish…" She fought, but she couldn't. They weren't her words, they were, and it would be awful for Trish to hear them like this. Even if she didn't know what was going on. Even if she did.
After you kiss her, tell her the truth. Tell her what you told me.
And his damned, damned intention because she had told him so many things she'd never told anyone, not even Trish. But she knew, she knew what he had meant and she fought it, fought the words, fought to tell Trish anything but the thing he wanted. It wasn't fair. It was vague. She tried to tell Trish about the time she had broken some kid's nose for talking bad about Trish. Tried to tell her about the car accident. Tried to tell her about how it was her fault. Tried to tell Trish how much she had wanted to kill Dorothy. About all the times she had come close but his intention. His intention. His intention.
"Trish…I love you." And she let go. And Trish just stood there. And her next want, her next unshakable desire washed over her and she wanted so badly it hurt.
Fuck her.
She took a step closer. Fuck. A violent word and the intention…he meant have sex. That is what he meant. He meant have sex with her.
Fuck her.
She shook like a leaf. Moving closer and closer and she could smell Trish's overpriced perfumes. It was a violent command. But he had meant fuck in the modern usage of sex. Fuck didn't have to be rough. It didn't. It didn't. It didn't. It meant have sex and oh she wanted to, and she didn't want to. She did. She did, God and Trish was beautiful, even laced with fear.
"Tell me," Trish said, so softly, and her voice was soothing. Like the ocean. Because it wasn't a no and a no meant…
Fuck her.
"I have to have you," Jessica whispered. It was the truth, and she didn't know if it was her or if it was Kilgrave. "I have to. Don't…I don't want to hurt you," Jessica managed, and she kissed her again and the euphoric relief of doing what she wanted to do so badly washed over her and Trish was just kissing her and kissing her back. And then the voice screamed at her so loudly.
"I'm sorry," She said, and she lifted Trish like the feather she was and moved her to her bedroom. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," And every breath from her lips and ever gentle caress of her hand was followed by an apology and the tears shone bright like stars on Trish's skin. She didn't want to. She did want to. She had always and never wanted to and Trish's gasps were like music to her ears because Trish wanted to. But Trish didn't. Not this way.
Jessica lifted Trish's shirt up and off. Removed the bra, and went to kiss her way down the smooth expanse of Trish's neck.
And make sure she remembers it.
She bit. Hard. Sucked harder at the skin because she doubted Trish would ever forget this but his intention was clear. His intention. She knew what he wanted. And as she left a bruise that would last and last. She was strong. She cried, and cried harder when Trish gasped, and her hips lifted against her own and it hurt. It hurt and it felt so amazing and Jessica didn't know anything anymore. It felt too amazing to just be Kilgrave, but it was. It was. It was.
She moved her way gently down Trish's chest and collarbone, kissing the frantic beat of her heart and then it was back.
Fuck her. And make sure she remembers it.
Jessica's hands were frantic at the button of Trish's slacks and her lips sucked and tugged at a nipple and Trish gasped, and Jessica apologized. Had never stopped apologizing, because it was entirely possible that it was the only thing that was really her anymore. The apologies and the tears.
"Jess…" Trish groaned.
Fuck her. And make sure she remembers it.
Jessica bit and nibbled at Trish's chest, little hickies forming and it was like she was drunk. She was drunk because her hand went to Trish and she was God, so wet, and her hips arched into her palm and God, God, God. Her lips were sloppy and her breath was ragged and Trish was just everything and it was killing her inside. Killing her.
"Trish," She said. All she could do. "Trish I'm sorry."
And then Trish begged. "Jess…Jessica, please."
And she was in her and it was heaven. It was heaven and she started slow because it didn't have to hurt. It didn't it didn't it didn't. And Trish was making those noises that Jessica had always thought she would make. Little soft gasps and quiet groans and the feel of Trish's hands on her shoulders was ecstasy and the feeling of her skin on Jessica's lips was making her head swim. And then she curled her fingers and Trish was making noises Jessica had never thought of.
"God," She said. Jessica curled her fingers again.
"Jessica!" and that one was more like a plea.
"Fuck. Fuck!" And it was amazing because she was swearing.
"So good," a groan.
"More," And she went harder, faster. Bruising for someone like Trish.
"Don't stop," and now Jessica knew it had to hurt. It had to. But maybe that made it better and she had always dreamed of this. Always wanted this. Or had she? And she was still apologizing. Would never stop apologizing, and then Trish came and Jessica could feel it around her fingers and the arch of her back was stunning. She couldn't stop looking. And it was with Jessica's name. With Jessica's name. But it wasn't Jessica's want, and it was.
"Tell me the truth, Jessica, do you want to fuck her?"
"Yes."
The memory scalded her like a brand, and she pulled away from Trish like she was toxic. Because she was. She was a walking death warrant and Trish was lucky and so unlucky that this was all he had asked of her. He knew this would hurt her more.
"Does she love you?"
"Yes."
And Trish curled in on herself, looking like she had been broken into so many pieces. Jessica could feel the disgust on her face. She didn't know if Trish knew it wasn't her, but was Jessica. She was disgusted with herself.
"Do you love her?"
"Yes."
Trish was crying. "I'm sorry," Jessica said, "I'm so sorry."
When you're done with her, come right back. Make sure it only takes one hour there and back. At most.
It would take her five minutes to get back to him, leaving her with just a few to spare. She had to get back to him. She wanted to get back to him. She ran.
Oh and Jessica? I forbid you from telling her anything about me, anything about why you're doing this, anything contradictory to what I want, or anything that could lead her back here, do I make myself clear? Tell her nothing.
But she had told Trish something.
She had told Trish she was sorry.