A/N: Here is the requested second part. Though with this addition, I fear I may have unleashed a commitment I'm not sure I can swear loyalty to. In other words, I suck at keeping up chaptered stories. But stupid ideas kept swimming around my brain. Which is why this update was so long in coming because I tried to fight it. As you can see, I lost. But that's neither here nor there. Enjoy!
Oh! And another note, beware, here follows yet another rewrite of the bathroom scene. Overdone, I know, but I hope you find something different in this interpretation. Enjoy!
It was the same thing again.
There was an old saying, stuck between a rock and a hard place. She had gotten a hands on experience of that two years ago, during that day in the parking lot. The feeling of helplessness, degradation, and violation had made her sick to the stomach, made her hate herself. And she hated herself now, her own body, her own conscious, frail, allowing the same thing to happen again. 'You made a promise' her mind shouts to her, 'Keep it!' She had promised to never to let it happen again yet here she was, once again trapped. If she could find humor in this sad situation, she'd laugh at the irony.
Maybe she could reason with him, maybe she could make him see that he didn't have to do any of it. After all, the bad guys in the movies couldn't really all be bad. They must have a conscience.
"You don't have to do this," she pleads, "any of this." 'Please, please understand.'
She watches as his eyes searches her. And for a moment, there is a glimmer of hope, maybe, maybe. Then, all hope leaves as she sees his eyes travel downward, feels his thumb graze against her skin. The forbidden part. The secret part. His breath, which had been coming out hard and fast before, seems to stop.
'No, not there.'
Her heart quickens as his eyes moves back up to her face.
"Someone do that to you?" His eyes are different, they've changed somehow. Softer, not as harsh. His voice lowers, close to a whisper.
She might have even called it concerned, if the rational part of her mind had not spoken up. 'Don't be fooled. Don't say anything, he doesn't need any more leverage against you.' "No," she answers, trying to sound nonchalant. Pretend it's an old scar, from a childhood accident, like a treefall. Yes...pretend...
This time, it's different. His eyes, they don't harden. There is no suspicion. There is only understanding. He bends down, she feels his hair against her collarbone.
"You're lying." His breath is warm against her skin.
She shakes. What is he doing? This isn't how it's supposed to happen. He whispers something, she strains to hear it. She can feel him speaking. What is it? Sorry? Why is he sorry for that? She can't speak, she doesn't know how to respond.
But before she can respond, she feels his lips. Something light, almost feathery. Kisses. Barely discernable, flowing over the raised skin, over that hateful mark. She suddenly has trouble breathing. 'What are you doing? This isn't how it's supposed to happen. Fight it!' She tries to, but she can't seem to move. Her hands press against the wall, looking for something, anything to use. She needs to push him away, this was going too far. Then, she feels a hand on her waist, gasped at the feel of fingers crawling underneath her top. Touches, caresses, warm…soft…don't stop…
She opens her eyes. Her hand reaches instinctively to her neck, to her chest. Nothing, nobody. Her hands reach up to cover her face. What was that? That wasn't normal.
Of course, these days, normal dreams usually consisted of her living out the Red Eye flight. No matter how stable her life had become ever since the incident, no matter how confident she had become, the dreams still came.
Some nights, it would be reliving that phone call, other nights the breakdown in the bathroom. And most nights…him, drinking at the bar, the check-in line, the airplane bathroom… She hated those dreams that most. It was then she could see his face so clear, even the color of his ice-blue eyes and the way his hair fell across his forehead. And in those dreams, she was reliving those scenes over again. She would say the same lines and he would hurt her, taunt her, make her feel weak and miserable. She hated the dreams.
Tonight, though, tonight was the first night where something had changed. He had done something different. It was like the dream became not a memory, but a situation. One where she couldn't predict what was to happen, and couldn't control it. Her hand travels to her neck, rubbing it. She feels dirty, just like she did when…'the rape happened.' It was still hard to name it, but these days, it was easier. She attributed that to her newfound confidence.
'We need to get a boyfriend,' her mind tells her. 'Give us something else to dream about. Someone cute…' Maybe that guy who asked her out a week ago, what was his name? William…Wesley…whatever. 'At this rate, it's a miracle you don't turn lesbian.' True, very true. She might as well give up on men altogether, thanks to he who should not be named. It wasn't that she found men repugnant, but she just wasn't interested in any of the men who came to the Lux, all the ones who never hesitated to ask for her number or offered to buy her a drink (thankfully, not a sea breeze).
"Incredibly gorgeous," Cynthia would exclaim. "What's the problem with him?" she would ask as each guy walks away, rejected.
"I don't know," Lisa would answer. She really didn't know.
Who knows, maybe she was a lesbian already and has not had the pleasure of meeting the right woman. 'Yeah, right.'
Yup, she definitely needed a date. Of course, she also needed to sleep and right now, that was more important. She rolls around to her other side and closes her eyes. Silence, complete silence, save for the sound of the cars outside and the turning of the lock on her front door. Her eyes open again. Lock? It couldn't be Dad visiting, not at this time of night. Shit.
She silently gets out of bed. The door isn't yet opened but by the time she got to it, it will be. She kneels down and fumbles around underneath the bed for her field hockey stick. Her fingers make purchase and she secures the wooden weapon in her grasp. Getting up, she makes her way for the doorway to her bedroom. As she stands against the wall, she could hear the opening of the door in the darkness. She strains her ears to try to pick up the sound of the stranger's footsteps; they could hardly be made out in the silence.
He's coming towards the bedroom. Her grip tightens on the hockey stick. Then, she hears his breath, an almost inaudible sound in the darkness, coming closer. His silhouette appears next to her, looking straight ahead. She strikes, bringing down her hockey stick as hard as she can. To her surprise, it is met by an arm, which grabs a hold of it. Shit, this is not good.
'No worries, be calm.' She gives a kick and with satisfaction, hears a grunt. But that doesn't do as much damage as she thinks because the next thing she knows, her back hits the wall. She feels the light switch press against her back and is blinded by the sudden wave of light. When her vision clears, she gasps at what she sees. Blue eyes. Ice-blue eyes.
"Hello Lisa."
Nope, this was definitely not good
A/N: You're probably wondering why a hockey stick. Well, rewatching the movie, Lisa had more luck in the beating Jackson up with the stick than with the gun. And besides, I would think she'd be more at home with the hockey stick than with a gun. But the stick worked better than the gun did for this particular scenario so that's the real reason. I hope I kept Lisa in character, I like to think of her as a happier, more self-aware person now. And that's why we need to bring Jackson back in since he has a complete knack for screwing with people's lives.
Of course, review and tell me what you think.
