plot: Jackson Rippner knows that Lisa Reisert is his to control. Or so he likes to think…
Control
by Roony
rating PG-13
A/N: hope you guys like this. I like it. Just so I can warn you: this is not JL. This is, uh, J. This is about Jackson and his sexism, selfishness, need to have power… Rather negative qualities is you ask me…
He hadn't quite understood at first why she'd told him about the rape. He hadn't expected that. Another surprise she'd given him during their encounter, starting with the order of the Bay breeze at Tex Mex. That had pissed him off, and he'd been darkly glad when he'd gotten her back for it at the bathroom. Thinking she could lie to him… It wasn't right. It was aggravating. He didn't like not being in control, the place where he was meant to be.
When she told him, he'd known exactly what she was going to say and finished her sentence.
"I just kept thinking the same thing over and over again."
"That it was beyond your control," he finished knowingly. But he wasn't arrogant that time.
While finishing her sentence had helped him regain his footing, her story still made him feel uncomfortable. He pitied her. He'd felt sorry for her when he'd found the scar. But this was different. When he'd found the scar, it hadn't bothered him as much. After all, he himself had been terrorizing her. But it angered him that someone else had done this to her. The scar was bad enough. Rape…it was a death sentence. She was his, though not fully domesticated yet.
He turned to see if she'd reply, keep going with her story. But no, there was nothing left to tell, was there? She seemed like she was going to say something, but she stopped. She was avoiding his eyes looking around the plane.
He'd gotten out first-the tan blonde wanted help with her luggage again. Lisa had stayed in her seat instead of making a run for it. Maybe she'd finally caught on.
He got out his own luggage and handed his captive's hers. To ensure she wouldn't get away and to keep up the image that they were 'together' as that red headed stewardess had already thought, he held her hand as they made their way off of the plane. It was packed, and not helped by the teenage kid who was running around asking people if they'd seen his pen.
But they made it out with little incident.
Like he'd promised earlier, they went to Starbucks and ordered lattes. Now all that was left was to wait. He directed her to sit down at a four seat table and he sat next to her. He wanted to be close to her like he'd been on the plane because he knew that she couldn't do much that close to him. She turned away from him though, like a pouting child. She hadn't spoken since the plane.
"I'm the only one who knows, aren't I?" he said suddenly.
She didn't reply, so he took the opportunity to tell her how he knew.
"You wouldn't have told dear ol' dad," he stated, "That would've given him a heart attack probably. He already has heart problems. Too many Cheetos eaten on his favorite chair during comedy marathons."
His blue eyes glanced sideways at her, to see if he was getting a reaction. He wasn't. She was trying to block him out.
So he continued on with his observations. "Besides, that would've made him try to smother you even more, right? And it's obnoxious enough as it is."
She'd stiffened. It was a start.
"The way he keeps your room exactly the same. With your cheerleader uniform hung up in the closet." He smirked. "The stuffed animals all piled up on the pink sheets. That's cute, Leese."
He knew that this was scaring her. That was good, that was his strategy. Fear controls.
"And if you couldn't tell your dad, you couldn't tell the friends that you don't have anymore. That's the reason you strayed. You couldn't tell any of them. And that secrecy was devouring you, wasn't it? It physically pained you to not tell them. And, naturally, you weren't apt to start dating."
He saw her arm move up to her face. She was covering her mouth to keep from screaming. He knew so much about her… It must almost feel like she was being raped again. That's what rape is-when someone can get inside you and use that to hurt you.
"And you never even went to the hospital. Not even to get that cut sewn up." He'd seen the scar, touched it with his fingers. No stitches had marred the handiwork. The wound had healed naturally. "Couldn't risk a concerned doctor not believing whatever accident you made up and recommending a rape kit." He leaned a little towards her. "Were you embarrassed, Leese? Did you think that they'd look at you different? Did you think they'd blame you?"
She made a sound, a sob. She'd started to cry. But he'd known exactly when the tears had started to flow. He knew her so well.
He leaned all the way to her, her hair tickling his cheeks, her scent filing his nose.
"I don't blame you, Leese," he whispered quietly into her ear.
This closeness frightened her even more and she was crying harder. He hated it when she started crying. But, well, he couldn't blame her entirely. She was just a woman, and they were apt to cry at the smallest things. It was expected that she'd cry at a time like this.
But it was frustrating and distracting. He wanted it to stop. Well, he would make her stop. Hadn't he just proven how well he knew her, and thereby proving that she was his, that it was almost his right to control her?
He reached around her frame and his rough, callused hand found her soft, firm chin. He held it and forced her to turn around to him. She resisted at first, but was too upset to really put up a fight. But to be sure, he tightened the grip a little to further prove his dominance.
Her eyes avoided him, but that was all right. They'd have to look to him eventually. With his free hand, he reached up and gently wiped away the tears.
That surprised her, and her eyes betrayed her by slipping back to look at him.
And that was when he finally allowed himself to give in, finally let instinct defeat his logic. He leaned in and kissed her softly, so very gently, because he was the only person on the planet who could understand that she was afraid of the intimacy. But this wasn't a romantic kiss by any means, but ownership. There was more ritual in it than passion. She didn't kiss him back, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that she would know now, finally, that she was his. That she was supposed to submit to him now whenever he wanted her to.
When he felt satisfied, he broke from the kiss. He was surprised to find that he didn't hate himself for letting these feelings show themselves so unprofessionally. In fact, he was rather pleased. He'd broken her, finally. He wondered why he hadn't done so before in the bathroom, where he could really prove to her where her proper place was.
She didn't pull away. Good.
That's you're place now, Lisa.
As a reward, he let go of her.
She spoke quietly, "You're right. I never told anyone."
He kept his eyes on her. He needed to know what she was going to say. He knew that what he'd just done had changed her, he could feel it.
"I was afraid," she admitted, still quiet, "Just like I was tonight."
That was when a warning bell went off in his head.
Wait…'was'?
"But I'm not anymore."
And all of a sudden there was pain. Excruciating, fiery pain in his throat. His eyes widened.
What the fuck?
Before he could react to both whatever was causing this pain in his throat and Lisa getting out of her seat, she was gone. By now he'd figured out that there was an object lodged in his throat.
For an instant, he just sat there, stunned.
His thoughts ran a mile a minute, like some sort of switch was thrown internally so as to more quickly figure out how to get the object out of his throat.
He jumped up, pulled the object out of his throat quick, but painfully. NO! He can't breathe at all now! He sees a blonde woman with a maroon scarf. He grabs it as he goes past, nearly choking her. He wraps it around his neck and manages to block the hole so he can breathe, though not in a healthy way. But he looks around and he can't find her.
How did that just happen? It didn't make any sense. HE was in control. He'd broken her.
Then an epiphany: she'd tricked him. She'd managed to fake the weakness. Then she'd used his arrogance against him, letting him drop his guard. She was going to do this earlier, he realized. She'd meant to do this immediately after telling him the story of her rape. But she hadn't because she'd looked around and had realized that the plane was too crowded. So she'd kept it-the pen, which he'd heard the teenager complaining about loosing. And she'd used it when it was best for her to escape. And he'd provoked her, encouraged her to go through with it.
He wasn't in control at all.
But how could that be? He'd been threatening her. He held her father's life in his hands. That was it-he reached for the cell phone. That bitch was going to regret this, but her father would pay first.
But his fingers didn't find it in his jacket pocket. He checked the other. Nothing.
Shit.
She'd taken the cell phone when he'd kissed her.
That was when everything snapped. It wasn't just that she'd taken the cell phone, it was that this woman, whom he'd kept under his thumb all night, had just very easily not only escaped him, but defeated him. And in his line of work, failure was death.
No no… It wasn't over yet. He knew where that bitch lived. And his partner was there already. And the Keefes would be dead before she could do anything. Yes, he could still win.
As he headed for the metro, wheezing for breath as he did. As he walked, he began to plot what he'd do to her. How he'd hurt her. The bitch wasn't his, she wouldn't be anyone else's. Like any other mean bitch, she had to be put down.
end