Oh no, yet another short chapter. I really need to stop doing this. I know... because I'm so irritating with my short chapters, I swear that I'll do my very best to update again before midday tomorrow GMT. If I don't, every single one of you is allowed to throw whatever mouldy vegetables that you might have lying around at me (I'm praying that tomorrow I'll wake up before half past 11)...

OK, so, once again, I don't like this chapter. Really, at all. So if anyone wants me to rewrite, just give me the word and I will.

Note pt. 3: I'm having a bit of trouble with the American language here (as I am, in fact, very English). After a lot of consideration, I have decided that this is what I think I'm going to do: The main bulk of the story I am going to write in English. This means: aeroplane, colour, grey. The reason that I am going to do this is simple: if I tried to write it in American (as it is, obviously, set in America) I would probably still spell half of the things the English way, and so we would end up with an unhealthy mix of both. HOWEVER, I have decided that, when someone is speaking, i will do my best to spell and write everything the American way, as they're American. OK, so not even I have any idea what I just said, and this note is waaaay too long. On with the next sucky chapter.

"...so do your dad a favour and stop gambling with his life."

There was a moment of relative silence in the small aeroplane bathroom, the only sound being the occupants' own heavy breathing. Lisa looked at Jackson, her mind racing. She had tried so hard on two separate occasions, only to be thwarted both times. What tactic hadn't she thought of?

A metaphorical lightbulb flicked on in her head. It was a long shot, but...

"You don't have to do this, any of this."

Jackson said nothing, but she could swear that she saw a flicker or uncertainty in the hypnotic depths of his crystalline eyes.

She held her breath as she felt his gaze trail down her neck... before stopping.

Oh, God.

She shivered involuntarily as she felt his fingers move the cloth of the neckline of her top down slightly. She didn't have to look to know what he was revealing. The scar.

"Did someone do this to you?"

She shut her eyes. "No."

"Is that what it is?"

Lisa paused. A voice in her head was nagging at her. This had happened before. Don't say no. Don't say no. Tell him.

"Yes."

She looked up, and the expression on his face shocked her.

"What happened?" He questioned, all force gone from his voice.

She told him, screwing her eyes tight shut, warding off the flood of unpleasant memories.

When she had finished, she opened her eyes again, and looked up at him.

The expression on his face shocked her.

Then he kissed her, as someone started knocking heavily on the door of the tiny room, demanding to know what was taking them so long, and everything started to dissolve away...

Lisa groaned as she awoke. Almost every night, she had a dream to do with Jackson. At first, they had been nightmares, but lately...

She was trying desperately to capture the wispy remnants of her dream when she realised what she was doing and sat bold upright, banishing the dream to the far corners of her mind where such things belonged. It was only then that her groggy brain realised that the knocking sound had not been part of it. Downstairs, someone or something was pounding on her front door. Lisa slid out of bed and put on her dressing gown and slippers, before squinting blearily at the illuminated clock on her bedside table. 2.30 am. What kind of person would be knocking on her door at this hour? She picked up the hockey stick that she had kept beside her bed since the red eye flight. To some, it would have seemed a ridiculous choice of weapon, but it felt comfortable to her.

Lisa began to make her way cautiously down the stairs. As she descended, the pounding grew weaker, then stopped altogether. Still gripping her hockey stick, she walked up to the door, putting her ear to it. Silence. Had she imagined the knocking? Stationing herself so that the door covered the majority of her body (so she could shut it quickly if attacked), she carefully unlocked the door and opened it, keeping it on it's chain.

Lisa gasped. There, slumped unconscious just outside her front door, was none other than Jackson Rippner.

In fact, I am now going to try to churn out the next chapter before I go to bed this evening. I'm probably not going to succeed, but...

So anyway, once again, tell me what you think and whether I should rewrite. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed... your invisible chocolate bars are in the post! (Inside invisible envelopes, of course). I would thank you all individually here, but instead I'll reply to your reviews... now!

PJ