DISCLAIMER:
I still don't own any of the characters you've seen in the movie. I
own the other ones though!
SPECIFIC CHAPTER WARNING: Bad language,
roleplay, MAJOR angst, and sex. So if you aren't into that kind of
thing, please don't read. And if you aren't into Jackson and Lisa as
a couple, God only knows why you're reading the second
chapter.
SOMEWHAT-QUICK NOTE: From what I've gathered, Dallas is
an hour behind Miami time-wise. Also, for those who need a better
visual, I intended to make Isabella look like Patricia Barros. For
anyone who read this when I first posted it, I changed Los Angeles to
Dallas. And lastly, the roleplaying part in the chapter... I hate it
half of the time and the other half I kind of like how it is, so if
it sucks out loud, just tell me and I'll change that bit. It just
doesn't seem to fit, yet at the same time it seems kind of passable.
I dunno.
CHAPTER SUMMARY: While Jack prepares himself for his trip
to visit Lisa, Isabella begs him for one last time together.
Meanwhile, Cynthia tries to help Lisa through her troubles by
roleplaying.
Thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming, no matter the flavor.
Stockholm Syndrome: A Possible
Fairytale
Chapter
Two: I'm Not Lisa
Miami,
Florida.
10:33 AM.
Slowly but surely, Lisa was turning into her father.
The past week had been hell for her, and she readily chose to ignore it--something since Joe had a heart attack she'd promised never to do. These personal demons were stored in her mind, not really creeping into her conscience as she prayed they would only exist in her slumber. Then again, she wished the past year had been a dream, but no matter how surreal the added events seemed, they happened. Two fingers delicately traced the small white scar on the right side of her forehead. Oh, they'd happened.
Since then, things have seemingly escalated for her. Lack of happiness, lack of concentration, lack of motivation to do anything productive, anything at all but to lie awake in fear and wonder. She sometimes wondered if she'd developed some sort of mental illness that she could blame her instability on. On and off she'd pulled that question back up to the front of her mind, though tossing it back into her memory storage after a few days of contemplation.
This morning it came back though, tapping on the insides of her eyelids as she awoke, for once, without a terrible headache. One look in Cynthia's direction put a smile on her face and an end to her worries; or at least pushed the thoughts to the back of her head again.
"Morning." She inhaled and instantly her stomach growled.
She'd been so lost in worry that she hadn't noticed the aroma of freshly-cooked food, or the sight of a dozen expensive plates overflowing with cinnamon buns, eggs, pancakes, biscuits and other such morning goods.
Cynthia approached Lisa's bed and smiled softly. "Morning," she returned. "Sleep well?"
"God, that was the best night I've had in years!" Lisa admitted with a laugh that Cynthia joined her in. "And how 'bout you? This food looks great, by the way," she said, rising from the bed and stretching. To her surprise, her usual back and stomach pains were absent. With a grin, she walked over to the set table, holding a plate in one hand and shoveling food onto it with the other.
Grinning, Cynthia joined her at the table. "I know! I slept pretty good..."
Surprisingly, the conversation ended there. There was nothing to discuss when their mouths were full; Cynthia was always the one to listen. She was used to being the friend who was all ears for the people needing to vent, to talk without any response back. Despite her social status, awkward silences still made her uneasy, and striking up a conversation--even with Lisa--was hard for her.
"You know," Lisa started, chewing half of a mouthful of scrambled eggs with a mystified look on her face. "I'm still unsure of what to do if he does show up." Before Cynthia could quantify the question, her best friend continued. "I just have this feeling that he's coming. It seems like something he would do, the bastard. Showing up on our technical anniversary."
Cynthia nearly dropped her fork, thankful for conversation, staring at Lisa incredulously. She looked as if she were about to say something harsh, but instead whispered, "I've got an idea."
Lisa looked up, startled by the intrusion. She'd honestly assumed Cynthia would criticize her or blather on about how wrong and dangerous he was (she need not be reminded, as she was worried enough) and was surprised that the redhead had sat down again. "Go on," she whispered, taken aback.
"How about we roleplay?" the redhead offered, grinning excitedly. "You can be Jackson so I can get a better idea of him and I'll be you. Once I get an understanding of him a little better, we'll switch."
Another sip of orange juice did nothing to soothe her tremulous thoughts as she stood up and moved towards the front door, motioning for Cynthia to follow. She couldn't deny that her interest was piqued, though.
"Okay," Lisa coughed, breathing in and out to prepare her for lowering her voice. "Hi, I'm Jackson and I'm a manipulative asshole." She finished with a smug smile.
X-------------------------------------------------------X
"Excited for your flight tomorrow?" Isabella asked him as she squirmed in to a tight, v-neck, micro-mini dress. "By the way, I got a call from Mick--Lisa's fine. She's still in the same location."
Jackson couldn't help but smile at the brunette, almost grin if it wasn't ingrained in his head since birth that he shouldn't express too much emotion unless forced. If he hadn't met Lisa, he'd definitely court Isabella--she could have sex without being attached and still keep most conversation work-oriented, she was the perfect assassin-a mix of intellect, sex appeal, and innocence, all good when drawing one in-and to face facts, she was the second most gorgeous woman he'd ever met. Hell, she was damned near perfect.
"Thanks, Lees---abella," he murmured, missing her slight wince as he stood and stretched. An audible groan was heard by Isabella across the room as his joints popped and ached, undoubtedly taking toll on his body for laying in the same place for so long. In truth, he could very well afford to stay at a nice hotel with a big, comfortable bed with Isabella. Hell, he could buy the damned place if he wanted to. But that was, in Jackson's opinion, where you took someone special. And though she held some sort of importance to him, he wasn't going to lead her on by fucking her in some fancy place like that. Even a criminal like himself knew that would be wrong.
He wore a perfect grin now. "I'm as excited as someone who was almost killed by someone he almost killed can be."
"Hmm. Then you must be miserable."
A soft chuckle of genuinely amused laughter erupted before Jackson continued. "Nah, I'm okay. I've got my voice, I've got these scars," he whispered cryptically, buttoning up his light blue collared shirt, the scar over his chest disappearing under the expensive fabric. "So long as I got both of these, I think she's gonna listen to what I have to say."
There was a longer pause this time before Isabella's face split with a rueful grin. "You really love her, don't you?"
Jackson's featured hardened, the grin disappearing. "Assassins don't fall in love," he whispered, barely audible, and cleared his throat as all of the air was sucked out of it, resisting the urge to breathe in again as his throat was constricted. There was no way he was in love, there was no way he was GOING to fall in love. Ever.
Isabella instinctively smiled sympathetically, wanting somehow to put the young man at ease as he paced back and forth, knowing his nerves were now close to, if not already, being shot. Jackson's eyebrows rose slightly at the gesture before a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth in a grateful response.
All-business, Jackson squared his shoulders as he slid into his two-thousand-dollar Armani suit, feeling somehow completed now that his jacket matched his jet-black trousers.
"I hear we have a new client," Jackson started, steering his face into a blank look as his ocean eyes finally snapped into hers. "When am I set up to meet with her? By the way, have Mick give her my sincerest apologies for having to reschedule." He offered her a smile. "It's been a busy week."
X-------------------------------------------------------X
"I don't be-fucking-lieve it," Isabella laughed as she tumbled into the cold hotel room, almost drunkenly swaying towards the bed until it met her front, her laughter muffled by the cleaned bedspread.
"You've said that," Jackson mumbled, letting the door slowly slide close rather than slamming it like he wanted to.
"Don't be so down, Jackson. We're being paid double to do the job early! We were already getting paid enough." She laughed. "In case you're drunk, that's a very good thing."
"So I have to cut the trip back to four days."
"I don't see the problem," Isabella half-lied, lifting her head and rolling onto her back to gaze at him curiously.
"The problem is how the hell am I supposed to convince Lisa to fly up here with me in four days?"
"Well, you could kill her father. That always makes an impression."
"I'm serious," Jackson growled, sighing.
"So am I. Look, why the hell do you want her up here, anyway?" Isabella exploded, chocolate eyes making him feel much like a bug under a microscope with their accusing glare. "I thought the plan was you go up there, you fuck her, and then you come back? Isn't that what you said you wanted?"
Jackson blinked, pushing away the will to blush. So his plan was that stupid? That simple? "Well, it's more complicated than that..." he started.
"No, it's not. When we first met and you told me everything, you told me the only time you would go back there is to sleep with her. And not even for pleasure, but just to prove that you could. There lies the challenge. There's no need to mix her with your new career. You've worked too hard for this, Rippner. Don't fuck it up."
There was an angry growl and an angrier squeal as Jackson pounced on top of Isabella, one hand holding both wrists crossed above her head and the other reaching for his pocket knife. Under him, Isabella fought to kick him off (not that she wanted him gone) out of reflex as he ripped open her top and there was suddenly a knife at her throat.
"Don't talk to me like you're the boss of this operation, Isabella."
She nodded weakly and gasped when the knife tore through the small piece of black lace holding her bra together.
Her mind seemed to shut off the second her eyes closed and it wasn't until she was completely naked beneath his body did she realize this was their last time together. Fighting the tears brimming her eyes, Isabella pressed her lips to his, trying to make this quick.
"I'm gonna take my time with you..." he murmured, sighing as he took his place between her parted thighs.
"No," Isabella shook beneath him. "Don't. Just fuck me."
"It's the least I could do..." he whispered as her hips sharply bucked up.
Their bodies met again with a harsh slap of skin, his rasp becoming more pronounced as he moaned "Isabella" when he could even form words at all. Her fingers traced the small dent of a scar on his neck and he didn't mind.
Isabella then shook her head, raking her cherry nails along the contour of his back. "It's not Isabella," she managed, voice quivering. "It's Lisa."
XXXXXX
(Changed the title--thanks First Noelle!)
