A/N: I'm not normally a songfic girl but this song was just so very, very Kilgrave and Jessica. Please note, I absolutely do not ship them in any way, I just thought this fit his control of her.

Song here: watch?v=CasI839YnDY

I fell into the street
Poison in my veins,
Clambered to my feet,
And into the night again

Back to my home,
Back to my owner
who screams at my tardiness,
Put his hands to the sky,

And says,
"What can I do with a girl if she refuses to be mine?"

She'd almost gotten away.

She'd made it out of the hotel, past the front desk clerk and the doorman and the valet smoking a cigarette outside.

He was getting careless. He'd forgotten to tell her to stay.

She'd wiped her lipstick with the heel of her hand and spit on the ground, ripped the shoes off her feet. Her head had still been fuzzy from whatever he'd slipped into her drink at the restaurant-some drug she'd watched him put in there but had been powerless to stop once he'd told her to drink it.

Fuck him.

She'd wanted to rip the dress off but she was standing in the middle of the street, and Jessica Jones was not a woman to attract attention.

But she'd been done playing dress-up.

She'd made it almost a block and she'd heard his voice and she hadn't been quick enough, dammit, and she'd turned and-

there

he

was.

She had been so close, so goddamn close to getting away and shit, there he was and the second he opened his mouth-

"Jessica!"

She ran.

But some idiot had left a broken bottle on the sidewalk and she stepped on it and down she went, fuck, sprawled on the sidewalk like a goddamn drunk who couldn't get her bearings.

He'd drugged her.

But she'd drunk it. His hand moving hers like puppet strings, maybe, but her hand had picked it up and poured it down her throat, so whose fault was it?

Puppet strings, doll parts, dresses and makeup and a body for him to do whatever he pleased with. That's all she was and she hated herself for it.

He picked her up, talked to her in that soothing voice that made her feel like a child but also comforted her in a weird way, and fuck, she hated herself even more for that.

"Jessica, you know it's useless to run, don't you?" he said, picking her up, helping her stand.

I know it's useless to run, she thought.

He took her back to the hotel, told everyone to forget they'd seen her face, told them they didn't want to be disturbed. She felt a small fire of anger in her gut at that, because God, he could have just put the damn sign on the door, he didn't need to show off all the damn time.

But she was too sleepy to be angry, too drained.

They entered the hotel room, and he shut the door, held her face in his hands.

"Jessica Jones," he chuckled. "What ever am I going to do with you?"

His tone turned darker, commanding. "Go clean yourself up, put a different dress on. And remember, you're mine."

I'm yours, she thought.

And she put on a dress, brushed her hair.

Just puppet strings and doll parts.