CHAPTER 1: She's Got Issues

Her dreams never did him any justice. Despite its effects on her and her bolster, it still never did. Or perhaps it had but somewhere in her head she knew it did not. Despite the fact that the closest she has ever gone with him was in a tiny airplane and a death threat, she knew that that moment had its chemistry. Being held like that was indeed horrifying and adrenaline inspiring—knife against your throat and all—but Jackson Rippner was still too hot for his own good, maybe not, but it was not good for her when she had taken note how big the big bad wolf's hands were and how warm it felt specially when he touched her so dangerously. She is definitely sick. Derranged! Masochistic, sadistic, asinine victim she was. Still, she did win that epic battle of brains and brawns; of course, she is not referring to a beauty pageant (though it could also be) but a red-eye flight with a terrorist.

It has already been three years after the red eye incident and it was completely out of the picture in her life now. Yes, she was a big liar. But no, she was not… perhaps she was not and maybe that's the only thing that had matured in her during these three years; being more honest… at least to herself. When she promised herself that all things traumatizing and bittersweet about that day would be kicked out of her life, the scope and limits were clearly outlined inside her head. It was an unwritten contract between her and her façade; okay she wrote it down, is there something wrong with that?

This is how the contract goes:


Stop the paranoia! If you're that paranoid, why don't you just hire a guard to do the looking over your shoulder every half an hour for you? It'll save you the neck cramps.

One pepper spray is enough. You don't need to put your second bottle in between your breasts just like that infomercial.

You don't really need that pen you keep pinned on you or that one in your blazer, nor the one in your slacks… don't even get me started on those ones occasionally in your boots. You have a blackberry.

Your brother is missing his hockey stick.

It's been five years Lisa and not every guy who looks at you wants to rape you. You're pretty but you're not exactly wearing just your underwear and stilettos to work.

Not everyone wants to neither kill your dad nor use you as a terrorist tool. If anything, they probably learned their lesson that Lisa Reisert can kick managerial ass.

You should date.

You should do your job and just continue excelling.

Stop visiting your dad everyday; he is possibly wondering if you are hiding a husband who is battering you.

Be more honest to yourself and a bit to others. You might actually have a possible stalker and terrorist like you the next time that unknown asks you for a drink.


Due to the statement of scope number 10 you should be honest especially to yourself so you can admit that you have a little crush vehement lust on Jackson Rippner—the terrorist who almost killed you, your dad and a politician with his family of kids and a wife.

Forgive yourself of the dreams you get.

Forgive yourself when you can't sleep because of him.

Forgive yourself that you had stabbed a man in the throat .though it was a pretty morbid smart thing to do.

Forgive yourself about being a lunatic with this lust on the terrorist mentioned above.

Don't tell anyone you actually want to do more than murder to Jackson Rippner.

Remember that it has been three years already, he's probably forgotten about you or dead.

It's not entirely your fault that he might have been killed by his company because of your causing him to flop.

Remember that no one needs to know you have fantasies about Jackson Rippner swarming inside your brain/gutter.

What happened was entirely non-personal and his lack of morals is part of that fact. Yes, you might just be as crazy as him for believing this but what's happening to you right now may just not be your fault. Insane people don't have to get jailed and so you can blame everything biological including those dreams, habits, fantasies, moments, etc. as long as you keep it to yourself.

(So scope and limits don't really differ from each other and they don't conform to the normal set of scopes and limitations.)


You've moved on so much that you now have a hate-lust relationship with the idea of your sexy, blue-eyed ripper and it's totally fine as long as it's kept in the closet and your social life and career are not affected.


See! She was pretty honest at least to herself. He was out of her life, at least in the visible parts of it. She was not going to depression—she could skip the whole lot of that! She'd had too much of that emotional bullshit for the past years after that damn rape and she is not going to step into that a second time by her own freaking free will.

Alas, the contract was violated only once for the whole year! You have got to give her credit for that. Well, three years was more than enough time but still… How could you forget him and his hounds? He was a wolf, waiting to pounce while deceptively looking seductive with his piercing blue eyes. He was not exactly seducing her but still, he was emanating seduction without a word. Seduction! The art of making someone do something they want to do secretly. A murderous, malicious seduction… by a handsome, evil, debonair man. It was a sheer miracle he hadn't succeeded.

So what exactly violated that contract that was carved into her mind? It is quite an interesting and funny story really.

After the epiphany and the mental contract with herself, she immediately began dating. Perhaps, just perhaps, by finding someone better or someone at least that she could get him out of her system.

She took note of one man and had him pinning her down in throes of passion about five months later. He had blue eyes with some orange staining around his pupil. It probably had been an appealing feature for some girls but it ticked her off at times. She wanted clear, baby blue eyes you could get lost in for days… but she compromised. She was still a bit trying to become healthy in a way that she would not pick a man replicating her assailant. Nonetheless he had pale skin until he had that tan she so hated one day. He also had a lot of hair just like Jackson; it was thick, curly but a darker brown—which again she called a form of desperation on her part to be 'called' healthy. Last thing about him that came to a lousy imitation of Jackson was his extreme skinniness. He wasn't like Jackson who had a great build and was hereditarily (he was healthy and she knew that with his strength) slender and not skinny. Despite all that, at least they had the same height.

It was pretty easy to bait the thin but handsome lad into her life. Just a few laughs here and there, some flirtatious banters and ego build ups… she really did not have an evil intention but she knew she needed something (blame biological reasons) and she might just like this guy. The possibility of eventually accepting this boy/man and actually, just might begin to love him and further down the road love him enough to actually start to get her infatuation with her bomb of a so-called manager out of her system was altogether too tempting for her. Jackson Rippner himself was not going to be servicing her needs anytime soon and truth of the matter was, Jackson Rippner would be too much for her to handle even if in some maniac reason he came back. Also, she wouldn't actually want to lose what's left of her dignity, integrity and life (on account that he was still a coldblooded killer) just for some lustful desire she had in her. Sometimes, the imitations were better than the real thing.

So a few months after meeting him, they were sweating on each other in her bed. The sensations had overwhelmed her, kept her on a high, as she was actually getting laid—what a miracle.

'Before' Jackson Rippner, she had abstained from the filthiness of carnal urges due to actually lacking it. So abstaining wouldn't be the word since that would mean it was voluntary, the proper terms should be missing out. She had been raped and thus sex was not even enticing but on a level, gross. 'While' Jackson Rippner, she started opening up to the idea. 'While' Hyde of Jackson Rippner, the thought left her mind and focused on survival. 'After' Jackson Rippner. she forgot about her rape, having a new gruesome experience. 'After' a few erotic dreams of Jackson Rippner, sex then started to make a new name to her; it became from "unnamed armed rapist" to "named armed terrorist". When the time came when she just could not bring herself to despise her steamy dreams, the mental contract was made.

When the "miracle" was still on its stage of foreplay, all there was were moans and groans and all kinds of indistinct sounds. While the miracle was happening was a different story. She forgot the exact reason why she only moaned in response to him. During the foreplay, her mind still had the ability to function but when it started really happening, it was impossible to remember reasoning. It had just been too long since she had a man touch her and all that crap and so, she completely lost it. Her brain had betrayed her, flashing images of a naked, panting Jackson while she was being covered by a different male. It looked so real (and felt like it too), as if she were hallucinating that the back of her mind had started to believe it was actually Jackson. Then the inevitable happened and before all this she had a hunch it would happen. As her toes curled and head buried into the pillow in climax she screamed, "Jackson!"

Poor boy couldn't stop. Again, blame the biological forces of life. She couldn't bring herself to say sorry… she couldn't even remember the fact that his name was actually Herbert. Lame name. Perhaps it was that last glass of Seabreeze she had at the restaurant's fault that she had fallen asleep so quickly after a few gentle smiles (by her and her alone) when he collapsed on her.

As soon as he noticed she was asleep, he clothed himself and ran out the door and permanently out of her life (at least for that moment). He did not hell know who Jackson was but he could have forgave her if the name she had shouted at least started with an "H" like Harold or ended with the same syllable like "Robert"… but no… "Jackson my ass," he mumbled as he drove away from the woman's house.

She awoke and saw herself alone in her bed. Last night's recollection ran through her head and boom! She knew what she had done. Then she was sort of glad. If he had actually loved her, he would send her at least a text message of concern or jealousy or plain just hurt due to his incapability to keep it to himself but he did not. If this night had happened a few months later then he just might have stayed until she woke up to fight for his one sided love. She would have fought for her and they might or might not have remained in contact but he didn't and she was smiling at that. It saved both a lot of trouble, really.

Author's Note

Just popped my cherry on fanfiction writing at this site. Quite embarrassingly, it ain't my first time writing fanfiction. It's easy as pie so please leave a comment!