Some part of her wants a Baybreeze, the tang of cranberry and grapefruit with a bit of vodka as it tingles on her tongue with that splash of sweet. Combined with the bitter burning of vodka as it roars down her throat. But she would and never will order a Bay or Seabreeze again. In fact since she started her self defense class lessons at the studio down the street she hasn’t had a drink since.

She finds it amusing that Vodka is made with potatoes and occasionally holds back a giggle when she imagines herself going to a bar, ordering a Baybreeze and dropping a dirty red potato in her glass before she drinks it. The look on the bartenders’ face alone draws a half a giggle. She smiles quickly before lowering her eyes back to the sidewalk as she walks back to her car. Her auburn curls bounce around her face. A little longer then they were a year or so ago, just enough to touch the scar on her chest.

The scar...

Ice blue eyes flicker in her vision, intense and alluring, disarming and enchanting all in one. She can fall easily in them or drown in them; it’s hard for her to tell. Perhaps if situations were different, in this small bathroom on a Red Eye flight to Miami she wonders what it would be like to have those eyes burning into her with something in them then the alarming rage she sees now.

Lisa pushes these thoughts from her head and clutches her bag a little tighter to her side as she steps into her vehicle. She isn’t quite over all that she went through. She still calls her therapist two times a week...sometimes three if she sees a lanky figure on the street near her. Slick brown hair pulled away from a clear brow. Eyes like liquid ice, a vivid almost electric blue that catch her attention no matter how far away.

Lisa shuts the door behind her and locks it.

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She’s laughing and oddly enough that powerful emotion within him flickers to life and he imagines his fingers twisting around her slender neck, burying his face in her soft curls, smelling her lavender scented shampoo as he feels her struggle beneath him as the breath leaves her body and she stills. The intensity of the emotion he’s feeling is a combination of rage and lust, not enough of either for it to be prescribed to each of them exclusively but enough for him to suck in a loud quick breath that startles the raspy silence of the dusty old Chevy he now drives.

The driver of the car bounces in the trunk, head lolling on a neck broken a day ago.

Suddenly the powerful emotion he feels, as quick as it was there is now gone and he is left with an odd empty feeling within him that disturbs him greatly. He should be feeling rage; he should get out of the Chevy as she pulls into her new apartment driveway and attack her halfway up the narrow staircase. His strength, far, far greater then his slender frame would say-would pin her against the wall as he did in the bathroom and as he squeezes that slender neck of hers. He knows he will hear the pop of her windpipe crack and break as she broke his.

Angrily he rubs the perfectly round scar at the cusp where his collarbones meet. Right where she had stabbed him with that fucking Frankenstein pen.

He should do all of those things but he doesn’t, instead he waits and watches as he did before when he was still working in his profession. He hasn’t had a job in over a year, not since she fucked up what was supposed to be his last assignment. The reward for that little assignment would have set him up for the rest of his life. Some part of him knew, perhaps he shouldn’t have been so greedy and should have taken a profession that was a bit more steady then the one he’d had. Sure the mafia paid shit but at least they were regular about payment. For the past few months he’s had to steal everything from those people whose cars he’s been driving.

As she pulls away from her spot on the side of the road, he waits till she turns the corner down where her apartment is before he follows her. The slanting rays of the red setting sun cast crimson ribbons across the black pavement and he pulls out after her. He’s going at an easy pace. He knows her routes and habits enough now that he could probably predict where she was going at all times.

If only he knew what she was thinking...that was the one thing about her he couldn’t figure out. After watching a person for a few weeks he could predict how their mind work but Lisa...he never knew....

He wondered what it was that made her smile that moment ago ...

Of all the people he had watched and studied Jackson knew Lisa’s habits probably better then she knew her own. The way she invariably twirled a pen in her hand and tapped it against her side or on the counter before her when she was in a public place waiting. The way she bobbed her head to the music that was invariably running through her mind at that moment. Though the exact tune remained a mystery to him, he imagined it changed from week to week. Regardless she still bobbed her head to it whenever there was a quiet time.

Still his mind wandered back to what had made her smile a moment ago...and what made her smile in the quiet times...and there had been a lot of quiet times here recently. To any other it would have been boring, but to him it, who had always been patient it was merely casual time till he made his move.

When would he make his move? He’d done a good job avoiding the authorities so far, Jackson was an expert at hiding when he needed. Hence the reason why Lisa didn’t realize where he was till the last second at her Father’s house.

As she pulls into the driveway he briefly wonders if tonight is the night, whether he should make his move.

He wonders if Lisa is even aware that he escaped from police custody as soon as he was healed enough to leave the hospital. She must not if she moves so freely, without any police protection. She does carry some mace and a small handgun with her now though. She practices shooting with four times a week. She’s a damn good shot, better then he ever was or perhaps would be.

No he was better with a knife...he was an expert with a knife. He could even throw one across the room and perhaps pin a fly to the wall if he wanted.

However he preferred feeling the resistance of the flesh beneath his blade...

He prefers to feel the easy sluice of the fabric as he slices through her thin blouse and the bra strap beneath. It comes without protest under his ministrations as he exposes the creamy flesh beneath...he knows it will be soft for him. He’s felt it, he still feels it in his dream as his fingers trace the raised bumpy flesh of the scar on her chest in his dreams, he feels it flush beneath his touch as he runs his tongue across it. Tasting a bit of the pain she felt when it was made and using it to fuel his own odd desires...

He shakes his head from these thoughts from this. These moved his thoughts into dangerous territory that interrupt the anger he feels at Lisa. His anger is like a livid scar across his conscious.

Lisa’s skin is perfect...aside from that hideous scar-the thought of it angers him...If only he had been there when it had happened. The man wouldn’t have gotten thirty feet before Jackson ripped him a new one.

He smiled at the joke he made and pulls the car into the crowded parking lot in the street across from Lisa’s apartment. He turns the car off and waits for her to turn on the lights in her living room. Then he can flick on the hidden microphone, the listening device he planted in there while she was at work one day.

He’s planted several across her apartment, even one in her bedroom. He dozes to the even sound of her breathing as she sleeps while he waits in the car every night.

Will tonight be the night? Will he make his move and enact his revenge on her? He knows not. All he does is replay that livid scar in his mind that she created. That anger that flares whenever there is a storm, at least in her life anyway. Whenever things are tough or perhaps an emotional storm for Lisa flares up. His scar can often predict them a mile away. As some scars and injuries can. After all he knows her habits better then she does. Her thoughts, perhaps not but her habits...like clockwork. Her emotions...are still read so easily across her face. Even if he doesn’t know the spawning thought behind them.

He wonders one day if he ever will.

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Wow that was a lot darker and more obsessive then I thought. I hope Jackson wasn’t too OOC. I did better with him then I thought I would. Please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed!