turning tables

Who: Jesse and Ronnie
Where: Sunny Shores Motel, 306
When: Night

Jesse really really didn't know what he was doing here. Sure, he'd gotten the note shoved under his door, and he knew who it was from. Which of course meant even more that he should ignore the shit out of it, and not go there. But, he needed to see if she was okay. Or...something. That was the plan, anyways, even if he was fuzzy on the logic. Maybe she needed more money. And if she got that, she'd fuck off again, and leave he and his baby girl in peace. So far, she hadn't managed to leave anything lying around that Baby J would pick up on, but still. He didn't want to risk it either.

There. That was his real logic. If he didn't show, she might turn up at the apartment, and by then Baby J would be home, and things would proceed to suck. So, that was what he was really doing there--hoping to avoid her coming to him if he didn't come when called. He walked up to the door, and hesitated, having to try and talk himself into knocking, when he knew it was all such a terrible idea.

Whether it came to his rescue or not, the sharp click! of the lock turning and the chain being dragged away could be heard from the other side of the door. She had been waiting for him; the footsteps up the breezeway and the shadows beneath the door had her aware of his presence before he could even think to knock. Or, well, even think to debate knocking. But even though it was now unlocked the door didn't open. A bit muffled through the wood, the sound of soft footsteps upon the carpet now walking away could be heard.

She wanted him to walk in. She wanted him to have to move on his part to open the door himself and step inside. Maybe it was a power play. Or maybe it was another psychological snare: trick him into the mindset of one walking into a home instead of a guest being ushered into another's. Or, maybe, she just wanted him to be struck by the full effect of her moment, and that required some distance to properly realize.

Jesse of course heard the sound of the locks being undone. And he waited for her to actually answer the door. Unfortunately, she didn't, and regardless of what she wanted in that moment, for a man like Jesse James, who was used to dealing with incredibly shady people--you didn't just walk into a door that was unlocked, because that might be the perfect sort of set up, now wasn't it. Sure, he opens the door, then eats six bullets when he opens the door. That could happen. Fuck he knew people it'd happened to. So, someone with a background like his wasn't going to play the game like he was meant to. Not because he wanted to be defiant, but because it was his nature, and he didn't think Ronnie would do something like that(even if he was wrong, there). So, he stood to the side of the door, back to it, and not towards where there was an open wall that someone could shoot through it. He was back to the wall right where the next room would start, and then he reached out, twisted the knob, and pushed the door in, without standing there, without being revealed. Then he waited, listening intently.

For a while the only sound was of something being fiddled with the barest hint of light clanking against an object. Even though her eyes were kept away from the door and stayed on what she was doing, her other senses were focused elsewhere, and she became very aware of the door being opened and then... no footsteps. He didn't come in. She broke her picture briefly with a frown, glancing at the open door, trying to determine why nobody was standing there. A part of her wondered if her mind was really going, but then... well, the open door was proof somebody had been there. And she had been certain it was Jesse, not even glancing in the peephole, just going on the sound of the footsteps and the pause between the arrival and knocking. Bringing her gaze back to her work, slipping back into her moment, she kept the doorway to her peripheral vision. "You can come in," she called softly, unaware she hadn't done so already, repeating an invitation that had slipped through the cracks.

The Sunny Shores motel was as far from glamorous as one could get in the city without living on the street. And even though her seventeen years of the room's exclusive off-and-on use had lent some homely touches -- furniture arranged more like a studio than a motel room, a dining set of a small worn table and two wobbly chairs deliberately placed deliberately off-center, and a few cheap pictures with no unifying theme decorating the walls -- it was still a run-down room in a run-down motel on the run-down part of town. The carpet's color had dulled and dirtied into something unrecognizable to its once newly purchased shade, paint was chipped and peeling off water-stained walls, and the porch view overlooked a too-dark parking lot and a dumpster. Even the little signs of some special occasion were a far cry from the standard: cheap champagne was visibly chilling in the bathroom sink, and the tumblers meant to be poured in weren't even of a matching set.

The only thing that didn't look low class or desolate in room three-oh-six was Ronnie. Ronnie, who for once looked strikingly out of place with the stained walls, poor lighting, and mismatched furniture. Ronnie, who for the moment seemed a woman the Drake itself was ill-fit to cater to. She was leaning over a nightstand lamp now, fiddling with it to coerce more brightness out of the thing than it seemed willing to give; her necklace clanked gently against the shade and caught the light as it did so. Her profile was to the entranceway, hair and makeup on immaculate display, and the way the dusty gold of an evening gown flowed with each movement transformed her into something more unearthly. A Hollywood beauty, perhaps, who glided off the silver screen to grace mortals with her presence for a mere while. Who, interrupting her work only to smile briefly at her guest, soon easily won her battle with the table lamp and straightened up. She admired her handiwork for another fleeting moment, before finally turning and smiling at the man she had beckoned inside and then kept waiting.

Jesse heard her, and she didn't sound under duress, so he moved to stand in the doorframe, leaning one arm against it just above his head as he stopped and watched her. And honestly? Nothing could really have prepared him for that sight. Not of her, like that. Because Ronnie was a beautiful woman. Granted, a lot of the time she looked less beautiful than she had the capacity for, but now? Really not one of those times. In fact, this was hands down the most gorgeous he had ever seen her. And he'd known the woman for over fifteen years.

His jaw didn't drop, he didn't gasp, or anything like that, he just...stood there, green eyes locked onto her, and it looked a little like a bomb could go off outside and he wouldn't have noticed. That there wasn't anything at all that could break his concentration on her in that moment. She looked like she didn't belong here, like she belonged uptown, at one of those parties where the women sparkled with real jewels at their throats, and deliberately gave anyone around them bedroom eyes. Which Ronnie was pretty goddamn good at, all things told. Even at the worst of times.

Ronnie hadn't really planned this, per se. This scenario had evolved in her mind with the events of the day, just falling into place than being intentionally set. And when she had pictured it some 'jaw dropping' had certainly been included, but disappointment was the furthest thing from her mind when that didn't happen. If anything the reality surpassed it. It was yet another thing to her day that had surpassed expectations, and it had her wanting nothing more than to grin like a happy idiot or a school girl with a crush and date to the dance.

But the Hollywood starlet had stolen the scene, and such a goddess didn't grin like foolish schoolgirls. Instead Ronnie, after appraising him, only allowed the barest hint of a smile the Mona Lisa would envy. Then her disinterested gaze scanned away from him and she glided over to the dresser -- the dress flowing with her movement perfectly displayed from that distance -- and proceeded to sort through some small stack of papers just before the mirror. Her back was to him, her reflection easily able to meet his gaze if it chose to. It didn't. Eyes keeping only on the papers before her. What most of her really wanted to do was break out in that grin and wrap her arms around him, but this moment was still too perfect to really complain of. "You can step inside," she finally murmured, conversationally, only the amused undertone and a her eyes watching him through the mirror suggesting she wasn't indifferent.

He heard the tone, but didn't say anything about it. He also didn't move from where he stood. As much as he wanted to, he still couldn't quite tear his eyes away, but he could stop himself from entering the room. Walking into what felt very much like a trap to him wasn't a good plan--no matter how tempting it was. And it was tempting. So he stayed where he was, and watched her. When she spoke, it took him a moment to answer her, though it was less because he couldn't think of anything to say, and more because he was choosing his words carefully. "Why would I want to do that when you seem so busy doing lots of little things you probably don't need to be doing right now?" he asked. "You are seeming to be doing your best to ignore me, to prove to me that I'm inconsequential to you. Point taken. What did you want, Ronnie?" he asked her, his tone somewhat unreadable the entire time. Yep. This felt like a trap. She was just a particularly beautiful spider.

The same majority of her that had wanted to grin like an idiot and throw her arms around him felt sorely disappointed that he didn't step inside. Even though the day had sort of pushed this scenario together, that didn't mean it hadn't required some effort on her part. Remembering to borrow two dresses from Candy and the other girls because she refused to let the dress of this moment with Jesse be the dress she did business in, getting the champagne, finding another tumbler, carrying the ice up after finally figuring out where to she could chill the bottle; and, of course, the endless playing of this scene in her mind's eye up until this moment.

But disappointing though it was, his reaction wasn't surprising. In fact, as Ronnie continued her unperturbed rifling through the papers she realized a part of her -- probably the part that kept at her task -- expected it. The Hollywood beauty had the scene, and was flowing with everything as if there were some screenplay Ronnie was otherwise unaware of. Finding what she was looking for in the stack, she folded it in her hand and then turned around and again glided unhurriedly toward the entryway, again with that secretive Mona Lisa smile. She stopped some feet before Jesse though, still very much in the room. "I wrote that note so that if I went missing, then there might be someone aware of it," she responded, the words smoothly flowing from her lips as if such an admission wasn't even worth a batting of an eyelash. As she spoke one arm crossed at her waist and the elbow of the other rested atop it. And, visible in her hand just resting by her shoulder, was what she had picked out from that pile: some bills, from what Jesse had given her last night. The way she held it but didn't mention it, in a far more graceful 'I have a present~~' manner, hinted strongly that the money was for him. Which, was, well... not the usual at all.

He thought he'd be doing slightly better if he could rip his eyes away from her, but he couldn't. He just also didn't show the fact that he was internally bitching at himself about it. Instead, he listened to what she said, expression darkening lightly when she said the bit about going missing. Which he was sure he was meant to do, the kind of reaction that she wanted from him. But, just as much as he had known the other night that he was being played, and he was aware now, he couldn't do much to combat it. So far, his entire defense stratagey was staying out of reach, and not letting her close the door. As far as stratageys went, it was a pretty piss poor one. He ignored the money, though he was vaguey surprised to see she still had it. Or any money left for that matter, especially considering how she looked--though he knew for a fact that he'd not given her that much money. Nothing that would have afforded her what she was wearing. "Explain to me why it is you might have gone missing." he said. Because that? Was rather important.

She should just tell him, she knew that, but she wasn't going to. And she hated that she knew she was on the road of making things so convoluted. She eve planned on telling him, despite not knowing whether she wanted to or not; but in this moment she wasn't going to be hurried into disclosing anything. "You planning on standing in that open breezeway all night?" she asked lightly, not quite liking away the bemusement carried through her tone now, brows arching delicately as the folded bills held between two fingers brushed lightly against the top of her shoulder. She didn't point out that the night air was cold, or that anybody could walk by and see them -- and she was one hell of a sight right -- as they passed the door. Letting on that she could be bothered or was anything but unflappable here in this scene was unacceptable. There would be a time for that, she realized, and her stomach turning in a knot at that; there would be a time when she would let real vulnerabilities show as part of something she knew she'd have a distaste for. But that wasn't right now.

"You still haven't given me much of a compelling reason to not do that." Jesse said. Even if that was a total lie. Really, if he wanted to go talking about compelling things...she was. But that was a problem, now wasn't it. Yes! It really was. A big problem, even. A problem that he needed to not be messing with. Especially after last night. "You haven't answered my question." he said. "And what is this?" he asked finally, unable to keep the question from being given voice. "You find some prince to carry you away from it all?" he asked. He was thinking someone rich had caught her eye, and maybe she'd talked a good enough game. He wouldn't at all put it past her, she could be eloquent when she wanted to be. And she knew all the buttons to push. Or, she did with him. He supposed he'd never examined how she could be with other men too closely, and didn't really plan on breaking the trend now.

At that she closed the distance between them, deliberately taking her time and not breaking the mask of perfectly serene bemusement not cracking from her frustration inside. Because it was frustrating: both the way he would only stand there and the way she wouldn't just answer the question. It was frustrating how she took her time closing that distance, the way a whisper of a secretive smirk touched the corner of her mouth, and the way she didn't just stop short before him but took a step further, circling her arms around his neck as she did so; it was frustrating the way she crossed her wrists slightly as they hovered in the breezeway, one hand still holding onto the bills between her two fingers. "Maybe this is a gift from a generous 'friend'," she murmured nonchalantly, punctuating it with a coy smile up at him. And her head was angled quite a bit up at him, with her being so close. She would have casually shook her hair slightly and briefly ran her fingers through it had it been down, but with it immaculately wavy and pinned she didn't. She watched him, eyes intently on his for a moment before raising a bit up on her toes and whispering rhetorically into his ear, "But if I had been taken away from it all, I wouldn't be standing in this room for you, now would I?"

She smelled as good as he'd thought she might. Which didn't help matters any, and he'd been sort of hoping that if he didn't play along, that she'd give up the game, but apparently all it meant was she dragged it out a little longer, then stepped it up. He caught the bit about the generous friend, and he wondered if he was meant to be jealous. Then, he vaguely wondered if he was. He didn't think so. He knew that she tended to just...well. Literally sleep around, with whoever had what she wanted at the time. Though this was slightly different, what with the pure amount of money put into it. His arm slid slightly down the doorframe where it rested, though he caught it before he put it down around her. Even if that was the natural progression, there, and he had a really hard time not doing so with his free one. He stopped himself doing those things, but couldn't make himself actually step away, either. "You're standing here for me?" he asked, voice a light murmur, considering her proximity. Or, that was his story and he was sticking to it, anyways. Like he was tilting his head towards her a little more because it was natural, since she'd spoken into his ear. Really, it wasn't because that had felt nice, or anything. She still hasn't answered the fucking question. Maybe she said it just to bother you. he thought. Because she's a player, and she's playing you. She's pushing your buttons on purpose, just because she can. You can knock it the fuck off any time now.

She pulled her face back only as far as she needed to be able to watch him -- which she could do easily enough with her face hovering at dangerous almost-contact to his own -- reading his expression, the arm sliding down the frame before he caught it, him not stepping away, his voice, his tilting to her... she caught all of it, and she could delve further into the desire behind it than he would allow himself to. The only thing she couldn't honestly tell was whether he was jealous or not, and she did wonder about it. She wanted him to be; she knew that, even if she knew it wasn't jusitified. It was the only thing that all of her felt completely, and it wasn't so much a desire as a sharp ache that threatened her composure. But the only symptom she would show was pressing her body only slightly into his own, eyes otherwise gazing knowingly into his own. She got jealous over him, knowing full well she had no claim there. But she did anyway. Then again, Jesse was a person worth getting jealous over. Ronnie knew the same didn't apply to herself.

But even if she couldn't determine his presence or lack of jealousy, she could easily catch how he struggled with his composure; in that slipping hand now halted against the frame, his voice, the way he repeated the part of her standing here for him... and even if it wasn't the hint of jealousy that she wanted it still sent a small current of warmth and triumph through her. But she stilled the urge to press into him any further. "Yes," she breathed, hating how she had to choose between maintaining a steady gaze into his eyes or breathing it in his ear. So she compromised, moving her mouth closer and continuing the rest with her warm breath against his earlobe, "and I promise I have interesting things to tell you. But first-- I have two glasses waiting on the champagne to be opened."

She paused intentionally, letting her words and breath just hang in the air before then pulling her head back a good couple inches from his now, giving herself ample distance to take in his whole face and him her own. And it was only now that she allowed some of that exhilaration to peek through, her eyes bright and slight breathless grin that looked anything but foolish. Whatever it was Ronnie had to tell him, it was clear now that she was thrilled about it, and she hated that she was using that joy for yet another deliberate display. "Unless you still plan on standing here with the night air?" she finally teased, grin curving into a pouty smirk that was good-natured if she ignored how deliberate it was.

She was all over the place, and Jesse was very aware of it. There was the mention of going missing, there was all the excitement over something, the entire set up in the room, the way she was standing with him, her choices of wording... None of it really seemed to add up correctly, and he couldn't even begin to predict what was really going on. He could still pick out that going in and having a glass of champagne with her was likely a piss poor idea, but something was clearly going on. And she wanted him to know it. He internally debated the likely course of action she'd take if he just turned and left right now. And that was, she'd likely turn up at the apartment. Sometimes when that girl got something into her head, she was hard to deter. And still, he really wanted to be sure to keep her away from their daughter. So, in the end, against his better judgment, he finally straightened, stepped inside, and shut the door behind himself. Even if he leaned against the door when he did it, and didn't actually walk into the room properly. It was kind of a compromise. But he didn't entirely trust himself just then, and didn't want to go pushing his luck. If it was any other ex of his, he'd be fine, but this wasn't just anyone, it was Ronnie. That made all the difference--and sadly, she knew that. "I'd like answers to my questions sometime tonight, Ronnie." he told her.

"Of course," she replied, the contented smile threatening to take away from the effect of her exhilaration. "But first..." Fingers of her free hand played lightly with his hair, the nails occasionaly brushing against the scalp as she tugged gently at some strands. And this wasn't some act with an ulterior motive, or at least Ronnie let herself think that. Just an urge that she had trouble resisting with her arms crossed behind his head and nothing to do. Sometimes Ronnie, who had a bit more trouble resisting urges than Jesse did, preferred not to read too much into her own actions either. But while she would have been content to just run her fingers through her Jesse's hair all night, her hand pulled away and her arms broke the circle around Jesse's neck and Ronnie let them slide down his shoulders and let her hands continue down to his chest. She let them remain there for a second, both to shamefully nettle him and satisfy a desire to hold on to him a bit longer, before she finally broke contact. The free hand fell gracefully to her side as Ronnie held the folded bills just before him with the other. "...I'm giving this back." She didn't understand how she could regulate the grin to a just a pleased smirk after saying that. Ronnie, in all her pathetic times of coming to him for money that she hated herself for, had never once returned or been in a position to return the money or pay him back. And this was another too-good part in a too-good day, even if she was only able to return half. The other had been used to pay for the room and some convenience items.

Jesse frowned at her. Though it took him a second to catch up with current events, especially with the treatment she'd just given him. Playing with his hair, tugging at it a little, generally holding onto him and being touchy. It was distracting. And really in what he could only consider the worst way possible, considering the source. Still, knowing it was stupid and being able to control his reactions to her were different things. He did manage not to reach out and yank her back, though, which was kind of a near thing, but he pulled it off. It just left him hoping she'd cool it, now that she was getting to the point. He didn't actually have much realistic hope for that, but he could pretend, right? Still, he focused on the money. "You asked for it, I gave it to you. You find some one to give you all of this, and suddenly you're feeling charitable?" he asked. Though his tone was far less pointed than he would have liked. He was meant to sound annoyed with her, but it just missed the mark.

Ronnie's high mood finally began to sink and she let her face fall with it. She let the hand that held the money simply drop gracelessly to her side, and she looked back at Jesse with the kind of impassive expression meant to throw a blanket across a mess of pained emotion. "Nobody gave this to me," she answered, dejected, as she turned away from him and headed back towards the dresser, letting the bills fall on the small table along the way. At the dresser she proceeded to unceremoniously remove her jewelry, starting with the earrings.

She looked very much a picture of a brave-faced woman who had put considerable effort and hope and expectation into her evening only to have it fall through and bring her down along with it. And that was exactly the point, because that was exactly what Ronnie was feeling. Because it didn't matter, even though a part of her knew that it wouldn't but had hoped it did anyway, that she happened upon what was the best job she could hope for herself and did all this just to get that reaction he had given when he first appeared and have the evening go from there... it didn't matter because things just didn't work that way between Jesse and her; not even for one night; not even on the first truly good day she had had in years they wouldn't work her way because she just couldn't seem to stop playing him. Even now, even though she knew it wasn't at all his fault, she was playing him.

She was putting her current pain and vulnerability and disappointment on exquisite display just because she knew he didn't handle it well. "I was only borrowing this for tonight," she continued, dropping the last piece of jewelry (the necklace) with a dull clunk! on the dresser. She didn't look over at him. Her expression again kept that translucent brave mask, her tone saying how she was very much aware how pathetic it was to borrow such items as these in a place like this to impress some man who preferred not to deal with her for just one night, and she didn't need him to point it out thank-you-very-much.

Jesse didn't handle it well when she got like that, and now was no different than any other time when she'd pulled it. He exhaled, very slowly, eyes on her as she said all the lines, made all the moves, played out her little one woman play. He knew that he was meant to be filling a role here. That she'd had one specifically set out for him, and he hadn't fallen into line correctly. He also really wanted to be pissed about it. It would be easier, if he could get angry, but it was difficult to do when she sounded like that, and looked like that. Even knowing she knew he'd have problems being angry with her and it was deliberate....

Everything was circles with them. Always. Every goddamn time. This was a different shade of it, but it was the same thing. She was playing him, and he was getting pulled in regardless of if he wanted to or not. "Veronica, could you please just....stop." he said, sounding tired. Drained, even. "Please. Stop. Just...answer the fucking questions, tell me what's going on, and why you wanted me here. Can you do that, without all of..." he made a vague gesture towards her, but couldn't put the right words to what he meant. Though he was fairly sure she'd understand, regardless of his lack of finishing the thought.

"Fine," she answered, turning around to face him. The tears welling in her eyes? They were real, she didn't need to imagine any emotion other than what she was feeling in this moment to evoke them. But she didn't let them fall. Because part of her did want to be, not just seem, that brave-faced woman. And because it would ruin her mascara, and she had taken such care to for her make-up to be immaculate. And because tears held back like that was more powerful than gracelessly bawling her eyes out.

God, she wanted to stop. She really, truly did. Because every time she found herself taking the knife and twisting it into his emotions she always twisted it into her own wounds too. Especially when she was upset, or hurt, or wounded by something that was almost always her own doing in the first place. And, in her aim to hurt him for it, or twist him towards her, she always ended up revealing ugly truths or glaring vulnerabilities and hurts that she had really, really never meant to share. Even though she prayed for once to just do what was right and stop as she heard how drained he sounded -- how drained she had made him sound... even though she heard that and it broke her heart and made her sick of herself she knew that she wasn't going to stop. She didn't know what exactly she was going to do do. Not lie, she knew that at least.

Ronnie didn't actually lie when it came to Jesse. She omitted a hell of a lot; she broke promises she meant to keep, and she twisted true words and genuine emotions in delivery that lessened, twisted, or exaggerated their meaning; but she didn't actually lie to him. Because he was the only person she had to count or depend on, and she wanted to never lie to him. ...And also because the truth could fuck with the man more so than any lie she imagined ever could. She knew she was gong to answer every fucking question with every well-sharpened truth in her arsenal. "What do you want to want to know first?" she forced her voice to be calm, to not tremble; even though the eyes were still wet and gleaming.

Walk away. he told himself. Right then and there, he could feel it. Last night had thrown him off of his game, as it always did when he saw her, but she was about to drop something on him that was going to wreck him for a while, and he knew it. With all of the effort she'd put into everything, it was abundantly clear--whatever all of this was about, whatever she was doing here, it was going to leave ripples in his life. So, the smart thing to do would be to turn around, let himself out, not watch her play him with the shine of tears in her eyes, even if she didn't outright cry. His best move, right now, would be to just walk out. Ronnie wasn't his responsibility anymore, maybe she never had been.

But he knew he never saw it like that. Logic and emotional considerations in Jesse James Land were rarely the same thing. And just because he knew the rational answers to things didn't mean it had even the slightest amount of impact on his emotional responses to things. In particular, with Ronnie. He nearly crossed the room, and backed her against the counter with the sink and the champagne, and demanded she cut the shit, and just answered. It wasn't like she'd need them repeated, right? But then again, she'd utterly forgotten about his making her something to eat last night, so maybe she did. And now you're just handing her excuses. Ass. "Start with your comment about possibly going missing." he told her, trying to curb every impulse that flashed through his system, and there wre a lot of them. Unfortunately, they were all conflicting, too, so who knew what he'd do when he landed on something.

"After leaving the apartment--" she started, a tragic beauty with her composure barely hanging; it had been the natural result of her own emotions, falling into place instead of by design. But a part of her was aware of it, and used it to her advantage. "--I went to the convenience store for--" the pause was unexpected, because Ronnie honestly couldn't remember what she had needed or whether she had bought it. Finally she simply waved it off as if it were some detail not worth recounting, "--It doesn't matter. Something. I ran into an old acquaintance or friend or associate or whatever she would be called and she let me know about a job opportunity." Ronnie paused, hesitating for a moment before clarifying, "Actually, she didn't let me know anything. Just the address and that it was somebody to trust and that I should look 'classy'." Absolutely, undeniably, the sketchiest tip-off ever. And Ronnie leaned a bit against the dresser edge, arms crossed lightly at her waist in a manner that was both defiant and vulnerable and unconcerned about the whole thing; she had timed the pause there, to let Jesse take in just how obviously sketchy a thing she had followed up on before continuing,

"Obviously things could have gone wrong; and you and I both know that any opportunity that falls into my lap -- and especially the ones people recommend me to -- isn't going to be anything respectable. So I didn't know what to expect, or whether I would end up walking safely back out of the thing at all. " She shrugged her shoulders lightly, as if both her unattainable respectability and walking into what could have easily been a dangerous set up were everyday inconsequential matters. She actually couldn't will the tears in her eyes away, but she otherwise kept her demeanor disturbingly unconcerned considering she very well could have been handing over her own life or worse. "And I wrote the note figuring if I couldn't come back then at least there was a chance somebody would know."

She stopped there for now, letting that sink in. Letting that part of Jesse that didn't want her hurt to chew that over. No big deal, just a note whose outcome hinged if the ex who rightfully couldn't stand her bothered to show up. Even though she had stopped by the apartment she didn't bother asking him to help, or back her up, or even bother walking into such a set-up with any kind of protection. Only a note, with a flimsy chance at best of protecting her going missing or death fading into anonymity.

Jesse wasn't always a master at hiding things. Sometimes, yes. At the moment? Not so much. And what Jesse was was worlds of Not Happy. He didn't need what she was saying to sink in, he started giving her dark looks from pretty early in her tale, not appreciating what she was saying or how she was saying it. There was a heavy moment of silence as he borderline glared at her by the time she was finished, and then he pushed off the door and stalked across the room to invade her personal space. "Why the fuck didn't you at the very least ask me to go with you? With something like that, what on earth would possess you to go into something that stupid alone? Jesus, Ronnie, what's the matter with you?!" he snapped, watching her eyes, his own hard and swirling with a lot of different emotions. "Why would you do something like that? Especially after you showed up looking for money and you got it, like you always do, because when you need shit, you come to me--why stop that now? When it could have blown up in your face?" Because obviously, it hadn't. But that was not the point. Good god, was that not the point.

Ronnie didn't react, her own wet gaze staring impassively back up at him. Her composure still looked on the verge of breaking horribly down, but apparently it was stronger than it appeared because it didn't. She remained leaning against the dresser, not backing away, her palms resting against the edge and her shoulders seeming a bit fragile but her gaze was still hard and impassive despite the tears. Or maybe it wasn't that her composure was stronger than it appeared, but that she had expected the reaction. A part of her had certainly unveiled the story in a way to ensure it and had even hoped for it. Why? Did she want some show, some anger, some fury at her so jeopardizing her own life just to reveal that a part of him cared? If so than congratulations, she got that fury. But she didn't feel at all triumphant. Maybe because she knew that Jesse James was at times too good for the world and certainly too good for her and would jump in feet first to save anybody.

Or maybe because she was too sick of her playing him to feel triumphant about it succeeding. "Because... maybe I'd rather risk that than have you know some of the shit I get into," she answered, forcing her gaze to remain steadily onto his, although slight hoarseness in her voice resonating more with that fragile-seeming composure than her impassive and defiant stare. She wasn't sure if that was all of her reasoning or even her exact reasoning from this morning, but she knew that in this moment it certainly felt true. And she also knew that it was really really something she had never intended to admit. A part of her wondered if she did it just because she wanted to know how he'd react, knowing that little secret that she still cared what he thought. She could have just wanted him to know. But there was also the fact that a small part of her hoped it would prevent him from just dropping her, knowing how she chose risking death over risking his even lower opinion, if she revealed the other secret that threatened to spill out.

Jesse still glared at her, reaching out to put his hands on either side of her, not touching her, just trapping her there against the dresser as he watched her eyes. Some part of him was vaguely surprised that she might give a damn what he thought, but at the same time, he wondered if she wasn't just saying that because it would further her cause. "I know you. What about you, me, and the lives we've lived makes you think I don't know what you've done in your time?" he asked, voice low.

"Because you don't," she started voice starting to break a bit, cracking along with that fragile-thin composure of hers. Which, she was realizing, honestly hadn't all been some farce. It was very, very fragile and breaking. And this time she really didn't want it to, because she really really didn't want to tell him this, and that breaking composure was all one ominous sign that she was getting closer to doing that. To the words spilling off her tongue or, worse, choking out of her between sobs. "Because what you know or think you know doesn't scratch the surface." It hurt, saying that. Saying that the one person she had to count on or who might give a damn if she became just a cold body on the street didn't even know her all that well.

It took nearly all she had to still keep her gaze onto his, to not let those tears fall out, and to keep her mouth set to a grim line as a last-ditch effort to just not say anymore. Otherwise though, her composure was shot. Her body trembled slightly but visibly, her knuckles were white against the edge of the dresser like she was holding on for dear life, and that gaze that she forced into his was revealed a swirling mess of emotions of her own. "And sometimes I'd rather stay away, or risk getting killed, or even go through worse than risk you finding out," and this time that last phrase was uttered a bit pathetically, winding down a bit from the hysterical edge her voice had carried in the sentences before. And for the first time in a long ass while, she knew that all of this was real. And not part of some little ploy. But she also knew that she had pulled so many with her genuine emotions that it was more likely that poetic justice would prevail and he would group this one with the others.

Really, Jesse couldn't tell anymore. And he knew he couldn't tell. Reality, fantasy, it kind of all blended together with Ronnie, and he didn't trust his own judgment on the matter anymore. Not really. He watched what looked like cracks forming in the little game she was playing, but this? How he was reacting...it was what she'd wanted. He knew that. He just wasn't an actor. His reaction was genuine, like all of his were, even if he knew it was exactly what she wanted. He couldn't help that. Still. He watched her, saying nothing for a few long moments. Then he reached up, and very gently brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, a caress that was soft, even if his expression didn't mirror that. It contrasted it entirely, even.

And then it was his turn to lean in. He still didn't push against her, but kept her trapped against the dresser. What he did do was speak into her ear, just like she'd done to him. His voice was low, that just barely contained anger still beneath the surface, but there was a lot else in there, unreadable things. "You don't think, with the kinds of people I associated with...you don't really believe for a second that I don't know...do you, Ronnie?" he asked, knowing his breath was ghosting against her skin, and he closed his eyes for a moment. His cheek was almost against hers, enough to feel the heat of it, though he made sure not to actually complete that contact.

"Frank couldn't wait to see me, to tell me all about how went to Babylon, how he saw you, Jesse James' old lady, how he paid, and fucked you. Twice." And Jesse, in one of his less rational moments, had put the guy in the hospital for it. Not that he was proud of that, though just mentioning it made his blood boil a little again. He'd planned on never actually telling her he knew. That hadn't been in the cards. But with all of this? ...it was just there.

Ronnie's heart dropped out from under, and there was nothing but an empty, sick feeling inside. She had tensed when he caressed her cheek and lean in, completely unprepared for it, and she for once regarded him as the viper about to strike. But that was nothing compared to what came next. Nothing compared to the words that sliced her open and doused ice water inside and sent suddenly slamming into her stomach. She paled, face stricken and even stinging like he had slapped her. And when he crudely mentioned Frank fucking her Ronnie flinched violently, a strangled cry hiccuping in her throat, as if he really had hit her. She was too shocked by his words, and sickened with the memory of it all to even make sense of how he said it, or read him, or even worry if her response was real or twisted.

She couldn't even recall what she planned to say next, or what her aim in anything was at all. She only knew she had been blindsided, and all she could do was stand there dumbly, hovering between tensing indefinitely and collapsing to the ground, and feeling the dull indiscernable roar between her ears. She was in shock, not saying anything, her body to still, and it seemed could turn to hysterics at any moment or just stay like that. She didn't cry, as there was no sound or movement with it, but some tears trailed down regardless. And in it all the only thought Ronnie could pick out and hold onto was that she shouldn't let the tears fall, because she had taken such care with her make up, and it would be criminal to ruin the work to make it perfect.

Part of him thought that he should feel more satisfied that he'd actually done to her this time what she so often did to him. That the tables had actually turned for once, even if he wasn't playing games, he didn't have goals in mind, he wasn't playing pretend, just to get certain reactions out of her. But there was that part, some deep down part of him that thought he should feel some sort of vicious satisfaction over turning the trainwreck on her. Because she always did it to him. Every Fucking Time. She breezed in and out of his life, and she always left him wounded in some form. But he didn't do that with her. He tried to be there, he tried to help her, and it never had any impact. It never helped anything.

His problem was that it just left him feeling empty. Even the anger that had been burning was gone then, having burned itself out. For all he knew she could be pretending now, too--though he didn't think so. Deep down, he didn't believe she was. Still, he'd thought he'd have felt better, and he didn't. If anything, it was worse, with that hollow feeling in his gut. He saw the tears fall, and he reached up to gently brush them from her cheeks. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead, a gesture he didn't know the motivation of, but felt right. He moved to stand back, though didn't move far, because she looked a little too close to collapsing, and he wouldn't let her fall. He'd pick her up and lie her on the bed before he let her fall.

Ronnie just wasn't a strong person when it came down to it. She could charm and manipulate and had an especial talent for persuasion, but overall she was weak. She was weak against temptation, weak emotionally, weak before adversity, even her mind was weakened to an extent... and she was weak physically. She had never been strong athletically, and her drug use hadn't helped that any. She had been holding up by a thin thread for a while, and something about the kiss on the forehead just broke it. The little emotional and physical strength Ronnie had left had been exhausted, and when Jesse stepped back she did begin to slump downwards, not reacting to the jab of the drawer handle in her back as she did so. She actually didn't look like she was reacting to much of anything at all, save for how that still, stricken look seemed ready to cave to the mess of emotions inside.

When she started to fall, Jesse just stepped closer, and swept her up off of her feet. She didn't weigh much, never had, and he was more than capable of cradling her as he brought her over to the bed. Then he laid her down, careful about it. He did have to wonder how fucked up it was that he'd just delt the emotional blow here, but he was sticking around to nurse her through it. Or at least in some respects, he was. He didn't know what to say to her, though. Part of him didn't trust himself to say anything, but another part was just...at a loss. He really had nothing at the moment, no words. So he just laid her down, and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor for a long moment.

When he placed her on the bed, Ronnie immediately rolled over to her side, facing away from him. She didn't say anything either, or make any other sound even though she was still crying, and she just lay there and didn't face him, a small part of her trying to determine the damage of the wound before she could try to recover from it. But determining the depth of the damage meant having to delve into and sort out her mind. And it was just impossible for her to do that right now. Because the moment she tried to focus inward all she could think was that Jesse knew and that he had known and the sharp pain and loss and hollowness from that fact eclipsed everything else completely. It made breathing unsteady and difficult. It was the kind of sharp pain that stabbed directly into her core and forced her to close her eyes for a long moment only to fail to shut her out.

As usual, she had no idea how long that moment was. But she knew that when she opened her eyes back up the first thought that hit her was It wasn't supposed to be like this but she couldn't at all recall how it was supposed to go, or recall what had really been so great about today. She remembered the meeting, with Eris, and the job, but the recollections brought nothing that they had before -- no excitement, or foolish planning, or ideas involving champagne. Champagne. Which was still chilling in ice in the sink and waiting to be served and toasted and celebrated in the two tumblers, but that wouldn't happen. A part of her wanted Jesse to just leave now, and leave her be, and let her crack open the bottle and down it herself and then see if she had maybe, just possibly accidentally packed some bit of her stash in her bag. And, unable to sort anything else out or move past the pain, a little oblivion was something she really really wanted. But she couldn't open her mouth to tell him he didn't need to stay, because the other part of her felt ready to just never wake up if he walked out that door.

"How long?" she whispered hoarsely, finally breaking the silence; not moving, not even lifting her head from the make-up stained pillow to glance back at him. How long had he known? She didn't want to know the answer, or deal with this at all really, but it now hung in the air around them regardless.

Jesse wasn't paying attention to the time, either. He was just there, waiting. For what, he had no idea. For her to say something, probably. For something to happen, even if he couldn't have ventured a guess as to what. But even if he wasn't looking at her, and she was turned away from him, he was very aware of her. Very aware. He was listening to her breathing, paying attention to how still she was. And for the first time in a while he wasn't thinking about how she was twisting everything. Or what she might be doing to twist things, or what her next plan was going to be to stick it in and break it off. He was just waiting.

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Jesse asked, tone light. He kept looking at the floor for a long moment, but then he looked back at her, shifting slightly. "A while." he told her. "I didn't mark the calendar." And there wasn't any bite or sarcasm to his tone whatsoever. He was just talking, voice light.

She didn't know why, but it did matter to her a bit. Because... she didn't know. But a part of her was so certain that when he found out that would have been the last unforgivable straw, that it would have been the end. That she was never going to see him, or their daughter, again. And she hadn't wanted to risk it. She finally moved, pulling herself up to sit up and lean her back heavily against the headboard. But it wasn't because she felt any better or stronger or anything like that. It was actually because she had wanted to wash her face, but had fallen short of the energy to carry that out; what with Jesse sitting close by on the edge of the bed closest to the sink, or realizing that she'd have to walk that distance, and then pull the champagne bottle out, and then melt the ice all to wipe whatever mess the mascara had turned into off her face. After sitting up, and realizing that, it all just became too much effort. Although her eyes flicked passed up, for a moment eying the bottle intensely, her desire to just crawl into it with her troubles more than clear.

He saw her eyeing the bottle, and he ticked his gaze back to it. In the end, he stood, walked over, popped the bottle, and poured her a drink. He hated enabling her, but if she ever looked like she could use one, now was it. Hell, he could use one. But he didn't pour himself one. He just left the bottle where she'd have to get up to get it, and brought her the tumbler instead. Holding it out, he looked her over again. "I know you." he said. "Maybe a lot of people know you, by now, but I know you better than anyone." His tone was quiet. There was an unreadable undertone to it, but there was also something soft about it. Almost gentle.

"You're the woman I first fell in love with." he told her. "And you're the mother of my baby girl." He sat back down again where he'd been, watching her. "You're also the woman who chose vice over me. Over her child. Over a life you could have had." Oddly, he at no point let is eyes leave hers as he spoke. He did reach out to right the strap of her dress that had fallen over her shoulder. "You gave up everything for that, Ronnie. It was only a matter of time before you gave up anything left of yourself for it. I found out a while back, but I wouldn't say I didn't already know, somewhere deep down." It wasn't like he'd been surprised.

She downed the tumbler like a shot, hissing a bit afterward, and had to shut her eyes from the pain again -- the pain of his words competing with the champagne burning down her throat. Yeah, she liked the answer to that question even less than she thought possible. It wasn't that she expected it to comfort her, she knew better than that. But, even with the tone gentle and really making it even harder, that especially hurt. Because it was largely a recounting of her worst mistakes, and there was nothing comforting about that. There was nothing in her reach that could ever truly give her comfort from that, there were only things that could just numb the pain or let her not think on it for a while. When he adjusted the strap on her dress, Ronnie hesitated a moment before her free hand came up and held his either. She didn't know why, or even what she had planned or if she had anything planned. She just knew that when his fingers grazed her skin she wasn't ready for them to pull away. After all, there weren't things that could really comfort her, only maybe break the pain for a little while. And she knew Jesse was the worst choice for that, especially considering he was the main source of all her pain in this moment. But he was the only choice she had, other than the champagne bottle that was too far out of reach.

But she didn't stroke his hand with her finger or otherwise make any kind of further move. Instead she brought her eyes back to his and asked with a completely empty, pathetic smile, and voice still hoarse and a bit breaking, "And since you know me so well... just what kind of mother do you think I would've been for Baby J had I stayed?" Because to this day Ronnie honestly thought she would have been better off had she just been left in an orphanage than her own parents. It probably was something she should have gotten over long ago, and not let influence her own responsibilities to her child. But she had, and there was nothing she couldn't undo it now. Whatever the answer she knew she would regret hearing it. Hearing she had given up being a decent mother in a happy home would be just as awful as hearing him honestly say he had no faith she would have cut it. But the question had been asked, and Ronnie -- ever the masochistic one -- needed to know.

When she put her hand over his, he let her keep it. He lightly brushed the backs of his fingers over her skin, back and forth, keeping it gentle. "I don't know." he said honestly, not actually taking either set path. "I think if you could have honestly lived a clean life, if chasing the next high wasn't your main priority, you'd be a different person. And if you were, maybe you would have been a great mother. But that didn't happen. And yes, you left, but if you hadn't, I would have left you, probably not much longer after you left me. Things were getting to a point where Baby J needed to not be around anything like that, and I had to protect her." He gave her an expression that looked like it was the ghost of a smile, something that spoke of lost things and a lot of pain somewhere deep down. "I wanted to protect you, but...you chose everything else over me. I couldn't compete, no matter how much I loved you. What mattered was you didn't love me, or us. Or, if you did, it wasn't enough." He paused for a long moment, still stroking her skin that light little bit. "I know it bothers you. Like I know a lot of times when you tell me you're done with it all, you mean it. But in the end..." he trailed off. She knew what happened in the end. How often had they played out that sad little story? A dozen times? More? He'd put it at more. It was more than once a year that she tended to pull this. "I think you'd need to find something more important than all of that." She'd have to find something that meant more to her than herself--but he wasn't cruel enough to put it that way to her.

Ronnie slumped back a little still clutching Jesse's hand to her shoulder. She couldn't bring herself to keep his gaze, instead letting it fall just away from his face, half-focusing on the space between his jaw and shoulder. Although it seemed impossible, apparently she must have had some spirit left in her previously, because she seemed even more depleted than she had a moment ago. And hurt, not by his words, only that with her defenses buckling out from under her the weight of everything pressed upon her that much more.

"I did love you," she whispered, shame and regret making it even harder just to keep her gaze just above his shoulder, never mind actually on him. She had been truly, deeply in love with the man once. Did she still love him now? She didn't know. Ronnie remembered what it was like to be in love. And the violent storm of emotions and sado-masochistic compulsion to stab claws and teeth into the man were nothing like love. She knew she couldn't resist him; she tried to stay away -- she did -- but she kept coming back even if she knew damn well it would hurt him, and usually be done intentionally even if she wanted the opposite, but she kept at it anyway. But that wasn't love, just something unhealthy. "And I love Baby J," she whispered, even more quiet and hoarse. It was hard to believe, looking at her numerous wrongs against her own daughter Ronnie couldn't believe it herself at times. "And it wasn't enough, because I still..."

And that was where her head fell back, defeated and drained, against the headboard. In that moment it was clear that, just maybe, the one who hated the addiction the most was Ronnie herself. Because nothing in this world was more important to her than Jesse and her daughter, but she had still managed to fuck that up thoroughly. But the weight of that did more than press down on her, it was crushing her. Because despite all the previous failures, a small part of Ronnie had held onto the hope that she would one day get clean. That one of the attempts would be a succcess, that maybe this one was The One... but she would need to find something important. And nothing was more important than those broken ties with her family... and that hadn't been enough.

Jesse didn't so much mind that she couldn't hold the eye contact. He didn't exactly figure she could, he would have been very surprised if she managed it. He didn't force it at all, either. Instead, he just kept his eyes on her, and listened when she did speak. He kept up the light touch, even if it wasn't going anywhere, just staying on her shoulder. He believed that she loved them at one point(though would be hard pressed to believe it was current), but he still just knew that love wasn't the most important thing to her. That in the end, it was always going to come down to her. And what she wanted, and she always went for the easiest way out. Just...find her next fix, so she could not think for a while, or feel good, or whatever it was that her addiction did for her. He couldn't say anymore, and he liked to imagine that it wasn't just her running around feeling good all the time, but who knew. Maybe it was. "You still..."

She was quiet, for a moment. Did he really want her to say? Didn't they both know that she had still left, and just kept with the drugs, and just fell further into degradation... and forcing those words aloud right now just twisted at the pain, and it was so hard to say, and she just didn't have the strength in her to explain it right now. So she kept quiet, eyes finally opening only to focus her gaze just beyond the end of the bed. Absently, a finger stroked his hand lightly; but it was more from fidgeting at the moment, as she tried to wade through the shallower depths of her pain and find the words. Or at least some words, even if they weren't the exact words to respond with.

"It hurts," she finally started, reflexively clutching her fingers tighter around his hand for a brief second as she said so, "when I don't... after a couple days, it hurts. Everything." She couldn't say it all in one go, needing to stop for a moment and take a breather and recoup through the admission before trying to continue on. "Even if--even if I can manage it in my head--" Although, honestly, most of the time the mental pain was enough for her to fall back off the wagon. But even if she managed through it mentally... "--it hurts. Physically. Everywhere." Again her breathing became shaky, and her words became disjointed and uneven with it. Because it wasn't just that it hurt; it was pain in her head, in her joints, everywhere. It was being unable to move, sometimes, from the pain or the nausea. Or open her eyes, because the barest light just sent her nerves screaming. "I can't... I can't," again emotion started to break up her voice, and occasionally she had to gasp a bit as the pain of this confession would overcome her. And her body trembled. Not violently, and not visibly; but it could be easily felt in a touch. "I can't move sometimes. Or eat. Or... just... a week, or two, and I'm just... dying." And that was a possibility that truly frightened her. That she couldn't quit. That her body had become so dependent on chemicals pumping through her bloodstream that she would actually, truly die before she could get clean.

He listened, and he'd seen people in the state she was talking about. After all, again, with the people he associated with most of his life--a hell of a lot of them were addicts of some description. Occasionally he'd stumbled upon some in a really bad way, when the money ran out, and they couldn't find themselves a fix of whatever it was they needed. But part of him was just really, all too aware that life in general, hurt. It did. End of story. Life wasn't all roses, or candy, or nice things and fluffy situations where everything was perfect. It didn't work like that. Sometimes, things sucked beyond the telling, and there was nothing for it. Or, he guessed, apparently there was, but the backlash of that was even worse. Or not. He didn't know, right now. He didn't say anything for a few moments, feeling her trembling, and in the end he just took her hand, and held it, sitting back a little. "Do you ever feel good?" he asked, voice quiet.

God, it wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't the way things went, with her just there and defeated and pathetic and listless and him... well, phrased like that it wasn't unusual at all. But even when she was weak and vulnerable and pathetic before him there had been some control, because she knew -- even if she hated it, she knew -- that she had the upper hand to manipulate and abuse. But with this? Ronnie was out of the game. And it was struggling to keep to answering questions, and struggling to make some coherent sense of her head just as much as she was struggling to escape it. At his question was more silence, and her eyes closed again in some instinct to shut out the pain... which was stupid, because all it did was give only blackness and her own head to focus on. So she opened them back up, not looking at him, and shrugged a little, considering the question while trying to keep a new influx of pain at bay. And that alone -- the fact that she had to think so much on it -- was probably answer enough.

Because the answer, really, was 'no'. Ronnie didn't feel good, it was just that there were days that she felt better. There were days when she didn't feel hungry, or beaten down or up on, and when her body wasn't in complete agony. And those days, in her world where such definitions were extremely relative, were the good ones. Although there were some moments, some brief bright breaks of clarity scattered there where she didn't need to rely on anything to laugh carelessly, scattered here and there. But when they were over and she fell back down they only made things worse. And that was a problem, wasn't it? That the truly good moments and even rarer triumphs only preceded a more severe letdown. Like today. "Sometimes?" she ventured, shoulders hunching in another slight shrug, one that seemed unconcerned or used to that sad fact. "Today, I guess." Today when she had, for once, felt light and on top of the world and blessed; all over a job with such a stigma that most other woman would be insulted to fill. But when she thought about it in that moment with Jesse sitting there, she couldn't evoke any of that excitement she had felt earlier on; when she had left Eris, when she had borrowed the clothes and got her hair done, when she had seen his reaction... she had been thrilled at the moment, but thinking of them now it all just felt pathetic and hollow.

Jesse didn't say anything for a good few minutes, still just adding in information to what he already knew, watching her, and thinking this was one of the worst times he'd seen her. Usually there was at least a level of defiance going on, or she'd have rallied a little by now, but that...really wasn't happening. Not right now, not...just no. In the end, he looked down at her hand in his, and decided to ask what was on his mind. "What exactly did you call me here for today?" he asked. "What was the plan?" And he thought with the way she was right now, he might get a real answer, there.

Even when she had still felt excited about the job she hadn't been looking forward to telling Jesse. But, then, she hadn't known he knew about Babylon which... still left her feeling hollow. She should have been relieved, as he had obviously not shut the door in her face after finding out, or been too disgusted to touch her. Then again, every time they were together had been so unhealthy and manipulated and damaging that she suspected just because he could touch her didn't mean he wasn't disgusted with her. But, well, this job wasn't like the one at Babylon. But the fact that it was related to it in so many ways still left her feeling hopeless when she her thoughts drifted to what Jesse's reaction or thoughts on the matter might be.

"I didn't know if it was a set up. Or if it was a job I didn't know what kind it was. If it would be legal, or..." she tensed a bit, needing to drudge up a little more strength just to hint at the idea of what she thought it might be. "The girl, who I ran into... I knew her from Babylon." She needed another pause there. "But, it turned out... it's legal. The hours are something I can do, and it pays well." She forced a smile, it spoke more of some sadness than merriment in realizing how low her expectations were. "I'd be paid for my time, but not to sell myself. And the agency is very adamant about that." She couldn't really answer him as to what her plan was. She didn't really know herself. Everything just seemed like such a stupid idea that she couldn't fathom anymore how she could have seriously pictured it. She had just had a good day, and had already written the note to Jesse; and some stupid part of her had become enamoured with the idea of him meeting her here, with her looking as perfect as she had. She had been more than aware that it was a fantastically bad idea, that it would only go fantastically wrong the way it always did, but she had went with it nonetheless.

Well, he was glad to know that she wasn't going back to...what she'd been doing. But that also hadn't been the question he'd asked. "With me, Ronnie. You certainly had everything set up when I got here. You told me you were here for me. Or was that just something you said? I want to know what you planned on when I got here. What you wanted me here for. What it was you actually planned to do with me once I was here." he clarified for her, to keep her on point. That was important to him. What her intentions had been, in reality, even if at the moment, he wasn't even sure he'd trust her answer. But he gave her the chance to answer, anyways, regardless.

God, what did he want her to say? That she was a woman, who had felt more beautiful than she had felt in a long long time, and what with suspecting Jesse would arrive she couldn't resist the opportunity to just be displayed in a perfect moment in the room that had hosted so many unpleasant, lonely ones? Or was it less about her needing an audience of her moment and just wanting to draw him into it there with her? Because Ronnie knew that she sure as hell wouldn't have bothered with the trouble for anyone else. And as didn't answer immediately, she wished she could get back some of that control, even though she hated it and often wished she could turn it off; because -- while she was often apathetic with other men -- there was something about being so completely defenseless and pathetic and some ghost of her former self before Jesse.

"The high school would have been out, if I stopped by to say you didn't need to come." But even if it hadn't been, she wouldn't have done that anyway. She straightened a little, and tried for nonchalance as she spoke. She tried to adopt the casually dismissive manner she so often used when the words revealed some weakness or painful truth close to her core. She tried. But it really fell well below that mark; the attempt was evident, but so was its failure. "And if you decided to show--" because she was always, painfully, aware that he might come to his senses one day "--I just got a job. And got a tumbler and champagne, and a dress, and..." she quieted, because even though she could touch upon what she had done she just couldn't vocalize the true intent behind it. It was elusive to her. The Hollywood starlet had known, but she was gone and hadn't left behind that particular knowledge. "I guess part of it... I had some money to give back." She finished, shoulders not so much shrugging as tensing and then untensing for a moment.

He listened to her, but was very aware of the fact that she was still more just going through the motions, telling him what she'd done but not why. Not really what she'd wanted out of him. In the end he looked at her, then leaned a little closer to her. "Was I supposed to be jealous?" he asked. "Or was I just supposed to see you looking good, and happy, without either of us in your life? Was it meant to be a dig, something that said you don't need me? Or did you ask me here to try and seduce me?" he asked. Because really, all of the above, he could see her doing. Even if some of those were pretty spread out, on the emotional scale. He figured in her head, they could still fit into the same thing.

She finally brought her gaze painfully back to his face, and forced her mouth to keep to a straight line and not tremble any further at his questions. It stung, as so many of his assessments or guesses about her motives or character did. Finally she sat up a bit, and shifted a little towards him, not removing her hand from his. She even flexed her own fingers around his briefly. She took a moment to search his eyes before saying anything, because she didn't know if she would be able to keep at that once he answered the question that had quite suddenly popped up and now preoccupied her mind. And she wanted to know the answer, feeling that it needed to be asked now before her answers to his own questions twisted or corrupted the memory,

"And what did it do? To you? If anything?" she asked, her tone neither defensive but not fully revealing just how painfully, desperately she wanted to know that answer right now. It wasn't pointed either, or toned to lead him towards any particular response, because she really just needed to hear it without her meddling with the answer before he even gave it. "What went through your head? What emotions, if any, ran through you when you opened the door?" Hate? Desire? Disgust? Whatever the answer, she just needed to know. Because even though she could read him so well, she often just wondered what exactly he went through him when he was around her. And even if she had already known that, she wanted to hear whatever it was.

She didn't ask what he thought or was thinking, Ronnie knew damn well that if Jesse listened to his rational side he would've had the sense to cut her out long ago. And she had already endured so much of his level-headed painfully honest and rational evaluations. In the future, if she could emerge out from this hollow and defeated weakness she was in, she might take this information and use it to an advantage that would only make her hate herself more. But for right now, Ronnie really just wanted to know, for the sake of knowing and hearing what went through Jesse's mind from Jesse himself.

Jesse watched her as she moved, watched her eyes when she asked him. At first, he thought she meant what did it do to him when he'd found out about Babylon. But that wasn't it. She wanted to know about tonight. And really, that was going to take himself a second to answer, because some of it he couldn't accurately describe. When he did finally speak, his voice was still light, though he didn't avert his eyes. "I haven't seen you looking that beautiful since highschool." he said first, because she had been. Absolutely gorgeous, beautiful, a glamourous woman. He'd be blind to have missed that, or not been affected by it. "With how you were acting, I knew you were playing me. Not how, or why, or what you were doing, what sort of behavior you wanted from me, but I knew you were playing something." he added. And then, probably the part she'd most want to hear, the part he was most irritated with himself over, at the end of the day... "And I knew I really probably shouldn't come inside and shut the door."

"Beautiful?" she echoed. She didn't hide a small smile at that; it helped, a bit. Hearing him say he had thought her beautiful. Ronnie, beneath the addiction, was a woman. Who liked hearing and feeling beautiful and having it verbally confirmed by a man like Jesse. Or, in her case, Jesse in particular. Because she had known a lot of men -- and after Babylon she didn't like to think on how many -- but even with the guys she had actually been in relationships with... well, Jesse had been a fluke in the trend. The other guys, all the ones she had dated or been involved with... well... "Most of the guys I've known manage to say that word that leaves a woman feeling less so," she answered, his answer to her question had helped a bit, and it was a bit easier to keep her eyes onto his. Although she flinched slightly when she caught her unintentional phrasing of that statement... the guys she had 'known' rang too closely of Babylon for her. "Except you."

She paused a moment, still keeping her eyes onto his. "Maybe... maybe part of it was, if I had the opportunity to put the effort into looking like that--" not 'like this', because Ronnie felt painfully aware that her solitary perfect moment was broken and passed now, "--and looking beautiful. I wanted it to be for somebody who might actually appreciate it? You ever bothered to consider anything like that?" She kept her tone soft, not pointed. She didn't confirm or deny his other possible reasons, because she still didn't know what exactly she had planned. The only thing Ronnie actively remembered working towards was just that moment when he opened the door and saw her. Anything past that had more or less been gone with the flow. She had gone with the flow playing some manipulative game as usual, but still hadn't had a definite plan nonetheless.

"I think if that had been all you'd wanted, you wouldn't have staged everything quite so obviously, and then ignored me when I finally did see you." Jesse told her. See, that was the thing, with Ronnie, and he wondered if she realized it. That she did things, and sometimes it was more than obvious she was doing them on purpose. So no, no innocent motivation was going to be taken out of that, because there was quite clearly, to him at least, that there was a whole host of other shit going on with it. So while he believed that she'd wanted him to appreciate it, her, whatever, there was more to it than that, and for him, that was what made it something messed up. Because she couldn't go with something simple. There was always something else going on too.

Ronnie remembered that, when she had seen his reaction, she had wanted to grin like an idiot, and run up to him and wrap her arms around him and... well, she wasn't exactly sure where it would go immediately from there. But it definitely had involved him not standing in the damn doorway for so long and closing the door. But she also remembered that she had not done that, although unfortunately she just couldn't remember why. Her screwy memory issues and the horrible bombshell Jesse had dropped and the utter crumbling of her composure and control and her defenses had done away with that particular memory. And a couple others, most likely. Especially since, most of the time, she didn't know why she was doing such things when she was doing. But it almost always happened with Jesse. She constantly found herself doing things and putting him into positions and manipulating him when she didn't realize it and it seemed especially when she explicitly didn't want to.

But during those times, the power was well tipped in her favor and, unlike now, she managed to expertly glide around having to answer for it. But ever since his revelation about Babylon, Ronnie knew that -- even if his admission of her beauty and him walking into the room despite himself brought something back to her --it still felt to her that the power was largely his. However, that admission on his part, both the beauty and the fact that -- for whatever lack of reason -- he had stayed, returned some of that sensuality that was aware of their hands still touching and the fact that they were sitting on the bed and of how close he had been when he had chillingly informed her that he already knew; and so her eyes flicked briefly at his cheek, her free hand reaching out to brush at it with a couple fingers. Then, she pulled them back and leaned forward to replace them with a soft peck at his temple. "You ever think, maybe sometimes I don't know what I'm doing with you?" she whispered.

"I think, with as much as you twist me around, and use me, and come back into my life just to leave me again, you'd be pretty hard fucking pressed not to know." Jesse told her. How could she not know? Seriously, how in the world, would that even work? He turned his eyes on her, then leaned closer, cheek near hers again. "I think you always know what you're doing with me. I think you're always looking for another way to twist the knife, one way or another." he said quietly.

She smiled sadly against his cheek from a moment, where he couldn't see it. He didn't get it, not really. He truly didn't get just how fucked up her head was. That she could deliberately play him and play with him so well despite usually not wanting or meaning to or even knowing why... all because her mind was just. that. fucked up. And the smile was sad because his statement rang true about what she did to him, even if it was wrong in the assumption that she always knew why. Like right now. Even if she wasn't completely all there yet (not that she ever, 100% was anymore), she could feel the way she wouldn't let herself pull any bit back as her hand shifted over to stroke her fingers softly back and forth through his hair and down the nape of his neck. It was idly done as if soothing, but she was too damn aware of her weaknesses to know it was just as soothing as it was deliberately sensual. And she didn't answer him further, because she couldn't explain it any better than she had; and even if she could he would be hard-pressed to believe it.

And it hurt. And Ronnie was really god. damn. tired of hurting right now; and her only two options for escaping from it were the champagne or Jesse. And the bottle was so far; and he was right here, and warm, and there was a whole other mess of emotions and desires that tempted her further into this that the champagne bottle simply didn't hold a candle to. So she pulled her head only slightly back, hand still stroking at his neck, and placed a soft, vulnerable kiss at his mouth in almost the same manner she had done last night. Except this time, Ronnie let it linger there.

He wasn't at all sure how their conversation led to that. Especially considering he'd just called her on being a manipulative bitch who liked to hurt him, even if he'd never used the word 'bitch'. It was still how it turned out, and she was apparently not going to deny that at all. Part of him was glad she didn't try that. It would have been insulting, on a few levels if she had. But while she wasn't denying it, she was doing the little things the did lead up to the kiss. For him, he would have liked to pull back, just end it right there, but he didn't. Part of him had known it would be coming at some point, even after everything seemed to switch sides, even after she'd been crying, everything. Maybe it was because she'd started out the evening looking like she did, and wanting him there to witness it. So, there was part of him that expected it, might even have been waiting for it. When it happened, he hesitated, but then kissed her back.

This? She could do. She was awful at dealing with things, and horrible at sorting out things when it came to Jesse in her own mind -- much less vocalizing anything adequately when she had felt defeated in a metaphorical corner and he asked her about it. But she could get lost in a moment. Particularly these kind of moments. Sometimes, with other guys, she could distance herself from it; getting lost in the clinical observation of her actions instead getting lost by throwing herself into them. But with Jesse, she slipped fully into it. And she knew him, intimately; and she felt confident in what she could do here to make the most of this moment. And it meant that it was easier to lose herself in the appreciation of things, like the smell of him, or his mouth shifting properly onto hers, or the feel of his hair as her fingers continued to run through it, or his cheek as she broke her other hand away from his and brushed her fingers at his cheekbone. Sure, all of it meant that once he left she would feel more wrecked afterward than she did with anyone else, but that would be then. And this was now.

So she let herself savor things, and didn't move to push herself fully against him. Or maybe his knowledge of Babylon still weighed down on her, tampering the urge to immediately press into him demandingly. While her hands and fingers stayed put, she did pull her mouth away just barely, eyes set onto his own. "Why did you come inside, then?" She whispered, knowing full well this was a distracting time to ask the question as she grazed her mouth up to and pressed it again to his temple, "If you thought you shouldn't?" Again, her breath against his ear just before kissing lightly at his jawline, tone light.

It was like asking him why he didn't slam the door in her face when she showed up, or why he let her get to him. It just happened sometimes. "You told me this was for me." he told her. "You asked me inside." he added, hating himself a bit for not pulling away yet, and tilting his face more towards hers. "If I'd left, you could have followed me, showed up at the apartment later." he continued, since that had been a reasoning in there as well. And he'd not wanted her to see Jessie. Though, right now, feeling like he did, he had to wonder if part of the reason there also had to do with the fact that here? If anything did happen, it'd have more of a chance to, since they were alone.

"Oh, and that's all?" she asked lightly, touch of a sensual smile playing at her mouth, pulling her head back to get a good look at his face, in a tone that would have been considered innocent if it weren't for the obvious lack of right now. Even though she still had all the pain and hollowness and issues that had blindsided her when she had rolled over after he brought her here, she was doing a job of pushing them away. And right now Ronnie was a different woman now than the defeated mess she was putting on hold, because the sad fact was that she was in her element. Sensuality had always been a part of her nature. But more so than that was whether she was proud of it or not, this position -- of luring and baiting towards temptation regardless of the mess it would leave -- was one she easily slipped into.

She shifted closer, eyes hovering now an inch or so above his as she sat up on her knees, letting her body hover dangerously near his torso without actually touching. Just hovering there, waiting it out to see if and how long he could resist the temptation to close the distance. The hand playing with his hair continued, paying particular attention to where it met the back of his neck, and her other hand left his cheek to slide down and rest onto his shoulder. Right now, aside from her arms and hands, Ronnie seemed to have the rest of her body nearly making contact. Because the fact was, despite knowing damn well her knowledge of what buttons to push could get Jesse doing things he otherwise wouldn't have, the fact remained that she didn't ever have to force him into anything. She tempted and baited and manipulated and pushed him dangerously towards the ledge at times, but she let him be the one to actually jump off.

Ronnie always knew how to push his buttons, and now she was just proving that. Not that he'd actually ever forgotten that, but still. He didn't give in, not just yet, anyways, even if his hand did flex, like he'd been about to reach out and pull her in, but he stopped just short. "What did you want the answer to be?" he asked, tone off. Not in a bad way, but it was very much a distracted manner. His tone a little rougher than usual, at the very least. Maybe a little deeper, even if it was still quiet, just for her ears alone. Not for the first time, he realized he needed to find someone else. Really, now, he did. He needed to find a woman that could do this to him but without all the badness afterwards. Someone who would stay, and not leave him feeling guilty and gutted every time they crossed paths. And yet, he was still affected by her.

She shifted, a little bit. Not actually moving any distance but instead shifting in a manner that had her hips swaying slightly, moving the rest of her torso in the barest slytherin 'S' shape. Her dress, which had accentuated and flowed with her every movement perfectly since Jesse first came in, shifted sensually along with it; and the movement was only a brief one, and when she stilled she was still just not touching him, although it was more than close enough for her to feel the heat coming off him. She smiled, again, at his rougher, lower tone... and at the quiet of it she brought her face down close, almost cheek-to-cheek, "Maybe the same answer for your taking your time with my dress last night?" Her voice was a murmur again, lower and a touch huskier to match his.

Unlike her usual baiting, Ronnie knew damn well why she was doing this one. The time of endearments and declarations of love in moments like these were long gone, ending when she had left him. And even though it had been Ronnie herself who had bailed, who had left him, she still yearned for that painfully. And even though coerced admissions of Jesse's sexual attraction were only a shell of what she wanted, she knew they were probably all she was going to get. And so she prepared the claws to sink in and twist until she got them. She pulled back a little bit, letting her breath trail across his cheek as she did so before she kissed him, lightly; It was in a way that it wasn't quite felt until after her mouth had pulled back a bit, returning to hovering just before his.

Walk away. he told himself again. And yet that was something he told himself often in her presence, and he wasn't very good at following it. That advice, while more than relevant and the wisest, he just...yeah. Had trouble with that. Again, the thought of needing a woman in his life was there, because then he'd have that, right? And this wouldn't be quite so difficult? Not that he expected her not to make a move on him, regardless of if there was someone out there waiting for him to come home. But he'd have a better shot at resisting. Or, that was the theory, anyhow.

He noticed every move she made, knew why she'd made them, and of course remembered his taking her time with her dress last night. "That's not an answer." he told her, drifting into her wake just a touch, when she pulled back after the kiss, and his lips brushed hers faintly as he spoke. Little alarm bells were going off in the back of his mind, but they weren't quite as immediate as he would have liked them to be.

And she continued to slip back into everything, letting the residual feelings from being so defeated and broken slip further to her mind's edge, as she let her hand drop away from his hair, his neck half-circled by the crook of her arm, and she felt her face fall as she kept her eyes onto his. She felt some of her true disappointment show through in her mask of dejection at his unwillingness to just say that answer that she was aching for right now. It was a little peek, hinting that the woman who had been so listless and broken after his cruel revelation wasn't all gone. And none of that was actually off; because she did care what he thought about her, and she didn't want to admit to herself just how much emotion was precariously resting on his answer right now. But Ronnie felt that familiar sick feeling that always coincided when she was working at twisting that knife into Jesse. And there was the way that, other than that, she didn't pull her body at all back, and it still remained just a hair's width away from his.

He watched her expression, and finally, he did pull away. He moved, standing, walking a few steps away, needing the distance. Maybe it would clear his head just enough that he could leave. it would be the best move, all around, wouldn't it. He looked at the bottle of champagne, and considered a drink, just as much as he considered dumping it down the sink. Neither was actually topping out the list, and in the end he didn't do either of those things, he just kept his back to her, and debated what to do. Leave. Leave, leave, leave. And he would. In a minute.

Ronnie watched him, unfortunately not quite able to keep the disappointment and frustration and even some hurt off her face. And loss, because him walking away certainly felt like one right now. Although she didn't know if she wanted him to see it. But she did feel that hollow, empty feeling come back pretty quick; and then guilt and that usual self-loathing followed after it stronger than ever. And she knew that the hurt and issues that she had tried to escape from would return a short while from now. And, seeing as how Jesse was an unreliable option, she reached over and grabbed the empty tumbler from the bed and finally pushed herself off the edge and silently rose. She walked over to the champagne bottle and, not looking at him either, poured herself a generous glass.

Her movements weren't that of anger because, while she was a bit angry with herself and with Jesse and this failure of a night, any anger was almost inconsequential. Over the past decade or so, Ronnie didn't really get angry. She tended more towards dejection and unhealthy escapism than anger. Normally, with Jesse, she would be able to find some way deliberately fuck his head over when she felt especially wounded. But tonight had rattled her, and the assured sensual manipulation stirred by his acknowledgment of her allure had cracked when he abruptly pulled away. So, escapism in the bottle it was. And she really wished she hadn't gotten rid of her entire stash, because she could sure as hell use something stronger right damn now.

He'd asked her a question, and she hadn't answered. And after he'd told her the answer to hers, too. Annnd now she was drinking. Right. Well, he wasn't going to watch that. And from years of knowing her, he knew if he threw it out, she'd just go get something else. Possibly something harder. He turned to head for the door then, without another word, even if he'd stood there, staring at her back for a long stretch of moments. But in the end, he couldn't bring himself to actually say anything. He didn't have the words.

She took a long sip, trying not think how fantastically badly that last bit had fallen through; And at the same time she tried to backtrack the progress of the conversation from the bed to here. It wasn't easy, what with their back-and-forth usually running cruel circles of her own doing. And that she tried to avoid answering questions too painful to sort the response to, or else shoot those answers at him in a way that would fuck with him as well. It always went that way, they both knew that, and just because she knew she could play Jesse it didn't mean she knew why he let himself be played. And when she had basically asked him that, he had responded with asking her what she wanted it to be. And it was too messy to even sort through the answer, much less vocalize it.

She turned around then, and watched him at the door but didn't bother walking over. There may have been more to the escapism with Jesse moments ago, but all of it involved emotions too sore now to try again. Her final choice was with the bottle tonight. So she only leaned against the dresser and observed him before asking quietly, "Is it just this feeling you have to take care of the mother of your child? Because we both know I haven't been any kind of mother in a time Baby J can remember. Or is it just because, when it comes down to it, you can't just turn away -- that when faced with any girl crying and in trouble and asking help Jesse James can't help sticking his neck out? Or is there just some masochistic urge you can't quite resist?" Her voice may have been quiet and hollow but it carried well enough; and she hated that indiscernible edge in it that corrupted her near need to know. The edge quietly moved through the tone to sharpen the words and aim them at him; it meant them to settle than tear at him for long after he stepped out that door.

"Maybe," she continued, even more quiet and hollow and callous, "some part of you was just wanted to get fucked?" On various levels. And she absolutely hated herself at that last part; it was just a fucked up twist of what she really wanted it to be: that, even though she knew he didn't love her and hadn't for long, long time... some part of him still couldn't let go. Some part of him had wanted to be here.

He heard her, but didn't turn back around. There was an expression that came to mind--too little, too late. She wanted to play shit her way, and well, she'd pushed him too far. And now she was just pushing more. Clearly, wanting to hurt him, and it worked. He wouldn't even be able to say it didn't. But he also wasn't dignifying that shit with an answer. He left, stepping out and slamming the door hard behind him, hard enough that he heard one of the cheap framed pictures in the room dropped off the wall and he heard the glass break. He kept walking, though. He needed to be the fuck out of here. He never should have come in the first place--even if he knew he'd never really quite had a choice in that.

She couldn't help flinching at the door slamming, some of her drink sploshing out of the tumbler, and her gaze peeled away from the door to the wall across from her when she heard the glass breaking. There, leaning against the base of the wall, was a cheap 'artsy' still life -- a small picture of a bowl of apples given to her by a street painter she had charmed on afternoon. Half the glass of from the frame now lay scattered around it, and a shot of sadness hit her when she observed the impact of the fall now left the picture torn. But she didn't go over to pick it up, or take the picture out of the frame, or even pick up the glass; she just remained there, leaning against the edge of the dresser watching it as she took another sip of the champagne.

Even though Jesse was gone -- she wasn't surprised he had left, what with him being already heading out and her words meant to hurt despite her intentions -- Ronnie still tried to put on a mask. One that had managed this harrowing ordeal and the broken picture as an impassive observer. It wasn't really successful; her hands were trembling and Ronnie could feel fresh tears well up in her eyes and the sticky heat of one trailing down her cheek. Downing the rest of the tumbler, it not burning as much as the last time she had done so, she placed the empty glass down next to the unused one and just grabbed the bottle as she walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge, leaving the shattered picture where it was. Right now, Ronnie's mind was still painfully occupied with everything that had just occurred. And that... well, by the end of the bottle, that wouldn't be the case for too long.