❝ you don’t know SHIT about me. ❞ eyes narrow and venom drips from a dry toned voice. he’d requested her presence for dinner, like every single night she’d been in the house. and every night, it was the same, full of sarcasm and deadpan indifference on jessica’s end. the nights she spends with him makes her want to VOMIT. she’s surprised that she’s so composed, and not trying to rip his head from his shoulders. she won’t deny that she’s thought about it more than a few times. but she couldn’t do that, not now. she was here for one reason and one reason only: to stop him from hurting anyone else. that didn’t mean that she had to play house or make small talk. hell, she didn’t even have to be nice___ just tolerable. she just had to be here. in this house___ her childhood home. kilgrave had brought her here to play pretend, to coax her into ‘loving’ him (otherwise known as ‘something that would never happen’). if he wanted her to come down and sit at the table while he ate, that was fine with her. that didn’t mean she had to be friendly. with an almost smug smirk forming, her fingers wrapped tightly around the fancy glass she’d been given. she brought it to her lips, downing it in one sip, and then sat it back down on the table in front of her. ❝ and i’m out of wine. ❞
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