I pause the movie and rewind it for the fourth time. There is this scene in The Dark Knight that especially resonates with me. You know, that scene towards the end when the Joker walks away from the hospital and detonates explosives. The explosion does not quite start and for a fraction of a second, he does not know what to do. Then, when it finally does, he startles and runs away.

I pause it, then rewind it again.

My life goes a little like this. I start destroying shit. It does not go as planned. I startle and run away. Rinse, repeat.

I figure there is only so many times that this will work before I go completely bat-shit crazy. Last night was proof of that. Keeping everything buried inside was becoming so hard, I actually had to resort to alcohol in order to cope with the pain of my existence. I was becoming my father.

I went from successful, professional assassin, to pitiful, weak, useless loser. My worse fear was becoming a reality. It was all catching up to me.

Death is right. I have post-traumatic stress disorder. And I am, well used to be, a master at pushing that shit down so deep it is practically non-existent. Now though, the well is full. And it is overflowing.

A knock at the door interrupts my reminiescing. I ignore it and rewind the movie again.

"I'm only doing this out of politeness, Emma. If you don't answer the door, I'll teleport in," the last person I want to see says.

I am still mad at him about the sink incident and more than a little embarrassed at what happened last night. Not just because I called him my fairy godmother, but also because of what happened in my bedroom. How could I let myself almost kiss him? He should repulse me. I should hate him, not wish to taste his smile.

I yank the door open to reveal Death and about thirteen bags of what smells like Chinese take-out. I eye him suspiciously.

"Did you just collect the soul of a Chinese delivery guy?"

"Can I come in?" he asks.

"If I say no, will you leave?"

"No."

"Make yourself at home," I open the door wider to let him in. When he passes by, I grab one of his bags and carry it to the couch. Please let there be egg rolls.

"You drank so much Vodka last night I'm surprised you haven't woken up with a Russian accent."

"Ha. That's cute," I say with my mouth full. I am in no mood for his bantering.

"Have you been watching movies like this all day?" he says.

"Yeah. You been murdering good, honest, delivery folks all day?" I retort.

He sighs upwards, "Ok, Emma. You have every right to be mad at me right now. I know what I did was horrible, but you have to understand that I didn't do it to hurt you. I wanted you to recognize the problem. So we could fix it."

Like hell, he did.

"Leave the food. Get the fuck out of my house."

He pulls away from the wall and grabs the egg rolls from me.

"Get up." He pulls me from the couch.

"Hey!"

"We'll settle this once and for all." He starts ushering me to the basement.

"What are you doing?" I screech. What does he even mean by settling this once and for all?

Once we get to the basement, I watch him make his way to my unused punching bag. I rarely bother with it. I really only got it because it seemed fitting for a hit woman to have one.

He grabs my brand new gloves laying on the ground and throws them at me.

"Those are for you. So you don't break your hands. Now," he points to his chest with both hands, "Come at me." He looks me dead in the eyes and I know he is being serious.

"I'm not fighting you." I cross my arms.

"Why not? Think you're gonna freeze again?"

I snap my eyes up to him and feel a flash of irritation.

"Or are you just scared?" he taunts.

I can feel anger stirring within me, but I will not give him the satisfaction of getting to me.

"I don't need to fight you. I've beaten you once already."

"Then doing it again shouldn't be too hard. What are you still waiting there for?"

"This is ridiculous." I shake my head, looking at the ground.

In a flash, he appears right in front of me. He grabs the gloves from my hands and starts putting them on me forcefully.

"Come on, Emma. You know you want to." He raises an eyebrow, still taunting. He takes a few steps back, then a smirk appears on his face, "Or maybe you don't. I'm not sure anymore. I mean, I tried to drown you not even two weeks ago, yet you almost let me kiss you last night."

Rage starts boiling in my gut and I become aware of my trembling body. My entire being is vibrating with fury willing to get out any second.

"You know what's funny? I think you actually liked it." That does it.

As if on its own accord, my fist flies forward and collides with his jaw. He snaps his head back at me and I see fire burning in his eyes.

"I'm willing to bet anything you let your parents abuse you like that, and that's why you're so fucked up now."

I punch him again, this time harder. I take a swing and lodge my foot in his stomach. He flinches, taken by surprise.

"You let them get away with it, didn't you, Emma? Just like you let me get away and like you were about to let that vamp-" I punch again.

"Shut up!" I scream, kicking him in the side. For the first time, he blocks me.

I kick and punch him relentlessly. I feel as though I am possessed. With each blow, my anger bubbles up inside. Some times he blocks me, some times he let's me hit him. I throw an uppercut, but he grabs and pulls my arm forward making me lose balance. I fall to the ground. He bends down and grabs me by the throat. I barely feel any pressure, but I get a sense of Déjà Vu. I stop moving. The images start flooding my mind. Him on top of me, strangling me until all the oxygen has left my lungs.

"Fight back!" he snarls.

I shut my eyes. I want the images to go away. I can't do it!

"Emma, focus on the here and now," he says.

Visions of that night. Thinking I am going to die. My life is supposed to be flashing before my eyes.

"Emma!" he shouts.

I snap my eyes open and bring both feet upwards to kick him off me. He stumbles back and I jump back to my feet.

"I," I throw a punch at his face, "hate," I throw another, "you!"

I start pushing at his chest in a frenzy. I have him backed against the wall as I keep hitting him like my own personal punching bag. The asshole barely feels a thing as he keeps staring at me with his serious, cold eyes.

I know this is not right. I need to stop this. It is nonsense, but my arms just keep moving, pushing at him repeatedly.

Suddenly, he grabs both of my wrists, putting an end to my assault, "Enough." I stop struggling. I am still shaking with anger, but as I look into his eyes, I feel myself instantly calming down.

"It's still in there, Emma," he mutters, "Your fight. It hasn't left you."

Realisation dawns on me. This entire time, he was not trying to harm me, he was bringing me back.

He gives me a small tug and I let myself fall into him. My pulse is still racing, hammering against my chest like an imprisoned bird, but his proximity keeps on calming me. He lets me use him as an anchor, unmoving but breathing just as heavily as I am.

He brings both of his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. I let my forehead rest against his chest, relishing in being so close to him. He runs his hands along my back soothingly.

"It hurts," my voice breaks.

"I know."

When I look back up at him, his eyes have softened. The fire is gone. He looks at me with all the affection in the world. He runs a smooth finger along my jaw line, giving me shivers all the way down my back. He caresses my neck and I see his jaw tightening.

Even after all that just happened, I can not deny the attraction between us any longer. I do not care how messed up it is. Maybe it is just the after-effects of what had happened. Maybe it is hormonal. Maybe he has some sort of magical attraction power. I do not care.

My eyes involuntarily flick to his lips.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers.

I barely register his words. Instead, I angle my head tentatively towards his.

His eyes travel down to my mouth, slowly, but he does not make a move. A few heated seconds go by, both of us hesitating. I make a move to get closer to him. It is obvious what I want, but he is not giving it to me.

"No, Emma. Not like this," he mutters finally, releasing the hold he has on me.

His answer comes as a bucket of ice water to the face.

"Oh, hmmm," I back away, feeling a little bit stupid now. "Ok. Sorry, I'm just," I honestly do not know what to say now. If the floor could just open and swallow me, that would be great. "I'm gonna go."

I turn around and head for the stairs.