"Emma ..."

She held up a hand, shaking her head. "I need to find the words, but ... I can do it."

"But you don't have to." Alexander assured her, rubbing her shoulders. "You don't owe me anything."

She cracked a bittersweet smile. "Come on, you pester me to get to know me better, now that I actually am about to spill the beans, you refuse to listen?"

He smiled faintly. "I know something about secrets, and how difficult it is to talk about the past." Alexander stroked her cheeks, their bodies growing closer. "I don't want you to feel obliged to share just because you think you owe me."

"But I do, don't I?" Emma said, pulling back from his touch so that her mind wouldn't be inebriated, affecting her lucidity. "I do owe you, because you keep doing these things, and you shouldn't ..."

"I already told you why I do what I do. I'm not asking for anything in return."

"Yes, but I want to give something."

Taken off guard, Alexander blinked his eyes, mouth agape. He didn't know what to say. Was she finally coming over? Accepting their bond? Or was this just sense of guilt? Guilt seemed to be her main fuel, one way or another she found a way to blame herself for something, and, Alexander was well aware, that kind of response stemmed from deep trauma. "Okay." He took a deep breath, and went to sit on the sofa. "Hit me."

Emma cracked a faint smile, then turned to look outside the window. She needed to force herself to do it, it was the only way she could repay him. She didn't have to look right at him as she spoke, though.

Hence, Emma took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, ready to tell details about a life no one – sometimes even she – remembered or cared about. "My father died when I was 15," she repeated in a sigh. "We were never ... rich," she tensed up a bit, feeling ashamed, yet she kept going: "but since he was the only breadwinner, him dying put us in a tight spot."

A short, humorless laugh rolled off her tongue. "You think my apartment is a dumpster, but you don't know it's actually an improvement on the places I lived in after my father's death."

"Improvement doesn't always mean good." Alexander interrupted.

"Maybe. But there's better in debt, and there's bad but free."

"That's very philosophical of you."

She turned to him for a moment, albeit not really looking at him. "I must have learned from a Lucifer."

He chuckled. "Well, some Eves need temptations to find their inner philosopher."

"That makes no sense at all." Emma laughed, turning completely to him. "Do you ever even think before you speak?"

"Believe me, thinking is overrated." He grinned cheekily. "But please, go on."

She nodded, turning back to the window, serious. "I was saying, his death put us in a tight spot. My mother, she ... well, she was never great at taking care of herself, imagine raising a child. She pretty much married the first guy she found, about 3 months after my father's death."

Emma sighed, her shoulder quivering the slightest with the weight of the thoughts she'd left tucked far away for such a long time. "She always needed someone that would clean up her mess, you know, someone to rely on."

"Is that why you're so adamant on being independent and self-sufficient?" Alexander mused. When she turned around, taken aback, he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just mere observation."

Emma cracked a small smile, nodding, then turned once again to the window – she could not sustain his fiery gaze while exposing herself to such a vulnerability as talking about her past was. "Probably, yeah. I never wanted to be like her. So needy, so desperate for a man, yet so selfish, so blind."

She sighed. "The point is, I was a child that lost her only guidance, I started acting out – the usual troubled teen stuff, you know, petty theft, rage and all that. My stepfather convinced my mother to send me away."

"Boot camp?"

She nodded. "Boot camp." Emma took a deep breath, not wanting to explain further than that, but needing to. "You know these camps are almost never what you'd expect. You think it's just some place where troubled teenagers can pull their shit together, but ... sometimes that comes with abuse."

Alexander's eyes widened. "Emma ..."

"Oh, don't pity me," she cracked a small smile, hugging herself, "I didn't stay long. I didn't want to get a piece of what they were serving."

"You escaped?"

She nodded. "I saw how the other kids were treated, and I was new, I immediately got attention. At first, I thought I was lucky, because the others had it so hard, while I got a somewhat special treatment ..."

"Let me guess, one of the counselors got a special interest in you." Alexander spat, gritting his teeth.

"Yeah, but it's not what you think." Emma pursed her lips. "He was genuinely interested in helping me. His wife ... well, she didn't exactly see it the same way." She exhaled a loud breath. "Long story short, I ran away before they could do more."

"More than what?" He arched an eyebrow.

She bit on her lips. Every word needed to be carved out of her mouth, and it was a painful and slow process. She was forcing herself just to give something back, repay his kindness somehow. However, it wasn't necessary to say everything, was it?

"Emma?" Alexander stood, going to her. When he brushed her shoulders, she flinched. "You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was just ... distracted."

"You sure?"

Emma cracked a small smile. Nobody would ever think that this tattooed badass looking guy could be so kind and caring, yet he always was, at least with her. When Alexander wrapped his arms around her, she unconsciously let him, that warm, fuzzy feeling taking over once again.

The warmth of his embrace was difficult to give up, no matter how many times she told herself she should. "I was a tough kid," she said, "they didn't throw anything I couldn't give back."

"But what did they throw?" He inquired.

Emma glanced at him, without moving, and cracked a tiny smile. "I thought you didn't want to know my life story."

As a response, Alexander hugged her tighter. "I want to know, I want to know everything ... I just didn't dare ask."

"Like me with your tattoos." She let slip.

He bit his lips to keep himself from sighing, but a tiny sound escaped nevertheless. "It's complicated."

"Worse than being bullied at boot camp?"

"Way worse."

Emma frowned, turning her head to him for a moment. "It's a scar, isn't it? The phoenix, it covers a scar."

Alexander nodded. "Yeah. You wanna know what caused it, don't you?"

"Only if you want to tell."

He sighed. He didn't really want to dig up ancient past, but she'd shared hers, it was due, wasn't it? Alexander pulled back, nodding to himself and, after having raked a hand over his short hair, he said: "How would you feel if I told you I've been in prison for murder?"