I followed Christian into his apartment, my guard up as I wanted to remain firm in my resolve to maintain the upper hand in this encounter. He began to make his way into the kitchen, and turned to me as he approached the cupboard.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked.

"No, thank you." I said, crossing my arms as I stood only a few steps from the doorway I had just entered.

Christian frowned. "Ana, please." he insisted, and his weary demeanor made my own expression soften slightly.

"Okay." I replied, nicer. "Whatever you have is fine. But I meant it when I said no coffee."

A small smile spread across his face as he grabbed two glasses. He went into the freezer and filled the glasses with ice cubes before opening the fridge and bringing out a pitcher of water. He filled both of the glasses and put the pitcher away, grabbing the drinks and approaching me. I took one of the glasses and took a sip of the cool water, watching him expectantly.

"Please sit." he said, gesturing over to the sofa.

I humored him, making my way to the sofa. I waited for him to sit before I sat as well, making sure I sat on the opposite end. He didn't seem too thrilled by this move, but he took a sip of his water and set the glass on the coffee table, stopping for a moment as he seemed to collect his thoughts.

"You really made me think after you left today." he said quietly. "I don't usually question myself when I put my foot down on something; especially when it comes to revisiting darker parts of my life."

I opened my mouth to make a smart remark, but he stopped me.

"Please, Anastasia," he insisted, "Let me finish before I lose my nerve."

I closed my mouth and watched him, now anxious to hear what was so difficult for him to say. Was this it?

"I want to tell you first that I truly am sorry for what I said to you before." he said quietly, locking his grey eyes with my own. "I was so concerned with keeping my walls where I felt comfortable that I completely disregarding your own demons. Our situations are...different, but it doesn't make them any more or less haunting, or even any easier to cope with. I meant it, though, when I had told you that you were strong for being able to open up to me. I envied that strength, but it also scared me. I...I've never opened up to anyone about my past, not even my own family. They only know what has happened to me since becoming a part of their family, and while I feel fortunate, it has also made me feel alone. I feel divided by it; I'm grateful that they were there for some of my battles and could support me, but I never find myself trusting them enough to tell them about everything I've been through. To be blunt, I'm an extremely fucked up person, Anastasia, and I don't want anyone to treat me differently for it."

I felt the sincerity of what he was telling me, and I felt the anger I had held for him begin to wash away. I now began to understand why he had been so quick to change his tune before; if there were things about his life that he hadn't been willing to share with the people that had cared for him for a long period in his life, how was I to expect he would share them with me, when we barely knew each other? He continued.

"I had a terrible childhood before I met my family now." he said slowly, looking out the window as though he was bringing back a replay of the life he had once lived. "My so-called parents were more concerned with their vices than they were in taking responsibility for their child. For as far back as I can remember, they were either drunk or high on crack or heroin; it was only a matter of how much money they could scrounge up to feed their habits, or what cards they could play to get their next fix. I was their pawn in feeding their habits - I can remember when I was very small, being dressed up in ragged clothes and sat on sidewalk corners while I held a sign in one hand and a cup in another. I wasn't able to read yet, so I don't know what the signs said, but sometimes, people would bring me sandwiches, juice boxes, or animal crackers instead of money. Every once in a while, someone would talk about bringing me home with them, and my parents would run out from where they were hidden across the street, apologizing and telling me that I was a bad boy. When we would get back home, my father would whip me with his belt, and my mother would curse at me and call me stupid for not running away from the kind soul offering me a new life."

The way he had said 'mother' and 'father' had been strained, through gritted teeth. I could tell it hurt him to refer to them by such terms, but he seemed to lack better ways to describe them. I continued to sit quietly, listening patiently.

"As I got older, my role changed. My father taught me how to pickpocket and shoplift. When he felt I was ready, he sent me out with my mother for my first job." He paused, shaking his head and spitting curses. "I was brought to the business district in the city. The woman watched me from around the corner of the block as I was swallowed in a sea of businessmen leaving their offices for lunch hour. I bumped into a few of them intentionally before making my move. I slipped a black leather wallet from the pocket of a white haired, spectacled man in a dark grey pinstriped suit and black, shining leather shoes. The memory was so vivid; the moment was intense, frightening, and I hoped I would get caught and taken away. But no one noticed." He stopped, his eyes now filled with disappointment. "No one noticed but them. And they celebrated that night, drinking and smoking while telling me that I was lucky to be of use to them. I felt filthy, and I was so afraid that I would become just like them.

"I tried to leave that night. I waited until I was sure they had passed out, and tiptoed my way to the door. I was about to escape when I heard her retching. Then, gagging. Then, choking." His eyes glistened with conflict, visibly hurting as he continued. "If I had left, she would have died. The bitch would have been gone, and I might have had a chance at a new life. Her husband was almost as much of a puppet as I had been; his every move and trick orchestrated by Her Almighty Will. But, at 11, all I knew was that she was my mother, and I would be as wicked as she was if I left her to die. I closed the door and rushed to her side, and I rolled her on her side so the vomit would run out of her mouth and windpipe. Even though it seemed to do the trick, she wasn't breathing. I was frantic. I started smacking her back. It took a minute, but I heard her gasp and start coughing, and I knew I had saved her. She opened her glazed eyes and looked through me, and she touched my face like she loved me before she slipped out of consciousness. I remember going to sleep that night thinking that, maybe, things would change. I wound up being right, but not the way I had thought.

"The next morning, I woke up to a sudden intense, burning pain in my ribs. The bitch had kicked me. She yelled at me for sleeping in and cursed while she threw clothes at me. She was feeling the aftereffects of her high and needed another fix. Her husband dragged me out the door as a plate smashed a few inches away from my head. We went back to the business district, and waited for hours until the offices began to close. A flood of tired employees filled the sidewalks, and I was pushed in the crowd to weave my way through and pick a good target. I went for a young man, about the age I am now, who walked like he owned the world. I went to slip his wallet out of his pocket and he jumped. I panicked and ran off before he could get a good look at me, but I could hear him yelling. When I made it back to my father's hiding place, he grabbed me by my collar and dragged me home, cursing about how I had messed up and what I should expect when I got home. The bitch saw red when she found out we came back empty-handed. She threw a wooden cutting board and it hit me in the head. I saw stars for what felt like an eternity...and then I felt something hot covering my face. When my sight cleared, all I saw was red, and my father had scooped me up and ran me to the emergency room. He played his part well - the doting, concerned father who had turned his back for just a moment at the wrong time. I fell down the stairs, he insisted. The doctor and nurses seemed skeptical, but when I was asked, I simply nodded and agreed with my father. I was convinced that the thieving I had started participating in was obvious to see - and who would want a little boy who stole?

"We managed to get past the incident without being questioned, but I was terrified of that woman after that. All she had to do was raise her voice and I would flinch. I would wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares that seemed so real; her coming over to where I slept, beating me until my heart stopped beating. I barely slept for a while after that."

I felt my stomach churn at the image of an eleven year old boy with copper hair and sad, grey eyes being afraid of a woman who should have been his protector and comforter. I reached out and touched his hand, and he seemed to temporarily come out of his reverie as he looked down, seeing the source of the sudden warmth he felt. He squeezed my hand briefly before letting it go, not wanting to stop in the middle of his story, for fear that he wouldn't be strong enough to finish it.

"By my twelfth birthday, I had picked numerous wallets, stolen booze from any store I could sneak into, and had been beaten numerous times. I had a few more scars to add to the injury on my head from the bitch's cutting board; from drinking glasses, plates, and cigarette butts. I refused to undress in front of anyone so I could hide the shame that came from my life, though only had to worry about that on a couple of occasions, when I had to return to the ER for injuries that her husband couldn't fix on his own. Despite their hatred of me, they needed me to fuel their lifestyle. I found myself contemplating suicide...at twelve, I wanted to die. I started becoming more daring when I was sent to 'work' - hoping that I could get caught, and trade my personal hell for a new one, where I might have better luck ending it all."

Christian turned his face so that I could no longer try to read his expression. His shoulder sank and I heard him sigh weakly, as though the story was physically breaking him down. I opened my mouth to tell him to stop; that he didn't have to continue, but before I could, he spoke again.

"I was back in the ER that evening." he began slowly, his voice cracked. "The bitch had come at me, swinging a large knife. I had done everything I could to avoid her, but she backed me into a corner, and she began stabbing the walls around me. I remember crying and begging her to stop, trying to promise anything I could to make her stop, and she laughed - she laughed at me like I was being funny. She told me that she wished I had never been born and that I had ruined her life, and she slashed me across my ribs. I felt such a terrible pain, and the familiar heat of bleeding uncontrollably, and her husband scooped me up as he always did when she hurt me. He cursed at her for not controlling herself and ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and back to the ER. At this point, we'd had to switch hospitals a few times, so that the doctors wouldn't recognize us and raise red flags. This time, though, I was bleeding so profusely that he didn't trust going 10 blocks to a new hospital. He ran to the first hospital he could find, refusing to be responsible for a dead child. When I arrived, I was rushed off to receive treatment, and he disappeared. I had lost so much blood that I lost consciousness soon afterward.

"When I awoke, I was alone except for a nurse who was checking my vitals. She smiled at me when she saw that I was awake, and she started to tell me where I was and ask for my name. I wouldn't speak to her, and after a few minutes, she left to get a doctor. A few minutes later, she came back with two men in white coats. They both took turns speaking to me, asking who I was, but something about the way they looked at me and kept whispering back and forth scared me. I refused to speak until they called in a third doctor, a woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She sat down and told me her name was Dr. Trevelyn-Grey, and that she knew my parents had been hurting me, but that they wouldn't be able to touch me anymore. All I had to do was tell her my name and who my parents were. Something about her made me feel safe, so I told her who I was. She started asking me about what happened before I came to the hospital. I was still hesitant to tell her everything, but I did tell her that my mother had been the one to cut me, and that my father had brought me to the hospital. She listened to me intently, and made sure I was done talking before she spoke again. She promised me that she would do everything she could to help me be healthy so I could leave the hospital, and that there were some nice people that wanted to help me find a new, better home. It was what I had wanted for so long; I held on to her promise while I rested in the hospital, hoping for something so much better.

"I found out later on that Child Services found my parents, strung out on drugs in their apartment. They called the cops, and when they arrived, the bitch went ballistic. She grabbed the knife that she had slashed me with and held her husband hostage in a brief standoff, screaming curses at the officers and telling them that she wasn't going down without a fight. She cursed at her husband and blamed him for bringing me to the hospital and letting me live, because I had ruined everything for her once again. She told him to burn in hell before she slit his throat. Then she started swinging the knife at the officers. She told them that she would take out every pig she could get her hands on before she would be taken down. She managed to injure an officer before the order was given to use deadly force to subdue her. Her rage was her downfall, and she ended with a thud from a bullet between the eyes."

I sat back, in awe of everything he had told me. It was all so much - anger, hatred, grief, sadness, depression, disgust, fear, and heartlessness. I couldn't believe that he had gone through such an ordeal in such a short time. And yet, here he was, still alive and breathing, safe and sound, though the experience had more than made its mark in his life. He leaned forward, turning his head as he moved to bury his face in his hands. I caught a glimpse of glistening on his jawline before he hid, and I knew that retelling his story had brought so much hurt back for him that he had broken down emotionally. He was ashamed of his feelings; but I saw the strength in him as he faced his pain, not trying to block or bury it. Tentatively, I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around him comfortingly, trying to soothe him. I felt him begin to crumble under my embrace; leaning into me and welcoming the gesture. I rested my cheek on the top of his head, closing my eyes as I struggled to find the right thing to say. It was especially difficult - he had been right when he said our personal struggles were substantially different. I felt ridiculous for being angry with him at suggesting the notion in the first place. Some of the most important years of his life were full of hurt and betrayal from two of the most important people he could have ever had. I couldn't believe there were real people in the world that could be like that. It seemed almost impossible. But, seeing Christian, and hearing his voice as he told his story, I knew that he couldn't be making any of it up. The thought was terrifying.

"Christian," I murmured sympathetically, "I am so sorry…I could have never imagined...you never deserved any of what they put you through…"

"Ana, don't apologize. It wasn't any of your fault." he said weakly. "You need to know that there are two reasons why I didn't want to tell you any of this before. I didn't want you to know about my past and treat me differently for it, like you had to handle me like I was breakable. I can't handle that. I also didn't want you to see me the way I once saw myself; filthy and despicable. It took years of intensive therapy for me to finally stop beating myself up for what I did when I was trapped with those people. Even now, I still have times where I start to think that way, and it takes a lot for me to snap out of it. But I'll tell you this - the thought hasn't crossed my mind since I've met you. Not until this morning, when you left."

I felt a twinge of pain as I realized I had triggered the reawakening of his negative self image. "I'm so sor-"

"No." he said, interrupting me sternly, "Don't. I don't want you treating me differently, remember?"

I hesitated, wanting to apologize for causing him more pain than I had realized or intended, but I stopped and nodded quietly. It wouldn't be easy, but it had been anything but easy for Christian to open up to me about his childhood. I could see that as clear as day. I could use more restraint and avoid the urge to coddle him if that was what he wanted.

"Okay." I agreed softly, placing my hand on his. "I won't."

Christian sat back in his seat, sighing deeply. "It's weird…." he said thoughtfully, "I thought that I would feel worse if I told someone about my life...but, I actually feel relieved. Like a weight has been taken off of my shoulders."

I squeezed his hand gently, smiling hopefully. "It's because it winds up hurting more to hold on to such a weight alone. Being able to tell someone else shifts the burden so that you don't have to carry it by yourself anymore."

Christian looked into my eyes with relief. "I wouldn't have believed you if you had told me." he admitted, squeezing my hand back. "You are my saving grace, Anastasia. I don't know how I can ever thank you for that."

I might not have fully understood the weight he had carried by keeping his past to himself, but I knew better than to suggest that he might be exaggerating. Instead, I took his hands in mine, looking in his eyes as I praised him for his own strength.

"I'm so proud of you for fighting your fears, Christian." I replied honestly, finding myself feeling shy at the intensity between us from the moment we shared. "I was just lucky enough to be the person you felt you could open up to…" I hoped he could see my sincerity as I spoke. "Any time you need to talk to someone, you can talk to me. I won't judge you, I won't interrupt you - I'll just listen. I mean it."

The intensity of his gaze flared at my words, and I found my cheeks begin to flush as I felt electricity begin to fly between us. He took one of his hands away from mine, reached over, and caressed my cheek; a gesture that I leaned into eagerly, craving the feeling the way a magnet craves the touch of metal. I sighed as I felt my craving fed, revelling in his touch, and not wanting to move from it. When I opened my eyes, shining sapphire met dark smoke, and I tried to read his thoughts.

"Ana…" Christian said slowly, so softly that I couldn't help but see the injured child from his past showing from inside him. "I don't have much right to ask this, but...please stay with me tonight."

I felt my heart pitter patter at the notion. I had stayed the night before, but I had been passed out from drinking, and hadn't been able to choose whether or not I wanted to be there. Now, I had a choice. What would happen? Part of me wanted for things to lead where I had wanted them to just this morning, but another part of me felt that it would be wrong, considering he had held back because of my vulnerability. Now he was the vulnerable one. Could I show restraint as he had? I now regretted teasing him throughout the evening, and I began to wonder if it was a good idea to stay. But I could see the hurt in his eyes; I couldn't bring myself to leave him alone to deal with the pain of reopening old wounds.

"Okay." I replied quietly, offering him a comforting smile. "I'll stay."

He smiled gratefully at me, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. "Thank you." he said.

I felt warmed by his affection, and closed my eyes once more, briefly. I bit my lip thoughtlessly, and when I looked at him again, he brushed his thumb over my lips. I felt my breathing hitch at the touch, and gave him a questioning look. He answered the look by leaning over and kissing me, slowly and sweetly. When I answered his kiss, he kissed me again; this time, smolderingly. I could feel the heat buried in the kiss, and I drank it in, mirroring his movement to avoid separating as I felt him slightly move away. This only seemed to fuel his actions, and I felt his hands move to my waist as he pulled me into his lap wantingly; needing me closer to him. I shared his needs and ran my fingers through his hair, twisting it gently in my grasp as I began to kiss him more fiercely; my body acting on impulse. He felt my ferocity, and I felt him grasp my waist before raking his fingers upward to my shoulders, then back down my spine. I shivered anxiously at the sensation, and I sighed into our kiss. We moved in a way that spoke almost eerily, as we spoke no words, but we seemed to each know what the other wanted, and we moved in sync. My lips parted slightly, and he licked them, feeding the fire in my soul, and I tilted my head as I invited him to intensify the kiss. Our tongues soon met, and danced slowly and sensuously as we continued to fuel the flame that was soon to be out of control for us both. Our tongues soon parted as Christian began to pull away faster than I could follow, and he snatched my bottom lip between his teeth, nipping it gently first before kissing me again and biting down softly. I gasped at the sharp but delicious feeling, gazing at him intensely when he pulled away. His eyes were as intense as my own; locked in place while his hands began to feel the tight fabric clinging to my body. My eyes pled with him; my division dissolved as only one thought was on my mind - Take me, Christian. Please.

He read the look without any doubt, and scooped me up in his arms. He continued to place soft kisses on my lips as he carried me to his room, and gently let me down so I could stand. He stood behind me now, taking my hair into a loose grasp, and moving it over my shoulder so that my neck and back were exposed. He began to place soft kisses up and down my neck, lingering at the place where my neck and collarbone met. I shivered with delight at the intimacy of the gesture, and I heard the zipper of my dress begin to sing.

"This dress has been driving me crazy all night." he whispered huskily, and I felt myself weaken even more at the sound. I no longer regretting teasing him after all as I felt the dress loosen, then drop. I was grateful for the fact that I had worn lacy undergarments beneath the dress that night; I hadn't even considered the possibility that someone would see them. It was pure luck that I felt motivated to pick them out. Christian only seemed more fascinated by the lacy black panties and matching bra that kept me from being completely naked.

"You never cease to surprise me, Anastasia." he said sensuously, walking around to face me as he took in the sight of me, unbuttoning his dress shirt. Slowly, he began to expose his chest. I had been so wrapped up in wanting him that I had almost forgotten his warning of how he had feared his upper body being exposed. When his shirt dropped, I gasped in pain.

His body glowed faintly in the dim light of the room. Scars littered his otherwise flawless body; circles and dashes scattered here and there like senseless morse code scribbled on paper. In the dead center was the worst of all; a long, slender, silvery mark that stretched from left to right, across the higher end of his ribs. I didn't want to think about the little boy, his life bleeding away as he was abandoned at a hospital to suffer whatever fate may bring. I looked up at Christian's face as he stepped closer, cupping my cheek in his hand as he stroked my cheekbone with his thumb.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." he said softly, reassuring me. "Not anymore…"

His words filled me with comfort as I found the pain I had felt for him wash away. His eyes; my brilliant grey eyes filled with all of the colors in the world, only saw me - and I only saw him. The scars faded away from my mind as he kissed me passionately, wrapping his arms around me and bringing our bodies together to become one. Time lost all meaning as we found ourselves intertwined; experiencing what I could only refer to as lovemaking for the first time in my life. Everything about it had been so beautiful, sensuous, and incredible that Christian had taken my breath away; among other things. It was the first time I'd had sex where I did find myself trying to focus elsewhere. If anything, I had been as much a part of it as Christian had, and I had truly, deeply wanted it. I felt a new power within me, and a new weakness at the same time. I needed us, together, and I wanted us, together; we were absolutely amazing, and I basked in the feeling as I felt completely loved and in love for the first time in my life.

"I love you, Anastasia." he said in a breathless whisper, making the moment almost completely perfect.

"And I love you, Christian." I said softly, kissing his cheek tenderly.

I had never experienced something so incredible, so consuming, and yet, so complete before that night. Nothing would top the memory of this night for a long time, if it truly ever did. I fell asleep, naked in both body and soul, with Christian beside me in perfect harmony.

A/N: So sorry for the delay in updating! My energetic 4 year old crashed into the family laptop while Daddy was online and destroyed the screen, so I've been without hardware since Sunday! :-( Fortunately, this Mama got paid today, so I was able to replace the trashed Chromebook with a real laptop! This is the last chapter I managed to write, so hopefully I can get some serious writing done tomorrow on my day off and keep up with updates. Keep on reading and reviewing - every one of you motivates me!

WordsInStitches