Tommy made sure there was no time for her to argue in. He entered her room and held her head in his hands, stooping slightly to kiss her.

"Don't be stupid Tommy." She breathed, holding his head in her hands. He kissed her, expecting hesitation and receiving art. Her lips and tongue moved against his, forming a language that blurred everything around and between them. He pulled her to the bed, where he sat on the edge and she straddled him, reaching between his legs and running her hand over his length. He leaned back with a moan of approval and she took a head-scarf from the suitcase. She folded it on his chest and he rested his hand on it, shaking his head at her, "You don't need to hide from me."

She slipped it from between his body and hand and tied it around his eyes. She writhed over his length slowly as she undid her dress and cast it aside. Now she was naked, he twisted to pin her beneath him and he pulled away his own clothes.

It had been so long since she had been touched, and never had she been touched for free. She longed for him, her legs ached to stretch wide, her breasts tingled with anticipation and her breath was eratic. Naked too, he crouched above her, kissing her lips, her neck, stroking her skin with all of his hands, feeling but not seeing the damage done, and held under her spell as he took her. She moved with him, drawing out all of his senses, twisting to accommodate him, stilling when his rhythm got away from her, and meeting him when she could follow.

He ripped away the blindfold and she failed to notice. He slowed, a relentless pounding became a slow grind as he saw the extent of her pain. There was barely two inches of unscarred skin in one place.

She twisted so she was on top and dominated him, her hips rolling and back arching and sighs becoming moans. He was helpless.

He sat himself up, pressing her to him as he kneeled on the bed, using his thighs and gravity to get deep inside of her. It was too much for her. She still, and shuddered, barely able to exhale, pulling in more air than she could manage. Her head was thrown back, her spine arched so her form pressed into him, and her wall around him so tight that release finally came to him. She curled slowly around, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll close your eyes." She whispered to him. He thought about betraying her trust, and seeing what was on the back of her but chose not to when she climbed away from him. When she returned, she was in a housecoat, and she sat on the bed and accepted the cigarette he had just started.

"I'm still leaving." She told him gently.

"Why?"

She suddenly couldn't answer. Her fear was gone, her worries quieted. "I'll remember when you leave, I'm sure."

"I'll be worried sick forever if you go." He smiled at her and she rolled her eyes.

"You will most certainly get over it… Or my heart will break."

"Why is that?"

"You know, I've never spoke to anyone about what happened to me. Not ever."

He watched her, the wise and calm Dahlia before him, speaking plainly before he asked, "Why would your heart break?"

"In China, where I was sold to…" she scratched her nose and chin, looking around the room for a minute before skipping that part, "there was one man who didn't just buy my time… One day he gave me a ticket, half in Chinese and half in English and I could read that the destination was England… He didn't understand a word of English but he knew that all I wanted was to go back. I think he… he cared for me. First person I ever met to, and I left him behind. If he still worries; if he didn't get over it… and if you don't… then my small, awful heart will break."

"Your heart's fine." He assured her. She fell silent and leaned forward until her head was just above his knee.

"Your scar matches mine." She whispered pointing to his shoulder. He took her pointing hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

"We're both broken." He told her.