It's like that day three years ago on the streets of California.

My hands are smeared red, blood trickling down my thighs onto the ground, forming a bright and sinister crimson pool.

I shake my head slowly at first, staring at the pool of blood, my hands limp by my sides but beginning to tremble ever so slightly.

I feel my brows scrunch together as my head moves side to side faster. Then I crash back against the sink.

My hands find the strength to lift themselves, only to grip the counter behind. My legs go soft and quiver beneath me, only my hands holding me up. But soon, that might not be enough too.

Past and present merge into one another and I squeeze my lids shut so tightly it hurts. My breathing turns choppy as my constricting lungs refuse to give me a sense of reprieve.

My legs finally give out, so I'm sliding down towards the smooth tiles, or is it the gray pavement?

I can't tell anymore.

Muffled and distorted yells and screams impale my eardrums. My trembling hands thread into my hair, squeezing my head, but when the noise doesn't halt, I close them over both ears instead, my lips pulled back in agony.

My whole body shakes violently.

Just when I think that I was stuck in a dream all along, and I'm now waking up to the gruesome reality, a familiar and distinguished voice reaches me.

All the other noises come to an abrupt halt.

"Cyra! What's wrong!? Cyra, talk to me! Please, look at me! Noah, go get my phone! Hurry!"

I slowly pry my lids open with much effort, my vision unfocused.

His blurry face is the first thing I see.

And I cry.

Gut-wrenching sobs rack through my chest causing my whole body to shudder with it.

Then strong, warm arms gather me in its embrace. 

I bury my face into Owen's chest, soaking his shirt with my tears. My fingers clutch onto his shirt, holding on for dear life.

"What's wrong, Cyra? Why is my fireheart crying? Tell me where it hurts so I can make it better."

His endearment for me makes me cry even harder. 

Because I'm no fireheart.

I'm just a broken person with a shattered heart.

"Daddy?" 

I hear Noah's voice on my left but I can't bear to look up into his angelic face just when my sobs are quieting down.

I feel Owen shift a little, probably signalling his son about something, then he asks me in a gentle voice.

"Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Still unable to speak, I shake my head into his chest to indicate no.

Because the pain I'm feeling isn't something doctors can heal. I don't even know if God can do it.

Maybe He can, but just doesn't want to, because I deserve to suffer through it.

"C'mon, let's get you comfy first alright? The floor is cold."

Owen lifts me up with ease as I lean on him for support, and I finally separate my face from his chest.

I swallow back a huge lump in my throat and look around the kitchen. When I see that pool of red on the floor, I shake uncontrollably again.

"Aunt Cee... I-I'm s-sorry. I-I broke the b-bottle and s-scared y-you. Little b-beanie didn't mean t-to."

Noah's soft and sad voice tears through the veil of haze surrounding me and suddenly I understand.

What's on the floor isn't blood.

But it was enough to cause damage to my traumatized mind.

"A-Aunt C-Cee, don't h-hate little b-beanie." I find the energy to turn my head to Noah, who is standing at a side, looking so small and scared, so tiny... so innocent.

My heart breaks all over again, the fissures deepening and if my chest is cut open, that organ would have cracks like ones during a drought.

"Oh Noah, it's- it's not your fault." I force those words out even as I struggle to breath properly.

I turn in Owen's arms with my back still leaning on him, and face Noah's fearful form.

His eyes glisten with unshed tears, and that's all I can do to not fall to my knees to plead forgiveness for scaring him.

"C-Come here, Noah." I slowly bend and open my arms out, grateful that Owen's hands are steadying me on my waist, or else I don't know how I would handle having a horrible flashback and making my little beanie cry.

He tumbles into my arms and I give him a peck on his forehead, a whiff of his baby smell making my eyes water again.

"C'mon, let's sit on the couch okay?" Owen helps me straighten then snakes an arm around my waist, the other one picking Noah up in one go.

He guides us both to the living room's couch. I gingerly lower into it, curling my legs beneath me.

"Little beanie, come sit next to aunt Cee." I pat the spot beside me.

Owen places him there and I immediately hug him, tucking his head under my chin and fiddling with his soft hair as he quietly stays there, tiny hands clutching the fabric on me.

"I'll bring you some water." Owen doesn't push me into explaining myself, padding away to the kitchen.

But before long, he brings a cup of warm water and I sip on it.

After I feel like I can speak without breaking down again, I direct my eyes to Owen's.

"Owen, go ahead and cook. I'm fine, I just need to rest a little. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, fireheart. But are you sure you'll be alright?"

Under normal circumstances, you might be able to guess what I would say, but right now, every fibre in my body is drained.

"I'll be fine, Owen. I have Noah with me."

 Noah picks his head up from my embrace and sends me an unwavering gaze, then he turns to his father. "I'll make sure aunt Cee doesn't cry again."

I caress his hair with a gentleness I never knew I possessed. Owen seems to be assured.

"Let me know if you both need anything. I'll go now."

We both nod and Owen turns on his heels, albeit a little reluctant.

I rearrange myself into a more comfortable position and Noah thoughtfully allows me to do so by giving me some space.

When I'm done, I offer him a misty-eyed smile and urge him closer again.

"Don't be sad, little beanie. You didn't do anything wrong. It was aunt Cee who was wrong, crying for no reason and making you afraid. Forgive me?"

He blinks in confusion and wariness but accepts my apology with a slow nod. The knot in my chest loosens, so does my whole body.

We both share our warmth, gazing out the windows at the sun inching towards the horizon. He snuggles deep into my arms, making a content noise as his long lashes flutter.

This is when the voice start plaguing me.

He isn't yours.

He's another woman's child, whether in his life or not, that is a fact that cannot be changed.

And you? You lost yours.

You lost your child.

Do you think you can just step into his life and claim him as yours?

Why? Because you saved him once?

Stop being delusional.

You don't deserve him. 

You don't deserve having a child.

Leave them both out of your miserable life before you hurt them.

"Aunt Cee?" Noah's voice is like a rescue buoy in a dark sea of demons, and I fling myself onto it to let myself be pulled back to the shore.

"Is it okay if little beanie calls aunt Cee... mommy?"

That's when I realize, it was my wishful thinking that I was holding on to.

I was only pulled onto an abandoned ship drifting in that same darkness, the shore nowhere in sight.

And I shouldn't bring innocents on board.

"Noah, listen to me very carefully."

His hopeful expression slips a little, but I harden myself for what I'm about to say.

"I'm not your mommy. And I will never be. Your mommy is someone else. So don't ever ask me that again, or I won't like you anymore. Do you understand?"

Heartless.

Conscience speaks up, but I push her down into the corner even as Noah's lips start to wobble. I don't make a move to hug him this time, because he needs to understand.

HEARTLESS!

Conscience struggles free and I shove her back to tie her down.

"O-Okay. Little b-beanie won't ask a-again... A-Aunt C-Cee." He forces a smile onto his lips and blinks away the dew at the edge of his eyes.

I hurt him.

I look up to see Owen standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, staring at me with an impassive expression.

************

We're eating our dinner in silence.

I've lost my appetite and even completely forgot about baking the cookies.

"I put the cookies in the oven. They should be done soon." Owen's voice is flat.

And I wonder if his feelings for me have disappeared, or worse, transformed into hatred.

I don't blame him.

I wouldn't forgive anyone who hurt my child too.

And I hurt both Duncan's and Owen's child. 

It's what I do.

One last night with them. Then, I'll leave.

"Eat more, Noah." I pile a generous amount of food onto his plate and he thanks me quietly.

"Thank you... aunt... Cee."

The word 'aunt' sounds strained and stiff. 

I sink my teeth into my bottom lips to keep from doing something that would unravel my efforts to free them from me.

Owen scoops food onto my empty plate. "You eat more too."

I glance at him from beneath my lashes.

Ashamed.

"It's fine Owen I can-"

"Serving a guest is basic manners."

Guest.

No more Cyra.

No more fireheart.

"Daddy cooks really yummy food, aunt Cee." Noah praises his father for the first time since I met them.

Instead of laughing and teasing them, I stare at my food gravely.

Owen is sitting across from Noah, while I'm next to Noah.

The air grows taut with tension, when suddenly the over timer goes off.

I jump in fright, locking gazes with Owen for the first time since he overheard my harsh warning towards his son.

"I'll get the cookies." He stands and I don't know if I imagined it, but his eyes softened for a moment, and all I want to do is shrivel into a ball and cry.

Because I can handle it if he's angry, but not if he treats me kindly after what I did.

The smell of chocolate wafts towards the table and I hear Owen transferring them onto a plate to serve.

When he rejoins us with the plate of oven-hot cookies, Noah's excited gasp lifts my spirits a little.

Yes. He'll be happy even without me.

No one needs you. The voice whispers.

"Finish your food first, Noah. Then you can eat the cookies." Owen reaches across to ruffle his son's hair affectionately.

When his eyes land on mine, I quickly look away and push my food around on the plate.

To my surprise, he doesn't seem hostile towards me anymore, asking me an unexpected question.

"When did you start learning Taekwondo?"

I put down the utensils and let the question roll in my head before I string out a response.

"About five."

"I heard that you participated in national tournaments."

"Yes. That was a long time ago."

"Why did you stop?"

"Tournaments are tiring." It comes easily because I'd spent three years answering people who asked the same question.

"What about sparring for fun?"

Even so, I gulp against his onslaught of questions.

"The diner kept me busy."

"I see."

I'm starting to think he might really be able to see, because his expression shows that he's not having any of my bullshit.

************

Noah's eyes had started to droop after we had some cookies.

I had one myself too and I knew it was delicious even though it tasted like chalk in my mouth.

He'd tried his best to ward off the sleepiness, saying he wanted to be with me for as long as possible, making me feel even more ashamed of myself because of how horrible I was to him.

I'm a horrible person.

By nine, he couldn't keep awake anymore so Owen put him to bed after I gave him a goodnight hug.

It was probably the last.

Right now, I'm sitting in the living room because Owen ordered me to wait here, with no room for discussion.

I guess this is it.

He comes back with a wine bottle and two glasses. After pouring us each a glass, he passes one to me.

The calm before the storm.

I gulp the whole glass down to numb myself, wiping the residue on the corner of my mouth with a thumb when I'm done.

His living room has a fireplace and I watch the flames dance elegantly in a hypnotizing manner, waiting for him to speak.

Or shout.

The sound of him breathing in deeply has me shifting my eyes to him.

He's still standing, his eyes glued to the fire which makes them switch between green and gold.

Owen places his now-empty glass down on the marble table and sits right next to me. I stiffen against the couch, my body tensing with fear, regret, and longing.

"Are you okay?"

"W-What?"

Shouldn't he be reprimanding me for hurting his son's feelings?

"Aren't you mad at me? For... saying all those things to Noah..."

"I was, initially. But then, I know you. That's why, I know you wouldn't hurt him on purpose."

"You don't know that." I bow my head.

"I do. It has something to do with what happened in the kitchen earlier. And you did it because you thought it was the right thing to do. But you're wrong."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew what I..." The words are lodged in my throat.

"Whatever happened in the past, it wasn't your fault, fireheart."

"Everyone else would disagree."

My eyes abandon his because he's the one who's wrong and I can't bear to see him regard me as someone worth being called fireheart.

"Then everyone else is wrong." 

I still refuse to look at him.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

I fasten my lips together when my eyes find his beseeching ones, refusing to answer him.

He leans even closer than before, his lips inches from mine.

I close my eyes instinctively and hold my breath, craving his lips on mine, claiming me.

But when a soft touch flutters over my cheek, my eyes pop wide open.

His large palm is caressing my cheek, as his eyes shine with desire and something else. When his other palm lifts to stroke my hair, I purr in content.

He takes it as a sign to continue. 

He does just that, alternating between stroking my head tenderly and letting the red strands glide between his long and slender digits.

I automatically twist so that my side is pressed into the back of the couch, facing him completely.

The wine has probably loosened the both of us up. That's why he's being so bold and I'm losing control.

"You like that?" He whispers in a husky voice.

I sigh and feel my eyes turning heavy. "Mhm."

I should stop this.

He relieves me of my empty wine glass, placing it on the table. Then he turns my palm up and starts drawing his fingers across.

His touch feels so good, so right, that I can't find it in myself to move away from him.

I even allow myself to scoot closer, until my head is literally propped on his chest.

All worries and conflicting thoughts have left my head and my eyes fall close.

"Cyra..."

My eyes flutter open, registering that he finally said my name again.

"My fireheart." He wraps an arm around my waist and continues playing with my hair. "I really like you- no... more than that."

That thing in my chest pounds so hard against my ribcage I'm afraid it'd break.

"And you don't have to tell me what happened right now, but whenever you're ready, I'll be there." 

He tilts my chin up so that our eyes are leveled. I feel my cheeks warming and I'm not sure if it's the wine or the way he's gazing at me.

Not like I'm the only person in the world, but the only one in his.

"You mean so much to me that I'm more afraid than I have ever been... of losing you. That's why..."

"What?" I whisper.

"I'll tell you what I've never told anyone before."

The spell he cast on me lifts slightly at his words and I blink in question.

"I'll tell you about Noah's mother."

************

A/N:
Don't know if any of you have read the Throne of Glass series (it's my fav series of ALL FREAKIN' TIME), but the female protagonist is also called Fireheart, so I was a bit hesitant to use it too, but then I felt that it fit Cyra's personality. And I actually searched for nicknames that mean fiery, brave etc and a few came out, but fireheart was the most suitable one. Sooooo yeah.