"Yeah," he says.

"And I haven't always been this good at killing people, and not everybody who wants to fuck me is that easy to kill."

He shrugs, opening his hands.

"Way back when. He saw me with somebody else, decided to make an offer. I told him I didn't want his money or his dick. He told me it didn't matter what I wanted. Pulled a knife on me. And y'know," he smiles, that same sweet smile he got when he was telling her about Dr. Larson the first time, "it was still a rush."

Another shrug.

"I fought like hell. I could show you the scars, but they're mostly in places I don't think you wanna look at. I had a big one right up under here for a while," he lifts his chin, touches the underside of his jaw, "but it went away, after a few years. Took me about that long to get it all – straightened out in my head."

His smile turns a little more crooked.

"He called me a freak a few times. I didn't like that word even before then, but that probably didn't help much."