The Last Knight

Ch. 13: Help Me, I'm Losing Myself

Warnings: passive suicidal ideation, smut, "inappropriate use of the force," & this is where it starts to deviate from canon (will still follow general events but I'm making a few adjustments).

*** Kylo ***

Kylo Ren watched as the girl that was sprawled on his bed fell into a deep sleep. Though it was only midmorning, she slept as though she hadn't in days. Her breathing turned heavy as he reached to grab his cloak from the floor and drape it over her naked curves. She had fallen asleep atop the blankets, and he didn't want to risk waking her by properly tucking her in. He studied her peaceful face, the way the tips of her eyelashes grazed her cheek. Her brow wasn't furrowed in concentration as it so often was.

The past few days, Kylo had been plagued by a type of darkness that he had never thought possible. He thought he had experienced the lowest of lows when his own uncle tried to murder him in his sleep. When his own parents had gotten rid of him, letting their fear overtake all of their reasoning. He thought that ending the life of his father would free him of the ever-present ache in his chest. He thought it would bring him comfort to destroy someone that had so clearly given up on him. Someone that had so clearly assumed the worst of him.

The past few days though, he could barely find the strength to stand. It was as if the ache had only dug deeper, filling his bones and causing him to rot from the inside out. He'd never slept well, but now sleep had become almost impossible. Everything he ate was bland. Every voice was muted, his ears instead filled with the sound of rushing waves. In his darkest moments, he wondered if maybe he should have turned the lightsaber on himself.

He hadn't slept since she was curled up next to him in the med bay, a little dove asleep in the arms of a killer. Sure, she had taken her fair share of lives, but Kylo got the feeling that she only did it to survive. She didn't take the same sickly pleasure in it that he did.

What kind of man did that make him?

The most powerful man in the galaxy? The most hated man in the galaxy?

The only thing that Kylo knew for sure was that no one in this galaxy hated him more than he loathed himself.

He finally rested his head on the mattress, still keeping his eyes on that little dove. Feeling her skin, hearing her voice... it was the envelope of comfort that contrasted so sharply with the gaping chasm inside of him. Pressed against her, it was not difficult to breathe. To stand.

Instead of the invisible string holding them together, it had become the invisible string that stitched him up.

He had tried not to succumb to the drug that was her. Things like this were the recipe for the downfall of weaker men.

Now though, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, he was convinced that things like this were something else entirely. It was the only way he could breathe. It was the only way he could numb the reeling pain that surged through him constantly. The lonely man that never needed anyone was now tethered to a lonely girl from a village on Hoth.

The wave of realization of his need for her was calm. A wave of warm sun and the scent of lilacs on a soft breeze. And in the wave of this realization, the most hated man in the galaxy was finally able to rest.

***

Ben leaned against the dark wall outside the kitchen, trying to conceal himself in the shadows. The only way to find out the truth anymore was to eavesdrop. Kylo watched this dead version of himself, wanting to reach out to him and offer some semblance of comfort. However, he was rooted in place.