Give Me Love

chapter forty two

Anakin had given up on you. He wasn't coming for you. You'd already accepted that. He was angry at you for leaving him without a single word, for giving in to Padmé's manipulations so easily, and putting yourself in needless danger.

You did it to protect him, but he wouldn't see it that way. He would try to convince you there was always another way.

There was no other way.

He could hate you, and you could be tested and tortured on all over again, and you still wouldn't have changed your decision. You would never let Anakin take the fall for bringing you back. Or Obi-Wan, or Ahsoka, or Rico.

"Y/n," his voice said again. Footsteps walked around the edge of the bed, and you swore you could feel his presence in front of you; hear the sharp intake of breath. "What did they do to you?"

"Go away." Your voice was meek, barely there. Talking to a ghost.

"You're hurt. Just let me see."

"No," you clutched your knees tighter to your chest. "Stop pretending you care."

"I'm not pretending."

"You are. You hate me."

"I don't hate you."

If he didn't hate you, he would have come for you long ago. You understood the first couple of days-- he was mad at you. Needed to find a reason to come get you after the decision you made to leave.

But three weeks? Almost four?

That was just indifference. Which is... arguably worse than hatred.

You wanted to say this, but your head was pounding so bad you could only manage a few quiet words.

"Yes you do."

You sounded stubborn, but it was really how you felt. Every bone in your body believed Anakin hated you, even if he didn't outright say it. Even if he was real, and he had finally come to get you... he was still mad at you, and he probably didn't want you anymore-- not like he once had.

Just like everyone else in your life.

You really had a bad habit of fucking things up with people.

"Y/n," his voice was frustrated, and you could picture him tearing his hands through his hair. "Look at me."

His demand went unanswered. The next time he spoke, his voice was loud and angry, right in front of your face, and it made you flinch. "Look at me."

If you weren't such a coward, if you weren't so familiar with that tone and what consequences would follow if you didn't oblige, you would have ignored him. But you grew up in a house where that voice pulled your puppet strings, scaring you into action.

And so you slowly blinked your eyes open, cast downward as the blood dripped off your sticky forehead and onto the pillow below. You immediately brought an arm up to cover most of the damage on your forehead even though he had already seen it all, but Anakin caught your wrist before it could make contact with your head.

His hand was tight on your wrist, sparks of pain shooting up and down your arm, while his eyes searched your face, probing it forcefully, and you felt like you were naked beneath them.

"I could never hate you."

Tears welled in your eyes, lip wobbling as you desperately tried to hold them back. You wanted to be cold, uncaring like your father.

You wanted to be angry and powerful like him so that he would listen when you told him to leave.

You wanted to be alone so that you could bleed and your head could pound and your stomach could turn and you could feel it all like you're supposed to, like you're meant to, like you deserved to.