Give Me Love

chapter forty two

But he wasn't having it.

"You need to snap out of this," he seethed when you still didn't say anything.

You don't think you've ever seen him so pissed. His lips curled and his hands clenched, one around your wrist and the other in his leather glove. The air around him seemed to pulsate like it was alive, and you noticed the lamp outside flickered.

He was really here, though. It was him. Angry, and cold, and soaking wet with the rain, but here. He had finally come for you. You couldn't make up that look of pure, unbridled rage on his face.

And it was directed at you.

"Please," Your voice shook. "My head hurts."

"What—" Anakin stopped. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. When he opened them, his voice was softer. "What happened to your head?"

You were surprised at the effort he made to seem calm, you had to admit. Usually when he experienced an emotion, he was carried away with it like he was caught in a riptide. Seeing him snap out of a dead rage turned something over in you.

Maybe he did care enough not to scare you or hurt you. But it still didn't mean he cared— he was only here to protect you out of obligation after all.

"A vase," is all you offered.

"A vase?" He followed your gaze downward, not allowing you to break away from his eyes.

"She broke it."

And so what? What was he supposed to do about it? The damage had already been done. And although the lacerations on your face were superficial— the damage to your heart lasted forever.

That wound you had spent this past year desperately trying to stitch over and bury under layers and layers of gauze was suddenly ripped open, all of the hurt and fear and pain leaking out like a vein had been cut open.

You were filled with it, dark and cold and sapping all the energy from your body. He could do nothing about this, or anything that happened before.

Nothing could heal you. Not even him.

As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyes grew soft and so, finally, did his hand. He released your wrist, and it fell limp to the bed between your faces.

"I'm going to get you out of here."

"I don't want you to."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Just let me go," you closed your eyes again, unable to look at his face crumple like that. A tear joined the mess of sticky blood on your pillow.

Why was he pretending to care? It was only making this hurt worse, only causing that wound in your heart to open further, the slow ooze of pain now turning to a full on spurting fountain in your chest.

"I told you already," he said. "I'm never leaving you. And I'll never let you leave me."

"Please," the tears came harder as the pain swallowed you whole. "Please."

Here you were, begging him to leave. Begging him to stay. Begging him to love you even though you knew you fucked that up. Begging for the pain to stop, but willing it to consume you. Wash you clean. Make you pay.

"Please what?" Anakin's voice broke like his heart was breaking too.

"It hurts," you shoved your wrist against your mouth, biting your sleeve to stop the sobs from wracking your body. You shook with them, head pounding, tears as hot as the fresh blood oozing out of your wound.