Ashes to Ashes | A Kylo Ren Story

6. My Prisoner

"My prisoner"

The snarky response you had surely prepared died in your throat, a suffocating fear taking its place.

Releasing you from the prison of his arms you whirled around to face him.

He looked down to you, face cold as ever, but eyes glowing slightly with a humour that you had not seen in them before, those golden flecks swirling, as he scanned your face, more alive than you had seen them thus far.

After a small moment of silence he turned to a chest of draws beside him, loosing sight of his eyes made the fear sprawl in your chest again, blooming thought you arms and making your fingers tingle, clutching around your lungs and restricting you breath.

Opening a draw and rummaging inside it, his cape twisting around the upper portion of his body whilst his legs stayed fixed, you took the moment to glance up and down his body, the ribbed material of his trouser stuffed into the matt boots that reached his mid shin.

He turned back to you only to see you shaking and clutching your arms. You etched a frown onto your brow, hoping to seem more hateful than scared. It was true at heart that you were both, but outwardly you knew he could probably only sense your overwhelming fear.

"Stop" You blurted, the bottled nervous energy spilling out of you.

"Stop what little rebel?" He asked coldly a smirk carving through the thin scar running down his cheek.

"Stop whatever you're doing" You tried to back track whilst also back physically back tracking, taking a step away from him.

"You can sleep naked then" He said calmly, turning back to the draws.

You ran the steps you had retreated in seconds, grabbing the material he was about to return to the draw, looking up at him indignantly as he held onto it as you pulled.

When he finally let go you examined it, unfurling what you now saw to be a shirt.

Guess what colour it was.

Guess.

It was pink with little Ithorian roses.

No. It was black, and large by the looks of it. That didn't surprise you as you eyed the hulking man in front of you, raising an eyebrow as you watched him watch you, considering you.

You glared at him as he spoke "Go and take a shower, wear this after, clothes will be sent for you tomorrow" You balled the fabric up in your hands, ready to pitch it right back at his stupid head.

His lips twitched slightly, ever patronising you, daring you to provoke him.

With that he turned away, leaving you to pick your jaw up from the polished floor.

This was a fever dream. It had to be, you had been given some bad portions by the scoundrel boy in in Morg's kitchens.

But looking down at your dirty clothes, torn and saturated with sweat and blood, perhaps a shower wouldn't totally displeasing.

Washing away the dirt of Tatooine felt heavenly, but the memories of that room were stuck in your mind, playing in a demented loop over the roaring of the shower as it pelted your back.

The scalding water running streaks down your back brought you back to the whippings you had faced on Tatooine.

You found yourself scrubbing you skin raw, baring you teeth as you let out frustrated sobs, trying so desperately to clean yourself of the crippling memories. Sliding your back down the shower tiles you landed on the floor taking heaving breaths.

Tears merging with the shower jets, squeezing your eyes shut to blackout the memories which had twined together, switching between the whippings and the execution-to-be.

It must have taken a good five minutes to calm down your aching chest, to be able to open your eyes and stand from the shower floor.

But sure- getting the last particles of sand out from the places the sun don't shine felt marvellous.

rubbing your hair with the towel as you stepped out of the refresher, you glanced around the room no sight of moody man child anywhere only shining metal, a desk that looked like it was made out of fibroglass, and a few chests of draws. Casting the towel away to land somewhere on the floor you paused, looking towards the doors, was an escape possible now? Yes.

Was an escape probable? No.

So reasonably, you didn't receive much protest from your exhausted body when you fell onto the bed and promptly drifted soundly to sleep.

-Kylo Ren-

The Supreme Leader of the First Order had abandoned his chambers when he had head the muffled sobs of the crying girl in his shower.

He had grabbed his helmet, and stormed to a far corridor of the Supremacy where he ignited his lightsaber and tore through wall after wall.

He couldn't explain why he felt the anger he did, but listening to her cry made his chest hurt, it made his heart pound in anger.

He had promised himself no attachments, but whilst he tore those gleaming walls apart he came to some clarity, he remembered the teachings of his old master, that passion could drive a Sith to become stronger, that it could help him access the force further.

He supposed that's why Snoke never condemned any of his one night stands or punished him when his mind had drifted to the previous nights activities during training.

A passion, that is what could make him stronger. Could make both of them stronger.

Kylo left his Knights to train by themselves for a further hour in the impromptu training session he had called to divert his energy, he headed back to his chambers, their combat skills where in no need of his critique anyway.

Marching through the corridors of the Supremacy he received the obligatory nods from officers and salutes from troopers.

The supremacy at night was no different to the day, suspended in space there was really no such constraints as time, but every personnel was assigned a day or night shift regardless. This resulted the ship remaining alive at all hours, but sleepily so, never truly humming with life, always half dead.

He turned the corner to his chambers, subtly picking up his pace as he searched for the girl's presence within the force. Two stormtroopers had to dive out of his path of destruction as he approached his chambers.

Ren couldn't feel the girl's presence.

He sped up his walk, anger eating at his mind, how incompetent could he be to allow her to escape twice within one cycle. Punching in the code to his chamber he stormed through the door, hand hovering over his saber, itching to guide it through the metal walls.

But there she lay, sheets strewn across her haphazardly.

She stirred slightly as he burst in, he was half in awe he didn't wake her, in all his cape billowing foot stomping glory.

He watched her turn onto her side, dragging the covers to expose her leg. Her hair a startling white against his black sheets, her slight figure dwarfed further by the size of his bed.

He walked over to the bed pulling his mask off and placing it on the bedside table, crouching down next to the bed he brushed a piece of hair from her face, eyes wandering down her neck and to her exposed arm, where there were raised welts all along the inside of her forearm, long pink scratch marks marring her smooth skin.

His eyebrows knitted together, raising gloved hand he gently ran his finger down the tender marks, watching as her face contort in discomfort. Withdrawing his hand he averted his gaze and sighed.

Standing and stripping from his cloak and tunic he made a beeline to his desk.

Picking up his datapad he sighed again, eyeing the girl lying on his bed, before settling in for a long night of business.

We're meeting some of my personal faves next chapter so hold onto your socks my young padawans xoxo