My Unfortunate Fate

chapter 62

Memory is a curse.

Coruscant has been my home for the better part of twenty-two years, and I'm glad to be back already, despite feeling otherwise the last time we were here.

I like the stillness of the Jedi Temple that distracts me from all the things that have gone wrong lately: Tup's breakdown and my subsequent injury, our less-than-ideal rescue, and the fact that Rex and Fives are still on Kamino.

I may call Rex back in case we need any additional help, but I believe the 501st needs a little time to cool down. They didn't receive any orders when we were gone, and I'm sure our captain has figured out about the expedition, given that he helped Anakin and me slip away in the first place. The rest of our men—I hope—are clueless as to our disappearance.

I must admit that they know more than they should, and a good majority of them have doubts about our relationship. I feel like that assumption is mostly based on the fact that we're the only female and male Jedi Knights leading our division together—who aren't blood-related.

Sometimes I think the men are just bored and think up unnecessary drama to entertain themselves. I don't blame them for it, and though they don't know this, that kind of drama is the kind that could get my husband and I expelled from the Jedi Order.

Sometimes I think too much. I try to allow myself to bask in the feeling of happiness I am experiencing instead of overthinking as I always do. I woke up a few minutes ago and I haven't moved since. I've been staring at the ceiling; thinking, contemplating; conversing with the little voice in my head. 

To alleviate my boredom, I stare at the ceiling: it's flat, white, and lacks any decoration like most rooms in the Jedi Temple. I'm not fond of how bland it is, but Jedi aren't typically allowed to customize their quarters. There is no rule against it, however, individualism isn't well seen in the Temple, as it can be interpreted as a form of selfishness. 

I think about how cold it was last night. I assume that is because our quarters have been empty for the past three weeks and therefore filled with cold, stale air. It isn't so bad now; I feel much cozier. That might have less to do with the room and more with Anakin's presence. Even unconscious, he soothes me. 

I focus my eyes on the ceiling again, observing a faint line drawn across it. I can't do this anymore. I've looked at this ceiling for long enough. I've already examined every inch of it, over and over again, mindlessly keeping my eyes ahead.

I turn my head to the right, carefully keeping my movements slow, easy, and silent. I look up at Anakin's face and can't help the smile slowly spreading on my lips.

He looks so peaceful when he's sleeping; eyelids shut gently over his eyes, lips parted just a bit so he can breathe a little better. I'm so grateful my husband doesn't snore. That would be worse than a nightmare to wake up to.

He looks so calm right now, a stark contrary to when he's awake: he's usually overbearing, annoying, or overall excessive, but I love him that way. 

I love him. It's difficult to comprehend: I love someone, even though I'm not allowed to do so—not by the Order's rules. They're dumb rules, anyway. Love isn't an immoral thing and I've grown to learn over the past two years that it isn't selfish at all. If anything, love is selfless. Love is devotion, whether it be to one person or a million, or even to every being in the galaxy. It is the devotion to protect those people.

I love my men, and I care enough to protect them when I can. I love my friends, and I know I will keep them by my side. Most of all, I love Anakin, and I promise to keep him safe no matter what.

I pull myself a bit closer, and Anakin doesn't flinch—he's still sleeping. He's kept an arm around me all night and it has remained in the same place, barely avoiding my shoulder. I've had my right arm wrapped around his waist for about the same time, and my head was nestled into his shoulder when I fell asleep. I have moved slightly overnight, but it isn't enough to tear me away from his embrace.