Star Wars Guys x Reader

Two Weeks: Rex x Reader

A/N: requested by sadstrarwarsfan14 who is awesome

Warnings: self harm, cutting, break downs, swearing, i got writer's block,

Word count: 906 (i'm sorry it's so short)

Your stress is bubbling to the surface, and you need to let it go somehow. Rex has been busy recently, and he's one of the two things that calms you down. You understand why; you knew what you were getting into when you first kissed him. But right now, you need to see him, and he's not fucking here. You don't blame him - you'll never blame him for fighting for the Grand Army of the Republic, for the good of others, but his current absence is only making your need  for the second thing that calms you down stronger, which is escalating the situation.

And by situation, you mean the razor blade you know is in the bottom of the drawer to your left, hidden underneath the clean hand towels.

You haven't cut yourself once for two weeks now, and you so desperately want to see the pride on Rex's face when you tell him, but... You haven't talked to him for almost a week now; the last time you saw him was two days ago, just a brief flash of blue and white and a rare, sweet smile, saved for you.

Maker, it's hurting.

What if he doesn't come back today?

What if he doesn't come back the day after?

Or the week after?

Or the month after?

Your desperate gasp for air shatters the quiet of the bathroom, and you stumble towards the drawer, fingers shaking as you yank it open and shove the hand towels out of the way. Innocently, the razor blade glints up at you, clean metal resting against the cream bottom of the drawer. The white lights of the bathroom reflect off the razor, half blinding you, and you blame the ache at the back of your eyes on the beam shining on your face.

You watch helplessly as your hand reaches for the razor blade, even as you think of your clean two weeks. A fortnight; are you really going to ruin it now? Your fingers close around the blade.

Yes. Yes you are. Of course you are.

Swiping tears from your cheeks, you lift the blade up, mesmerized by the way the light refracts off it, knowing that sooner or later, this blade will be like the rest; coated in your blood. Fuck, why you? Why this?

Lowering the blade to your skin, you bite back a sob and rest it against the inside of your wrist, hesitating for a moment, not yet drawing blood. You burn to press a little harder, to watch the crimson droplets bead around the silver metal, staining the blade forever, and still you tremble, trying to stop yourself, hoping that someone will find you and stop you, yet despising the idea of anyone finding you in a state like this.

'Sweetheart, are you in there?'

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder. That's Rex, of course it's Rex, and the moment he sees you, he'll know... Maybe you can distract him, bring the razor blade with you and lock yourself in another bathroom when he's gone to eat.

Carefully clasping the blade in your palm, you inspect yourself in the mirror. Splashing your face with water, you smile at your reflection. It's good enough. If you keep that smile on, he might be fooled, and maybe you can escape before he finds out. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the door and open it, flashing him a smile.

'Rex!' You coo, launching yourself at him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

He chuckles. 'I missed you, love.'

'I missed you too,' you reply, resting your head on his shoulder.

For a moment, you forget about the razor blade in your hand, you forget about the GAR, the war, everything, and you just let him hold you. But then you feel him gently touching your wrist, curiosity on his face.

'What's in your hand?'

You freeze. Something inside you is telling you to break from his embrace and run rather than tell him, but you stay anchored in his strong arms. You know you should tell him, you know it's better for you, but you loathe the idea of dumping all of this on him as soon as he's gotten back. You know he can see the indecision on your face because he kisses your forehead and murmurs,

'It's okay. You can tell me.'

Taking a deep breath, you show him the razor blade in your palm. A sob squeezes from your throat, and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don't have to see his face when his gaze falls on the blade. But he doesn't pull away from you, disappointed, doesn't push you away, disgusted, just wraps his arms around you and takes the razor from you.

'Thank you for showing me,' he whispers, setting the blade down and stroking your hair, kissing your tears away. You cling onto him, face buried in his chest. He's gentle with you, so fucking gentle as he sits down on the edge of the bed and just holds you, not speaking, not moving, just letting you cry on him.

'I... I was clean for two weeks, Rex,' you whisper. 'And I was going to - to break it - '

'But you didn't,' he replies. 'You showed me. I'm here for the next fortnight, okay. We're going to make that two weeks into a month, sweetheart. Promise me you'll try?'

You nod. 'I - I promise.'