"We hunger in earnest for that which we cannot consume."
― Nenia Campbell
Few people could boast of having heard Rey sing, and she was desperate to keep it that way. Her voice was soft and lilting, taking flight like a bird in search of the sky, ascending beyond sight until her body felt as empty as a cage. She sang for herself, crafting stories out of thin air, allowing each phrase to slip from her tongue like honey, thick with a sweetness so enthralling she often felt compelled to carry on out of sheer delight. Hoarse from overuse, she'd trip over her melodies, bypassing barbed notes as though they were nothing more than pebbles, musical obstacles that required little consideration. Rey's voice had become her constant companion, a tool she'd utilize as often as possible in the company of her own ears, imagining a life for herself she'd never lead. Her world had never been anything but grey, a kaleidoscope of subdued tones that reminded her of Plutt's steely eyes and pert lips, his voice a listless rumble in the cacophony of his cotton mill, drowning out every strained syllable he'd scream at her. His words had always been meaningless, floating in the space above her head like snow, hungry for something other than harsh words, bruised hands, and bloody lips, spilling across her shoulders in an attempt to linger there, weighing her down. Plutt embodied everything Rey hadn't been able to achieve on her own. She had been working for him for as long as she could remember, and it had begun to show.
He had never been a considerate man, callous where he should have been empathetic, abusing the lives of those he'd taken under his wing for the sake of a few more bucks. Many had fallen ill in the time she had spent there, lungs full of cotton, hearts full of sorrow, and faces the colour of ash, greyer than Plutt's standards. Rey sang in spite of it all. She sang to muffle the sounds of their suffering, Plutt's uninspired cruelty, and the ache that had found its way into her heart, quelling her voice and everything she'd woven into it. She didn't know how to move beyond his blissful ignorance without ruining herself in the process. She hated his heartlessness, how he lived according to his own set of rules, ignoring his responsibilities as an administrator under the assumption that he'd risen above them, a king in his own right, presiding over a world as white as the cotton he coveted so much. Rey's hatred for him burned hotter than any flame she'd managed to kindle on her own, yet she hated herself for having to rely on him. Plutt had never made much of an effort to disguise his satisfaction with her displeasure, and she hated him all the more for it. He had spent hours sabotaging her work in the name of pride, taking advantage of everything she'd accomplished in an effort to line his pockets with silver she'd never see. She had spent most of her life handling a workload too large for one person alone, a brand Plutt had intentionally seared across her skin, embodying everything he felt she owed to him. Rey belonged to Plutt, but in name only. He had yet to take away her voice.
Rey paused, leaning down to pluck a flower from its place in the middle of the road, defying all odds in its determination to survive. She understood its resilience more than she cared to admit. The flower was blue, a forget-me-not that seemed too small inside of her hand, curling in on itself in an attempt to whither away. She brought it up to her eyes, sad that she had stunted its growth, yet happy that life continued to persist in the face of adversity, mirroring everything she had been forced to experience on Plutt's behalf. With nimble fingers, Rey tucked the flower into her hair, securing it in place as carefully as she could manage without some sort of ribbon, hoping that it wouldn't slip and fall away before she could enjoy it. Pretty things had a habit of dying on her.
Rey looked up when she was finished, almost resigned, making her way towards a fork in the road a few yards ahead. She had grown to hate that fork more than Plutt, more than cotton, and more than anything else she had come to associate with him. Few people could boast of having heard her sing, but Benjamin Solo was not one of them. He had caught her in the act more than once, determined to hear her voice again, but she refused to entertain his desires out of sheer indignation alone. He was aristocratic and wealthy, the nephew of Luke Skywalker and the son of Lady Organa, a family rich in land and in name. He had decided to neglect his familial pursuits in an effort to pave his own way in life, allowing the weight of his ambition to take hold of almost everything he had once held dear. He was cold and entitled, lonely for a man who had often boasted of his connections in the company of better people, yet relatable in a way she was reluctant to acknowledge. She hated his eyes in particular. They were a deep brown in colour, the sheen of wet leaves in autumn after it had rained, saturated with feelings he refused to voice in the presence of anyone but himself. He thought her presumptuous, she was sure, but their acquaintance continued to persevere, strengthening over time like a fine wine, giving her small glimpses into the soul of the man he had hidden away. He should have known better, but he didn't seem to care a great deal about class. He'd wait at the fork in the road almost everyday, tethering his horse to an old apple tree beyond the fence row, biding his time until he'd catch a glimpse of her hair in the distance, the swish of her pale dress, or the dying echo of her voice on the breeze, taunting his ears. She didn't expect anything less.
She rounded the corner and there he was, leaning against the fence row, apple in hand. He had taken a bite out of it and was chewing thoughtfully, maintaining eye contact until she began to feel uncomfortable. He liked the fire in her eyes, how she'd straiten like a bowstring under his gaze, refusing to look away until his hold on her had vanished. She hated the severity of it, ignoring the magnitude of his presence in favour of other things, like the apple in his hand or the way her dress felt against her skin, scratchy and hot in afternoon sun, sticking to her legs instead of falling strait. It was a game she had never taken joy in, yet she continued to participate out of necessity rather than obligation, waiting for the day he'd finally let her walk home in peace. She took another step forward, ignoring how his eyes flitted across her face in curiosity, trailing down her neck, into the folds of her hair, and across the curves of her body. His eyes lingered in places they had no right to, but she had grown accustomed to his impropriety, especially in moments like this. When they were alone, living beyond the boundaries their social class had made between them, they had never been anything but themselves. He was impish and she was impassioned, arguing until her throat had gone dry, unafraid to voice her opinions in the presence of a man she considered beneath her notice. He must have thought her crazy at some point, but he had never brought it up. They were similar in some ways, yet completely different in others. He continued to linger and she continued to show up at the fork in the road without fail. She didn't want to know why.
"You've forgotten something," he told her, taking another bite out of his apple.
Rey narrowed her eyes, folding her fingers into the fabric of her dress in an attempt to stifle the scream making its way up her throat. The juice from his apple dribbled down his chin and he wiped it away with his other hand, watching the way her nose scrunched up in distaste, an obvious indicator of her feelings towards him.
"Ah, yes. I should have turned left instead of right," she said, ignoring how his eyes seemed to light up in amusement. "You're such a gentleman."
"That's a little harsh, even for you."
"Honesty hurts," she said, frowning as he tossed his apple into the bushes.
He turned around to face her, reaching out to touch her cheek, hooking his fingers under her chin so that he could look into her eyes. Her pupils widened in distress, mimicking her state of mind. She had never been this close to him before. His eyes were darker than she had originally thought, glinting in the space between them like a lacquer, the tint of soil, bark, and gravel after a rainstorm, rough, callous, and coarse. He continued to look at her until she had turned a different colour beneath his hands, flushing a dusky red in the afternoon light, staining the skin below his fingers like an apple, one he hadn't thrown away just yet. He looked resigned, stoic when he should have been rude, content to simply stare into her eyes instead of resuming their feud, memorizing every line and curve for his own perverse purposes. She wished he'd move away, remembering their roles in life and how inappropriate he had become in the span of a few minutes, ignoring every rule decorum had drilled into his brain. He had always been insistent, demanding her attention more than once in their shared history, but this was different. For the first time since meeting him, she was afraid of what he could do. He'd never hurt her, but the weight of his fingers on her skin spoke of a desire so restrained she could barely breathe without choking, meeting his eyes in silent admonition, praying he'd see reason.
"Since we're being honest, I sometimes wonder how much it would take to break you," he said, running his fingers along the length of her jaw, curling a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I don't know whether you're brave or stupid half the time, but you're something else."
His fingers brushed against the shell of her ear and she cringed, trying to ignore how she felt as he threaded his fingers through her hair. He smelled as sweet as the apple he had tossed away, a strange contrast that made her shiver in anticipation, wishing he'd relinquish his hold on her yet again. They were always coming together like this, drawn to one another like gravity, waiting for the inevitable collide. The way he touched her had become dangerous. She watched with bated breath as he leaned in a little closer, carding his fingers through her hair until he found the forget-me-not she'd placed in there earlier, shifting his hands so that he was holding it in front of her face, inches from her mouth. The amusement in his eyes was a palpable thing. She could feel it in the space he'd made between them, brushing against her skin as fervently as his breath, bombarding her with an onslaught of anger she could barely contain. He had the audacity to smile in response. The sight of it took her breath away.
"You owe me a song," he said, twirling the flower between his thumb and forefinger, refusing to break eye contact. "You keep forgetting."
Her mouth fell open and he laughed, tucking the flower behind his own ear in mockery of its previous location.
"My voice is of little concern to you," she stated coldly, reaching out to retrieve what he'd so rudely taken, but he grabbed her wrist in retaliation, hard enough to elicit a gasp, but loose enough to cause little pain.
"I expect no less from you at this point, but one day you'll crack. You know as well as I do that I always get what I want. You're no different."
"Ha! I'll never belong to you, or to anyone for that matter. I'm beyond your reach."
"Tell that to Unkar Plutt," he said, gripping her wrist a little tighter.
A part of her heart seemed to freeze in her chest, chilling her to the bone. His position in life had given him a great deal of power over others, requiring little effort on his part, but he had gone too far this time, crossing the line she'd made between them so long ago. Plutt saw value in almost everything. She had lived according to his rules for most of her life, acting under the assumption that she'd always return to his white world, a world where machinery mirrored her place in life. Ben was offering her freedom, freedom in the guise of a gilded cage. To forego one form of slavery in exchange for another was cruel, and she hated him for it. A life at his side would require too much sacrifice, destroying everything she had fought for in the span of a heartbeat, spoiling her sense of self. His reasons for wanting her were entirely selfish, yet not unwarranted. He had found something in her that he had lost within himself, something he craved for, and something she'd never completely understand. His feelings for her were complicated, bursting from behind his eyes like a forest fire, hot, intense, and scalding, but not as shallow as he had lead her to believe. He wore his anger like a mask, hiding behind false pretences in an attempt to distance himself from how he really felt, pretending that she was an object instead of a person out of shame, out of guilt, and out of frustration. They had spent so much time with one another that he could hardly say otherwise. He didn't care about her voice, as lovely as it was. He had wanted her and only her from the very start and she knew exactly why.
"You need to leave," she said, trying to tug her wrist from his grasp.
He released his hold on her, slipping the forget-me-not into the front of her dress as slowly as possible, gauging her reaction. His fingers strayed over her bodice hesitantly, as if he were afraid of what he could do if she'd let him, but he moved away instead, reaching for the reins of his horse. He pulled himself onto his saddle and began to ride away, leaving her standing beside the apple tree like a druid, frozen in place. His eyes continued to torment her long after he had gone, a dark smudge beyond the fork in the road that had started it all, ruining any hope of remaining true to the people they had been before their encounter. He had changed her.
Rey's hand shook as she grasped the flower like a lifeline, nearly crushing it.
Somehow she'd endure.
A/N: For SilverNyte, who wondered when I'd try my hand at something lengthier. This is my first attempt at a multi-chaptered story in a very, very long time. It won't be terribly long because I lack the patience required for such things, but my fondness for Reylo should keep me going. I'd like to thank everyone for giving me the courage to continue writing! The support I've received has been wonderful, and I appreciate it more than any of you will ever know. Thank you for embarking on this journey with me. I hope that you'll love it as much as I will!
*I've had to post this numerous times because FanFiction won't acknowledge this story's existence, so I'm sorry for ticking everyone off!