Whenever I found myself here, I would hear the water coursing over the rocks. I would close my eyes and let the wind billow against my face, and when I opened them again, I saw the lake below glistening with the last rays of day.
I remember that it had once been beautiful, this valley – I believed that one day this is where I would escape to. To live here alone, amid the trees in a house made of stone. I am here now, on the plateau of the mountain, and nothing has changed – it is as I remember it, just as beautiful. But there is something inside of me which prevents me from seeing with the same eyes that I had then. I do not know what to do with myself. When this does not feel like my home, my paradise, as it had once been. It does not offer me its welcome. Yet I have come here to die because I know not where else to go.
When I walk deeper into the forest, there is still one place that I hope for and fear. The landscape of the bog calls to me and I know that it will take me where I need to go. I have been useful, tactful, patient. It is now time for another to take my place. I am tired after too many sleepless nights; not even the sleep of the useful work-weary man is left to me. Yet I am still young, I know that I can work more, I can plan and I can satisfy my masters; only I wonder – could this husk not drift away, as I lay down upon the water, letting it cover my limbs. I am here now and it is what a weary man must do in his exhaustion. That is what I want to do; close my eyes and concede that I am unfit for such battles.
I know that it is wrong, selfish, weak – to leave so soon, to leave my work unfinished, yet I am so lonely. Every day it is difficult to be content, to be useful. Praise is not enough, not anymore, and I do not know why. I know that if I disappeared it would disturb routines and stir wonder, but I do not want to carry this shadow for the years that may come. Here I am near the edge.
The water is dark and the plants around it are wilted, the color of gold. I kneel beside it and am afraid as I knew I would be. I know that I am a weak, cowardly. I wish that it was not painful, to do this, to leave. I feel alone here, yet I no longer hold this feeling back. It is no longer a secret, even from myself. I carried my guilt with me, I brought it here, and soon I shall be free of it and of myself. We shall fall and sink to the bottom where no one shall find us but in a decayed soulless state, true to my legacy.
I take off my gloves and my shoes and lay them on the grass beside me, the skins of General Hux of the First Order.
I keep looking at the surface in which my face is reflected and I feel sorry for this weakness. I have no one who can know this, no one who I can speak to about these thoughts. I can imagine them laughing at me with derision and I am ashamed. What can I do?
I touch the surface of the water with my bare fingertips, it is cold to the touch and I know that it will sooth my burning heart. I wonder if I should undress further but I am loath to feel more vulnerable than need be. This uniform, I do not know if it is associated with my servitude or with my pride, yet I sense that it does not belong with me on this occasion.
These ambitions seem not my own. At last, I take off these symbols, all but my plain underclothing. I wrap my arms around myself from the cold, my skin is covered in goosebumps and I am hunched over like a vulture. The only thing that I relish is the feeling of the grass under my bear feet.
I wonder if I should wait and enjoy this for the years that I might still have, yet I know that I will make ill use of this time if I were to grasp for it again. I shall return to work and occupy myself with distractions. One cannot live upon dreams in idleness. I am afraid that these beautiful things would be too painful for me to enjoy alone.
I once believed that I could be content in my solitude but I know that this strange yearning would always be there in my heart to rob me of my peace.
I am afraid, deeply afraid, shivering and aching. I know that I cannot do it because I have not unraveled the uncertainty and shed the insubstantial hopes, the excuses of a coward.
"And a fool," a voice reached me, startling me from the thoughts that were engulfing my conscience. I turned around to see the face which I knew would be there to gaze back at me.
"Why have you have followed?" I felt obliged to speak, I knew that I ought to fill my words with venom but I had little left for him. An exhaustion had crept over me and I knew that if not now, then soon, I will have my way. I could wait weeks, months, years – as long as it took for him to get out of my way, to forget. I had the patience of one who had already waited decades and knew much of enduring.
"I wanted to know why you came here," he replied. "It is not the first time that you visited this planet"
"And now that you know why?" I had no doubt of it, for there was something in his eyes that told me so.
"To tell you that it is not your time," Ren answered me, walking towards me with the imperious confidence of one who knew every turn of my thoughts.
"What would you have me do, while I wait for my time?" I did not know what I expected to hear, only I found some comfort in prolonging that which I felt I ought to have been done long ago.
"To continue with your duties," his voice was unwavering, lacking the inflections of anger or concern. He knew how it would be between him and I.
"Will you – could you love me," I spoke the naive childish words to him, so sudden and unprecedented they seemed even to my own ears that they sent a shock through me, and, I hoped: through him.
"No, Armitage," he did not seem surprised by my question, it was as though he already knew, had always known.
My stomach churned as we stood in silence, my hand held against my stomach as though staunching a wound.
"Will you return to the ship?" his voice caused me to raise my eyes which had until been too embarrassed to look upon him.
"Yes," I answered, not knowing why I had done so.
"Put on your clothes," he ordered.
"Yes," I looked down at the uniform laying on the grass and knelt down beside it. I wished to cry, to sob, my shoulders shaking and my face swollen and contorted from tears, yet it was as though something had left me frozen. I picked up my coat and pressed it to my chest, staggering up. He watched me all the while with his inscrutable eyes.
I cannot explain to myself why but I wanted him to hurt me, and he, listening, exerted his force upon me. My breath departed as he constricted my neck, my eyes watering from the pain.
"Enough?" he let me go, allowing me to collapse back to the ground.
"Yes," I spoke murmured under my breath, my hand passing over my neck, imagining the bruised skin. It was loathsome for me to find him obedient to the desires which gratified my sense of shame and disgust with my person, while repulsing the hopes and longings for human affection and companionship.
"You are a fool Hux, because you do not know what you want," he approached me and I felt afraid, I could feel myself succumbing more deeply to the sense of my own weakness. I knew that I had to fight against this temptation.
"I cannot have it – that which I want. It is by getting rid of desire that one becomes content," I looked up at him, taking hold of the dagger that was hidden in my coat. I watched as it flew from my hand, finding its mark in the trunk of a tree as he redirected its course.
"What has happened to you?" he grabbed hold of my wrists and pinned me to the ground, his voice severe. I did not resist him. I did not know which words he sought from me.
"You did not look into my eyes then – I should not have believed," when he held me then, it reminded me of the night when we were alone, when he undressed me, roughly, hurriedly in the dark.
I mistook his passion for the desperation that was within me. It was painful and sickly, yet I had seen in it an expression of loneliness, the reflection of my own. I waited silently until it was over, my jaw clenched, my eyes closed shut. I could not believe that the warmth of his body was mine. Yet there was no tenderness in his touch, it was the touch of possession. It released me once its purpose was gratified, his lips had never touched mine and I began to suspect that my starvation was of a different kind than his. Contrary to my hopes, I felt my emptiness grow and did not know how to keep it from consuming me. After he had finished, I did not move from where he had left me, I lay on the floor beside my clothing and listened to his footsteps in the dark.
"I did not take you to be a fragile creature that shatters at the touch. I did not believe you to be soft hearted, or is it your pride that is wounded?" I could perceive the discomfort upon his brow and knew that he was not without remorse, yet that was not the emotion which I sought, there was no satisfaction in it for one who is as I am.
"It is the brittle heart that shatters. I have long shut away the inconvenient emotion, it was not reserved for you, yet you took it against my will and my better judgement," I answered him.
"Do you not know what to do with yourself now, is that why you have come here? How pitiful you are. Is this all that you wanted," then, he kissed my lips, pausing long enough to give the gesture its potency before withdrawing to witness the effect. Indeed a nauseating heat rushed through me and my longings were written upon my face for him to view. Yet I did not despise my secret, for it was no secret to him for whom my thoughts and my heart were laid open.
It was no longer within my control.
"Will you be cruel to me if I live?" I asked him, meeting his gaze.
"You are cruel to yourself Armitage," I could feel that he was toying with me, yet it did not prevent my delusion.
He got up and turned to look out at the bog and there was silence between us for some time as we listened to the wind. It felt almost tranquil, if in silence we had thus remained I wonder if my heart would have stopped beating as it did, as though it sought to escape from my automaton body.
Perhaps it was not too late, to go back to the past, to feign ignorance of my madness. That morning I believed it could be so. As the days passed I knew that he believed likewise, if only my own painted mask and the balm of routine had been enough for me.
Could I hope that with time I would be able to stop this feeling, without extinguishing its source? As I saw him stand at the edge of the bog, for the briefest moment I imagined his body falling by the momentum of mine, our limbs entangled.
He turned to me, smiling, as though to say – it is time we leave. He watched as I retrieved my dagger from where it waited, piercing the bark of the oak tree.
Slowly, I began to dress, putting on the familiar uniform. I knew that I would try to forget, I would wait for time to heal me. I would learn to loathe him as I had done in the years that came before that night which broke me. I hoped that it would now serve to strengthen my will. I resolved to relight my ambitions, my distractions, and wait. I would wait for weeks, months, years – as long as it took for him to get out of my way.