SCARS
By: Kinsey Douglas
The sound of waves and chirping songbirds woke Anakin Skywalker from his slumber. It was the day after their wedding, and yet, Anakin could not wrap his mind around the fact that Padmé Naberrie Amidala-Skywalker was his.
He smiled as he glanced to his right, only to find Padmé sleeping peacefully. How was he able to win her over? It didn't matter anymore; she loved him, and it couldn't make Anakin any happier.
He knew that the whole Galaxy adored the Senator from Naboo, but he loved her more then he could even articulate. He breathed for her, devoted all his time for her; he would die many times over for her. Padmé was his reason to live.
Strands of her soft, curly, chocolate colored her had fallen over her eyes while she slumbered, and Anakin lovingly brushed them out of her face.
He remembered their wedding. Their wedding night. In fact, he remembered everything that had happened since they had met. Without her, everything was just a dull and meaningless haze.
One of his favorite memories was that of them on Geonosis. When she had confessed to him.
"I truly…deeply, love you. And before we die I want you to know."
He has been ecstatic when she had told him. He had almost lost to the urge to have her right there, in the middle of the stadium. It was torture having to look away while they were being dragged out to the columns.
Anakin also remembered he scream when one of those beasts had attacked her and the sight of its claws raking themselves across her flawless back.
Lifting the blanket ever so slightly so that he didn't disturb her, Anakin gazed at her back. When they arrived back in Coruscant after the battle they had both received treatment, and the droids had almost perfectly healed the slashes.
There are three distinct marks across her back. The tissue surrounding them is a white, a dead white, which easily stood out from the hue of her skin. Though it looked like they wouldn't scar too badly.
If he hadn't have looked, and is it weren't for the fact that the scabs were raised ever so slightly from her otherwise flawless flesh, Anakin wouldn't have even noticed them.
Anakin blushed at this, was he supposed to look at her like this while she slept? Probably not, but he wanted to touch her back.
It was like a topographical map: raised ridges representing mountain ranges built through trauma and age. What would they feel like? He peered at his new mechanical hand. Count Dooku had sliced it clean off with his light saber, burning the blood vessels, nerve endings and flesh. In fact, he didn't even have a scar. So that example is senseless, a dead zone where he can feel nothing.
Could he feel he pulse through her cuts, or would they be too thick? Would it be like reading the pulse of someone who's passed away?
He didn't want to disturb her. So, he placed the blanket back over them both and peacefully drifted back into his slumber.