Because of you, I don't know how to let anyone else in.
~Kelly Clarkson, Because of You
There was a psychology to it, he thought. There must be. There had to be a reason why he couldn't let anyone in, why he was so afraid of getting hurt. He had been reckless and fearless all his life. But when it came to relationships he was no good. Every flash of discontent he saw in Xaverri's eyes, every shrug of the shoulders that told him she was upset again, had been exaggerated in his mind. Now it was too late. Her eyes were as cold and unforgiving as those smuggler's had been after the debacle with Bria and her Rebels, it would never go back. He hadn't heard anything she ahd been saying. His father flashed before him when he looked into those cold eyes.
"Leave," he said, suddenly. Abruptly. She stopped talking, stopped yelling, and just stared at him.
"What?" confusion laced her voice. It seemed to Han that this wasn't what she had been expecting. Maybe she just wanted him to listen to her, but he couldn't, not when he kept seeing his father.
He would not look at her anymore. "Leave," he said again. After a long silence, he dared to look up. Her face was tear stained. They were falling down her cheeks. His mother's tortured and tear-stained face swam into his mind, making him sick. He squashed it back down. "Leave now!" He could feel the anger boiling. "And don't ever come back."
He watched her walk away, to the bedroom to pack her things. He walked out the front door, he wouldn't come back until she was gone. He wouldn't let her stay just to end up like his mother. He would not be like his father. He wouldn't trap a woman. But something ate away at him. This all started because she felt like she didn't know him. She wanted him to share his past with her. That was something he would not, could not do.
"You don't know me," he said into the air bitterly, "you don't know the half of it."
The dusty road was barren, and remote. The houses that rose around him were quite, lifeless. If there was anyone in them, he didn't know. The shops were just as barren. The bar was the only place that proved there was a life to the lonely town. But he took the other fork, he didn't want to be around other people right now. What he wanted was to talk to Chewie, but he was on his home planet visiting with his mate. He did this once a year, and Han was usually glad to be rid of him for a while, but he missed his best friend.
His father had forced him to keep family secrets. If anyone on Corellia had found out about his family, about the way his father treated them, it would have been the end of Han's life. Luckily, his father gave himself away. He still didn't know what had happened to him. Hopefully his neighbors had shot him to death. It served the old man right for what he had done to his mother, and his brother Jase. There were too many secrets in his past. Secrets that he still kept suppressed. And the instinct had been worked into him so far, that now, he kept everything a secret. His whole life was a charade, on mask after another. A charade to survive, a charade to learn. But there had always been a mask. Did he even know himself anymore?
Yes, yes he did. And he was not his father. He was the best smuggler in the galaxy. He was the fastest pilot. He had a Wookiee as a best friend. He was nothing like his father. He swore he never would be. He may not have lived an honest life, but it was not his father's life, and it never would be.
He walked back through his front door. Xaverri was gone, there was not a whisper of her left in the house. He checked every room to make sure. He wanted to forget she ever existed, so he could make himself believe again that he was nothing like his father. Because he wasn't. He had worked hard to live up to his vow.
And he did not hurt women the way his father did.
But you do hurt them, the thought crept into his mind. You know you do. Just think of Xaverri. But no, he would not think about her. He was doing her a favor. He was making sure she had a better life. The sooner she got away from him, the better her life would be, the happier she would be. He wasn't the type to stick around long anyway. And he could never guarantee her his safety. Something she longed for almost as much as knowing his past.
That was why he didn't want to hang out with the Rebels. He didn't want them to know about his past. He'd rather continue the charade he'd become so comfortable living. The love 'em and leave 'em type. The rogue, the renegade. The one who worked alone. The one who you could count on to not be there to be counted on. That's who he preferred to be, not one of the guys.