The Truth, Chapter 62
Warnings: Angst, trauma, memories of assault, if you've read this far you know what's going on. NOTE: This is a short chapter and traumatic, but I'm working on chapter 63 and will lighten it up. A good friend of mine died unexpectedly yesterday so Luke had to suffer for it. Sorry, kid.
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He wasn't really paying attention to the Sith tape, so he turned it off and left the earbuds in so he could think without being interrupted. But it was impossible to center his thoughts. His gaze wandered around the room. Night shift had left to head to breakfast and duty— with a few 'thanks for the cake' exclamations. Hobbie and Janson had gone off somewhere, probably up to nothing innocent, while Wedge and Zev were lounging and reading on their datapads. Porkins had some sort of tiny flute and was struggling to make what he clearly believed was music. Occasionally Narra looked up when a harsh squeak came from the instrument, but said nothing as he continued to read from a small stack of flimsi sheets.
It felt like more family than he had ever had, and he smiled inside.
The door banged open. "I captured an enemy hiding in the latrine!" Hobbie announced, shoving before him an underwear-clad Janson, who was wearing binders on his wrists, a toilet seat around his neck, and a —white shiny polished— stormtrooper helmet on his head.
Luke glanced away. Memories… they're like a word you've never thought of… but once you think it, suddenly it's everywhere you look.
"Get that out of here!" The commander was on his feet, heading for the two pranksters, a wave of fury rushing before him, so visible that Hobbie stepped back involuntarily. No one spoke, but the disruptive change in atmosphere was jarring, and everyone's sudden tension was unnerving.
"Sir, I— we—"
"Get out! Put that piece of trash back in the garbage where it belongs."
Luke flinched.
... dump him in the…
He fiddled with the earbuds and took them out, trembling just a little. Narra moved behind the sofa and put one hand on his shoulder, barely squeezing. It was meant to be comforting, but Luke jerked free and scrunched up his legs, hugging them tightly to his chest.
Damn shields. Crumbling, crashing walls.
Hobbie returned first, casting a defensive look at the officer. "Sorry," he mumbled with a hint of resentment. "It was just a joke."
Janson entered behind him, hastily fastening his jumpsuit and looking sulky as he glanced between Hobbie and the commander. "Uh…."
"Just… sit down and do something productive," Narra said, and they crossed to flop on the other sofa, looking disgruntled and unhappy.
Krit. He could feel Narra's uncertainty about what to say. It was his first time to exercise discipline, but no one had done anything wrong. Zev was looking at Luke, clearly noting Narra's protective stance. His gaze returned to his datapad when Luke looked back at him. He's fed up. He doesn't want to hear another lie. And I don't really want to tell another one.
Luke cleared his throat and struggled to use his voice. "Look…" he said, but no one did. Behind him, Narra tensed. He started again.
"When I was eleven—" His voice shook and he stopped to inhale. Now they were listening and looking. He rested his chin on his knees and rubbed his thumbs across the toes of his boots. "When I was eleven, I was raped by four stormtroopers. They never even took off their helmets." Now that he thought about it, he wished they had. At least that way he might've had some choice.
Pork's flute had cut off in a wailing mid-note. One of the pilots swore quietly, but he couldn't look up to see who it was because his boots were scuffed and he was concentrating on rubbing away the marks. "I don't remember much, just… pain and being scared... and they were hitting me… and afterwards they... threw me in the garbage. They thought I was dead…. I guess I thought that, too."
The wet drops on his face worked really well for cleaning his boots. Why was everyone quiet? "I don't know how long I was there… people threw stuff on top of me… but I was so cold. Freezing. I remember the base hospital and Uncle Owen said…."
He had to stop to take a breath, to tell himself to breathe because he couldn't do it without concentrating. "He said it was lucky—" Now he was breathing too much too fast, and he fought to control it and sent out the words in a rush before he ran out of air. "It was lucky they were stormtroopers because otherwise the Imperials would've taken our farm to pay the medical bills."
Someone shuddered, and it wasn't him. Well, it was him, but there was someone else too. He turned his face to the side, aware that he was getting his knees soaked, but at least his boots were clean. "And then I forgot. Except sometimes… there were always troopers around and they all looked the same and I'd wonder… is that one of them?... They could see me but I couldn't see them. Then I'd forget for longer and longer. And finally I forgot all of it for a long time... until today." His pent-up breath was released as a sob. "Today was a really bad day."
He wiped his face on his sleeve, wondering where that heavy black cloak was when he needed it.
He felt a gentle touch on top of his head and this time it was okay. He looked across the room at Zev, whose face was frozen. "I know I lie. Over and over. But my life was so… so ruined even before I was born that I don't know how not to…. It's like… self-preservation, you know?"
He clutched himself together in a tight ball, wishing… wishing for what, he didn't know. That he hadn't spoken, that he hadn't come to the Alliance and made friends, that he'd never been born? That he didn't have the Force, that his parents had been ordinary, that his life had been mundane? That he was someone else entirely?
But…. "My name is Luke," he whispered into the heavy silence, and Narra stroked his hair.
OooOoo
