Author: EsotericCrimson
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately.
Summary: Taking a life is never easy. It's unbearable when it's the life of the one you love. Slash.
Part II: Nothing
"Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell."
Emily Dickinson, My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close
You're not really gone. You can't be. You've never truly been gone before. You were always there, in the back of my mind. Or in the front of it. Or everywhere, in everything. You were always everything.
But this time – this time it's different. I can sense it; feel it coursing through me like a nightmare, playing over and over again in my head, never ceasing, killing me slowly. And I know the truth, though I cannot bring myself to acknowledge it. I cannot believe it, I will not. Yet somewhere, in some traitorous corner of my consciousness, I cannot deny the horrific, crushing fact that this time… this time…
You really are gone.
The blow hits me violently, like a lightsaber wound to the heart. I stagger, my arms flying out to steady myself against the closest secure object – a wall. I lean on it with complete dependence, knowing perfectly well that my strength has all but abandoned me. I don't have the will to support myself – I don't have the heart to stand and move on.
I haven't had the heart to do anything for years.
I've tried to forget about you. So many times I tried to imagine your heroic, though crushing, demise in the Clone Wars – a quick, painless death that wrenched you from me, and left me broken-hearted. I attempted to wish you away entirely, though that was even more difficult. Sometimes I would even venture as far back as the very beginning, where you would die instead of your Master at the hands of that crimson and sable demon. I concocted such elaborate lies for myself – alternate universes that were often more terrible than reality, for their lack of you, but necessary all the same, for that exact reason. Yet there you were, always in my thoughts, images of you floating through my mind at both the most inopportune moments and at the most welcome of instances.
At first, I would curse you, damn you, and wish you dead when these memories flitted across my mind. Yet it did not take long for me to accept that they did not bring me pain, or anger. Eventually, I began to revel in the comfort they lavished upon me; in all these years, it was your face that served as the only balm that soothed my aching soul. At those points, I tried my best to forget all of the spite and violence, and the wrongs that marred our departure from one another – all of my grave and selfish mistakes. I became quite adept at it, dampening the desperate screams of my innocent victims to a soft, grievous hum at the edge of my awareness. I could ignore them, even if I soon discovered that I could never forget. And in time, at every little thing that even slightly brought you to mind, I started to feel a strange and subtle warmth in my chest, a foreign dampness behind my eyes, and a constriction of my throat. Sometimes I would smile; other times, a wrenching sob would escape me before the episode passed. I knew then that not only could I never erase you from my memory, from my life; but also neither could I erase you from my heart. Nor did I ever wish to.
Sith, I had a heart. I had forgotten, or perhaps simply doubted, that fact for so long. But it was true, and I rejoiced. It was true because of you.
I reluctantly study the mound of Jedi garments heaped in front of me, without you wrapped safely within them. This is it, then – this is the end. There is no coming back – not like those many times I spent so long ago, starring out a large, paned window at the Coruscanti skyline, waiting with a stubborn faith for you to return from presumed death yet again. You will not fly back to me in a stolen speeder, bearing physical marks of your trials, though none too worse for wear, considering. You will not grin at me adoringly as you explain the ordeal briefly, and without pomp and circumstance, to the Council members present for your amazing return, as I look upon you in awe, letting slip that eternally held breath that awaited your return, calming my pulse to a normal pace as my heart released the tension and fear that had fueled it for days. You will not come to me, once duty has been properly fulfilled, with the love I feel for you mirrored in your eyes, and we will not embrace fiercely, nor will we lock lips passionately as my tears stream into the union of our mouths, and I choke out the worry and the panic whose aftershocks are still wracking my being. I will not tremble in your arms, and you will not console me with your words or your hands. We will not cross to one of our respective sleep chambers, and you will not whisk away every bit of the terror that consumed me in your absence with your skin upon mine, as we create something beautiful with nothing but our bodies and our love. We will not wake up in each other's arms, and I will not feel your every breath as my head rests against your chest. For so long, I have missed it – and harbored some irrational hope that someday, it could be once more. But never again…
What have I done?
Force, it hurts. Blinding pain… hurts…
And then there is nothing.
Once again, I am the lost and frightened little boy who cannot live without his Master. I am the slave from Tatooine, unfit to be anything more. I am desperate, I am alone. The love that still burned so fiercely within me dies instantly, embers fading to ashes, which only become one with the wind – harmless, and forgotten.
How untrue. They are neither harmless, nor forgotten.
I bend to touch the robes strewn upon the metallic floor, fingering them reverently with my ebony glove, imagining that the fabric was your skin, and my hand was of flesh, and that we were back in the Temple so many years ago. With little effort, I can believe that the echoing footfalls from the bridge are the sacred breaths issuing from your full, swollen lips – heavy, rapid, and uneven. I can pretend that the deep eruptions of the complicated machinery below are both our moans of ecstasy; I can hear my name from deep within your throat, the sound of which is more erotic than any physical act. That name from your mouth, spoken in your beautiful voice, was sheer beauty. It frightened me almost as much as it thrilled me then – now, it will destroy me.
It is over now. There is nothing.
Without you, Obi-Wan, I have nothing. I am nothing.
A/N: I have a third part to this; a sort of… happy ending. Yet I am very hesitant to post it – this is rather angsty, and I'm not sure whether it would be appropriate to deviate from that. So, if you want closure, or if you think I should leave this as it stands, let me know. I thrive upon your feedback. Thanks :D
-EsotericCrimson