Though hers remained the focus of both our attentions, Oola wasn't the only one plagued by nightmares. Nor was she unique in her reluctance to speak of them aloud. A significant part of me feared that doing so would only lend mine greater strength and boldness, and that my best chance to be rid of them at last depended on not giving them the satisfaction of my acknowledgment. Perhaps then they'd slink away, defeated, into the night; never to return.
Regardless of my own demons, my priority continued to be, at all times, to help Oola recover, mentally and physically, from the hellish ordeal she had endured. Despite doing better day by day, the poor little Twi'lek still had trouble enough for a dozen dancing girls, and for her sake I kept reminding myself to be strong and supportive; to be the person she needed me to be, whether I felt personally capable of that or not.
She didn't need to know that whenever I closed my eyes, part of me still saw her back in that horrible place, deprived of any chance of escape or hope for a better tomorrow, with the disgusting Hutt holding ever menacingly to the leash tied around her neck. I didn't want her to feel the anxiety that paralyzed my chest every time I remembered how close she had come to the brink; how nearly I had come to losing her forever. Nor did I want either of us to recall the awful feelings from when I had failed her upon our first meeting, deep within the squalid halls of Jabba's Palace.
Most of my dealings with the Hutt had been through his underlings; my business in the Palace was nearly at its end the first time I ever set foot in the main hall. When I did so, my attention had focused immediately on the despondent-looking green-skinned Twi'lek girl who was slunk into a corner of the Hutt's giant throne, as far away from his massive bulk as her humiliating tether would allow.
My eye certainly wasn't the first to be drawn to her. Her overly revealing netted attire made sure that her beauty and most shapely assets were well displayed to any among the crime lord's lecherous audience who might wish to leer her way. As if to prove myself better than such rabble, I averted my eyes from her so as not to stare, though this did her little actual good, of course. And it served to distract me only briefly from the undeniable fact that this unfortunate creature, the only one I'd encountered yet within the Palace walls with an air of innocence and gentleness about her, was even more doomed in her predicament than I was. At present, I seemed utterly powerless to do anything at all to improve either of our respective fates, much to my mounting shame and regret.
I was determined not to dwell on the lamentable circumstances that I couldn't hope to change, but my efforts to keep my nose down and run out the clock on my own affairs within the Palace proved to be for naught as well. With less than an hour to go, and freedom so close at hand that I could practically taste it, I turned suddenly from my packing to face the horrifying sight of the Twi'lek dancer's bruised and battered body being dragged straight towards me, drawn by a pair of the loathsome Gamorrean guards. Despite myself, I allowed my sense of self-preservation to override my overwhelming feelings of shock and anger, and I forced myself to focus solely on the practical side of the bizarre, distasteful situation: what could they possibly want for me to do with the poor girl?
Much to my horror, it was Bib Fortuna, the Hutt's right hand, who appeared from the darkness to answer my unspoken question. Even before I heard his words, his mere presence before me sent shivers down my spine. This kind of attention was precisely what I had tried so hard to avoid in the first place, and it had found me nonetheless.
"Oola is to dance for Master Jabba in one hour. See that she is ready."
"She needs a medic," I said, gesturing toward her bloodied, barely-conscious form. "I am not a medic."
"No one here is. But you set the injured guard's leg before, did you not?"
"Yes," I confirmed unhappily. I always knew that my compassion would get the better of me sooner or later in a place like Jabba's Palace, but when I had found one of the repulsive creatures huddled over in pain, I had decided it was more important than ever to hold to the principles I believed in, no matter how alien to my present environment they might be, and help to alleviate its suffering to the best of my rather limited abilities. I could hardly refuse the same to the poor beleaguered Oola. "I'll need space to work."
We were brought to a grungy, badly-lit back room, which was overflowing with detritus and under even poorer upkeep than usual for the Hutt's domain. The guards tied the loose end of Oola's leash to a hook embedded in the wall, grunted in my general direction, then skittered back out toward the main hall. It surprised me, for a moment, that they would entrust a relative stranger like myself with the sole care of the master's prized Twi'lek dancer, so valued that she was chained right to his very throne. But with a sigh, I soon realized the reason. To the Hutt, Oola was, above all else, replaceable.
While I sought to find my bearings in the dimly lit and unfamiliar space, Oola timidly made herself a seat on a nearby bench, brushing a pile of scrap out of her way, and eyed me with suspicion from across the room; as well she might. Though I fancied myself such an obviously distinct and entirely separate presence from the other lowlifes who made their way through Jabba's criminal empire, all the Twi'lek dancer really knew about me was that I had come to the Palace of my own accord; otherwise I would not have been treated so hospitably. And it was already deeply clear to me that she had good reason to fear the sort of person who would willingly associate themselves with her vile Hutt master. I didn't blame her for keeping her distance.
"Your name is Oola, isn't it?" I asked, making my best effort to infuse my voice with as much empathy and kindness as I knew how. "That's a nice name, it rolls so easily off the tongue." She didn't so much as blink or budge in response.
As my eyes adjusted to the lower level of lighting, I noticed for the first time the true extent of her injuries. She had myriad cuts and gashes, many of them deep, at least a few of them still actively bleeding, visible across most of her exposed skin. "They want me to clean you up a bit. I think I can help you feel better, if you'll just..." I began gradually easing myself toward her, making sure she was aware of my every little movement, and she drew back in evident apprehension exactly the same amount of distance, preserving the invisible barrier between us. With a sigh, I gave in and stepped away from her again, to at least lessen the stress she clearly felt about my proximity to her.
Between my business in the Palace and then with Oola, I hadn't eaten all day. Sensing the sudden and unmistakable beckon of hunger, and seemingly unable to make any progress with the girl I wanted to help, I reached into my bag for its sole source of nourishment, a selection of fruit slices I'd prepared that morning. Even before I'd fully cracked open the packaging, I took note of Oola's intense and growing interest in what I was holding. Her fear kept her from coming any closer to investigate, but somehow she seemed to already know what lay inside. And it was something she wanted very badly.
"You can have this, if you'd like," I offered with a smile, holding the package open so its contents would be fully visible. "There's more on my ship, I'll get some later."
In a dizzying flash, she reached out just far enough to yank the food from my hand, then darted back to her isolated position on the other side of the room. I was impressed with her speed and agility, remembering only then that her stated purpose for being in the Palace was, after all, as a dancer, and I thought to myself that she must surely be capable of putting on quite the remarkable show. She hungrily tore into the fruit I had given her, devouring every slice of it hastily and messily and wiping the juices away from her lips in a self-conscious manner when she noticed that I had been watching her intently the whole time.
"I like fruit," she said faintly, the first words I'd ever heard her speak. "It's very sweet."
"Yes," I said in quick agreement, hoping to solidify the bridge I'd seemingly built with her. "Jabba must not feed you very much, I guess."
"Scraps," she said sadly, her gaze aimed toward the floor instead of at me. "Nothing but scraps. Usually meat."
"Well, meat's not so bad," I said rather jovially, assuming a privilege I wasn't completely sure I'd earned. "I mean sometimes I..." The sudden return of her distrustful stare convinced me not to try my luck down that road. "Yeah, no, I agree with you. Fruit is much better."
The grim judgment in her eyes softened ever so slightly, though to me most noticeably. "You wanted to help me. I'm sorry I've made that difficult."
"You have nothing to apologize for. I know that..."
"You work for Jabba?" I wasn't certain if she'd meant for her question to sound quite as accusatory as it did, or if I was just hearing a reflection of my own shame for having chosen to associate with someone barbarous enough to treat an innocent and gentle soul like Oola in such a repugnant and cruel fashion. Either way, it stung me to my core.
"I did, once. I am not so sure I will again," I offered weakly in my defense.
"You may not have a choice," she said wistfully, jiggling the end of the leash tied to her neck where it connected with her collar, proving her point in a less than subtle, though highly effective, manner. "But if you do, I would advise against it. The danger would seem to outweigh any potential rewards."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, more than a little shaken already. "Thank you for the warning."
"I have no wish to see you hurt," she said, shrugging her shoulders and lekku together.
"Nor I you, but it seems I'm a little late for that. Which brings me back to why I am here..." I reached into my pack and brought out an unmarked vial of transparent, gelatinous liquid, which I held up to what little light was shining down from the ceiling. "This is... a kind of medicine. A former employer of mine, someone a little less nefarious than Jabba, gave it to me as a bonus for a job well done. I'm told it comes from his home world, a far off planet that not many venture to. It's quite rare, and it's supposed to be a very powerful remedy. If you'll let me, I think I can use it to make you feel better."
"What do you want me to do?"
"It's an ointment. It needs to be applied directly to your skin, wherever you're hurt." As I spoke the words aloud I realized what that would entail, considering the sheer number of cuts and bruises she'd somehow sustained. It would take an amount of physical contact between us that would seem to require an almost insurmountable level of trust, even accounting for the significant strides we'd made in the preceding few minutes. I didn't think I had nearly enough time left for that. "Maybe it would be best if I gave this to you and you did that yourself."
She shook her head. "I wouldn't know how." Graciously, she gestured toward a vacant place on the bench beside her. "I won't run away."
Even so, I approached her cautiously, fearing that the wrong move made at precisely the wrong moment would heighten her alarm back to where it had been minutes before, and that I'd never be able to reach her again in time. Much to my surprise, Oola let me come well within arms' reach, and as I took my seat beside her for the first time, I slowly opened the container and started to treat her with the mysterious and powerful healing gel, to whatever extent the skittish slave girl would allow.
"It's warm," she remarked in a tone approaching what I'd describe as joyful, or at least I might have, if we'd been anywhere but the darkened, grungy recesses of the Hutt's criminal den. I'm sure, though, that it did feel largely pleasurable, as I delicately massaged the gel into the skin on her arms, neck, head-tails and back at first, before moving on to treat the majority of her exposed flesh. The warmth she felt could only have been my own, however, as the ointment itself gave off no discernable heat. "Your hands are a lot softer than..." she trailed off without completing her thought. She didn't need to, and I was thankful to be spared that particular comparison.
Despite how suddenly intimate our contact had become, she never once pulled away from me, and indeed seemed to be enjoying the experience; as, admittedly, was I. My former employer had only undersold the effects of the ointment I was applying, as it was downright miraculous to watch the speed with which even her deepest, most painful injuries were mending themselves and fading from view. But that only served to raise the most pertinent question of the day, one I'd been intentionally putting off from asking, even of myself. As I ran my hands deftly over her many dozens of grievous lacerations, caressing each heart-wrenching break in her beautiful green skin, it was one I could afford to ignore for not even a second longer.
"Oola... what did this to you?"
"You already know."
My heart sank and in its place, rage began to rise. "You mean Jabba... had you tortured?"
"I displeased him. It has happened before. I am sure it will happen again."
I realized at once that Oola was right. I had known all along what had surely caused her injuries. Just like I'd known what it meant for her to wear that collar, and be tied to the Hutt's throne by a leash like an animal. I just hadn't wanted to confront or acknowledge it, and face what that implied about my own complicity in the crimes committed against this woman.
"If you 'displease' him again... what's the worst he could do to you?" I asked, my voice seething, again posing a question to which I already knew the only possible answer. But I needed to hear her say it.
"He'd kill me."
Anger was not often among my most heinous sins, but in that moment it took me over anyway. Without even considering how she might react, I reached into my bag, grabbed and slid open the utility knife I kept there for emergencies, and raised it toward her throat.
"What are you doing?" she frantically, and fearfully, demanded.
"I'm cutting this wretched thing off of you," I said, positioning the knife to sever the bulk of her leash a few inches from where it joined with her collar. "I'm getting the hell out of here and you're coming with me, right now."
"You mustn't," she said, almost pleading, and blocked my blade with her own hand. With one look from her now tear-drenched eyes, my rage burnt itself out in a flash. All that was left in its place was an endless and devastating sorrow. In that, I wasn't alone. "You have to go. You don't belong here, and you won't be safe if you stay. But I can't go with you."
"I'm not leaving you here to die, that's out of the question. I don't care what he'll do to me." And in that instant, I truly did not.
"But I do." Oola began to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand, though the effort seemed largely futile and doomed to failure, as they hadn't yet stopped spilling from her eyes. "I don't want you to die for me. My life isn't worth that."
Every fiber of my being wanted to argue that point in the strongest possible terms, but I decided I didn't have it in me to make the poor girl feel any worse than I already had, not when all she really wanted to do was to protect me from making a mistake that would doom me to a surely very painful demise. I put the knife away, sat back down and wrapped my arm around her, letting her dry her eyes on my sleeve and hoping that, in whatever amount of time we had left until the guards inevitably returned to take her away, I could undo the damage I had inadvertently caused to the poor Twi'lek slave girl who I had tried and failed to save.
"Even if I escape, I have nowhere to go." Oola's tears had stopped and her voice was clear once more, though still in obvious distress.
"You could come with me. I have a ship. It isn't much, but you'd be safe there. And we could go anywhere. I'd take you anywhere you wanted to go."
"Would you let me stay with you?"
Her question caught me off-guard. She still didn't know me particularly well, and had only the barest of reasons to consider me trustworthy. But then again, all of our talk seemed, in the face of our reality, like little more than foolish, hopeless dreams anyway, dreamt by those who already knew that their true fates were all but sealed. And I could hardly be the one to deny her whatever solace she might take from those dreams now.
"Yes," I said emphatically. "For as long as you wished."
But it was too late; our time was already up. We both heard the footsteps of the guards from outside, no doubt on their way to take Oola back to her waiting master's side.
In the precious few seconds we had left, Oola swiftly rose from her seat and drew me close so she could whisper in my ear. "I'll find a way to survive this." I opened my mouth to respond but she covered it with her hand before I could utter a single syllable. "Please, don't fight them. Don't even breathe a word. I'll see you on the outside, I promise. Now get out of here." As if to ensure my compliance, and to keep me from raising any more of a protest against her orders, she pressed her lips against mine in a single, sumptuous kiss.
The soulful look in her eyes afterwards told me that it had, indeed, meant a great deal more to her than that, though it did certainly succeed in keeping me tongue-tied and too mentally preoccupied to raise a fuss as two of the squat, repellent pig-guards arrived to take the dancer back with them into the main hall. I watched them go in stunned, disconcerting silence, knowing that regardless of the words Oola and I had exchanged in a feeble attempt to make a situation we both recognized as wrong somehow sound right, I had failed her. And I did not wish to remain at the scene of my failure for a second longer than necessary. I gathered my things and left, while the taste of the Twi'lek girl's lips still lingered on my own. As far as I knew then, it would be the last moment of connection the two of us would ever share.
But it wasn't; not by a long shot, even though by all rights it almost certainly should have been. A chance encounter that had lasted only minutes, at a time when I might just as easily have left the Palace without ever learning her name, had changed the course of both our lives, in ways that neither of us could have predicted. It was almost enough to convince me that it really had been the hand of fate guiding us together, intending for us to meet and save one another, even if, in its infinite so-called wisdom, it took the most roundabout possible path to bring us into each other's lives.
And as I awoke from that most vivid of nightmares, frantic and covered in a cloak of sweat that trapped the sheets uncomfortably to my skin, I told myself exactly that, in order to calm my nerves and give myself even the slimmest chance of making it back to sleep before the morning. After leaving an amiable kiss on the forehead of the slumbering Oola beside me, her head-tail still contentedly curled around my arm in blissful ignorance of any of my worries, I lay my head back against the pillow and decided I was ready to face whatever the next nightmare had in store for me.