Chapter 8 – Truth

Author's Note: Yes, this chapter was supposed to be released on Tuesday, but I kinda forgot. Oops? Lol. Anyways, here you go. Only two days late. :)

WARNING: Self-harm, suicidal thoughts/feelings, blood, and general darkness!

~ Amina Gila

True to Obi-Wan's prediction, Anakin isn't released from the Halls of Healing until two days later with strict instructions to rest and take things easy. He goes straight to his apartment and closes himself in his bedroom, finally feeling as if he can let go of the mask which he's been wearing now that he's alone. It has not been easy, not at all. Even if the Council is happy – and surprised – by him killing Sidious, it's like they still want more. To be sure, everyone is confused and nothing is clear anymore, but Anakin gets the strong feeling that the Jedi want more from him. He doesn't understand it.

But that isn't what's been weighing on him, and whatever feelings he may be experiencing with respect to the Jedi fade away as he sits on the edge of his bed, staring numbly at the floor. It still doesn't seem real to him that he killed Sidious – Palpatine, though some of his memories are creeping back in and becoming clearer. He remembers, vaguely, tapping into the core of the Force and turning Sidious' attack back on him. It destroyed him.

This is – it should be a good thing, so why does he feel like this? Why does he feel so guilty? The Jedi would tell him to let go; they would tell him that his feelings of loss are wrong because Palpatine was evil, and he deserved death. And maybe he did, but that doesn't mean Anakin didn't care about him. How can he still care about someone who he knows was a Sith, someone who betrayed him and the galaxy, someone who offered him mentorship and companionship when he felt lost and alone?

Letting out a shaky breath, Anakin tugs up his left sleeve almost robotically, staring at the faint lightning scars swirling over his skin, practically rendering the self-inflicted scars invisible. He wants to hurt himself, and he's never wanted it like this before. In the past, it's always been more... because he had to do something to get his mind to stop hyper-focusing on the depression and pain which has become his constant companion. Now... it's something deeper, something more akin to a self-loathing at his own actions.

It isn't pain that is driving him now; it's hatred. Of himself. Of Sidious. Of the entire wretched galaxy for doing something like this to him, for playing such a cruel, malicious trick on him, revealing the one person he has long looked up to – except recently, when he couldn't bring himself to look at Palpatine and lie that he was alright – as a monster.

He doesn't want to feel like this. He hates feeling like this, but he doesn't know of anything that could carve all the emotions right out of him. What he's feeling is of the Dark Side, at least that's what the Jedi have long said, and they might be right – they probably are – even if he isn't feeling particularly evil or murderous himself right now. Mainly... disgusted. For being used. For being so foolish. For trusting.

He wants to hurt himself. He deserves to be hurt, and maybe there's a part of him, a part which he doesn't want to admit to having, which eagerly wants to see the blood spilling down his arm. The razor-sharp piece of durasteel flies across the room, landing in his gloved hand, and he drags it across the faint scars marring his arm, across the skin, digging in and leaving a trail of red behind. His nerves are hypersensitive now, still recovering from the electrocution, and he shivers, with something akin to pleasure, at the stinging pain that stabs through his arm. One cut is nothing, even if his nerves insist otherwise.

Good. Let them hurt.

He cuts his arm a second time and then a third, and he no longer knows why he is or what he's waiting for to stop. Normally, it's because he needs a way to distract himself for the turmoil and pain in his head. Now... not so much. It's easy to ignore the physical pain stabbing at him, especially because it's magnified due to his sensitive nerves. It's not enough. He needs more.

More what, he doesn't know.

Anakin stops finally when he nearly drops the shard of durasteel, the metal and his gloves slick with blood making it hard to hold properly. His breathing rate is increased, and when he shakes his head to snap himself back to the moment, he realizes suddenly, how bad it is. This – he's never hurt himself this badly before. Blood is running freely down his arm from the many gashes across his forearm, and he can't even see how many there are which is... Well, he does sometimes zone out when hurting himself, but it's not normal. There's a small puddle of blood on the floor next to his boot, and it's soaking into his robes.

He drops the durasteel shard into his left hand before clamping his right hand over his forearm and slipping to the 'fresher, sidestepping the blood on the floor – he'll have to clean that up before it dries, and he'll have to be more careful in the future. But still, he thinks it worked, because he can't feel the self-hatred simmering within him when his arm is throbbing so fiercely. It takes far longer than he would like to staunch the bleeding, and when it stops, he wraps a bandage around it, so it won't break open again and bleed everywhere.

This is stupid. What does he think he's going to gain by this? A temporary control that soon frazzles out and disappears? It's pathetic that he has to resort to this to control himself. What is wrong with him? Why can't he ever be like anyone else? Why – is he... defective, somehow? Lesser than everyone else around him because of his past or his birth?

He inhales slowly, shakily, blinking away the sudden onslaught of tears. For a moment, he imagines stabbing a shard of durasteel into his chest like a vibroblade, digging in until it pierces his heart, gushing blood everywhere. And... he thinks he might actually like it. It would be an end. He doesn't – he doesn't really want to die, but he doesn't want to live like this either. Death would be a welcome reprieve; it would be a blissful nothing. It would be good. Anakin wants it, craves it more than he's craved anything.

What Anakin really wants is to find Obi-Wan, to ask his former master to hold him, if only to quiet the chaos in his mind. That – he needs that now, but he won't do it. It's not the Jedi way. Otherwise... he could go to Padme. Her presence will help, even if it won't be the balm he needs. He feels like he's losing his sanity altogether, and he hates it.

How is it that no one can see him? It's – it's not like he wants them too, exactly, to be fair, but are his masks really so strong that no one can see past them? Is he really capable of fooling everyone close to him, letting them think he's alright when he's not? Obi-Wan has... probed a bit, but Anakin doesn't think he really cares. Why would he? It's not the Jedi way, as he has told Anakin repeatedly. And so, Anakin has done his best to keep his internal conflict from causing problems for the war effort. He's been succeeding, too.

As much as he wishes someone could see him, he knows it's not realistic. It would never happen, and anyways, he doesn't want to burden anyone with his problems. In the whole scheme of things, they're unimportant. Irrelevant.

Maybe he should go to see Padme, if only to keep himself from getting lost in his own head. Besides, she needs to know the truth about Sidious; she deserves that much.

**w**

Padme is pale, shaken when Anakin finishes relating to her the truth about Sidious and his death. "I can't believe that he could really do that," she says in a small voice, looking down at her lap. "I – we all trusted him. I questioned his methods, but I really thought he was doing what was best." Perhaps it was not only him who Palpatine had manipulated on a personal level. He had known that intellectually, but hearing it is a whole other story.

"I know," Anakin replies automatically. "I'm sorry." He doesn't know why he says it exactly. Maybe for trusting Palpatine. Maybe for killing him. Maybe for – for... he doesn't know.

"I'm glad you told me," Padme continues, shaking her head with a sigh. "It makes sense that the Council doesn't want to tell anyone, given that it could cause chaos. It's probably for the best. At least now, his disappearance can be written off as something else. There's no evidence that the Separatists are involved, or the Jedi. This can – I think we'll be able to figure it out once the initial turmoil settles down."

"I hope so," Anakin whispers, feeling oddly detached and distant from his own body. He reaches out, wrapping his arms around Padme, heedless of the pain in his left forearm, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. He doesn't want to think about any of this. He's just so tired right now. It would be nice, a dark part of his mind thinks, to go to sleep and never wake up. Not that he'd ever want to do that to Padme. But. The point still stands.

Padme leans against him, obviously relieved to have him there, comforting her, and while he's glad that he can help, he – he... well, he doesn't really know how he feels about it. He's numb, mind replaying what he remembers of his fight against Sidious over and over and over again.

"It is unfortunate that you are here, my boy."

"You can still join me. Stand by my side, and you will live."

"If I do that, you will burn the galaxy to the ground and force me to watch. You will destroy everything and everyone I love. I will not let you."

He remembers more now, than earlier. He remembers the Force burning through him, whispering to him a promise of power and safety, reassurance and comfort. It will be okay, murmurs the Force in much the same way his mother might have. He shivers, blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears. It's not fair. It's not fair that the only comfort he can truly get now is from the Force. There is no one who understands him, who knows the depths of his struggles. He registers, intuitively, that the Force has been hurting with him, though it is merely an energetic entity, not capable of the emotional depth of a human.

What does it say about him that he wants more? Does that make him selfish?

Probably. That's what the Jedi would say, and right now, Anakin thinks it's probably the truth. He shouldn't want more, and he certainly shouldn't be here with Padme, like this, but by the Force, he doesn't have the strength to give it up. Padme is – she's his wife. She's the one person who seems to keep him sane during the war, excluding Ahsoka and the boys, of course, but Padme is different. He doesn't know how to explain it.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"I... the war, Sidious, everything," he admits, words coming more slowly than he might like. He wonders if his depression and exhaustion are obvious to her now, but he can't be bothered to try and hide them. He should, perhaps, but... he doesn't have the strength. He has to be strong for Ahsoka. He can't appear weak in front of Rex and the boys. Padme – she's different. She's already seen him at his worst.

Something akin to sorrow – and maybe sympathy – flashes through her eyes, and she reaches out to touch his face. "Do you want to lay down?" she questions gently. "We can cuddle if that's what you want."

Actually, the thought of that is very tempting right now, so he nods mutely. Burrowing in Padme's bed with her at his side is an appealing prospect indeed.

**w**

Anakin drifts in and out of wakefulness, finally snapping to full awareness after a vivid dream of fighting Sidious. When he wakes up, he can't say with certainty that it was a mere dream. It certainly doesn't feel like it. He – he thinks he does remember, vaguely, fighting Sidious like that, with nothing more than the Force to protect him. He had drawn on the Light Side in a way he never did before. It seems real, but for whatever reason, it leaves him feeling restless and shaken.

He slips out of bed, careful not to disturb Padme as he slips to 'fresher, eyes flickering down to the bandage on his arm. He had told her that he had injured himself when working on a project, and she had believed him. The air is cool, far cooler than he likes – for whatever reason, Padme likes to keep her bedroom cool at night, which inevitably means that Anakin has to burrow under a heavy blanket to stay warm – and he shivers, sitting on the edge of the tub as he strips off the bandage to check on the injuries.

The area is red and swollen, dried blood crusted around the edges where they tore open again from movement. He prods them lightly with his prosthetic, wondering how much pressure they can take without opening again. Not that he wants that to happen, especially not right now. Padme can't know. She wouldn't understand. Truthfully, he doesn't even understand himself.

A drop of blood gathers on the edge of the deepest, most jagged cut and with a quiet sigh of exasperation, Anakin goes in search of the bacta which Padme keeps in here. He pulls it out of the cabinet, opening it and dipping in one of his gloved fingers and lightly smearing it over his skin. It stings, of course, as it always does, but that's nothing compared to the throbbing pain in his arm right now.

He freezes when he hears a creak from the bedroom, head whipping towards the open door of the 'fresher as Padme steps inside, blinking sleepily. "Ani?" she queries, frowning at the darkness in the room.

For most people, it would probably be too dark to see anything properly, despite the light from the traffic outside and the early dawn pinkening the horizon. Anakin, however, maybe because of his childhood and the war, he doesn't know, doesn't struggle with seeing in the dark as much as some do. Padme reaches for the lights, and Anakin panics – inwardly, of course, because he's careful to keep all of his movements as normal and natural as possible, though he doesn't think he really succeeded – grabbing the bandage to wrap it around his arm again before she can see.

She can't know. She can't!

The light turns on, and Padme crosses over to him in a few quick steps, stopping his hasty attempt at winding the bandage around his arm single-handedly. He freezes, staring fixedly down at his arm, which is mostly concealed at this point, unwilling to meet her eyes, even though he can feel her looking at him, trying to puzzle it out.

With a slow gentleness, Padme pulls the bandage back, revealing the incriminating red cuts crisscrossing his arm. She stills, not betraying anything, though there's a distinct flicker of sadness and horror in the Force. Even if she's not a Jedi, she has excellent control over herself. Her emotions color the Force strongly, but only if she isn't trying to hide her feelings. If she wants to hide, then she can, unless Anakin probes. He is not probing now; he's too scared of what he might feel if he does.

She runs a thumb on the edge of his arm, near where the inflammation begins but still far enough away from the cuts that she isn't touching them. The gentleness of it almost hurts; it's in such stark contrast to the sharpness of the durasteel. Maybe it's that his nerves are far more hypersensitive now.

"This wasn't from an accident, was it?" She sounds... a little resigned, but also knowing and pained like – like she knows somehow.

Anakin feels frozen, suddenly unable to open his mouth to even utter a denial. "I – I don't want to talk about it," he finally croaks out, trying to pull his arm away from her. Either his best attempts are pathetically useless, or she's really holding him that hard, he doesn't know.

"I don't think we have a choice." Her voice is still quiet, but there's something steely and resolved in it, and he knows better than to fight her on it. "Did you do this yourself?"

His fingers clench, and that is probably as much of an answer as she needs, though he maintains his sulky silence. He does not want to talk about it. It's better if she doesn't know. It's better if no one knows ever, because this is his secret, and he doesn't want anyone to know.

"Why?" Her voice is sad, and it infuriates him. She should – she should be upset or disgusted or something. Not sad.

"I..." I'm useless and weak, and I can't let go of anything ever. I'm a terrible Jedi. I'm a failure. I don't know how to handle this. I don't think I even can for much longer. Obi-Wan... he – he didn't trust me. He used me, like everyone else. I thought he cared. I was wrong. "... Don't know," he finishes, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, though it's hard to hide how much it's shaking. It's also hard to hide the way tears are glistening in his eyes, the sudden onslaught of a pain that has never healed overwhelming him and taking his breath away.

Anakin clenches his prosthetic on the edge of the counter, desperately trying to avoid the urge to dig the metal into himself and make it hurt. If he has to stay like this, if he has to keep drowning in these feelings...

"What happened?" Padme asks. "When did it start? How –" her words catch for a moment, and that alone is enough to tell him that she's trying not to get emotional, "– how did I never notice?"

"I didn't – I don't want you to know," he mutters finally, reaching out and pulling her hands off his left arm, dropping it down to his side where she can't see the many cuts crisscrossing it. He doesn't want to talk about it, and he certainly doesn't want to explain to her how badly he's failing at being a Jedi.

"Is it because of the war?" she guesses, sounding increasingly distressed. "Ani, talk to me."

He closes his eyes. "Not entirely," he whispers. She'll keep pushing, keep asking him more and more questions. Padme is stubborn, and Anakin knows that she won't let this go like he wants her to. But at the same time, he doesn't think he could bear to see her pity when she realizes how messed up and fundamentally broken he is. The mere thought of trying to explain makes him freeze up; it's as if the words simply won't come, no matter how much he wants to force them out, which is admittedly not very much.

So, maybe he needs to say something else, needs to give her something which won't reveal his innermost thoughts and feelings while still telling her enough that she'll let it go. Hopefully. "I am – I am not... a good Jedi," Anakin forces himself to say, keeping his eyes focused downwards, refusing to look at his wife. He doesn't think he can. If he does, he doesn't know if he'll be able to keep talking. "I – you know that. I struggle with... attachments."

Something akin to understanding flickers into the Force from Padme. "Is this... about Obi-Wan?" she inquires delicately.

Anakin flinches. No, please. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to think it. I don't – I can't. I'm not ready to. I'll never be ready. Leave it alone. Just please leave it alone.

"I..." He's aware of how strangled he sounds, and he blinks furiously as tears escape down his face. He feels like he's drowning in nothing but misery and loss. He wishes that, no matter how fake and unreal it might have been, he could be back in the time before Obi-Wan cast him aside and rubbed in exactly how worthless and meaningless he is. At least back then, he had felt like he actually mattered, he had felt that he could somewhat rely on Obi-Wan's distant support as the war took his sanity from him. Now, he has none of that.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner how much you were hurting," Padme speaks softly, reaching out towards him, hesitating before pressing her hands on his chest and stepping close enough that he can't help but meet her searching gaze. Her brown eyes are filled with sadness and pain and worry, and he hates it. He hates knowing that he's the cause of it, that his inability to keep himself together is hurting her too, now.

"S'not your fault," Anakin mutters, sniffing, trying to make himself stop crying. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close to him. She's trembling slightly, and it makes him hate himself a little bit more. "I didn't – didn't want you, anyone to know. It – it does not matter. I –"

"How can you say that?" Padme blurts out, sounding appalled. "How can – Anakin, of course, your feelings matter!"

It's nice of her to say that, but it's simply not the truth. Anakin learned that the hard way years ago when he naïvely thought that Obi-Wan would actually pay attention to him. He didn't. He belittled him, castigated him for even having feelings. But it's alright. Anakin understands. It's not – something is wrong with him. Jedi are – Obi-Wan is only trying to help. He's done his best to show Anakin how to be a Jedi. It's not his fault that Anakin is incapable (defective).

And even Padme... she, well, she doesn't listen to him the way he wishes she would, but it feels too much like a betrayal to even think it. She doesn't take him seriously; that's part of the reason why he never let on to her how deeply the – the Hardeen incident shook him up. He couldn't. He knew she would never preach to him about letting go, but she would never understand the depths to which the betrayal sliced through him, gutting him to his core and making him question everything about himself.

It's – she's never dealt with something of that magnitude before, for which he's glad, but it also means that she'll never understand the soul crushing pain which swallowed him whole, the desperate need to make himself bleed, to cut out the pain which was, and still is, drowning him.

"You don't believe me," she realizes, letting out a quiet breath. She sounds resigned, but also a little bit helpless.

And his hatred burns hotter.

I'm okay, he wants to say, but he's not and he knows it and she knows it too. Telling her that would be a lie, and sometimes, it's easier to just... be quiet and let others draw their own conclusions. Maybe she'll decide to let this go, because she'll realize that it's really not that big of a deal. That would be nice. Anakin doesn't think it will happen, though.

Padme sighs, tugging his right arm and leading him out to their bedroom, nudging him onto the edge of the bed and sitting next to him. "I would never say this otherwise, but Ani, maybe – maybe you should leave the Order." She sounds so... hesitant to say it, almost as if she's worried about how he'll react. "Just – just think about it, okay? I know it must have been hard for you, harder than I ever realized, and clearly, staying is doing you more harm than good. I think – I think it would be good for you to take a break from it all. We... could go to Naboo together."

For a moment, Anakin can't even wrap his mind around what his wife is suggesting, but then, he's shaking his head, not even considering her words. "I can't," he answers. "I – I can't do that. I can't. Not to – to Ahsoka, to Obi-Wan. I'm not going to leave them, abandon them in the middle of the war. Don't ask me to do that."

Padme nods, as if she had expected his words, and she probably had. He has already, on a few occasions, expressed the reasons why he can't simply walk away from the Order, even if he wants to. "Okay," she agrees, strangely calm, "But can you answer a question?"

He falters, before nodding slowly.

"Have you –" she pauses, inhaling shakily, and for a moment, he can see how hard this is for her to say, "Have you ever wanted to... kill yourself?"

Anakin turns away, ashamed. "I would never do it," he whispers in a small voice. "I wouldn't – I – Padme, you have to believe me. I wouldn't do that to you."

In the dim light coming into their bedroom through the window, he can see the shininess of her eyes, the way she blinks away tears and swallows. "But you've felt that way." It's not really a question, and he doesn't want to give voice to the truth, so he remains silent. Always. All the time. I want it. I don't want to die, but I want it all to stop. I don't care how or why or – or – I just want it to end. I want to be able to stop feeling the aching emptiness, the gnawing pain. I don't know what it means to be happy anymore.

For another long moment, she doesn't move. When she does, it's to the 'fresher. She comes back after a moment, bandage in hand and takes his left arm without a word, wrapping the bandage around the wounds. "I wish you would leave," Padme finally whispers, not looking at him as she secures it. "I wish we didn't have to hide anymore, and I worry for you. This is... There's nothing wrong with you for feeling this way, but it's not healthy to keep living like this. I want you to be happy, Ani."

A hysterical, bitter laugh bubbles up, but he squashes it. Still, a little, mocking voice in the back of his head can't help but offer a retort. Happy? What is that? What does that even mean? How would I even know when – if I'm happy?

"I – can you stop?" she asks, almost pleads. "If you feel like – like hurting yourself, can you call me? Or go talk to Ahsoka or Rex if you can't?"

Can he?

Also, he can't help but notice that she doesn't tell him to talk to Obi-Wan. Surprising. Before... this, before she found out, she would have told him to confide in his former master.

"I can try," he concedes, even though he privately doesn't think it will work.

Padme leans up to kiss him, something desperate and almost fearful in the gesture. "Hold me," she requests when she finally pulls back, lifting the covers so they can lie down again. And Anakin complies, because he, too, would like nothing more than to forget all of the unpleasant revelations and conversations of the night.

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