AN:
Cheire – Ahh your words always put a smile on my face! Thank you so much for supporting my stories! And I'm so happy I did Natalie Portman justice :D xoxo
Rebel Heart
"What are you doing?" Padme caught Anakin taking a seat on the couch, lighting up a cigarette in the middle of the lobby – as if they had all the time in the world.
"It's my first smoke of the day." He whined. His thumb lightly scratched the scar across his right eyebrow while the cigarette rested between his middle and index finger, creating a thin, white stream of smoke over his eyes.
"I'd actually like to get the couch up to my apartment, you know, some time today." Her tone echoed her frustrations. She wasn't used to this laid-back, cavalier lifestyle – it was rude, inconsiderate, and just downright inefficient.
"Relax. It's not like it can run off." He muttered, acting like she was uptight.
He slouched back in his seat, and she grumpily turned away from him with her arms folded. She hated waiting around. Sometimes she couldn't detach herself from her need to have everything organized – it just seemed like a waste of time, careless, to do the opposite. It was hard to know whether this was simply the foundation of who she was or if she had programmed herself to live by the book–
She glanced back at him to check whether he was done with his cigarette – only to find his eyes traveling over her legs. Her eyes took on a wider shape, cutting through the space between them like two lasers.
–on second thought, he's just rude.
"Do you mind?!" She snapped him back into focus.
"What?" He asked effortlessly. His demeanor still exuding an air of arrogant indifference.
"Don't look at me like that." Her chiding tone contrasted his relaxed gaze – he remained unruffled.
His bold stare didn't break off eye contact – not even a shade of shame or sheepishness on his face as he flicked the tip of his cigarette with his thumb and the ash fell to the floor. "Why not?"
She didn't know whether to be shocked or offended by his reply. He had to be messing with her at this point.
"Because it makes me feel uncomfortable." Her stern words were uttered with a hauntingly strong emphasis on each consonant.
He looked down with vague, hooded eyes, eyelashes curled over as he took another puff. "Well, I hate to break it to you but–" He paused to breathe out a slow swirl of smoke. "you're a beautiful girl, guys are gonna look at you."
She could practically feel her blood boiling through her veins. She struggled to find solid footing on what felt like uneven ground – terribly nerve-racking, terribly irritating.
"Now if you were my woman," He casually leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'd make sure no one looks at you."
Her eyes and mouth turned into thin unyielding lines. "Charming."
"Thanks." He answered literally with a smile, a glowing ember of a smile designed to provoke.
A challenge to spark up confusion, a natural urge to taunt – whatever it was, she wasn't going to rise to it. She breathed out slowly, hoping her exhales would grant her peace from this skin-prickling feeling.
"Alright," He got up on his feet and approached the door, flicking his cigarette out onto the street. He strided back over to the couch. "You take that end, I'll take this end." He signaled to his end of the couch.
On the count of three, they lifted up the couch and carried it over the stairs. As they got to the corner staircase, they were met with a struggle.
"Lift it up as high as you can." He instructed as he tilted the couch over the railing. "A little higher – you can do it!"
She attempted to stretch her arms out, already feeling the ache in her biceps.
"Higher... A little higher..." He called out. "Higher."
"Look!" She blurted out, exasperated. "I am five foot three and I'm guessing you're at least six one, six two – so no matter how high I lift it, it won't be high enough for you."
"Alright." He spoke cautiously, surrendering to the crispness of her words that hinted at her clear and cold energy.
Perhaps he'd teased her too much and she finally snapped. After all, he wasn't one to measure, he sort of just winged it, enjoying the challenge. He liked to test how far he could go within the boundaries, see what people are made of. He'd aim with a confidence, a curiosity, a concentration, and wait for a reaction. He didn't know why he took the risk but even as a little boy, he liked to tiptoe near the edge of danger. He tested himself more than he ever tested others.
She came across firm but perhaps he was penetrating through that firmness and causing her to face a revelation – he got to her. And he shouldn't take pleasure in that and instead should consider tempering the flame. But that was easier said than done.
After a respectable and seemingly thoughtful pause, he was tempted to play with fire again. "No need to get short with me."
"Looks good there." Anakin declared as they stood before the couch. He then plopped himself down on it, getting comfortable. Padme stood there awkwardly, wondering how polite you had to be to a helpful neighbour before you could kick them out.
"Would you uh like some water?" She asked reluctantly.
"Sure!"
While she was in the kitchen fetching two glasses, his eyes skimmed over her living room. She was tidy to say the least. The room was like her – neat, structured, and beautifully symmetrical. Every bit of character perfectly in place.
He came across her bag on the coffee table and noticed a book hanging out of it. He pulled out the book and read the title. "Hamlet."
She returned from the kitchen, placing the water on the table.
"You keep a Shakespeare play in your purse?" He snickered at her. She glanced at her bag and back at him, annoyed.
She snatched the play out of his hands. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to go through a woman's bag?"
"Sorry." He offered yet another satirical apology while she shoved the book back in her handbag. "Nerd." He teased. And there was that smile - that offensively charming smile that she was beginning to detest.
"You know, there's a plethora of wisdom and philosophy to be gained from Shakespeare's works. But I don't expect someone like you to appreciate that level of sophistication."
He didn't bat an eyelid at her retort, he instead allowed her to sit in the uneasy moment and waited for it to clear out like a puff of smoke before he took a breath,
"To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer. . .the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles."
If she was surprised, you couldn't tell from her stoic mannerisms. Refusing to wilt in his presence, she held her head high. "So you memorized a poem. Something most twelve year olds can do."
He got up from the couch and began to walk around her with a casual, rhythmic stroll – the way you'd walk around a park or the way a teacher would begin telling a story to the class. "What he's really saying is to live or not to live... I've always liked that line. You choose to live."
"Actually Hamlet claims it would be preferable to die, he says life is suffering and that suffering is inevitable." She kept her eyes straight ahead, not looking at him as he surrounded her. "I'm starting to realize what he was getting at."
"But William Ernest Henley says 'I am the master of my fate.' so..." He finally stopped his aimless wander and stood in front of her. "I choose a life without suffering." He finally picked up the glass of water.
She observed him as he downed the drink. "...You can't control that."
He placed the glass back on the table. And with a subtle smile, he answered, "Yeah I can."
His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than she was comfortable with. He watched her start to fidget, biting her lip, which caused his eyes to hone in on her mouth.
"Well okay!" She exclaimed with a heavy breath. "I uh need to get going, I – there's somewhere I need to be." She paired her anxiousness with a haphazard flail of her hand.
"Alright." He enjoyed watching her in a scurry. There was something about the way her nervousness flushed her face; a pale pink hue splashed her cheeks, accentuating her ripe lips. And he knew he better turn away.
He shot her a safe, orderly nod and headed over to the door. "Enjoy your new, or old, couch."
Watching him leave gave her time to accept a new voice in her head, one of clarity, grace.
"Anakin." She stopped him. Walking over, a perceptive coyness flooded her features as she smiles with a demure softness. "Thanks."
This time he offered a more respectable smile back with a modest sweetness behind his eyes. "Anytime."
Padme found Anakin by the mailboxes in the lobby of the apartment complex. Again, their styles wildly and creatively emphasized their differences – she had on a smart-casual teal shirt with a pair of jeans while he had donned another glorious white vest with black loose-fitting sweatpants.
She approached her own mailbox, acknowledging him with a polite greeting once she was in his field of vision. "Hey,"
"Hi!" He said invitingly.
She opened her mailbox and a slight gasp left her lips. She pulled out a ragged red blanket and held it close to her chest. Anakin turned to find her wistful as her eyes shined, filming over with sentiment.
"You okay?" He asked.
"Yeah, it's just–" She was quickly brought back to the present moment. "–nothing." She tried to wave it off with a casual shake of her head.
"Doesn't look like nothing." He said solemnly.
"It's. . .this thing between me and my sister." Her half-hearted tone contradicted the deluge of emotion on her face. But she quickly found herself embracing what the blanket meant to her – companionship, encouragement, stability. "This was her comfort blanket, then it got passed down to me. Then her girls, and well, since there are no more babies in the family, she and I send it to each other every birthday and–" She stopped herself from going on and on, thinking this amused only her. "It's – silly."
"No." The corner of his lip turned up smoothly.
She found herself smiling back at him, appreciatively. "–Anyway... It's just nice to know that even though she doesn't agree with my moving here, she still sent it." She hugged the blanket tightly.
He found it endearing, the way she instinctually and spiritually carried her sister with her. Perhaps she yearned for a familial closeness much like he did, craving an uninterrupted life of devotion, respect, and support.
He studied her child-like expression, ludic – the most animated it's been since he met her.
"Well uh happy birthday I guess."
"Thanks." Her eyes crinkled at the sides as she unsheathed a faint smile, impressed by his catching of that detail.
"Got any plans?" He asked.
"Apart from a meeting with Vallorum Law Firm, no. I'm still trying to get a job."
"At Vallorum?" His forehead crinkled. "As what?"
"A lawyer." She stated the obvious.
And he held in a chuckle. "I'm sorry – it's just. . .you don't look like a lawyer."
"What do lawyers look like?" She stretched her words, tilted her head to one side daringly, and pursed her lips.
His lips parted, thinking whether to say what's on his mind. "Not as good as you."
She gave him a look – one of a playful scorn as she shut her mailbox closed.
"Okay, what about after your interview?"
Padme held her blanket and mail in folded arms across her chest. "Oh I have a wild night planned with me, a bottle of wine, and Jerry Maguire."
"Boyfriend?" Anakin seemed puzzled, barely restraining his disapproval behind his eyes. Not that a boyfriend posed any sort of a threat.
Her brow furrowed, quizzical before correcting him. "The movie!"
"Oh. Oh yeah!" His eyes glistened with amusement as he chuckled at himself. She couldn't help but be amused too.
She was about to head up the stairs but his voice stopped her.
"Come on, you can't stay home alone on your birthday!"
"Home alone..." She considered. "I could watch that." She grinned back at him – and that luminous smile spurred him on with an eagerness – a confirmation to find a way in. She was slowly but surely opening up to him.
She sighed. "Honestly, I've always been a homebody, and. . .all my friends and family are far away anyway."
"How you ever gonna make any friends if you stay home all day?" He raised an eyebrow, tauntingly.
She huffed, preventing a you-got-me grin from seeping through – only slightly entertained by his well-intentioned cheekiness.
"Alright." He decided. "I'll take you out."
A giggle escaped her lips. "I don't think so." She shook her head sheepishly, pulling away from the area.
"Why not?"
She tried averting his gaze, knowing that if she looked up at that face, a smile would await her, a roguish, dangerous smile – one that might make her say yes.
"Look," She began, taking another step back – closer to the staircase. "I appreciate it – really – but it's not necessary. You don't need to do this."
He took a step forward, narrowing the gap between them. "I want to." He spoke a persuasive whisper, and all of a sudden the floor felt wobbly.
"Thanks, but–" She allowed for a pause, remembering to breathe in and out when he was this close to her. She found a harmony, and an empowerment, in calmness. "I'm not going out with some guy I hardly know."
"Aren't you a lawyer? I can't be any worse than the guys you do know."
Good point. She could feel her cheeks becoming rosy with excitement and hesitance. "Quite the sales pitch." Gentle energy ricocheted off her and back to him, restabilizing the ground that claimed her feet.
"Honesty is the best policy." He beamed.
She turned away from him before she allows those attentive ocean eyes to wash her away. She took her first step up the staircase.
"Pick you up at six thirty then." He confirmed. She stopped in her tracks, looking back at him for a moment before reminding herself to just keep going.
What could go wrong? She thought. Famous last words.
It was actually six forty when Anakin knocked on her door.
Wow. Anakin's jaw dropped once his eyes devoured the perfect art form, hungry for her beauty as he visually absorbed the rose-pink lips of an angel, her hair slicked back into a polished updo, and her little frame in that elegant black dress. "You look uh – you look nice."
His twinkling eyes remained steadfast on her, unable to distinguish anything around him but the brilliance of her mystery under that dress. This confirmed it for her, that wearing her Audrey Hepburn-style dress that was cinched at the waist was the right choice – not too revealing; not too formal. It blended sensible with sensual. And if she drove him a little crazy, one could argue it was payback for all the teasing she endured.
"Thanks." She uttered coyly. On the inside, her heart was screaming. This was so not like her. She felt like a school girl, exuberant, light-headed, rebellious. It seemed that beneath the surface of her rational mind lies the heart of a rebel. "So do you."
She didn't look at him for too long. She wasn't as brazen as he was. But she did admire how well he scrubbed up in a sleek black shirt and jeans – the first pair she saw on him that weren't worn out.
He gestured for her to walk ahead of him.
"Didn't know you had any shirts." She teased in an almost flirtatious pitch. A sultry tone that had him giddy with anticipation for what may come of this night – one that tingled the base of his spine, crystalizing his excitable senses before they made him drop to the floor from an impulsive surrender.
He watched her walk along in front of him, his eyes glued to how well she wore that dress, how it hugged her curves, inciting a temptation with every sway of her hips. He wanted to clutch on tightly to her, her conversation, her attention, any interaction that would allow him to seize her, spend more time swimming in whatever perfumed his soul when he's around her. Whatever it was, he wanted more of it. There was something about her that stirred up an urgency in him, and as he watched her, he knew he'd have trouble keeping himself calm. After all, restraint wasn't one of his better habits.
Come stand a little bit closer
Breathe in and get a bit higher
You'll never know what hit you
When I get to you
Ooh, I want you – I don't know if I need you, but
Ooh, I'd die to find out
Savage Garden - I Want You