AN:

Cheire – I agree with everything you said! Honestly neither Anakin or Padme handle this well, so I understand why you're nervous lol But it will resolve (and there's a nice chapter after the storm that is one of my favorites) :D xo.

Angie – LOL yes it's so soap opera-y! I love it though – I know it's frustrating for the reader, especially when you don't know how it'll play out, but I love that they make mistakes and struggle to find the right thing to do – it gives them a journey. As for Padme, yeah, she's not handling things well in her personal life as she would as a lawyer for a client – I see that as real though, kinda like how most dating coaches are single haha – You can study something, you can advise others on how to deal with something but it's a whole other story when you're dealing with these emotions for the first time. And yeah Anakin is so sneaky haha xo

Sun – Ahh thank you! You're so right about Anakin. The stuff he's carrying inside is now making him struggle to trust her. I promise you will get a Padme and Sola conversation xo

Guest – "You'll only lose to him if you lose your cool" Spot on! Thank you for this review, I really enjoyed reading it. Love the part about turning to cigarettes xo

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me

You don't know how you took it

You just know what you got

They don't know what you're doing

Babe, it must be art

You're a headache in a suitcase

You're a star

Padme turned around to face her husband. Anakin's stance was relentless as he stood there, his back turned, hands loosely on his hips, and she just knew he had already built up his own ideas in his head. She had to collect herself in the occult of easily swayed moods, fear plays on their faces.

Padme gently placed the bracelet case on the coffee table. "Clovis gave it to me." As she breathed out, she was slowly tuning herself to the mood she wanted to reflect. To wash away the heavy melancholic undertone and fall back into the comforting arms of reassurance.

But he had bordered the energy of the room with his quickness; he made a haphazard hand gesture, flinging his arm to his side as he began to face her, a ferocious quest to transition the talk to a realm she couldn't control, and it was cold. "Yeah I figured as much – what I want to know is why did you accept it?!"

An unassuming Padme watched him start to move around. His eyes wouldn't meet hers as the circumference in which he roamed about the living room increased. "I didn't accept it. I was going to return it."

He stood still again. And this time, she found herself tuning into the flush of anger he released with serrated words and more awkward and anxious hand gestures, clamped muscles and stale fingers. A surgical knife carving out the fluff, doubting her. "Did you or did you not tell him to leave you alone?"

"I did." It seemed that the tameness of her gesticulations and voice did nothing to reward the interplays, bridge the souls. "But it's not that simple."

"Why not?" He said with gritted teeth. A swift duel simmered, hindered only by the hesitation of movement.

"He. . .offered me a job. It's in Coruscant but – it's a good offer. I guess. . .maybe I was somewhat curious... But I promise you, work is all we talk about."

Anakin restrained a huff, reevaluating painful knowledge – trying not to discard discipline, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don't want you seeing him."

Padme drew a breath and walked over to him. Her hands reached for his hair, hoping to soothe, to take hold of him and make the tension flow out.

"Anakin, I can handle Clovis. There's nothing to worry about–"

Somehow he found cracks in her words of solace; his fingers encircled her wrists and lowered her hands from his face. His face was still, spiteful; his breath tight behind acute lips. "–You're not seeing him anymore."

Bars shot up, rebuilding those cages made up of anxieties, tentative thoughts, dismantling anything she could say. His face changed from one illumination to another, back and forth, the glare of his with or against me mentality. "Now either you tell him or I will."

There was little movement between them, even when he left her, only the sound of his feet was firing off on his way to the bedroom.

Her feet were nailed to the floor. She had been grasped by a cold heat in the mind, blood is boiling and suppressed with nowhere to flow. She felt like prey falling victim to the flames of annihilation and then crushed to ashes. In some strange way, it felt like the death of something, making her completely remote from reality while simultaneously diving her head first into realism. A hard fact juggling the corners of confusion, beyond knowledge, beyond repair.

Oh no, don't be shy

It takes a crowd to cry

Hold me

Thrill me

Kiss me

Kill me

Clovis walked up to the reception desk, assessing the young woman tapping away on the keyboard. Each click thrummed in his ear as he observed the blonde tendrils framing her youthful face, her big, stylish reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose, and her light blue dress that leaves the right amount to the imagination.

"Hermione, is it?"

Hermione looked over the top of her glasses with a mild cheekiness. "Mr Clovis. What can I do for you today?"

"Clear you schedule and have a drink with me."

She smiled back, moving an inch forward, quite provocative – you've got to find some way to entertain yourself in a small town like this. "Aren't you a little old for me?"

"Everything gets better with age." His smirked before glancing around. His eyes flicked from Padme's office door and back to Hermione. "Is Padme available?"

"She's busy."

"Did she tell you to tell me that?"

Hermione almost blushed, lifting her shoulders in a shrug, a drug-like act, in a truthful daze. "Maybe."

"I'll wait here then, if you don't mind. The view is. . .extraordinary." He winked.

Hermione watched him head towards the waiting area, twirling her ponytail around her finger. She subtly grabbed her phone from her handbag and began to dial.

"Hey, it's me..."

"Who was that?" Padme asked as soon as Hermione hung up the phone, carrying a stack of files to Hermione's desk.

"No one."

Padme seemed skeptical in a sprightly, humorous vein. "Hermione, you know what Mr Vallorum said about taking personal calls during office hours..."

"It wasn't personal." A rosiness spanned Hermione's cheeks, her lips quirked up innocently. And a smile slipped through Padme's mock suspicion – until she spotted Clovis in one of the seats with a magazine.

"...What's he doing here?"

"Waiting for you." Hermione's head shot up.

Clovis noticed the women looking at him, and Padme's presence prompted him to approach her, raising a hand in greeting. "Padme!"

Padme held up a finger, a warning winged over. "Clovis, you need to leave." She whirled around, back to her office. He could not get a word in edgewise.

After a good fifteen minutes of stacking files, one after another, fingertips going dry, Padme entered the reception. Hermione had undone her ponytail and was shaking out her hair – clearly finding ways to avoid working. Padme found Clovis still sitting there, staunch and unremitting.

"Clovis, what are you still doing here?"

He looked up at Padme standing in front of him. Her arms were folded against her chest. Her features vivid – annoyed, concerned, worldly.

"I need you to hear me out. I'm not going down without a fight."

Clovis rolled up his proverbial sleeves, ready to atone. He was smiling though, with mellow certainty, amongst the steel-legged chairs with caramel cushions. And it infinitely meddled with his presentation.

It had Padme searching for sincerity. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because," Clovis rose from his seat. He paused, a time-out, a clearing of his headspace hit with a wave of humility. "I know deep down that this job means something to you, and I also know that you're declining because of me. And if it wasn't for me, your career would be in a very different place right now."

"Clovis, if that's what this is about, you don't have to feel guilty. I'm happy with the way things turned out."

He doubted her words but her honesty was tender, she seemed free. But whether earnest or not, Clovis still came from a place in need of closure, dominant and ego-driven.

"Then answer me this." He inched forward. "Forget about me – if it was anyone else's offer. If–if Palpatine himself called you right now, what would you say?"

Padme took a step back, trying to invent a fresh slate to wade through her feelings, to return to a place of understanding. "...I don't know."

"You don't know because you're not informed." Clovis placed an attentive hand on her shoulder. "I'm leaving in a couple days – let's just get some food, talk it out. And then when you have all the information, if you still don't want the job, I'll be out of your hair."

Padme shifted, moving away. But Clovis put one foot in front of the other, preventing the disintegration. "I just want you to have this opportunity. And yes, it would alleviate my guilty conscience." He admitted, exposing his palms. "But forget what I want, forget what your husband wants. Ultimately, it's up to you."

"She already said no." The sound of Anakin's voice rang through like a siren, loud, cursing, untouched, and loaded.

Both Clovis and Padme almost jumped up. Anakin was shadowing the light through the doorframe, a block, a steal. The door slowly closing behind him was a faint creak while he strutted toward them with arrogant steps, aggressive. "So, take your shit," He tossed the grey bracelet case at Clovis, who caught it as it hit his chest. "–off you go."

"Anakin, let me handle this..." Padme insisted, quiet, consistent, thinking she could sufficiently kill the taste Anakin had for retribution.

"We already tried that." Anakin's low drawl was brutal and biting. Padme was struck by his effortlessly crafted, straightforward glare that drifted from her to Clovis. She was so blindsided, she didn't even notice Clovis interjecting.

"Padme and I were in the middle of a conversation." Clovis styled his words with a layer of honour and justice over the ambiguity.

"Not anymore." Anakin squared his shoulders, spreading a thrilling, dangerous, tumultuous current that imprinted the area.

"Why don't you let your wife make her own decisions?!" Clovis' lips curled in derision.

"Why don't you get the fuck out of my face?!" Anakin narrowed the gap between them, getting in Clovis' head as much as he was getting into his physical space, cumulative troubles pulling out an ugly transformation of emotions.

"Okay!" Padme snapped, placing an urgent hand on Anakin's chest, stopping him from getting any closer to Clovis. Her words were strong but simple, a prayer and an order. "Please don't do this here."

"What is going on here?!" The sound of an older, eloquent man had Padme shaken, clutching her chest.

Terrified of the culmination of repercussions, she gasped when she found her boss entering the building. "Mr Vallorum!"

While Clovis' gaze followed Padme's to Vallorum, Anakin's was viciously steadfast on Clovis.

"Nothing." Padme did her best to sound calm but something about the way Vallorum navigated the situation through a look of disgust told her to do damage control. "They were just leaving." She added and swung her hand in the direction of the door, demanding they obliged.

Clovis slithered away and headed for the door. But Padme would not forget the sheer vindictiveness smeared across her husband's face before he jammed his hands in his front pockets and followed suit.

"Mr Vallorum," Padme began, apologetic, but her boss punched a pointed finger in the air.

"We'll discuss it later."

Once Anakin stepped foot outside the door, Vallorum gripped his arm, fingers burrowing into his skin, fierce and forthright.

Anakin felt a grating expelled breath to his ear as Padme's boss spoke. "Anakin. Don't think that I forgot who you downtown delinquents do business with. Now I may not have a say in who my employees date but I can damn well make sure that nobody who associates with criminals is on the premises. Now get off my property!"

Anakin shoved the man's hand off his arm. Once again feeling like he was put in a box; no way to individuate. He did not feel seen, he felt generalized, isolated among other nameless faces, reduced to a caricature, generic. A surreal imprisonment. He walked off defiant, flippant, reviled.

And you don't know how you got here

You just know you want out

Believing in yourself

Almost as much as you doubt

You're a big smash

You wear it like a rash

Star

Padme let the door slam shut behind her once she got home. She dropped her bag on the carpet like she had no time to care. Everything about her demeanor was confrontational and suggestive as she walked over to Anakin, who was sprawled out on the couch.

"So that's what this has come to? You causing a scene where I work?"

Anakin rolled his eyes and got up. With his back to her, he gave a dismissive wave. "I went down there to squash a problem you had days to fix – and failed." As he walked off, she followed him every step of the way.

"Oh, I get it, you were looking out for me. Is this you protecting me again?!" She came back swinging, even though it felt like the world was passing her by, at a rate she couldn't match. It was leaving her in this state of loss. This emptier world was holding her down with spears.

Anakin's back was still turned, trying not to collapse under the weight of his frustrations, the foam of fury merged with fear.

But his silence tested her patience. She almost marveled at his ability to appear attached and detached so quickly. A metamorphosis, a paradoxical sense of desperation, undulating.

She released a sigh, looking up at the ceiling, giving herself time to recondition. "You know what, this isn't about the job, or the bracelet, or even about Clovis." She said the words out loud but they were meant for her to come to terms with the unadulterated truth. "This is about the fact that you don't trust me."

Finally, Anakin turned to face her. But the look in his eye was fueled by hurt and intuitive pride. "Should I?"

Padme stared at him incredulously, stung and silenced. "Wow! I can't believe I've been afraid to go and discuss a job offer – just because you might freak out about it. Well, since you don't trust me anyway, I might as well go!"

"Fine! Go!"

A demon modulates his voice as he roared. A ghost swims in his veins. His tone was a mask, cruel and unnecessary, cutting deeper with vile scissors.

She shook her head, she couldn't find any reason and hope to sew together and make a garment of faith. She didn't have the mental strength to seek it out. It would wind up tattered anyway; they were neglectful. Normally when one would cut a sleeve that connects them, the other would sew it back up. Disappointed, she picked up her bag off the floor and marched to the door.

It was as though he knew one of them would have to mend the cloth they both cut, patch up the seams or leave them torn.

He raced over, hopping through the apartment to get to the door before she did. He took her hand that circled the doorknob, holding on before they lost everything that's about to fall through the unwoven pocket – or the whole shirt would be wasted now, leaving the skin of their relationship bare and wounded.

His eyes didn't look the way they once did. Now they were unmasked, a key to warmth, shining on an effort to preserve the fabric of their treasures. "Don't go." He whispered.

Her mannerisms slowed, wholesome, but despite the desire she had to repair the sleeve and reach him through it, keep them safe in a lock, she felt there would be an even bigger threat tearing them apart if she would yield to him in this moment.

"Trust me." She pleaded and walked out.

Of course you're not shy

You don't have to deny love

Hold me

Thrill me

Kiss me

Kill me

U2 - Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me