I cannot believe it. Anakin killing Sand People. And not just the ones who tortured his mother but the entire village. Men, women, children. As if every one of them were a monster.
Anakin's eyes glow with hatred. With pain. With grief twisted into destruction.
I am suddenly and terrifyingly unsure who is the monster. Part of me wants to wrap my arms around him, to comfort this wounded creature my husband has become. But part of me flinched when he threw the scrap metal at the wall, and rested a protective hand over my belly. My senses are on high alert.
"Why do I hate them? I didn't... I couldn't control myself," he splutters."To be angry is to be human," I assure him, not closing the distance between us.
"I should have been able to save her."
"You are not all-powerful, Ani."
"But I should be."
In my mind's eye, I see Anakin engulfed in flames. His inner fire made external, burning him alive. Destruction become self-destructive. I shiver.
Somewhere deep down I knew he had the capacity to do something like this, but I believed he never would. That he had enough self-restraint to temper his temper. I could blame this war for turning him into a soldier, for unlocking something ugly within him. But that would mean ignoring the pain at the heart of him, suppressed and waiting to inflict itself on others.
I have read enough research and written enough legislation about domestic violence to recognise its echoes here. Anakin has never raised a hand against me, would never. But if his mind can twist innocent women and children into monsters, his definition of monstrosity could change again. Not for the first time, I feel unsafe in his presence.