Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

Thirty-One

The flight to Amsterdam is quick at just over an hour and our chauffeur, a man called Trudgen, picks us up from the airport. We drive over bridges and across canals, winding toward the center of the city.

The air is cold and holiday decorations adorn the buildings, but it won't be a white Christmas this year. The narrow streets and sidewalks are clear and most of the traffic is on foot or bike. I gaze out the window, reminiscing on the first and only time I've been here.

It was almost five years ago, during spring break, and Rose and I backpacked our way through parts of Europe. We spent two weeks eating, drinking, and partying our way through London, Paris, and Amsterdam.

What a carefree time. We were both still in school, Rose was living in the UPenn dorms and I had a shitty studio close by in West Philly. My first long term partner had just broken my heart, Rose was still a virgin somehow, and we needed a vacation worthy of the memory books.

Our trip started out serious enough, visiting the museums of London and following the guidebooks her parents gave us. France was more laid back, we hung out with hip Parisians and did what the locals do. And by the time we left The Netherlands, Rose was deflowered and I had raved so hard that the pain of my breakup faded away.

For years we've been talking about going back, and here I am, but this trip is different. I won't be staying in hostels or using my luggage as a pillow on cramped trains.

Trudgen chauffeurs us to the Waldorf Astoria, and when we check in I'm elated to see that our grand suite has a canal view.

We have separate beds again, I didn't want to make any assumptions while booking our arraignments. The rooms are beautifully decorated, bright whites and crisp linens. Kylo is in all black as usual, contrasting wildly against his surroundings.

After hanging clothes and unpacking toiletries, I slip off my heels and pull out my laptop to work on the couch.

There's an email from Cardo and seeing his name makes my thighs clench. As of this afternoon, every print has sold. He ends the note by letting me know that he's acquired a set of his own, and that he hopes I look him up the next time I'm in Denmark.

It makes me blush, thinking of the things we did together and the fact that naked photos of me will live in his collection forever. But it also causes a dull heartbeat to throb between my thighs.

I correspond back and forth with Phasma for a while, updating her on the sales and assuring her that Kylo still has the negatives to go in her archives. We don't discuss the subject of the photos.

As I'm going over the schedule spreadsheet, I can see Kylo at the desk. He's sketching in his notepad, he only ever does that when he has an idea he doesn't want to forget. His brows are furrowed and he seems on edge, his black ink pen furiously etches across the page.

I turn my attention back to the schedule, trying to stay focused instead of staring. The rest of his day is clear, tomorrow he has a meeting with someone named Luke, the next day is Christmas, and then we leave the following morning. Less hectic than Denmark, thankfully.

"We're going out," he says abruptly.

Crumpling up whatever he was working on, he throws it in the trash and walks to the bar cart. After swigging down a splash of whiskey, he closes my laptop and pulls me up on my feet.

"Where are we going?" I ask while slipping my heels back on and grabbing a coat.

"I need inspiration. Stimulation."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but when we pull up to the Van Gogh Museum I'm smiling from ear to ear.

We spend hours walking through the galleries, paying our respects to the famous Dutch artist. His works are a mix between bright and dark, hopeful and ominous, a telling sign of his mental illness and mood swings.