Give Me Love

chapter eleven

The queasiness you had been feeling in the ride to your apartment came back to hit you tenfold as Anakin parked the speeder outside of the Jedi Temple. He must have sensed your urgency, because he was practically running as he grabbed your bags from the back and then came around to help you out again.

You had to pause as soon as you stood up, hand tightening on the material covering his arm.

"Are you going to—"

"Gonna puke," you warned, devastated. The last thing you wanted to do was blow chunks in front of Anakin Skywalker, but it didn't seem like you were being given much of a choice at the moment.

"Now, or...?"

"Let's just hurry."

Without asking, Anakin swooped you right off your feet and then really began running. You couldn't even argue, just shivered and shrunk back into his arms, the temple halls flying by as your head pounded, stomach twisted, and mouth filled with saliva. You're not even sure what hallways he took or how to get to the room you were given because you were too busy squeezing your eyes closed, the blurring lights from the Temple only making your nausea worse.

Anakin kicked the door to your room closed and brought you straight to the bathroom. Your knees hit tile floor, hands found porcelain, and the contents of your stomach found the bottom of the toilet. It was one of the more violent bouts of sickness that you've had, probably because you'd been holding it back for a while.

You were too busy throwing up to notice that Anakin was still in the room, having dropped your bags outside the bathroom, and he was now kneeling beside your face and smoothing your hair behind your shoulders so you wouldn't get vomit in it. Not that it mattered much— your hair was already dirty from not having showered in a few days, and you already knew that was your next destination for the night.

Once you stopped throwing up, that is.

All that damned jello, you cursed Rico and Pinta for force feeding you earlier, because now it was coming back out with vigor. You gasped and clutched at the bowl of the toilet, barely having time to breathe between the purging of your stomach.

As soon as you got a break, you rested your head on your hands, folded on the cool lip of the toilet sheet. Your breathing was quick, skin pale and soaked in cold sweat. Anakin was still running his hands down your hair, rubbing your back silently as he watched you.

"Please leave," you tried to salvage any last shred of dignity that you could.

"No chance."

Your groan came out in a pathetic, broken whimper. Maker you felt like mother-fucking-shit. And of course he had to be here to witness it with fucking front row tickets.

"Why?"

"I have to make sure you don't die." You think he meant that to be a joke, but the way he said it all soft and soothing had your heart lurching again. This was possibly the worst time to be crushing over him.

"'M not gonna die."

"Very convincing," his hand started rubbing circles between your shoulder blades now, and honestly you weren't going to complain any longer. Somehow, the steady warmth and pressure of his hand took your mind off the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and made you feel a little better, which was surprising because you hated being touched in general, but when you were sick it was ten times worse.

You hadn't expected that you would accept it from even Anakin in your current state, much less like it.

"You feeling a little better?" He was murmuring now, almost cooing to you like a baby. "You want to go to bed?"