Anakin Skywalker Imagines ;)

Far From Heaven

1.2k words and a lot of angst 😼

Anakin creeps into the room, the half opened door allowing light to flow inside and illuminate the bedroom.

He thinks he's being stealthy, considerate as to not wake you up.

He doesn't know though how you're fully awake and how you've been counting the soaring hours, desperate to know of his return.

You shift upright, the silk ruby sheets falling from your chest to your thighs. Your eyes lock with his in a silent conversation, the energy in the room heavy and pleading.

"Never thought you were gonna come H- back". You refrain from calling this dull place his home.

It didn't even feel like home to you, more like a cracked ruin on the verge of collapsing, leaving behind the ghost of a once perfect sanctuary.

"Why would you think that?", He says with a hint of tiredness.

"Well, I thought that the bar ranked at the top of your importance list considering you spend almost every night there. May as well just stay there". You shrug, obvious venom coating each syllable.

"Y/n, I'm not in the mood" Anakin sternly states, trying to kill the argument before it juvinates into something colder.

You laugh, a cold bitter sarcastic scoff.

"You're not in the mood? Seriously-"

"Y/n, stop." He interrupts you, making you're blood boil.

"No, you stop! I'm sick and tired of this!" you shout, pushing the douvet off your body, and will your legs to meet the wooden floor.

You're a couple metres from him as he's still situated at the bedroom door, but you both hold eachothers bitter stares. A deadly stand off between the both of you, bound to end in tragedy.

"I'm sick of eating at that miserable fucking table alone. I'm sick of watching every fucking movie we own just to pass the time and distract myself of the fact that you're not here with me. I'm sick of going to bed and waiting and praying that you're not in a fucking ditch somewhere dead! I'm sick of the smell of rotting alcohol when I wake up in the morning. And I'm sick of the fact that a bottle of fucking whiskey is the first thing you wake up wanting. Not me, not you're precious wife. Whiskey!", the words pour out of you in sharp fiery fury.

Anakin has nothing to say at this outburst, he's rendered speechless. You can't tell if it's because he's still slightly buzzed or if he became the one thing you'd hoped he'd never become. A coward.

Your eyes burn, tears descending your face like melting candlewax.

His silence was so deafening, so loud. Feelings buried and unobtainable beneath razor sharp sand. Anakin stopped caring a long time ago, not about you, but about everything. Shards of glass embedded into his heart, the leftover pieces of that tragic night.

You had been trying desperately to hold his hand through it all, be a beacon of light so he could travel comfortably out of the dark. But he was so deep in that empty abyss, he gave up trying to escape and let the shadows swallow him.

The wood that sustained your warm, incandescent fire was burning out, and you felt yourself slowly falling victim to those same shadows.

Anakin was crumbling with grief, and you were crumbling with lonliness.

You breathed out a shaky sob

"So that's it? You're not going to say anything?"

"I'm just- I..... I'm sorry"

"You're sorry? Those words lost any value the moment you started repeating the same shit you were sorry about".

You're angry. You're  so angry and hurt.

"I get it ok. You watched your friend die, and I'm so sorry that you had to go through that. But I'm watching you fall apart, I'm watching you kill yourself and tear yourself apart over this. And you won't let me help you"

He chokes out a pained sob as the reminder of that night floods his mind, drowning him.

"Please, I don't want to talk about him", his eyes becoming a well of pain.

"Obi wan... You can't even say his name outloud"

He flinches at the mention of his fallen friend, his bestfriend, his brother.

"It's been 3 months... And not once have you said his name, Anakin. Not once have I seen you shed a tear for him, not once have I seen you mourn for him". Your voice is gentle, tip toeing around a fragile conversation that should've happened weeks ago.

"I am mourning for him. This is me mourning, baby." The last part comes out in a broken whisper. He can't bring himself to look you in the eyes as he says this, as if he's ashamed of this.

"Drowning yourself in alcohol isn't mourning. I can't keep watching you fall apart...I can't keep doing this. You need help and you just won't let me help you." His eyes move from the floor to me, sinking into me in pleading.

You can't sleep next to this lifeless shell of a body anymore. Although he breathes, he's nothing but a barren wasteland. You're  tired of desperately watering and tending to this garden. It seems no matter how much attention you give to this flora, you're always overwatering, overgiving, overestimating. You're trying to bring this wilted rose back to life...knowing it's impossible.

You don't want this dark blue to choke you forever, even if he's the one you want. Maybe the one you'll always want.

"I want a divorce, Anakin", the tears won't stop.

Dread fills Anakin, the taunting shadows spiral around him.

"What?" He sobs, his voice breaking.

You stumble towards your closet, retrieving a black duffel bag, reaching for the assortment of clothes hanging from coloured coat hangers.

After filling half the bag in a dreaded silence, a hand wraps itself gently around your wrist stopping you from grabbing more clothing.

You can't turn to face him, to stare into those empty crestfallen eyes.

"Baby, please don't  leave me".

And if that didn't kill you than you are surely half alive.

"I'll change. I'll stop the alcohol, I promise", he grabs your chin slightly, moving your head to see him, feel him and all his vulnerability.

You really wish you could believe him, those words once ignited a spark of hope in you. Now it's just a broken promise.

"Anakin, please stop." You pull from his grasp, as you finish packing. The mixed cries from both you and Anakin linger and paint a canvas of tragedy.

Anakin sat on the floor, weeping in shame, guilt and grief. Listening to his wife descend the stairs, and shut the front door. Leaving behind a house of deadly ruin.

The whiskey became a tangent of many scars over the months, but this one would be the deepest, ugliest one yet.

And although he wanted nothing more than to see his fallen friend, he felt too far from heaven. Too wounded to heal, too broken to fix and too bent to mend.

These months he'd been waiting for rain to fall, to pour real life on him. But it seemed he was stuck to succumb to the driest, most lifeless lands.

His skin, bones and soul destined to crack.

A/N - Hey babies, I haven't had the energy to write but I conjured this little piece up 2 hours ago at 4am because I was honestly feeling angsty and inspired.

I wanted to write a recovery story and they make up but I was way too lazy and eager to release this but I definitely wouldn't mind doing a part 2 for this :) ❤️❤️ hope you enjoyed <3