The Endearment of a Twin-flame || Anakin Skywalker x Reader

35 - Liar

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Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 35
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2.5k words

(Y/n)'s POV

One week later

Devastation is is an ugly emotion, a heavy shroud that envelops the heart in its relentless grip. It is one of the most profound sorrows to bear, and with each passing moment it clings to the soul, it drains away any flicker of joy, leaving behind a hollow ache that feels as if life itself is on the brink of collapse.

Reflecting on my own experiences, I have faced devastation three times. The first was when my mother chose to leave me behind, the second when Clovis betrayed my trust and vanished from my life, and now, the third, with Anakin. Of all these heartaches, this latest one cuts the deepest. It feels as though I am suffocating; my appetite has dwindled to little more than a solitary piece of toast each day, and tears seem to be my constant companions.

Each time the sun streams through the window, I find myself cursing its brightness. How dare it shine so bright when I am engulfed in the shadows of my despair, mourning the loss of what I believed to be true love?

I feel utterly discarded, shattered into pieces. My heart is filled with a seething hatred for him. I loathe him for the pain he has inflicted upon me. He deceived me, exploited my vulnerabilities, and took advantage of my fragile state.

Deep down, I recognize that I should have heeded the warnings my instincts whispered, that he was too perfect to be real. Yet, in my yearning for love and happiness, I turned a blind eye to the signs that were all too clear.

I understand that time is said to be a healer, and that eventually, I will find my way back to a semblance of normalcy. That is what everyone assures me, at least. But the path to healing is a torturous one, and if I could leap ahead to the moment when the pain no longer kills me, I would do it without hesitation.

In this moment, I found myself ensnared in a web of memories, each laugh we shared, every kiss, every fleeting smile, and every deep conversation swirling around me like ghosts. I was tormented by the question of authenticity—how could I determine which moments were genuine and which were mere illusions? It was this uncertainty that stoked the fires of my anger and pain, rendering the act of forgiveness nearly impossible. How could I trust that the moments he claimed were real truly held any substance?

How could I place my faith in the words of someone who is a liar?

Did I mean anything to him the first time we slept together? Or was it only after that night that he began to feel something genuine? He had taken the money, after all. If he hadn't, maybe I could have found a way to forgive him. But the fact that he not only took it but had the audacity to buy me a gift with it ignited a fury within me that made me want to fight him.

The pain was overwhelming, and the thought of healing felt like a distant dream, almost impossible to grasp.

As I lay in bed, my blanket pulled tightly over my face to shield me from the harsh sunlight, tears slipped silently down my cheeks as I recalled the first time he whispered those three words to me. Was that moment ever real?

A sudden knock on my door jolted me from my dark thoughts. "I want to be alone," I called out, hoping the visitor would take the hint and leave me in peace.