THE HUNT

Thirty Two

    "So your mother is General Leia Organa?" I ask, offering him a glass of water from the tap I found in his kitchen. He sits against the wall, eyes red, chin still trembling. He nods, eyes closed. I set the glass on the floor next to me, wrapping my arms around him and tucking my face into his neck. He hesitates for a moment, then wraps his arms around me too. I feel his breath on my back as he embraces me tight, letting another sob rip free. "Kylo-"

    "Please." His voice wavers and his lips move against my shoulder. "I promise I'll explain," He tugs me closer to him, so I'm nearly on his lap. I don't resist, just readjust my hug. "But please, just hold me for now." He swallows thickly, and I nod into his chest, where my head now rests.

    "Okay." I whisper.

    So I hold him.

    He cries into my shoulder for what seems like forever, but I don't mind. I just sit with him, arms around his shaking figure.

    Slowly, he stops.

    "Hunter?" He whispers.

    "Yes?"

    "Do you still think that I'm a monster?" His voice is delicate, and I bite my bottom lip, drawing back only enough to see his face. Our breath mixes, and I decide on honesty.

    "Yes." I touch his cheek. "But the best kind of monster there is." He looks away, and something in my chest splinters, replaced with guilt. "Kylo-"

    "She was never there." He interrupts shakily. Immediately I know that he's speaking of his mother. "She was too busy building a galaxy to look after me." I sit up, moving to place myself on the wall next to him.

    "Kylo, you don't have to-"

    "No." He interrupts. "I need to tell someone." I nod, understanding. He echos my nod, continuing. "She had me raised by droids." He spits.

    "Where was your father?" I ask. "I met him once. Before he left."

    "Han Solo?" He shakes his head. "He went back to smuggling. He was always away fighting pirates. He'd come home after weeks of being away smelling like spice and carbon."

    "Your mother wanted you to be a senator, and your father wanted you to be a smuggler." I remember. "And your uncle-"

    "Luke Skywalker." He scoffs. "He was weak. He only took me in for my power."

    "Wow." I lean my head back. "So like, you were born into the family that defeated the Empire, but you made a new one?"

    "I didn't make the First Order, Sweetheart." He chuckles, surprising me. "Snoke did."

    "I see." After a moment, I shove his shoulder with mine, lifting the glass of water to offer it to him now that he's calmed down a little bit. "Any more family secrets to spill, Kylo?"

    "Yeah, Darth Vader is my grandfather."

    The water glass drops from my fingers, landing in my lap and soaking me. I just stare at him, mouth ajar.

    "Darth Vader is your grandfather?" My throat closes, and I think I must look like a fish gasping for air. I hardly notice him cursing and running into the other room. Darth Vader. He returns quickly with towels, offering them to me. I take them with an absentminded 'thank-you'.

    It's believable and fathomable that he's Han Solo and Leia Organa's son. I've been close to both of them, met one. They're heroes. Everyone knows and celebrates them, but Darth Vader...

    "Hunter?" Kylo shakes my shoulder, and I clear my throat.

    "Yeah?"

    "Are you okay?"

    "Yeah." I take a deep breath.

    Kylo isn't that far from Darth Vader. He's the villain, same as his grandfather.

    Does that make me a villain too?

    "Hunter, you're soaked." He says gently, eyes still red. I look down, feeling the cold for the first time.

    "Oh yeah." I stand, trying to pat myself down with the towel. He sighs, stepping over to his closet and pulling out a folded piece of black fabric. He offers it to me carefully, and I take it.

    "Go on into the bathroom and change." He orders. "I'll make some food. I need to busy myself." I nod, stepping into the room he ordered me into.

    He gave me a sweater that's so large it passes my knees.

    On him, I'm sure it fits perfectly.

    The sleeves fall far past my fingertips. I decide that the sweater is big enough to wear as a kind of dress, so I remove everything else except my still-damp undergarments, folding them neatly and leaving them by the door.

    I could leave and go back to my room. I don't need to stay.

    But he clearly wants me to.

    And I want to, too.

    So I'll stay.

    "What are you making, Kylo?" I step into the small kitchen. He doesn't turn from the stove, so I hop up on the counter to sit next to him as he works.

    "I'm glazing fruit." He says, not looking up.

    "Oh." I let my hair down, running my fingers through it. He uses the heel of his hand to brush his cheek, and I let out a quiet breath. "It's okay to not like your mother." I say, kicking him lightly. He still doesn't turn his gaze to me, and I frown.

    "It's not that." He mutters, lifting the dish he was using to make the snack from the stove and moving it to the counter on the opposite side of where I'm perched.

    "Then what is it?" I ask. "You don't have to-" I stop, face turning the same shade of red that his is as he watches me. I pull on the sleeves of his sweater, looking away. "Sorry." He nods, wetting his lips and turning as well.

    "I didn't mean to stare." He says, shifting on his feet.

    "No, no it's fine." I say weakly.

    I don't think I've ever been as embarrassed as I am right now.

    And yet, I don't think I mind much.