Stuck With Me: A Cad Bane Novel

Chapter 11

A/N: we're officially almost 1/3 the way through this book congrats for making it this far

Warnings: swearing, lots of tea, cad bane's made up past, sex slaves, death, violence, parent problems, ptsd, trauma but also healing sort of, nightmares, this is sensitive stuff so I HOPE YOU HAVE READ THESE WARNINGS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THEM AND IF YOU HAVE READ THEM AGAIN

Word count: 1194

Stars, it doesn't matter that you managed to blurt out that you're under the protection of Cad Bane before they jumped on you, you know that Gwarm's awful, leering face waits for you in your nightmares. That barely occurs to you, though, because you're nowhere close to sleeping - all you can think of is Cad's gravelly voice, muffled but still audible and understandable from the other side of the ship, full of barely restrained anger and chillingly dangerous.

Keep yer dirty hands off her.

Tonight, it's your turn on the floor, and you sit curled up beneath the blanket that's still laced with that musky scent, eyes wide open as you stare into the darkness. If he wanted to, he could have left you with Hondo's gang, denied that you were with him, and it wouldn't have been any skin off his dip - swap. But no, he does no such thing, instead asking you if you're alright - in front of them - his narrowed eyes surveying your grazed knees and then only a few minutes later - keep yer dirty hands off her. Ya keep yer dirty hands off her.

Just as he said back on Coruscant, he hasn't laid a finger on you where you don't want it. He's done his best to keep his eyes off you when it's so obvious that he could just take what he wants from you - and even so, he won't. Maker, he held you in his arms not twenty four standard hours ago, and still he uses phrases like 'only if you want to.' No one - no one - has said that to you in your whole life. You saw him with Hondo's gang, he treated them with much less courtesy than he does you, and for what? Why would he -

'I can almost hear the mechanics in yer brain whirrin' from here, li'l lady.'
Cad's voice from the bed snaps you out of your thoughts, and you take a deep breath, steeling yourself to force out the question which has been bothering you for too long now. 'Why are you nice to me, Cad? Why do you care?'

It comes out a little harsher than you mean it to, his first name laced with a slightly accusing tone, but you're not about to take your words back. This has been on your mind too long, and you want to hear the answer. You can hear him forcing his breathing to stay steady, and when you glance over, the red glow of his eyes glints off the metal wall by the bed. He's facing away from you, but now he turns, a slender shadow with a pair of large, luminescent eyes.

'Ya know, li'l lady, I've been askin' myself that too.'
When he doesn't continue, just lets the silence settle like a smothering blanket again, you lean forward a little, sensing that the softer part of him is emerging again, under the cover of the darkness where he isn't forced to be his reputation, isn't forced to constantly prove his worth. 'And?'

The blankets rustle, and you see him swing his legs over the side of the bed and lean his elbows on his thighs so he can look down at you through the darkness. 'My mother was like ya.' He sighs. 'A slave, a - a sex slave. She was - she was the favourite of a Duros crime lord - my father - like ya were the favourite of Russ. I was only four or five when his enemies came fer him, and my mother and some of the other women tried to escape. They shot her in the back. I - I saw it all.' He makes a choked sound, his next words so hurried that they collide into one another. 'I was still with the other women. My father's enemies were coming after us, so they told me to run and not look back while they - they held them off.' There's a pause, then, 'When I looked back, not one of them was still standing. And then I ran, like a goddamn fuckin' coward. The years I spent afterwards, clawin' my way to the top, they were pretty bad too, but nothin' was as bad as that. As seein' her die, and the others too. I didn't even know some of their names.' He looks up at you. 'Ya remind me of her, of all of them. And I couldn't just leave ya like I left them. Like I left her.'

'You didn't - '
He cuts you off. 'Ya know what's the worst thing? More than five women, sacrificin' themselves fer me, and what do I go and do with my life? Get paid to kill more fuckin' people!'

You look up at him. He's trembling all over, his hands clenched into fists, and you get the distinct impression that he's not in control, not in control of what he's doing or saying, that the emotions that he normally keeps on such a tight leash are now commanding him. Scrambling to your feet, you stand in front of him before gently wrapping your arms around him, much like he had held you before. He presses his forehead into your stomach, and you can feel the tremors wracking his body as he clutches you to him.

You're aware of something roiling beneath the surface of your conversation, a deep, buried emotion that won't be confessed until he wants it to be, but you don't question him about it - you have a feeling that if you force him to say it out loud, you'll have to face the same truth yourself. Because for once, you've got a man in your arms and you don't feel fear or disgust or horror, you just feel the pleasant coolness of his blue skin brushing against yours and a tremulous but warm spark fluttering inside you. Shifting in your arms, Cad turns his head so it rests against your stomach, his slender fingers lightly clasping your hips as he stares mutely at the ground.

'I hate it,' he mumbles, more to himself than to you.
'Me too,' you whisper. 'Me too.'

It doesn't take much for you to understand what it is. It's all he's spoken about, the women, the slaves, the killing. Slowly, he sits back, releasing you, and fidgets with the hem of his shirt, an action which looks wrong on him - too uncertain, too... shy. Tilting your head, you stand in the middle of the room, not sure what to do. Eventually, you decide to return to the floor, nudging your makeshift mattress a little nearer the bed, not entirely distancing yourself from him, but letting him know that if he chooses to reach out for you, you'll be there.

A few seconds later, you watch as a blue hand, near black in the darkness, hesitantly extends from under the blankets on the bed, hanging there limply until you reach out, lacing your fingers with his. A heavy, rattling sigh permeates the darkness, and then soft, steady breathing - breathing that lulls you to sleep.