For The Blood We Spill

Chapter 14 - Fives

Author's Note: I am so, so sorry for posting this chapter a week late. I completely forgot that I needed to post it. Lol. 

WARNING: Self-harm thoughts, suicidal thoughts/feelings, major disassociation, blood, and general darkness!

~ Amina Gila

The morning after Anakin's last therapy session, he made an effort to get up in the morning and do something, even if that something amounted to nothing more than cooking everyone breakfast. It keeps him distracted and busy, and if he doesn't want to be pressured into going back to a therapist, he needs to start pretending, at least, to be feeling better. Which means that he needs to find new ways to distract himself, so he doesn't spiral and start contemplating violence on himself.

It... is hard. It's very hard, actually, when he doesn't care about anything. He doesn't care about getting up or doing anything, and he's so tired. He just wants to rest, to – to nothing, to be nothing. Nope. Nuh uh. Those thoughts are Not Allowed right now. Or ever. He's not broken or – or wrong, no matter what his mind healer assured him about how it's normal and healthy to seek out help. It seems backwards. Admitting to a weakness means – it means – (it means being defective and worthless.)

So, no. He's not doing that anymore. He's going to try to act better so that Padme and Ahsoka don't worry about him as much. Maybe he can even try to accompany Ahsoka on one of her relief missions. He doesn't want to, not by any means, because if he can't even take care of himself, how does he expect to do anything but fail other people? But – but it might help, and it will at least give him something useful to do so he doesn't feel so much like a failure.

(At least if he's busy helping with relief missions, he won't be fantasizing about what it would be like to slash open his arm, cutting down to bone and feeling the hot, wet blood gushing out, painting everything red.)

Ahsoka shadows him when, after Padme has gone to the Senate, he decides to clean the entire apartment from top to bottom. Himself. Without droids. Well, Ahsoka helps, too, of course, which makes it go faster. And when that's done, he sets about cooking an elaborate meal for dinner. It's not like he has anything else to do, and cooking takes his mind off things. It's something he's good at, something that can show how useful he is.

He knows that he's slipping back into patterns from his childhood, a mindset that he managed to train himself out of once he came to the Temple. It's – it's not good. It's not something that he can deal with long-term, but it will work for now, and maybe – maybe... Maybe, what? Maybe he'll magically start feeling better? Ridiculous. He is not getting better. He is not going to get better by waiting, but he doesn't know what else to do.

Force, he is so tired, and he wants to sleep. He wants to see Obi-Wan –

No.

Nono. Bad. He can't think about Obi-Wan. That's what started the spiral last time, and he absolutely does not need to do something as drastic as sliding the knife in his hands – yes, he's cooking, so he needs it right now to chop vegetables; maybe he should have given it to Ahsoka to do instead – in between his ribs aiming for his heart. Not in front of Ahsoka.

She doesn't say anything when he hands her the knife with trembling fingers and asks her in a flat, detached tone to finish the job. He hardly feels real, here, and – and – stop it. Idiot. Can he not focus on this assigned task long enough to see it through without losing it? Cursing himself silently in Huttese, Anakin shakes his head, all but glaring at the recipe on the datapad and trying to force his muddled brain to work properly. Ugh. There's a reason why he asked Ahsoka to read him the directions in the first place. (Give him orders. Orders. Orders are easy to follow, easy to listen to. He's used to the mindless obedience. He had it beaten into him when he was a child.)