These Violent Delights

Chapter 57: An Awakening

You sat at the bar, tapping your fingers to the shitty song coming from the stage.

A drink sat in front of you, as did the empty glass from your first round. The lights were low in Groman's Cantina as it bustled with chatter and laughter, and a heavy incensed aroma hung in the air. It was warm and stuffy, but you were comfortable in your black, flowy dress that the Korras gave you. Absentmindedly dipping a finger below your black ribbon choker, you glanced to the right when someone bumped into you.

Two male aliens were making out against the bar, their bodies firmly pressed together as one of them slipped their hand down the other's pants. You quickly redirected your gaze, but came face to face with a toothless man sloppily blowing a kiss at you. Grimacing, you decided that looking straight ahead was the safest bet right now, as you were unwilling to let anyone irk you on your birthday.

"Anotha drink, love?"

You glanced at the friendly bartender, smiling as you slid your empty glasses toward her. "Please."

As they were taken away, you began humming the song the band was playing, feeling a little more lively than usual. This was the first time you had been out and about since you went into hiding three months ago, when you stole Vicrul's motorcycle after stabbing him and then abandoning him with nothing but a vial of bacta. You regretted leaving him like that, but a part of you felt eerily calm about it, like you knew he would be okay. And at the end of the day, you had to look out for yourself—something that Vicrul had wished for you himself.

"Run as far as you can, and only look back when you're ready."

At the time, you knew you had to run, but you had no idea where to go. So, after fleeing the Korra's neighborhood, you drove into the night, letting the moonlight guide you until you ended up at a space station on the edge of town. You weren't sure how you got so lucky, but you didn't question it when you were mistaken for somebody meant to be there.

"Are you Jammiyah's replacement?" the slim, masked female had asked from atop the ramp of a ship that was ready to depart.

You shrugged. "I can be."

She looked you up and down. "Do you know how to fight?"

"All too well."

She considered you for a moment, then jerked her head toward the shuttle to invite you inside. "Hurry up, these shipments are already late, and Hondo Ohnaka is not a patient man."

You didn't tell her that you knew Hondo Ohnaka from your Kanjiklub days, and even before you made it onboard, you knew what you were getting yourself into—piracy and spice running. The crew barely looked at you when you walked in unless it was to scowl at you or size you up, but you were quick in collecting your observations, too. They were of varying species, with only one other human like you. The youngest looked to be about nineteen while the oldest was maybe seventy, all donning mismatched, weathered clothing and brutal scars on their face and arms.

As the ship had taken off, you gravitated toward the young Rodian with a missing ear. You figured he'd ignore you when you sat down, but he offered you some of his pudding and gave you a smile full of broken teeth when you took it. You soon learned he was the only one who smiled out of the bunch. Even so, you felt a sense of comfort around them. Just like in the old days with the gang, you were all simply misfits that needed each other to survive. After the first few export dispatches, you felt right at home with them.

The work was easy enough—highly illegal, but straightforward and fast-paced. The crew quickly moved from place to place, mostly delivering stolen cargo versus stealing the goods themselves, coupled with the spontaneous spice deal here and there. You didn't mind; doing illegal shit meant you were never in one place long enough for the First Order or Resistance to find you. It was all you could have asked for, and despite being aboard a shuttle with criminals, you felt safe. You felt understood. Most importantly, you felt free. The only issue was you couldn't stop thinking about Kylo.

Every night you spent lying awake in your cramped, stiff cot, you'd see his face behind your eyelids. Sleep didn't offer you relief, either. Your dreams of him woke you up nightly, but not once had he found you again in your dreamscape. At first, you were relieved, but it got to the point where you would pray that you'd see him again from the confines of your mind.

Another part of you kept waiting for the hatred to seep back in, for the realization that you didn't actually love him, but instead just infatuated with someone that filled a void deep inside of you. You forced yourself to remember all the terrible things that happened, hoping it would ground you enough to keep you from looking back.

As the bartender delivered your fresh drink, you snorted to yourself, twirling the straw in the glass. Yeah, that never happened. If anything, each passing day made you miss Kylo more. The way he touched you and looked at you made you feel whole. As did the way he understood you and how he felt like home. It felt safe to be yourself with him, to show him the dark parts within you. The same darkness he immediately recognized in you and also saw in himself.

As the days passed, you thought you'd find peace, but instead, you felt like an untethered soul desperately seeking its anchor. And despite everything, you still wanted to be with him, demons and all, but you were too afraid to make that call. What if he moved on? What if he kept you as a prisoner again? You had too many unanswered questions, and the last time you had seen him, he was acting psychotic, forcibly kissing you and demanding that you say you were his.

Even still, things hadn't felt right without him. You needed closure. So, after you couldn't take it anymore, you shot up from your cot and pulled your bag from underneath the mattress. You rummaged through it, found a piece of paper, and curled up to write Kylo a letter.

At the time, the urge to see him had been so strong, you were almost tempted to reveal your location and let him bring you home, but you got a grip and kept it short, communicating that all you needed was space. And you had no idea when you'd be ready. Writing it was the easy part—getting it to him, though? You didn't have that all figured out, but the next day on Kijimi, the universe sent you a sign when you saw a group of undercover Resistance fighters boarding a shuttle.

"You. I recognize you from Crait," you said, digging in your pocket for your letter. "Is Zeven still with the Resistance?

His mouth dropped. "Holy stars. You're...you're—"

"Yes, I am," you snapped. "Is she with you or not?" Still staring at you with wide eyes, all he did was nod, and you grabbed his hands to make him clutch the letter. "Good. This needs to get her, and tell her that the General will need to get it to her son."