|| Uninvited || An Anakin Skywalker Story

Chapter Fifty Seven

Hi ya'll! 

Things are starting to get interesting. Is Anakin's growing recklessness and impulsiveness starting to get to him? Let me know what you think. 

Also, I deviated pretty far from strict Star Wars canon here when it comes to Jabba The Hutt. Just go with it <3

Love you all!

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Anakin's POV

Everyone has the capability of violence.

For some it's as second nature as breathing, for other's it's only dragged to the surface under the most extreme circumstances.

As Jedi, we were always taught that violence is a final resort. Our role was to keep the peace. However, that was thrown out the fucking window as soon as the senate's precious hold on the galaxy was threatened. I have lost count of the lives I have taken, and it would be impossible to ever fully wash the blood from my hands. No matter how often I scrub at them, the crimson-tinted reminder is embedded into fine lines of my knuckles, its dried beneath my fingernails, and practically stains my skin.

Even as I stare at them, spotless and clean underneath the burnt hues of the setting Tatooine suns, I see the blood.

So, one might think I'd grown accustomed to violence. To demonstrations of rage or even just unbridled desperation. But when Kels pressed her blaster in between Watto's eyes, everything around me halted in fucking place.

Despite the shake in her hand, the fury in her tone and the anger roiling off her told me she was very fucking serious. I had never felt that level of ferocity from her. Everything in me screamed to act, to do something.

But I was frozen. Not even able to breathe.

Logically, I knew I could end Watto with a snap of my fingers. He should be very fucking scared of me. However, when old childhood wounds go untreated and ignored, they tend to demand attention at the worst of times.

Hearing the Toydarian bark out an order...how easily he threw out the word "bitch," one he frequently hurtled towards my mother, suddenly I was that same powerless child. Doing everything in my power to remain invisible while Watto decided whether to use me or my mother as a fucking punching bag for his alcohol-induced ire. I was the same slave who was pitifully and continuously at the mercy of a drunken being's whim.

And I fucking hated that.

It only took me a matter of seconds until I was encouraging Kels to place a bullet right between his beady fucking eyes. Without any regard for the chaos that would inevitably ensue should a blaster go off in the busy cantina. In that moment, I was only thinking about finally putting an end to his pitiful existence. For enacting some sort of justice. And Kels had become my redemption when I was held frozen in the clutches of childhood haunts

But Kels is better than me. She doesn't have blood on her hands.

So instead, when she lowered the blaster and brought her unblemished fist across Watto's face, I had never been more moved by a demonstration of violence. Behind that punch was months of training, an overflow of uncontrolled fury, and a declaration of endless devotion.

And perhaps it's my damaged fucking mind, but I have never loved her more.

Watto laid on the floor in a pathetic heap, surrounded by broken ceramic shards and a puddle of ale and his own piss. He had wet himself like the coward he is.