Healing Hurts (Anakin Skywalker)

Chapter 8

 There were many times throughout Havena's life where she was grateful that her family's home was in the countryside. As a little girl she was terrified of the forest, but as she grew older she could play in the trees outside all day without a care in the world - especially when she had her mother and father by her side. She spent so much time outside, in fact, that her father had built her a treehouse around a quarter mile from their house. It was right beside the old air-conditioned shed that her mother had renovated and used for a home office/library - another place where she recently found herself longing to spend her time.

Perhaps too much time.

While Havena knew that she would have to face her father eventually, she'd been trying to avoid him to the best of her ability. His cruel, angry words still vividly played on repeat in her mind. She knew that he had just been upset. He wasn't great at processing his emotions, and sometimes they were too much and he lashed out - that hadn't been the first time. But it had definitely been the most hurtful.

But maybe what hurt so much was the fact that he was right? If she had just stayed awake and skipped napping that day, maybe her mother would still be there beside her - alive and well. But she hadn't. She'd decided to sleep her frustrations away, and now her mother was gone.

It was her fault, and she knew it. He was right to be angry. He should have been angry. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

It had been a little over a week since her mother's passing. They'd had a small funeral service for her at the lake that sat beside their house, and at the end of it, they (read: her father) had scattered her mother's cremated remains to the wind.

Most of the service was a blur to her. She remembered seeing her aunts and uncles, extended family, and friends that she hadn't seen in months, and in some cases, years. But she couldn't remember exactly who they were. Thinking back on it, even faces seemed blurred.

Havana did remember one thing, though.

Following the small dinner after the ceremony, Havena had slipped back inside the house. It was too much. Too loud. Too crowded. Too... everything. Her head pounded, her body ached. The lights were too bright, making the girl narrow her eyes as she stepped inside. Luckily, everyone was gathered outside and for the first time in a week, Havena was able to comfortably sit on the sofa in the living room without fear that her father would walk into the room.

She drew in a sharp breath as her aching, burning legs worsened with each step. She made her way to the cabinet and quickly grabbed a few ibuprofens, downing them as fast as she could. Then, she made her way back over to the living area with an absent look in her eyes. She rested her cane down against the arm of the couch and promptly plopped herself in the seat.

Havena drew in her surroundings again, her eyes painfully stuck on the family picture sitting on the mantle. It was from Havena's 16th birthday. They'd taken a small trip camping that year - something Havena absolutely loved. But it wasn't until they arrived at the campsite that she'd realized why they were there... her parents had bought her a telescope.

It was nice - large, white outside. It sat on a black adjustable tripod at the top of the hill directly behind their campsite, already surrounded by three camping chairs. They were on a hike in the picture. Havena's mother, Emily, had stopped a nearby hiker and asked him to take a picture of them. It was Havena's favorite picture from that trip; just her, her mother, and her father, all of them wearing genuine, beaming smiles on their faces. Her father stood to her left, one arm around her in a half-hug while he held his hiking pole in the other hand. Her mother stood to her right, her hands on Havena's shoulder while she crouched down and forward, her bright smile just inches from her daughter's.