Rogue One- Alternate Ending

Chapter 17

Hey guys first of all thanks so much for over 900 reads!!!!!! Let's see if we can get to 1k by sharing this with our fangirl and fanboy community.....
Well I'm listening to the Dr who theme with my camp half blood t shirt and writing star wars fan fiction soon it's safe to say I'm a fan girl.
OOH THE MUSICS CHANGED TO HARRY POTTER.
Anyways on with the story and most likely more death. *evil laugh* Also anyone here looking for a new book series to get obsessed with GO READ THE BROKEN TRILOGY BY L.A WEATHERLY IT IS AWESOME.......... I'm waiting.

~Jyn~

I pull away from Cassian, the familiar tug of putting the rebels before my personal relationships urges me to rise and survey the commandeered freighter with damp cheeks.
I can't let myself think about Blake.

And that's when I feel it. The familiar walls snapping up, the gates closing and the cave hatches locking- hiding away any emotion anyone else would show. I will not be weak.

My shaking hands stilling with every step, I walk towards Blake's body and bow my head, when my eye line rises my heart is as cold as ice- thirteen, she was thirteen and they killed her. They took maybe the only person who knows what it's like to be me.

"We need to take her body back." I say in a small voice. Cassian nods and goes to collect a morgue sheet to carry her in, I can't bare the thought.

When he returns I'm still standing in the same position, memories of the Labour camp flooding back.

A whip cracks in the distance, a normal sound- I used to flinch, knowing somewhere an innocent prisoner would be falling to the floor in pain- now I just keep working.

A storm trooper positions himself behind me, I can just see the bloodied whip coiled at his feet. Never showing fear, I keep my eyes straight ahead and keep working, ignoring my aching muscles and blistered hands.

The storm trooper moves on.

I was used to keeping silent, not breathing in relief- that only bought them back- instead my muscles relaxed slightly as the gave up waiting for a strike. A General comes up behind me.

I never knew his name.

His hand slides along my waist and I fight the urge to pull away. One of his clammy fingers reaches a torn part in my shirt and strokes the bare skin- roughly and forcibly.

I am not clueless to what's happening. I've heard the stories and seen the faces of the 'to pretty' women in the camp when certain generals walk by. They see as as toys- to be played with and then broken.

I was never going to allow it.

I swung away and punched the General hard in the jaw, using his surprise to get my shackles round his neck and knee him hard in the place no man wants to get kneed. He doubles over in pain but I dont get much of a chance to feel satisfaction before I'm shoved down in to the mud, a whip striking my skin. I try to rise and end up kneeling, digging my nails into the ground. The whip comes down.

Again and again and again.

My head jerks up as if waking from a dream, I shake my head, clearing the memory and the thought of what could have happened that day.

Cassian has wrapped Blake in a morgue sheet and carried her body onto the ship, we're ready to fly.
He steps up beside me and touches my shoulder. Another wall forms in my head.

"No," I mumble and pull away from him, walking to the ship. He looks understanding but still hurt. No pity in his expression. Good. I always hated pity.