Commander's New Clothes

Chapter Six: Pressure

I didn't get much sleep that night. I sat staring at that note for what felt like hours. I traced my fingers over those three words over and over again. I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.

It was a reminder that I wasn't alone in this world. Now instead of just fighting for everyone else, I finally had something personal worth fighting for.

At some point I must have dozed off. I jumped up as soon as I realized I had fallen asleep and quickly opened the door. The sun still hadn't risen. I still had time.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes, wondering where I had left all my sketches. It was hard to tell which ones were the keepers and which ones I had tossed aside as rejects. I picked up one that looked half decent, but still very much unfinished.

I figured I could make a few sketches and he could pick out which ones he liked best. At first, I thought that it should be all my own work, that I should be able to take pride in the fact that I alone created this. But then I remember what this really was, who this was even for.

There's no pride in giving in to the enemy, is there?

Pride has no place here. Show even a glimpse of it and you put yourself in danger. All of those little moments of defiance, let my pride slip out, are dangerous. I looked down at the burn on my arm. It was big and blistering and infected. I hadn't been taking care of it and cleaning it out like I should've been. It oozed and welded to the fabric of my clothes. It caused me pain when I had to rip my clothing off of it, opening the wound all over again.

Taking care of myself was so hard. There were so many other things to think and worry about. So many other things were draining me.

The feelings of being alone and abandoned were enough to leave me feeling empty. But with all of those First Order business, I felt completely hollow.

I tried to let my mind go blank and keep sketching. Stop thinking and being so paranoid about how he would react to these. They were just drawings. Just concepts. Nothing was set in stone yet.

If I had to redo a sketch, then so be it. Maybe it would buy the village time.

Was that risk worth it though? Stalling to buy time if it meant potentially pissing Kylo Ren off?

I kept scribbling until my hand cramped, kept scouring over page after page, putting things together in my mind, tossing more and more into the reject pile and compiling different components I liked together. I would hopefully have at least a few somewhat decent options for him.

He better be grateful for this. He better realize that I sacrificed my entire night to this, that I tore my mind away from thinking about the things that actually mattered to me to focus on him.

He wouldn't be grateful though. He was in control. This wasn't a fair exchange. I had nothing to gain out of this. Only something to keep; my life.

As soon as the first ray of light crept in under the door, I heard two gentle knocks. For half a second, the hope rose in me that maybe it was another message from the Resistance, or better yet, a person from the Resistance, maybe even my family.

But then I shoved that hope deep down where it belonged and faced the truth.

I was surprised he had knocked so gently. Having any sort of courtesy or decency toward me seemed so out of place and unnecessary. And he didn't seem like one for pleasantries that didn't provide him with any gain. He was already getting something out of me, the only thing I had to give. What more could he possibly want?

I opened the door and found him standing there, his helmet on the ground and his arms crossed. It was chilly at night and during the mornings before the sun finally rose. I couldn't believe he had his helmet off. Did he walk all this way without wearing it? Risk others seeing him? Maybe he just took it off when he got to the front door.