DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Your tears aren’t as dramatic as you expected as you sit leaning against your bed. This isn’t a sob brought on by heartbreak, but instead a familiar sorrow once again confirmed. Tears flow silently down your face as you inhale and exhale…inhale and exhale. You try to bring on a sob, hoping to purge this pain. But it won’t happen. You blow out a heavy sigh and wipe your face, making way for more silent tears.
You hear footsteps in the hall that stop at your door. The door shakes as whoever it is tries to open it and then discovers that you locked it. Then you hear your name called through the door.
But you don’t answer. You stand up and crawl onto the bed, burying your face in your pillow and pulling another one over your head.
He knocks and calls your name again. “Please let me in.”
You curl up on your side and grab the pillow tighter to your head. Maybe if you’re really quiet, he’ll just give up.
“I know you’re in there,” he says. “Please open the door.”
You close your eyes and wish him away.
“Please,” he says a little more agitated. “I am worried about you.”
::Yeah. Whatever.::
He calls your name in a more commanding tone this time. “If you don’t unlock the door…. I’m coming in whether you unlock it or not.”
You reach over and switch off the light.
“I saw that,” he says.
::Good for you.::
The doorknob rattles. And a moment later the door swings open.
::Shit.::
Obi-Wan walks over to your bed and turns the light on.
“Turn it off,” you mumble, still holding the pillow over your head, consciously fighting the urge to sniffle.
“What is going on?” He sits down next to you on the bed, laying a hand on your arm.
“I’m tired,” you say.
“You seem very upset,” he says.
“I don’t feel good,” you say. “I just want to sleep. Please turn the light off.”
“Talk to me for a moment,” he says, pulling gently at the pillow over your head.
“I have a headache,” you say, grabbing the pillow tighter. “Please turn the light off.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I just have a headache. It hurts. Please turn the light off,” you say.
He finally switches off the light. “I am sorry you’re not feeling well. Maybe I can do something to help you.”
“No. I just want to be alone,” you say.
“But—“
“Please. Go enjoy your party,” you say.
“I don’t know if I can now,” he says.
“Sorry to ruin it for you,” you say.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, rubbing your back.
You tense your muscles despite the pleasant sensation. Part of you wants to tell him everything and part of you just wants to scream and another part of you just doesn’t want to cope. You choose the latter. “Please, Obi-Wan, just go so I can sleep.”
He removes his hand from your back. “If that’s what you want….”
“Yes, it is.”
He sighs and stands up. “I will stop by tomorrow to see how you are doing.”
“Sure.”
“Well…. Good night, then,” he says quietly. “I hope you are feeling better. If you need anything—“
“Good night,” you say.
He sighs again and begins to walk away. You hear him stop for a moment, and then he continues walking again, leaving the room without another word and closing the door behind him.
You breathe out a sigh of relief and toss the pillow off your head. You wait until you don’t hear his footsteps anymore and then turn on the light. You grab your notebook and begin to write, knowing no other way to sort this out.
When you wake up the next morning, you consider planning some sort of day-long activity to keep you away because you do not doubt that Obi-Wan will come to check on you. But then you decide that it’s better dealt with it sooner than later. Your avoidance will only cause him to be more persistent. And, feeling relatively anger-free at the moment, you find yourself mostly capable of doing what must be done.
Then again, you feel the need to keep busy. After a shower you head downstairs and discover that the party room is still in disarray. So you take to cleaning it up. You gather plates and forks and set them on one table. Then you slowly wander around kicking at balloons that are scattered around the floor.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Obi-Wan says as he enters the room.
“Hi,” you say casually and quickly step back to your cleanup job.
“How are you feeling?” He gives you a kind smile.
“Fine,” you say.
“Well, that’s good news. I was worried about you,” he says.
“No need,” you say, busying yourself with collecting utensils.
“So what happened?”
“When?” you ask innocently.
“Last night. What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
He walks toward you. “As you recall, you ran out of this room with no explanation. I didn’t even know you were out of your chair until you were halfway out the room. And you ignored me when I called out to you.”
You feel a spike of anger and say, “So where was your famous Jedi focus if you didn’t even notice I had left?”
“Something caught my attention,” he says.
“Oh really? What?” The vision of naughty schoolgirl Terri strutting past your table enters your mind for a fraction of a second before you banish it and lock your mind.
He shakes his head. “It’s not worth mentioning.”
“I see.”
He immediately adds, “But I don’t want you to think that my delayed response meant that I wasn’t aware of your exit. You left rather quickly and without a word. Why is that?”
“I told you, I was sick,” you say as you wipe down a table.
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“I’m sorry. It just seems odd that you would run out of the room over a headache,” he says.
You turn to face him. “Why are you nitpicking over this?”
“It just seems that….” Then he smiles. “I’m sorry. If you’re fine, then I’m fine.”
“Well, everybody is happy then,” you say with your best smile.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, stalking toward you. You feel your heart race as he moves closer, but you force yourself back into neutral mode as he places a warm kiss on your cheek and makes a hesitant motion toward your lips. You back up a couple of steps and take a deep breath. “What is it?” he asks.
“I…. I can’t do this,” you say.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been thinking, and….” You take another deep breath to try and make this sound as convincing as possible. “I don’t think that I can be more than a friend to you.”
His expression turns grave. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” you say.
“Something happened,” he says. “What changed between yesterday and today?”
“I just had time to think, that’s all,” you say.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he says.
“It does,” you say. “Obi-Wan, you and I are two different people. I am not willing to gamble away our friendship. You are my friend…a very good friend, but that is all it can be. I…. It just feels better this way.”
“It does?”
“To me, it does,” you say.
His eyes reveal pain. “But that kiss—“
“A mistake,” you say.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head. “I cannot accept this.”
“You have no choice,” you say a little more intently. “I’ve thought about this a lot…even before yesterday and before the talk we had the other night.”
“I sense that something else is going on here,” he says.
“Well…. You’re wrong,” you say. “There isn’t anything else going on. And that’s part of the problem. I like you very much…care for you very much, but as a friend.”
“I don’t feel that way,” he says. “And I don’t believe you do, either.”
Your brain bumbles around for a minute. “Look, I want more out of my life than to be the girl waiting around for you to come home.”
He looks down, his expression confused…dejected even. “But…. You wouldn’t be…. You are so much more than that.”
You snort…a little, but it’s enough to get his attention.
“What has happened to make you think so ill of me all of a sudden?”
“I don’t think ill of you.” Lies work when they need to.
“But that kiss—“
“So we kissed. It happens. That doesn’t mean that everything has to change because of it. You are a very attractive man. I lost my head for a second or two. But the fact of the matter is that I cannot live my life to be the girl who waits around for you to come home…who arranges her life around your free time,” you say.
“But you’re so much more than that,” he says.
“There are plenty of other women who would be willing to lay in wait for you.”
“What is going on here?”
You look him in the eye and say very matter-of-factly, “I think I deserve someone who will love me and who will *be there*…someone who will put me first before his friends, his job, his own good times, or whatever. I’m sorry if you don’t see it that way. Perhaps that’s telling.”
Your words enter him like tiny daggers. You can see it in his face, and for a moment you feel sorry for him. For this man who can never have what most people take for granted. Love…the kind that comes with companionship and the mundane activities in which love truly lives. So instead he plays the field and gets out of women what he can before his duty calls him away again.
“I am sorry for trying to push you into something you do not want. I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand,” he says.
“Good,” you say.
“I hope that we can still be friends,” he says.
“Of course,” you say, as you turn away to busy yourself again.
“Well….” He shifts on his feet. “I should go.”
“Yes, I have things to do,” you say.
“See you later?”
You shrug as you scrub the table a little harder than necessary. “Sure. See you around.”
“Goodbye,” he says quietly, turning to go.
“Bye,” you say, squeezing the cloth very hard as you pausing your cleaning frenzy. You hear the front door open and then shut quietly. You sit down in a chair and rub your temples. “It’ll be fine,” you say. “Everything will be fine...but he certainly didn't fight for you, did he?” You sigh and toss the cloth onto the table. "But why would he?" You swallow hard and force that terrible ache back down inside you.