Reality

II

Somewhere deep inside his mind, Anakin knew sex was not the answer, but in a short term it seemed like a pretty acceptable solution. While he kept thrusting strongly against that stranger, any kind of thought would melt into the fake pleasure.
He put one hand on the greasy wall of the room to get some balance, never stopping the hard movement inside that young man who sold his body. The truth was he could have gone to a bar, plastered on his face his charming smile and got someone for the night, but he just had hadn’t the strength to stand the hypocrite pre-sex talk. Paying had sounded easier; he just wanted to forget.
The boy under him grabbed the sheets firmly, and he didn’t repress any moan or groan. At least he was having a good time. Or maybe he was just faking; Anakin didn’t care.
When he felt the orgasm, he caught the boy’s hair in a firm grip, biting his lower lip strongly not to let any sound escape. When his breathing calmed a little, he pulled out and got up from the bed, walking towards the little bathroom that the room had. He cleaned himself with a towel and started to get dressed, wanting to get out of that depressing place as fast as possible. Nevertheless, when he had put on every peace of clothing, he noticed that something was missing: his sabre.
He took his gaze to the boy that was still on bed, getting only a regretful expression.

­ “What…” – but before he had time to ask four big men entered the room, one of them holding his weapon

He felt an electrical shock on his back and, with an involuntary scream he fell to his knees. He raised his hand, looking for something heavy enough to manipulate, but a second shock on his left side made him lower it enough for one the men to take both of his arms to his back, tidying them in a painful position.

­ “You said you wouldn’t hurt him!” – screamed the boy from the bed
­ “Shut up!” – with the yell he also got a hard smack on the face
­ “What… what do you want?” – said Anakin, dragging the attention back to himself

But he got no answer, just a hard blow on the head. He fell to the floor but his eyes were still open and aware. That just got him another shock in his kidney, the pain making him arch his back. There is no pain; there is healing. But it hurt, and a second blow to his head was enough to make him black out.


When he opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was pain. All his body was starting to notice the mistreating, remembering him every wound. His own hands, tied to his back, dig painfully on his back so, ignoring the twinge in his ribs, he raised as much as he could.
He was in some kind of greasy cell. The only light was a yellow lamp that hung precariously from the much too high ceiling. Drops fell from the infinite leaks and he soon realised that the floor in which he was lying was soaked. His boots had been taken, as well as all of his upper clothing, leaving him in just his dark brown pants.
He looked around, almost expecting something. Did his attackers have a specific purpose or had they just seen a nice opportunity in holding a Jedi? If they expected to get some money from all that they clearly knew nothing of the Order. Jedi didn’t buy their prisoners, specially when their kidnap had happened in questionable conditions.
The truth was a great part of the Council would be more than happy of seeing him disappear from the Order. He could almost picture Mace Windu lecturing anybody who even suggested looking for him. Obi-wan would defend him, but he wouldn’t defy the Council. Perhaps it was better this way, ending up his days just as he had started them, being a poor slave with nothing to offer. That would help him forget.

­ “You’re awake, Jedi” – said a tall man while entering the place; he could have easily been one of the four men from the other time, but he couldn’t be sure of it – “two days Jedi, two days and nobody is looking for you” – two days unconscious; an involuntary shiver of fear going through him – “you must not be very important if nobody’s looking for you”

There is no fear; there is understanding.
The man grabbed his wrists in a strong grip, letting him go after dragging him for a few meters. From his position he could only hear two other different steps in the room.

­ “What do we do with him?”
­ “If nobody is going to come for him we could just sell him” – the one who spoke put his foot between his stomach and the floor, making him roll until he was on his back again – “he’s good enough to fill someone’s bed”
­ “What if he is recognized?”
­ “We’ll have to make sure he is not”

The first blow went to his side, which didn’t surprise him much, people from the lower parts didn’t vary their techniques when it came to beating. With some kicks they got exactly what they wanted: Anakin had to stay on his side, curled in an almost foetal position to stand the pain.
After that there were more kicks, most of them on his stomach and back, but he stopped caring. Pain was real, pain was screaming to every part of his body that he existed. He surprised himself by screaming when he felt a deep cut going from his pelvis to just below his ribcage.

­ “Good… I was starting to think we wouldn’t hear you scream” – said one of the men while he felt the hot blood falling to the floor

The next blows went to the opened wound, making him scream with a voice that didn’t seem his own, but the true worries came upon him when he felt a kick on his head. Then there was a punch on his face, and he felt his right eyebrow opening right on top of his old scar. He watched blood falling on his face just like rain drops and he couldn’t help but smile to the irony of the moment.
He was about to pass out when he heard a fourth kind of step inside the room. Then it came the sound of a lightsaber igniting and in a few seconds three unconscious bodies falling on his sides.
Before he allowed himself to completely black out, he felt his wrists getting freed and a pair of strong arms lifting him from the floor.

TBC...