Word Count: 953
Summary: Boba's not the only one, and he goes a little crazy. But it's not his fault!
Note: Listening to 80's synth makes me write. Woo!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Eurythmics, nor do I own the Star Wars.
The language of love
Slips from my lover's tongue
Cooler than ice cream
And warmer than the sun
Dumb hearts get broken
Just like china cups
The language of love
Has left me broken on the rocks
I thought I was the only one. We spent countless nights together and I never suspected that there was another. The way he kissed me, the way he made love to me, and the way he held me afterwards seemed so natural. There was none of the forced chit-chat and restricted kisses that are the usual signs of a tryst. Our conversations flowed naturally, and he always seemed so keen to hear my views on life. He was passionate and sensitive. He put me on a pedestal I never felt worthy of, and I felt like a complete imbecile when I discovered I wasn’t the sole target of his affections.
We first crossed paths in our youth. I was enslaved upon the Trader’s Luck, under the watchful of the despicable Garris Shrike. We stopped over on Corellia where we picked up several additions to the “crew”. One of which was a young Han Solo; eager to please, yet so quick to judge. We shared quarters with two other children. I was an outcast because of my heritage. Solo especially was disgusted by my blood and swore to me I would be nothing but another target for his blaster when he won the Empire over for the Alliance. I hated the boy. No one denounced my father or me in such a way. I swore I’d have my revenge.
We met again later in life. In a flurry of words, he apologized for his headstrong, childish words and offered to make up any hurt he’d caused me. I was skeptical, as I always am, but I let him. He took me around the galaxy and somewhere in between bars I fell in love with him. Our first kiss was aboard the Millennium Falcon and I thought from that moment, he would always be mine.
To this day I’m not sure who came first in his heart; she or I. I like to tell myself it was me, but a part of me always doubts this. The way we fit together felt so natural that there was never any apprehension when we met up. He always seemed to have more time for me than necessary, and often, I was the one who had to decline his company. Could he have known me so well that he predicted when I would not be able to see him? If that were the case, is that not further proof that I was first? Does it matter now?
When I first saw them together, I felt every ounce of blood in me rush from my face. My head swam and I almost fell to the ground in shock. But I’ve been strong in far worse situations, so I swallowed my growing sickness and watched them from a distance. I crept through alley ways, hid in crowds, and always stayed two steps behind the prize of my life and his disgusting arm candy. She had the poise and well-groomed nature of a regal maiden, yet she lacked the painstakingly bred beauty of any royal family. She giggled and clutched what was rightfully mine with such a sense of ownership. I stalked them in the shadows and watched with silent horror as she stole a kiss from my love before they parted ways.
I’ve never stood for being hurt. I didn’t stand for it this time.
But there's just one thing
And I really wanna know
Who's that girl
Running around with you?
He shouldn’t have said he loved me if he didn’t really care. He shouldn’t have told me I would always be the only one for him if he wasn’t faithful. His careless promises make no sense to me, even now. Why string me a long if she was his true love? Or, reversely, why fool her and in the end drive me away if I was his beloved. Everything that’s happened is his fault. It’s not my fault I’m irrational and jealous, but it’s his fault that he brought out these traits in me. I tried to stay calm and level headed, I really did. But knowing that he was touching her in ways that he was only meant to touch me…
Well, it was infuriating to say the least.
So I waited for him to return to me. I sat on the edge of the bed we had shared for so many years with my blaster in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other. My helmet was thrown haphazardly into a corner, and with each passing swig from my bottle, pieces of my armor followed it. By the time Han walked in, I was scratching at my cuffs, screaming for no reason. His eyes went wide as he watched me tear the skin beneath. I looked up at him and smiled, throwing the rum to the side. He reached out to brush the side of my face, murmuring my name. Even intoxicated, I was too fast for him. It took three shots but I eventually found my mark, and he hit the ground with a sigh.
The next morning I awoke with a splitting headache. I collected what belongings I wished to take with me and hunted out the princess who had stolen away from me the only thing of worth in my life. She was waiting for Han when I found her. She did not know me, but I knew her too well. When I approached her, she grinned and asked if I was sent by Solo. I told her I was, and when she asked if he would be late, I shot her cleanly through the chest. Her blood flowed a deep red and I reveled in the sight of it.
I almost felt remorse when I realized she was with child. Then I remembered this wasn’t my fault.
The language of love
Has left me stony grey
Tongue tied and twisted
At the price I've had to pay
Your careless notions
Have silenced these emotions
Look at all the foolishness
Your lover's talk has done