politicalmamaduck

It wasn’t until later that it hit her.

Later, when she could finally be alone, freed from the Falcon’s confines and lack of privacy, crowded into the already precious space with the entirety of what remained of the once mighty Resistance.

They were nobody.

They were filthy junk traders. Sold you off for drinking money. They’re dead in a pauper’s grave in the Jakku desert. You come from nothing. You’re nothing. But not to me.

When she was finally free from the burden of being the last Jedi, the Resistance’s savior, she put a hand to her mouth to stop from crying out, but like the ever shifting Jakku sands, it did nothing to stop her tears flowing, pouring out of her in a fury she could not control.

Had she truly been lying to herself for all these years? Had she known the truth all along, and just refused to admit it until the dark cave and Kylo Ren forced her to stand on her own two feet, look upon herself, and find that she herself was all she had, all she ever had?

Rey could find no answers in her own sobbing, in her chest heaving, in her heart breaking into a million pieces she could not fix like a hyperdrive or a droid.

So she cried into a meager blanket and pillow, shaking from exhaustion and rage and pain and wanting to howl at the galaxy, at the Force, for treating her so cruelly, for stripping her of everything and leaving her bare in the desert, her heart and soul so full and yet so empty, devoid of the love she’d always craved.

Her parents abandoned her, and so had Kylo.

How long would it be before everyone she just helped save abandoned her too?