It was overwhelming, wasn’t it? She pulled back a little, giving him a chance to process everything. Lara nudged at her chest in a familiar gesture, and after checking to make sure no one else was around to see, Miri lifted her shirt for her. Maybe it was a little weird to be feeding her in the middle of a conversation like this, but if she didn’t Lara would cry. Nursing would finally put her to sleep, at least.
Even while she was separated from her babies on Selvaris, her body hadn’t stopped trying to provide for them, producing milk that had nowhere to go, no mouths to feed. Letting it out herself had felt weird and wasteful, but otherwise it would become swollen and painful.
Miri looked up at Kyell when he spoke. He began with an assurance again, repeating that he was fine with her not being a Jedi. But then he asked her why she hadn’t told him any of this before.
<
I’m just not used to it,> she answered. It was the truth, even if it was a lame excuse. <
Talking to people, telling them the things I do and feel… I was on my own for a long time before I met you. When you’re alone, you keep your thoughts to yourself.>
Her father had been dead for years. Her mother was too difficult to deal with. Other relatives were too far out of reach, and friends never stayed. Kyell was different. She was still getting used to that difference.
Even now, she was holding back darker thoughts—though as she felt tears pricking at her eyes, she tried to open up. It didn’t come out as clearly transmitted thoughts so much as a jumble of emotions she projected into his mind. She didn’t want him to feel trapped. Her love was a tangled knot. If he heard everything she’d said and decided he didn’t want to be with her anymore, she’d have to get over it. Even though it would be like having her heart ripped out, she’d keep the pain inside. It would be better if she seemed cold and heartless, better if she numbed herself to it all, better not to feel anything when the ties were severed.
<
On Selvaris I killed the man who murdered my father,> she said softly. <
My father’s ghost appeared and told me that I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. That I had people who loved and needed me at home. That I was lying to myself, and had forgotten who I was.> Her brow furrowed. <
He’s right. I don’t know who I am anymore, except when I’m here with you and the children.>