Chapter Text
Obi POV 1st Person:
Sometimes a headache is there, in the slow moment of wakefulness, just there in the darkness behind my closed eyes. A slight throbbing against my temples as well as pressure behind my eyes that dulls my senses enough to cause irritation and a clenching of my jaw. Filling my lungs as a deep breath is taken in, willing my head to try to ease the tension, even as the throbbing seems to band around the back of my skull like it’s trying to dig nails into it.
The pain of an old wound, ever present, even if it’s only phantom some days, is making itself known before I’ve fully committed to leaving sleep behind. Slower, steadying breaths escape dry lips and a tight throat… must have been calling out in my sleep again. It feels raw as I try to swallow… like a hot iron was thrust into the back of my throat… my tongue feels leaded and rough.
Teeth grinding as my jaw clenches tighter, I throw a forearm over bleary eyes… I really must stop doing that or one day someone is going to hear and find me. These memories - secrets deeply embedded - aren’t supposed to seep out like this! Not anymore. I’m better than this and I know what’s at risk… I take another breath, now through my nose, to try to lessen the tension searing into my veins.
Free hand drifting upwards to rest in the center of my chest, over the covered remnants of a death memory, my fingers lightly spazm inward against the ragged line, a wince - a hidden cringe - a memory come and gone with the flickering slash of an invisible blade. It’s followed by the sound of a deep shuddering sigh as it releases itself from my cracked lips. Unclenching my jaw and dropping my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I remove my arm, letting it fall back against the bedroll with a soft thud.
The slivers of dawn are just starting to peek in through the leaves of my makeshift ‘door’ into my haven - my hidden respite for the last few hours - telling me I need to gather myself and get ready to move again.
Rolling forward, abs crunching and pulling my knees up in the same swift motion, I sit up and lean forward to rest my arms on my knees and let my head droop for a second between them. Another sigh, less harsh but just as aching, rushes past my lips, a split forming from the dryness and cracking. My heaviness threatening to overwhelm from within again, I inhale a sharp breath through flared nostrils and dash the tip of my tongue out to lick at the now beaded split on my lip. Iron and salt flavored with pain and anger - torment and despair - I lick again at my lips, hoping to add a little moisture back to their parched existence.
After another moment of steady breathing and gathering of thought, I drop a leg unceremoniously and reach over towards my pack, pulling out my waterskin and prying off the stopper, I press it to my mouth to pull a few dregs down, trying to quell the of tightness in my throat. Tipping forward after swallowing, I numbly drag the back of my hand against my lips, ignoring the sting, before replacing the stopper and tossing the waterskin back into the pack.
Eyes roving around my haven, I’m suddenly reticent of how long I’ve been on the move this time. I haven’t had more than a few hours rest in as many days and it’s etched into the rigid lines of my shoulders and spine. My chest starts to ache as I stiffly reach a hand to my shoulder to grip tight, not really massaging it, more like pressing and kneading the muscle beneath my fingers… willing the memory of long gone pain to relent, even though I’ve never fully felt relief. Pain seems to be embedded upon my skin and threaded into every fiber of my muscles, grooved into my bones and buried deeply rooted in my soul.
What is the point of thinking about pain?
Releasing my shoulder and shifting to my knees, I move to the edge of the bedroll and begin to roll it up, brushing away at the dirt that collected on it while I slept. Grabbing the pack, settling the roll in its place, I swipe around the ground to make sure nothing remains to show a body once inhabited the area.
Quickly arranging my thoughts and pushing up off my knees to the balls of my feet I settle the pack against my back. The tension in my neck is unrelenting as I start to adjust the pack, rolling my shoulders and tilting my head side to side to let it crack, joints releasing a little more of the built-up stiffness of sleeping on the ground. I let my shoulders curl forward and move to the entrance of the rock ‘cave’ to peer outside. Listening for any foreign movement or sound, I wait, bated breath, while the morning rituals of the forest rise with the lazy threading touches of warmth from the sun rising over the tips of the treetops.
Crisp leaves and fresh air envelop my sense of smell and I can feel the thrumming in my head loosen ever so slightly, just enough to make the *thud thump thud* resounding in my ears die down, allowing my hearing to sharpen a little more. Nothing smells or sounds out of place, no new disturbances to the forest speak to me as I open my eyes again.
I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them .