Darth Vader was gone, and this fact ignited Padmé's anger, a frown overtaking her features as she faced the doorway. She then realized how Dormé's dress was practically hanging off her body, her makeup smudged, and her bra untethered beneath the garment. It became obvious why Dormé had been nowhere to be found during the time of the attack– having been somewhere with a man who would give her the time of day. For once in her life, Padmé could barely stand to look at the woman she considered her best friend. It felt as if she were seeing Dormé in a brand-new light– a true light. It seemed her drunken mind actually brought her more clarity than she usually recognized, revealing her friend's flaws as if they were multiplying exponentially.
"What'sss… wrong?" Dormé stumbled, watching as Padmé's anger became evident, a look of death in her eyes.
The question ignited Padmé's rage to new heights. "What's wrong?" she repeated with a small, cold laugh. She couldn't believe Dormé would dare to ask her such a question. Padmé had never been drunk before– or at least not until tonight– and although she acknowledged some of the well-known effects of the vile beverage, it seemed impossible for anyone, even inebriated, to overlook her lack of clothing or the state of the lifeless body lying on the ground.
"How dare you ask me that!" Padmé shouted, her fury intensifying. "You are so pathetic, Dormé! You run off with any guy who gives you the slightest bit of attention, get drunk out of your mind, and leave me alone in a place I never wanted to be in the first place!" She knew her anger was consuming her, that she was only saying these things because of the alcohol, but she couldn't stop because they were true. They were the most genuine statements of the night, and for once, Padmé felt the need to express them. "I was almost raped!" Padmé finally admitted. "Raped because you were too busy fucking some stranger to realize that your best friend was gone!"
Dormé responded in the most unexpected way, appearing unaffected by Padmé's anger and instead letting out a series of giggles. "Please… Amidala," she smiled, stumbling toward the angry senator with an outstretched hand. "Calm d–"
Padmé flinched when her friend's hand contacted her arm. "Don't touch me!" Padmé yelled, quickly withdrawing from her friend's grasp in a sudden fit of aggression. "Don't touch me, Dormé! And don't you dare tell me to calm down!"
A frown formed on Dormé's face as her hand fell to her side. "Don't be so dramatic," she whined, rolling her eyes. "You always make everything about yourself."
It was a statement that nearly made Padmé growl. She couldn't believe what was happening or that she had allowed it to occur. "Really?" Padmé snapped, her voice filled with anger and annoyance. "Because I seem to reca" "Sweet bottom!" a voice shouted, interrupting Padmé's statement and drawing both women's attention.
The voice surprised Padmé, further confusing her, while Dormé had the opposite effect and began to giggle like a schoolgirl. As the third person exited the club to join them, the woman turned toward the door, stumbling into the arms of a man. The two shared a sloppy kiss, both obviously highly intoxicated– or under the influence of some substance. Once their lips parted, Padmé could do nothing but gasp as Dormé turned to her with a large smile. "Ami... Amidala, you remember, Mister Rush."
"Rush, Clovis," Padmé laughed– or perhaps cried. It felt both too funny and too hurtful that the man who had been flirting with her only moments before would be the one who was fucking her best friend while she was being raped and saved by the enemy. "Why am I not surprised?" "Oh, please!" Dormé rolled her eyes. "You weren't going to fuck him."
"That's not my point," Padmé replied, her anger still present but gradually fading as hurt took its place. She had never seen Dormé act this way before. The woman could have been many things, but a bad friend was never one of themunless she simply never noticed. Either way, Padmé decided it wasn't worth her time to explain or genuinely care. "Just forget it. You two have fun," she stated suddenly. "You deserve each other." Without another word, she turned and walked toward the light at the end of the alleyway, tuning out the screams calling her name from behind as she needed to get away.
The early morning on Coruscant was dark and frigid; the endless light seemed to have vanished, and the crowds of people were nowhere to be found. It was as if Padmé had entered a parallel universe, trapped in a maze for the rest of her life.
She walked alone through the winding lower-end streets, unwilling to admit to herself that she was lost. She had emptied her stomach some time ago and left her shoes at the corner of a street she couldn't remember.
The haze caused by alcohol in her mind had significantly lightened, but it was undoubtedly still present, lurking to give her a headache. She felt as though she had been walking for hours without resolution. The buildings and streets were unfamiliar, and she had no way to contact anyone for help. Somehow, during her walk, she began to descend to the lower levels of Coruscant; that much was clear.
However, the adventure Padmé found herself on was completely new, as she had never wandered the streets of Coruscant at such an early hour– much less been out on the streets buzzed and half-naked so early in the day. As Padmé took another turn, she regretted her choice to use the back streets, feeling ashamed of her appearance and longing to be home.
At that time, she had been too concerned about others to make the right choice for herself. She knew the press would have a field day if they found Senator Amidala walking around half-naked on the streets of Coruscant at such an ungodly hour, but that now seemed the least of her worries. The images of her almost-rapist played in her mind, her true fears resurfacing as she felt hopelessly terrified and looked around in panic at every corner. The paranoia she experienced was almost too great to manage, ultimately causing the floodgates to burst and forcing Padmé to admit one truth to herself: she had almost been raped.
Just then, a hard gust of wind blew against Padmé, the cold air brushing against her skin and allowing her to release what she had been holding inside. For the first time in a very, very long time, she began to cry... hard. She sobbed uncontrollably, the tears stinging her eyes and her small wails echoing down the street corners. For the first time since she had become lost, she was thankful to be alone. It was a strange reaction, but with a chilling consequence. The small gust of cold air was perfectly harmless if not for one tiny factor.
.
.
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