[Leia has a point; of course she does. But that's only twisting the knife further, and the air heats and dries out like the deserts of Tatooine. A breeze picks up from nowhere, but it's hard and does nothing to ease the heat.

He's raging, but it's a pathetic kind of anger, aimless and confused because it isn't aimed at someone or something in particular. It's just a hair's breadth away from being despair, if Anakin were being more honest, but denial is his final weapon, and he'll use it long past the point where it's useful.]

I wasn't planning on going home!

[On the other hand, he can be honest about this, because it's unfair. If he can focus on the unfairness of it, then he can keep some part of his heart from completely breaking.]

We were supposed to stay here, where she could be live! Where we could be happy, away from the war and the Jedi and everything else that's gone wrong back there!

[His voice cracks, like he's used up all the volume he has in him, and now all he has left is barely enough to make it heard.]

And when I go back now, it might not even change anything. She might be lost, all over again.