Trust ~ Jean Kirschtein x Reader/OC

CHAPTER TWO ~ Rebellion

As I pace around the small empty room, shoving my arm through my freshly cleaned shirt, I hit my elbow against the slightly ajar cupboard door that lies against the wall at the foot of the bed.
"Ow," I hiss as it opens slowly, revealing my reflection inside.

I look very, very tired. My face is drained of colour, and I seem almost limp, not to mention the bandage around my torso still strapped tightly. I snort at myself, gosh I must've been a scare for Armin to see, before scanning down the rest of my body. With my body in this state, the scars on my leg look even more ghastly, sickening, and gruesome. My left eye twitches in disgust as I sigh and pull the rest of the shirt over my head, moving away from the dusty mirror and back to the rest of my uniform.

I pick up the pants and physically brace myself to put them on, since it involved having to bend, and it was still painful to do so. I take a deep breath, before holding it and diving headfirst into the sharp stab in the middle of my spine; my eyes squeeze shut and the tendons in my neck strain as I rush to put them on, taking priority to making sure they fit comfortably over the pain coursing through me.

When I finish, I snap back upright and shakily let go of the breath I was holding, holding my fists in tight balls for a moment, keeping my eyes closed.

As I open them again, I whisper to myself, "OK, now that's over, hurry up."

I thread on and tighten every buckle I have to strap to myself, holding my breath through the pain when I need to, until the arrangement of belts is secure onto me. I hastily grab my jacket and throw it over my shoulders, before quickly shoving my feet into my boots and doing them up tightly, stamping one foot at a time for security or something like that.

Once I finish, I take a deep breath and spin in a circle, scanning my eyes over the room so I don't miss anything I may need or have missed. They land on my journal, neatly folded over on the bedside table, hiding many traumas within. I slowly walk over to it and glide my hand over the soft fabric cover, feeling a sudden sense of emptiness, remembering my family's deaths all the more, and remembering how I could have saved at least one of them. I zone out on the journal, intensely staring at it, guilt overtaking my whole body and mind once more. If only I had just... moved my damn feet and pushed through the pain, no matter what it took. Or, or forced Simone out of harm's way. I was so damn selfish!

I feel warm tears well up in my eyes before snapping out of my thoughts and back to the present. I don't realise how hard I am gripping the cover, almost scratching it with my nails, and how fast my breathing was. I immediately pull my hand back to my chest and calm myself, rapidly blinking my eyes to get rid of the puddles. You don't deserve to cry, Rosette.

Once I'm sure I'm composed again, I softly pick it up and shove it into my jacket pocket. I'm not sure why, but I for some reason feel as though I want it to be with me. As much as it brings waves of guilt and resentment for myself, it also lets me keep some form of my family with me.

As I slowly turn towards the door, I remember my hair is out, and my ribbon is still around my wrist. Usually, I wouldn't have to remember to tie it up, because it usually already is. This is an attachment I don't think I'll ever get rid of, no matter how hard I try or how much I want to. I already know people stare at me, thinking it's weird or childish - especially with the ribbon. They could tear me down to my bones until there is nothing left of me, and only then would I give it up. It was the single thing I could do still for Simone.

Untying the ribbon from my wrist, I approach the door with small steps, only stopping to look once more in the dirty mirror in the cupboard. I watch myself as I wrap the ribbon around my hair in a high ponytail, once, twice, before tying it into a small bow. As I bring my hands back down, I dust them over my hips and stand up straighter, smiling at myself so I don't look so dead. That'll do, I guess, I think to myself, before dropping my expression and heading out the door.