Trust ~ Jean Kirschtein x Reader/OC

CHAPTER SIXTEEN ~ Uselessness

I finish eating the last cracker, still sitting alone on the wall after everyone left. I heave a defeated sigh, knowing that I'm still going to be exhausted and hungry, as well as feeling a suffocating amount of anxiety and guilt that continues to pile in my throat. As long as I don't pass out again though, everything will be fine.

I slowly stand up and dust off the back of my pants, closing my eyes as my body adjusts to standing upright again. My head throbs immensely, especially in the area of my injury that I forgot I had. I scrunch the wrapper from the crackers inside my palm, feeling it crackle and shrink in my hand as I squeeze it harder and harder, using it as some sort of minor release for the stress that pulsates through my blood. Just keep going. Don't be so useless.

I go to bend down to pick up the bottle of water that Jean gave me earlier, but as I search for it along the ground, I realise that it is no longer there. Jean must have taken it with him when he left, but for a reason I'm not sure of. I had drunk almost all the water out of it, so he had absolutely no use for it whatsoever.

I just shrug my shoulders and begin to walk towards the other scouts again, all huddled around each other, caring for their injured comrades and friends, including an unconscious Hange and Moblit, or reporting to our higher ups that are present in the moment. I just keep my head down and move past, knowing that I took some of the supplies that could have been used for someone else or something more important than me. Of course everything got to me, it just had to. I am a complete nuisance to this entire regiment. It was nice that whoever got the food and water for me looked out for my health, but that could have gone to someone who needed it more. Anyone here, because every single person needed it more than me.

I can feel my shoulders shrinking into my body as I try to unconsciously make myself smaller, feeling an increasing amount of guilt weigh on my shoulders with each injured and worse-for-wear person I walk past. My pace speeds up, along with my heartbeat and pounding head, wanting to just get out of here.

I run headfirst into someone's back, realising I was completely ignoring what was in front of me and had my attention to what was around me instead. I almost jump out of my skin and stumble backwards awkwardly, holding up my hands in some sort of apology.

"I'm so sorry," I mumble quickly.

The person turns around, looking annoyed and frustrated. It was Jean, again. How on earth do I keep running into him everywhere I go?! I know he's in the same regiment, but he is everywhere!

His face immediately relaxes, before it heats up as he remembers his previous embarrassing statement.

"It's okay. Monique's awake," he responds.

It takes a moment for the last part of what he said to click as I look at him blankly. "Huh?"

"Monique is awake," he repeats the exact same way he said it before.

When I finally realise what he said, I practically shove him aside to reveal a dazed and confused Monique. She looks at me and smiles somberly, her eyes glinting in the sun; I guess she still has not realised what a state she is in. Connie kneels beside her, supporting her with his hand on her upper back, along with Krista next to him, watching her carefully. On the other side of Connie sits Sasha, closely observing something on her face. I breathe out a relieved yet nervous sigh as I come down to the ground on the other side of her. I grab her hand with both of mine, feeling her warm and smooth skin against my own freezing cold fingertips, and look worriedly into her eyes. I analyse her injuries and realise just how injured she is. While I was treating her earlier, I knew she was in a very poor state, but I was too absorbed in my own head to realise the full extent of the situation she was in. More specifically, I become much more aware of the cut that stretches down from the outer side of her left eye and ends in the middle of her cheek. It was deep and bloody, creating a bruise-like rim around it. It was almost the same as when I had first gotten the scars on my leg, and my heart beats faster than it already is as I know it is going to scar - and she is going to hate it. Not only that, but it is my fault that she will end up with that scar, all because I couldn't control my own emotions. I could have tended to it better, maybe increase the probability of it not scarring as bad as it would. But I didn't do anything. She will forever hate that scar just as I despise my own, and it is all my fault. She should hate me as well.