𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗪𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

And Then There Were, Fourteen¹⁴

fourteen, no regrets

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

...

You stomp up your stairs and down the hall to your art room.

You need a distraction. Your thoughts are daunting, you feel like you're going insane. You're starting to obsess over every little thing that involves Kruger.

You need to lose yourself in painting because that's the only thing that truly helps you cope, accompanied by the therapy sessions you have. Speaking of which, you have one later today. So, before then, it wouldn't hurt to accomplish something. Or at least you can say you've been putting more effort into painting lately without it feeling like a complete lie.

When it comes to the painting Armin wants; the half-assed red one for whatever reason—you think you want the subject to be black, to stand out from the red. You just don't know what it's going to be yet. You wish you had more to go on, like what his book is about, but you got nothing.

But... you can't bring yourself to even look at that painting or focus on what Armin wants because Armin's involved with Kruger. You've thought about warning him by contacting his email, but there's no way for you to tell if he's also involved in what Kruger's doing or if Kruger somehow has access to that email as well. Too risky.

So, ... if he gets caught in the crossfire, so be it.

You suck in a breath and release it slowly, shakily. What's wrong with you? How could you think that? It's Anonymous. Sure, you don't know him... but surely, if he's capable of writing heartfelt books coded with (fairly) ethical righteousness... then he wouldn't do something like Kruger is.

You need to find out how those two became friends and why Kruger said "us" instead of "me" last night.

So lost in thought, that you didn't even realize you had started painting on a blank canvas already, streaks of purple and blue dancing together to make a beautiful blur of galaxy colors.

You've been anxiously waiting for Jean to call and tell you the police found something; some type of update so you're not twiddling with your thumbs forever, but it hasn't happened yet.

No matter how hard you try, your mind wanders to last night. The way his hand connected to your ass with harsh strikes and you hardly wanted to stop him once he started. It's a huge blow to your pride.

But it's clear to you, that in the moment, ... your pride happily flew out the window.

Your hands clench involuntarily at your sides and your brows furrow. Never again. You won't let it happen again.

EREN'S POV

"Seriously?" Armin scoffs, tossing his coat on the back of a chair before he pulls it out and sits down.

"What? Gives me something to do," I shrug, turning the page of the old newspaper. "At least I'm not obsessing over a plan that's kind of unnecessary," I mutter.

"So obsess over an alleged murder... because that's so healthy," He grabs my glass of whiskey, his wrist sporting an expensive silver watch, and takes a swig. Without asking, I might add.

I glare up at him for a second. "Yeah, I don't think either of us should be lecturing the other about what's healthy," I say, snatching the glass from his hand and downing the rest as emphasis.