Horrifically Wounded, Strikingly Gorgeous & Deadly [ErenXMikasa] [Eremika]

XVII: A Knight in Shining Armor

Eren 

I lay on my bed, my mind swirling with thoughts as my gaze bores into the plain white ceiling above my head. My heart beats slightly accelerated, my breathing only slightly heavy. A smile rests itself upon my lips as I think back to what happened only half an hour ago - her lips were so soft. I recall how our lips moved together in perfect synchronization, and how I could sense such a strong desperation from her lips as Mikasa pressed them firmly against mine. To say that kiss was anything like the movies - fireworks and all that - wouldn't accurately describe what just happened. I feel my smile turn downwards into a small frown as I mull Mikasa's desperation; it was so obvious, through her lips and actions I could tell that she was desperate, but not for me, not for the kiss. I remember how firmly her lips were pressed against mine, and how tightly and shakily she held my hair in her hands. It was almost as if there were some underlying prospect of her kissing me - a reason she felt a need to cling herself to me the way she did, to feel the affection I gave her. Her voice rings in my head, "I'm fine."  Yet I can't help but know somewhere deep down she's anything but. Especially after everything I've seen and what little she's told me, I'd be a fool to believe that statement now. 

I sigh, stretching my body out against the surface of my bed, the blankets folding and distorting below me. The only sound comes from the shuffling of the blankets, and my loud yawn as I stretch. Otherwise the house is silent - my father passed out drunk on the living room sofa. I roll over swiftly, once again ruffling the sheets. My mind wanders back to Mikasa, but this time how she pulled away. I remember how frail she felt as her arms violently shoved me backward, and how her shoulders shook as her head bowed in what seemed like shame. Her hair covered her entire face as she buried it into her scarf. I'm not sure she noticed, but her hand brought itself up to her face in a quick wiping motion - so fast that if I had blinked, I probably wouldn't have seen it. It seemed so obvious that she was crying, and yet she was so inaudibly quiet and still at the same time that she could easily not have been. Suddenly, my mind drifts back to what Sasha and Ms. Hanji told me; keep away from her. It's a rather confusing statement now that I look back on it - Mikasa isn't malicious, she's just... I don't know what she is. She's many things; hateful, bitter and temperamental, angry and violent - and yet the only thing that stands out and connects all these things together is how scared she seems. Mikasa, of all things, is afraid - but of what? Her brother is caring, her father polite and meek - her mother overly sweet. I remember when I first arrived that I considered this girl's life to be perfect in every way - money, wealth, gorgeous looks and lots of friends. And yet, I figured out pretty quickly that her life is anything but. Still, something seems to be missing. 

I sigh again. Roll over again. My mind continuously wanders between the thought of her kissing me - the idea that she might like me, and the idea that perhaps she sees me only as an escape from whatever personal demons she might be battling. Girls are so confusing - and I just happened to be interested in the most complicated, contradictory and confusing one of them all. Simultaneously frustrated and happy over the entire event, I pull my phone from my pocket as I check the white, bold numbers that seem to jump from my home screen; 2:00AM. I sigh, hoisting myself up to sit on the edge of my mattress as I turn to the wall and plug in my phone. Standing, I change quickly - taking only a moment to take my shirt off - and return to the comfort of my blankets. Preparing for the warm embrace of sleep, I can't help but hope Mikasa got home safely; that she's warm and in her bed. Moreover, a small part of me hopes that perhaps she might be thinking about what I've spent all this time thinking about. 

Mikasa 

I sit at the bottom of my bed, my bare legs brought up tightly against my breasts as I clutch them tightly. I can feel the cold air around me stick to my skin, and yet there still lingers a disgusting heat left by the ghost of my father's body - despite having left. My senses are all dampened, my head feeling packed with cotton balls. There's a slight ringing in my ears and my lips and tongue feel like sandpaper, my bare body like a slimy frog. Nothing feels like it should - the carpet beneath my feet abrasive, my hair coarse like hay. Not even the feeling of my own hands as they wrap themselves around my frail body feel like my own - they feel foreign, as if he still maintains a tight grasp on me.  I shudder slightly at the thought. Even after all that just happened, I can still only manage a blank mind and equally blank stare.