Just for Yeager

The Reveal

Enough, or there'd be more booze than blood in my veins. I staggered beneath the doorway of the family room, sluggish, sloppy, trying to cope. As if all my answers waved within these bottles. I knew better. Still, I searched, at the bottom of each glass, guzzle after guzzle. The smell of firewater kept me going, chaser after chaser. It warmed me up every time the sensation of sleeping with that tramp crept up my back cold. And, with the little strength I had left, I concluded for a fact that she had defeated me.

My elixir carried me to the apex of aberration. I dropped my arm against the wooden frame, the vodka sloshing in my grasp. My knees buckled, trying to fight the necessity to straighten. I fought to remain intact the best I could, to keep my mind off Hange, but she was all I could think about. She had every right to storm out that door; it wasn't for the reason I expected, but it was a betrayal nevertheless. Me and Mikasa? How? There they were, photos upon photos of physical evidence the unthinkable transpired. I on her breasts, she on my hips. There was no denying it. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't, just as I couldn't remember any of it.

I then wondered to what depths would this witch ruin me? What would she do next? Was Hange safe? Was anyone else who came to know me safe? Was I truly planning on murder? Was that the only way it would end? As much as the idea thrilled me, I needed to think of the burning aftermath that would come with it. I wasn't so ready to throw my life away if the trail lead back to me. This wasn't as simple as carving a door wedge in the back of a titan's neck; I was planning on an assassination, and my status, and everything I stood for would be questioned.

As I tottered my way up the stairs riding my weight along the walls, I replayed the last images of my wife in my head. Pathetic, I thought—I couldn't even soften up to my own feelings and tell her how I really felt. But that look on her face, the look of disappointment, regret, helplessness—she had me speechless. Perhaps it was for the best she left. I would have had let her down sooner or later. But the feeling of emptiness, the array of emotions which came with it was too much to bear.

No, I was being selfish. It was what I rightfully deserved. Wallowing in my own guilt, in my own shame; only I was to blame. And I should embrace it, wear it like a second skin.

I fell to the floor with the stretch of hallway behind me before crawling into my bedroom. There I flopped myself over, a sigh of acceptance escaping my lips. I reached into my pocket for a cigarette, and in the other for a lighter. Up into the ceiling my eyes drifted, head seeping into the hard wooden floor as my migraine detonated. I dropped my arms to my sides, the back of my hand slamming into the railing of my bed. Something smooth brushed against my fingers and caught my attention. There it dangled, jammed between the box and the frame. It seemed something miniscule, yet it lured my interest. Whatever wedged in there was concealed poorly, or perhaps it had fallen there by mistake. But, I don't remember ever owning a neckl­—

"Eren's key..." It draped down my fingers, and a bolt of lightning suddenly struck me stiff. The feeling of dread held my breath, juddered my body, and plucked me right out of reality.

"The fuck is going on here... "