Daunted By Authenticity

Those weren’t lives.

They were numbers.

They were a necessary subtraction.

~ The Poppy War, by R.F. Kuang

Armin never wanted this. Never even thought he could do anything like what he did. But he had, and it was necessary. At least that was what he told himself. That didn’t stop the bile from rising through his throat, burning his insides as it spilled out of him and over the stoop of his window. His head swam with the sights he was confronted with. Each memory in such detail that he must have fabricated parts. They morphed between vivid crystallized renditions to blurry figures, people, they must have been. At some point they had been people, now just eviscerated skin, exposed bone, and shredded fragments of once inhabited beings.

Armin shrunk down the side of his wall and curled inwards till he was sure he was so closed off no one would be able to see him, not that anyone was in the room to find him, and he was sure no one would look for him.

It hadn’t mattered how many people claimed the night was a success, a stroke of strategic genius, or a masterful execution of military might, Armin had known the truth of what it was.

Bloodshed.

By his own hand. And the enemy had repaid them. Not in numbers, but they struck swiftly. It was foolish of them to assume they all would have made it out. Poor Sasha.

Armin raised the knuckles of his thumbs upwards and pushed into the hollow flesh between his eyes and nose, pushing till stars erupted over his vision and his veins pulsed rhythmically with heavy thumps. He focused on the rhythm for a minute, trying to stave off the tears from starting again. He began digging his nails deep into the soft parts of his hands, forming red crescents that blossomed purple the harder he clenched.

This must have been a fraction of the pain they felt, he thought to himself.

At this point sleeping was useless, he had known that he wasn’t likely to anyways, the attempt he had tried to make just 30 minutes prior had all but disturbed him worse. He lowered his hands, letting them fall aimlessly beside him as his vision readjusted to the dark room. A breeze rustled through the window he had left open bringing a much needed chill to his reddened and tear stained face. He rose to stand, an undetermined goal had possessed him, all he knew was he couldn’t stay in this room.

As he wandered through the estate Armins thoughts began overlapping. Feeding into one another in a painfully disorganized way to the point that they devolved into simple utterances of words.

Fault-

Blame-

Death-

Murder.

He hadn’t noticed he had made it outside or through the courtyard. It wasn’t until Armin awoke from his dazed trance that he had realized that he had been standing motionless staring at a rock. Out of all the ones he could have stopped at, it had to be the one that read,

“Erwin Smith, 13th commander of the Survey Corps, ‘dedicate your heart’”

The dull surface of the grey headstone stared back at Armin as if taunting him. The physical embodiment of all Armin could not live up to.

If it had been him, he thought, he wouldn’t shy away from what had to be done. He wouldn’t cry or scream or throw up. It would have been a necessary subtraction, and Erwin would have believed it.

“He’s not going to help.” A voice spilled out behind him, “believe me I’ve tried.”

Armin hadn’t noticed the person sitting on the bench behind him, and a mixture of guilt and relief washed over him seeing who it was. You sat staring at the same headstone, an empty yet contemplative expression resting atop your face. Your body tensed with movement as you shifted over to give room for Armin to sit. Given by your stiffness Armin wagered you must have been sitting here a while.

He supposed of all the people who could hate him for being here while Erwin wasn’t you would be one of them. His star pupil, an exemplary military strategist, skilled in all things Erwin wanted you to be, you had entered the scouts directly under Erwin’s command despite being in the same cohort as Armin. When Erwin had taken an interest in Armins abilities it was you he began to work closely with. If Erwin had been a god to the him you surely were among his closest of disciples. After he had woken up and been told of his survival 4 years prior, he had expected you to scream at him, hit him, close yourself off completely and never speak to him again. But instead you had sat next to him, far enough away from the others, and silently wept.

We’re going to fix this. It has to be you, I don’t want anyone else. You had said those words with so much conviction that they bore into Armins mind and never left. Much like how a farmer brands his livestock, you had marked Armin with your speech, searing your purpose into him, carving your name over his own.

For all of the words he had in his mind earlier that night, all semblance of speech eluded him as he gazed over at you. He shifted his eyes to his feet which were planted in the grown over grass of Erwins grave.

“Sorry.”

Was all he could mutter out, he had meant it, although the word was spoken more out of habit than a genuine apology for something he had done. You sighed, knowing not to scold him on his overuse of that phrase like you normally would. It had been a long night, the first of what was sure to be years of bloody and restless nights, and Armin wore the pain of what had happened so plainly on his face it was hard to feel anything but horribly sad for him.

“Would you sit with me?”

You called out to him, at this state he was too far in his head to communicate what he needed. But you knew. And you knew that if he thought he was helping you through the night he would stay. Even if it meant giving up his whole night, he wouldn’t leave you.

When he sat down you were struck with the look of his face. You could tell from afar but now as he moved closer and the moon illuminated his presence you could see the extent of the toll the battle had taken on him. In a couple hours his face had rearranged in an obscenely depressing way. His features remained soft and pretty, but it was obvious looking at him that he must have lost every ounce of liquid in his body. Tear-drained and down-trodden it was clear that part of Armin was had been lost. Stuck somewhere in his titan form, trapped on the shores of Marley, searching for him while he pondered what it was he had lost.

There weren’t any words or gifts that could comfort him now. Maybe tomorrow, or a week from now you could try but tonight the best you could offer was company, solace. That didn’t stop you from opening you mouth and reaching your hand down the intertwine lightly with his,

“I am glad you are here.”

The wooden floors groaned as you rolled onto your side, sliding your arm up under your head. The window parallel to your huddled form plunging you into dialog with expanse of woods lurking just outside the cabin doors.

Your watch read 3:10 AM, its golden hands twisting terribly slow as you contemplated the situation you were in. Without sleep you would surely be a mess in the morning. But as it stood the floor offered the least bit of rest, neither did your wandering mind. You shifted onto your back, the wood beneath you announcing the movement, cutting through the ambient noise of the wind blowing past the cabins exterior.

“Jesus christ are you starting a band over there?” You didn’t need to raise your head to know who was asking. Natalies voice carried its own special edgy cadence. The kind that couldn’t make you angry, not like some of the others. It almost made things seem small, in a reassuring (or somewhat agitating) way.

“Mmmh thinking about it,” you teased back, voice teetering between rasp and whisper.

You continued, this time more sincere, “Did I wake you up?”

You lolled your head to the side to look at her. She laid less than an arms reach away and carried the same desperately tired look on her face that you assumed you must have as well. Except where your eyes stung with the pain of having been open too long, hers seemed to be drudging sleep away, pinching open and closed in a way to keep herself awake.

She stared towards the ceiling while composing her response,

“no, I… keep waking myself up I guess.”

You couldn’t do anything more than keep your eyes on her while you tried to piece together whatever it was that could mean.

After an unbearably confusing beat of silence, Nat rolled her head towards you, “what if I said I had something that could help us? Something that usually puts you to sleep?”

A smile crept onto your face.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” Your voice raising to full volume at the amusement, threatening to wake up the others who had made it to sleep. Or alerting those who were awake and who were likely to question you in the morning if they knew what was happening.

“SHHHHHsshhhh” Nat’s hand flew to your mouth, her body rolling to the side with it. She smiled through the laughter while she shushed you, until she stood up and wandered to her bag. After rummaging for a minute she pulled out a small baggy, once tucked between some papers in her school folder, no doubt a quick hiding place for when she removed it from her luggage, concealing it from the other scavenging girls.

She shoved the thin plastic into her pocket, while using her head to gesturer towards you, beckoning you forward. As you sat up, your body felt the relief of the absence of hard wood flooring. You grabbed an extra sweater as you walked towards the door, grabbing Nat’s hand and giggling as she pulled you quietly outside, being careful not to alert the others of your departure.

The two of you put a couple of paces between yourselves and the cabin before raising your volume.

“Do you even know what would’ve happened if this was caught on you at the airport?” you probed, knocking your elbow into her arm.

“Right… because the presence of a little bit of pot is the worst thing that has ever happened to an airplane. Come to think of it, maybe Laura Lee was right. Maybe I brought the plane down with my weed.”

“I can think of a few other things that God might smite us for,” your voice was teasing as you slipped your hand down, out of your pocket and into Nat’s, lacing your cold fingers between hers.

Now that the trees enveloped you enough that no outside eyes could see, you leaned yourself into her side as she moved to mirror you. You settled on a fallen log, not too far from the cabin. The forest canopy was thin enough for moonlight to pour through the trees and onto your faces, illuminating your movements.

You watched as Nat made quick work of rolling the joint, her hands and tongue moving a little too fast. The end result was a slightly lumpy and messy roll, but it didn’t have to be pretty to get the job done. She lit the protruding end and brought the other to her lips, inhaling deeply while slowly closing her eyes before handing it to you.

Muscle memory look over as your lips wrapped around the nub at the end. Body relaxing as the smoke carved through your throat, before stopping so as to prevent the burning cough that you would have nothing to sooth with.

As you exhaled, Natalie reached a hand up to your cheek, the pad of her thumb and knuckle of her pointed finger soothed over your skin, pressing just enough to lightly massage the tissue. Then travelling to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

Silently while turning your head to face her, you took another small drag before handing the joint back over to her,

“Greedy,” she murmured while raising her free hand to her lips. The small joint burned smaller rather quickly, but the words to defend yourself wouldn’t come out as the hand that Nat kept on you cupped your jaw and steadied your head to keep facing her.

She leaned in slowly, cradling your head up to open your mouth as she hovered her lips on yours, bumping but not closing in. She exhaled the smoke from her mouth into yours, plumes of it escaped and billowed out into the night air. Only then did she attached her lips onto yours, attempting to trap what little smoke was left in your warm mouths.

You stayed like that for a minute, slowly and tiredly pulling each other in by your lips. The joint kept burning, but the weight of it teetered between Nat’s fingers, forgotten.

Your head began to grow more heavy, slowly making contact with Nat’s forehead. Once, then twice, before Nat broke the kiss, taking her head between both hands to steady your wobble. The sleep that she had promised you was taking over. She took one last inhale before putting out the pitiful butt in the side of the log and stuffing it far into the ground that it couldn't be noticed.

“I said I could help you couldn't I,” she teased, lips pressed into your hairline. Nat felt the anxiety that had been waking her up had been relieved as well, now that the drug began working it’s way through her. She then managed to coax you up, arm around your back, clinging to your hip and walked the two of you back to the cabin.

The sound of your footsteps was slightly louder upon your return, and the two of you fell asleep closer than you had intended when you first chose your sleeping spots 5 hours earlier.

The next morning: