Breathless •Eremika (Love. Me. Now. Or. Never.)

XIV: Deeper

"I've been trying to tell you this for so many weeks," Eren muttered, hurriedly drawing in a breath, "for so many months, actually, Mikasa. Please don't cry, I don't want to see you cry. I can't hide this from you anymore. I'm dying, Mikasa. I'm really sick and I don't have much time left. I can't take care of you or your baby once I'm gone and I'm sorry. I don't want to have to leave you or the baby alone but-"

He tipped his head back in exhaustion, letting out a suppressed cry, his grip on the brim of the sink tightening. Then he snapped his head back, glaring into his own worn-own reflection in the scratched mirror of the dingy bathroom. "Eren, this isn't working," he raked his hands through his hair, making it stick out in all different directions, but he couldn't care less, "Stop rehearsing."

"Stop this shit," he barked at his reflection, which offered him no comfort. He really ought to keep his volume down. If he continued hollering at himself, it would only alert his parents who were sound asleep. It was five in the morning after all.

"Argh," he grunted in sheer frustration. He didn't want to tell Mikasa anymore. She would cry. And besides, what good was there in telling her about it now? She was already pregnant, with Levi's child.

Eren tugged his shirt over his head, chucking it aside. It landed in a warm heap on the cold tiles directly underneath the sink. Then he shrugged out of his jeans, folding it neatly and placing it beside his shirt. He didn't wish to dirty them.

He slipped into the bathtub, settling into a foetal position with his knees drawn up to his chest. He reached out and retrieved a pair of scissors which he had placed beside the tub earlier.

What, am I doing? He thought to himself as he flipped open the scissors, embedding the sharp end into his wrist. The old scabs were still visible, but they had left red and nasty marks on his arm. They did not look like they would fade anytime soon.

"Listen," a soft yet firm voice from within his head whispered, "Mikasa doesn't love you at all, or else why would she fall pregnant to Levi? Your parents don't want you. They wanted a healthier child. Your life is trash, darling, complete trash. You're going to die soon anyway, so why not just get it over and done with now?"

Expressionless, he pierced through the intact skin between his old scars, watching a bead of blood form. As he had done before, he dragged it across, diagonally, but harder this time.

"That's right," the cooing voice continued, "go deeper, Eren." Go. Deeper. He gritted his teeth and obediently pushed the edge into his wrist more.

Blood gushed out and streamed down his arm, collecting at his elbow and splashing onto the floor of the bathtub. "Ah," He cried in agony, trying to fight back the tears pricking the back of his eyes. He could feel the heat blooming from the cut.

Then his phone rang.

Gasping in shock, he abruptly dropped the scissors before he had severed any major blood vessels. It flew away from him, landing at least a meter away. Specks of blood were splattered on the sides of the tub, some making their way to the floor.

"Friggin' hell," he cursed, snarling at the mess he had made.

Panicking, he fished his vibrating phone out of his jeans pocket, accidentally bloodying everything he touched.

He held it to his ear, and croaked out a "hello?" Who could be calling him at five in the morning?

"Eren?" Mikasa's voice was muffled in the speakers, "I'm sorry I woke you but can you please meet me at the park? I can't sleep and you're the only person I want to see right now."