Looking Through Me | Attack on Titan Fan Fiction

Chapter 1: Don't Make a Noise

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Attack on Titan. Attack on Titan is owned by Hajime Isayama.

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."

—Edgar Allan Poe

 

I didn't dare to make a noise. I was scared for my life. If I so much as moved an inch, I would've regretted it for at least a month. I had learned from past experiences, that sometimes the key to safety was silence. But that didn't work all the time, and especially not this time.

My body was crammed in my closet, backed against the corner behind my winter and fall jackets. The jerk that I had for a father, Rick, came storming into my room, drunk as usual. This time, he was going to teach me why I needed to make supper for him on time.

Ever since my mother left after the moment I'd been born, Rick had been convinced that it was because of me that my mom left. He filled the hole caused by that with liquor and vodka, and when he wasn't busy doing that, he was busy beating me for what I did wrong.

When I was little, I thought that was how every kid lived, being beaten when you didn't do something right. It wasn't until middle school that I realized that it was only me. I'd go to school with cuts on my arms or black eyes, and everyone probably knew what they were from, but didn't say anything. Because of my strange and disturbing background, no one wanted to be my friend. No one talked to me, ate lunch with me, partnered with me, and I didn't care. I didn't need friends, I just needed relief from the nightmare I was living. I'm pretty sure that no one at school had even heard me talk before. Even when the teachers called on me, I just shrugged. They eventually gave up, knowing they'd never get me to say a word.

Now I was in high school, and nothing had changed. Just a regular girl, with chocolate hair that went past her shoulders, hazel eyes, and 5'4", hiding in the corner like a toddler; as vulnerable as a baby.

I'd tried running away, of course, but the police always brought me back. Rick would act like he was so worried, but that act was nothing but bullshit. He didn't care, and the moment that door closed, so did all my hope. One of the worst times was when I was 7. Rick stumbled into my room, drunk off his ass, with a bottle of vodka in his hand. When I saw him, I was worried. But then again, that was nothing compared to the worry for my safety that escalated in seconds. He bashed the bottle on the wall, breaking half of it. The sharp, lusterless shards that stuck out the handle were all he had, and after pushing me down, he started his drunk babbling about how it was my fault that my mom, Rachel, left. When he threw down the bottle, it made a gash in the back of my left hip that gushed like a popped water balloon, and I was forever traumatized. Every time I see blood, I feel like screaming. I almost bled into unconsciousness that night, and guess who had to clean up the broken glass the next day: yours truly.

Now that I think about it, you don't even know my name. Well, I don't have time to tell you. Have some patience for a few minutes, okay? And while you're at it, please pray for my sake.

"There ya are," Rick grumbled, slamming my closet door open.

I cowered against the wall, my hazel eyes wide, my lips moving with no words coming out at all. I shook my head, and his piercing eyes narrowed in malice.

"Get out of there, bitch," he said, and grabbed my hair.

I clawed at my scalp with silent cries, feeling like my hair was being ripped out piece by piece. His rough grip pulled me out of the closet, and against the wall on the opposite side of my tiny room. I shook, and his cruel gaze was unfazed, but dazed from drink.

"Can ya even guess what ya did this time?" he yelled, and motioned outside my door.

I shook my head again, but I knew quite well what I forgot to do. Ever since I started school, I had to cook, clean, do laundry, dishes, and anything else thinkable. It all fell on my shoulders, and I struggled to stay standing. This day, I'd forgotten to make dinner. I had a particular distraction, and I hadn't gotten around to it.

"I'm talkin' to you!" he yelled, and I flinched. "Do you know what you forgot to do?!"

I shook my head anyways.

He threw the bottle against the wall, and kicked me in the stomach. I doubled over coughing, and tried to keep my eyes on the floor. Hoping he'd just give up, I squeezed my eyes shut, and for the millionth time, prayed that these past 15 years were just a nightmare, and I'd wake up to a loving family. No matter how many times I hoped that, it was never true.

Rick grabbed my hair again, pulling my head up to face him. He had greying stubble growing across his cheeks, and his short brownish-grey buzzcut was in need of another trim. Rick's green eyes were clouded over, and I knew exactly why.

He raised his hand, and I felt my neck snap to the side when my cheek burned.

"Talk to me, dammit! What did ya forget to do?!" he howled in my face, the ripe smell of alcohol making me gag.

"I forgot...to make supper," I whispered.

He launched his foot into my gut again, and my back hit the wall, causing me to buckle forward.

"I can't hear you!" he screamed.

"I'm sorry that I forgot to make supper!" I said louder, and he stopped for a moment.

Thinking it was over, I looked up at his face. It had nothing but the cold sneer I'd seen so many times before, and I knew I wasn't done yet. His calloused hand struck my other cheek, and I felt the one side of my face burn before going numb.

"Ya better learn your lesson, or next time you'll have more than a bruise to remember it by," Rick growled. He turned slowly, and grabbed the handle of my door, slamming it behind him.

I stayed against the wall, with swollen cheeks and a purple stomach for at least several minutes, waiting for him to come back. When he didn't, I slowly crawled onto my bed, which took a few minutes. By the time I was laying down, my breathing was labored and I had a sheen of sweat across my forehead. My eyes closed, and I squeezed back my tears.

They won't do anything, I told myself, so quit crying. It only means that you've given up.

I grabbed my phone from beside me, an old third-generation iPhone. I kept it hidden behind my bed post, so Rick wouldn't see it most of the time. I didn't buy it, and neither did he. I know what you're thinking, and I can honestly say that I didn't steal it...technically.

After school, on Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter Sunday, or other days like that, I occasionally went to the homeless shelter to get a small meal. On Christmas last year, they were handing out gifts to everyone. I saw an iPhone, and because there was no limit, I took it. Good thing too, because believe it or not, it helped me.

The first day after Christmas break, I had a phone, three new bruises, and a small bit of hope. In English, they guy in front of me wasn't paying attention. Not that it was out of the ordinary, I just paid close attention to what he was doing. He instead was watching some anime on his phone with subtitles, and I peered over his shoulder. It seemed pretty interesting, so I waited for him to click the next episode so I could see the title. When he did click on it, it read Attack on Titan.

That night, after I made sure to not forget anything, I pulled up the page and watched it. Ever since then, I've been watching it. I loved Eren and Mikasa's bravery, and how intelligent Armin was. The only controversial character was Levi. He had attitude, but determination. Levi also was shorter than me, being 5'3", but his ego made up for the rest of it.

So my hand grabbed for my iPhone, and I clicked the finale of Attack on Titan. It was the only thing that allowed me to escape from my nightmare, to a place where it could be worse. I rolled over with a heave of pain, and pulled the sheets over my head. I was watching the last episode before supper, hence the distraction that I was talking about previously. Now that my cheeks were red and my stomach wouldn't allow me to move, I buried myself under the sheets and resumed my place in the series.

Now that I have the time, I'll tell you my name. Jennika Manri is what I was named, and that's all you need to know for now. I'll tell you more later, not that I haven't already told you plenty already.

I watched until the end, and was aghast by the finale. How could Annie have done that? My new wish was that they'd make another season. My eyes started to slowly close, but I blinked them open. I had to watch the end to see if there would be another season...



I woke up after a few hours it seemed, and the house was silent. My iPhone wasn't in my hands, so I assumed that it just fell off the side of the bed. I'd get it later. It was probably around one in the morning, or something like that.

I tried to roll over again, but my sheets felt stiff and I couldn't move. My eyes shot open, slightly agitated that I couldn't adjust my sheets. My hands grabbed for the duvet, but all they felt was something cold, and something pierced my hand.

What the hell? I thought, retracting and rubbing my hand. It was nearly pitch black, so I couldn't see anything. When I looked really close, I realized it was a splinter. I was under...wood?

Probably some crazy dream. If I would just wake up, then I'd be fine and back in my less-than-cozy bed. I shut my eyes again, and let out a ragged breath. I don't know how long I slept that time; but the next time I woke, I was greeted with sunlight being shot into my eyes, and I rubbed them lazily. Opening them halfway, my vision cleared until things weren't blurry. What did Rick want this early?

When my eyes did open, I didn't see Rick. Heck, if I saw him instead, it'd be a blessing.

Instead, a giant face with crooked teeth, a giant smile, cloudy eyes, and greasy hair looked right into my soul, and I felt my breath catch. It was a Titan.

Some crazy dream, right?! Hurry and wake up! I mentally scolded myself. More of the destroyed building around me was peeled away by its large hand, and I was pushing my way out to no avail. I was stuck tight. What kind of dream is this? Pinch yourself and wake up, dammit!

I pinched myself, but when I opened my eyes, I saw a giant hand moving towards me. Wake up!

Its fingers surrounded me, and I pushed and wriggled, screaming. I hated this nightmare. I wanted to wake up.

"No!" I screamed, "STOP!"

It stood straight, and brought me out of the rubble. "Put me down! No!" It lifted me out of the building, and I started to hyperventilate. "NO!"

I screamed as its mouth opened, spittle being pushed aside to make room for me. Its breath smelt like death, and rotting flesh. I screamed bloody murder, shielding my face as its hot breath made my face moist.

I heard a distant yell, and I wasn't sure if it was mine or not. The yell became louder, until it was in front of me. I saw a blur rush in front of me, slicing open the Titan's wrist.

The flesh ripped with a sickening sound, and the fingers holding me slowly began to fall back as it was severed from the arm. I screamed as the last of the flesh tore from the wrist and came free, and plummeted towards the ground. I wasn't sure if it was a nightmare, but the feeling of weightlessness took over as I fell, and hit the ground.

The palm of the Titan didn't do anything to cushion the fall, and I felt the blow nearly crush my skull as I hit the ground. I barely saw the blur turn around and come back to the Titan, who was now focused on it instead of me. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and I had one thought before I hoped that I'd wake up.

...Eren?