Child of the Wings

Feeling like garbage

*Elisa's POV*

"He's dead," Jean stared me straight in the eyes, making me know he wasn't lying.

"Oh God," I gasped, falling to my knees, tears forming in my eyes.

"I don't even know what happened!" He sounded very frustrated, but all I could feel was guilt.

"It's all my fault. He died because of me," I gasped, tears falling down my cheeks.

"What do you mean?!" He looked at me with a saddened rage in his eyes.

"He-his gear stopped working and I was g-gonna help him, b-but he told m-me to get to th-the top of the wall. I-I told him I'd stay, but h-he con-convin-ced me to go," I told Jean, tears blurring my vision to the point that I couldn't see.

"You're telling me that you left him alone and he ended up dying?!" He sounded even more upset than before.

"I knew I shouldn't have left him alone," I whispered, grabbing my head and curling into my knees.

"This is why people don't trust you," He told me, breaking my heart even more.

"It should have been me, I should have died instead of him," I said quietly, the guilt eating me up.

"You're right, it should've been you. Devil girl," He said those harsh words then left me alone to mourn the only person that cared for me, not just because they had to, but because they wanted to.

"It's all my fault. It's all my fault," I kept on repeating between sobs, sitting up so I was slouching, and wondering how many people were staring at me.

'That's it, this is why I never get attached to people, they always leave me,' I thought, remembering that all of the friends I'd ever had just said it was a dare or something.

"Hey, uh, what's wrong?" I heard someone say beside me.

"Leave me alone," I told the person, looking to the side to find that everyone had left, and the fire had burnt out, leaving just a pile of ashes.

"I'm just trying to help," The person said, and I heard them shuffle closer to me.

"I don't need help," I said bitterly, looking over to see someone in a Survey Corps jacket.

"Listen, I know it's hard to loose a friend, I should know, but there's no use getting bitter about it," I looked over to see a woman, light auburn hair and golden eyes, Petra Ral.

"Is it okay to be bitter if it was your fault?" I asked her, trying to calm down.

"How is it your fault?" She asked me, so I told what happened, leaving out the question I had asked him. "It's not your fault, you couldn't have known that that was going to happened," She tried to reassure me, but the guilt was too strong.

"It's too late now," I said, standing up and walking to the door so I could get back to the infirmary.

"Wait!" Petra shouted, grabbing my arm.

"Yes?" I said, trying to sound less broken than I was.

"How about we try to do something to make you happy?" She smiled at me, but I couldn't smile back.

"I just want to sleep right now," I told her, wiping away my tears.

"Okay, I'll visit tomorrow. Feel better," She smiled sadly, letting go of my arm so I could walk away.

'I'm done getting attached to people' I told myself, entering the infirmary to see that the nurse was just finishing up for the night.

"How was your time away from the infirmary?" The nurse smiled at me.

"Horrible," I responded, sitting down on my bed.

"How so?" She asked me, concern written all over her face.

"The boy you called my boyfriend, he's dead, and it's all my fault," I told the nurse, tears stinging my eyes again.

"Oh, no no no. It's not your fault, you might not have been able to stop it," She smiled reassuringly, gathering up the rest of her papers.

"I think I could've been able to save him. If only I would've been more careful with my stitches, then I could've stayed with him and he'd be alive," I whispered, earning a saddened sigh from the young nurse.

"Listen, there's nothing you can do, people die everyday, but you'll always be able to have them in your heart, and in your memory. No matter what," She told me before walking out and locking the door behind her, leaving me to drown in my sorrows.

I fell asleep after about an hour of just crying, trying to calm myself down, but being unable to. I felt like garbage, the kind that people would just leave out on the streets for everyone else to stomp on, before finally being thrown out. That's what I wanted to do, just have my stitches break when I was alone, bleeding out before anyone could even know it happened, but I just laid there, staring at the ceiling as my tears kept falling.

"I'm so sorry Marco," I whispered to the wooden surface above me, wiping my tears, only to have more fall. "It should have been me, Jean was right, this is why people don't trust me. I'm horrible," I kept whispering, even until there was sun shining through the window from behind me.