Contemptuous Arrest [ Erwin x OC ]

Eleventh Endeavor: Compassion

A pristine surface mirrored weary features in the bathroom. Ivory skin only seemed to glow paler under the incandescent, overhead lights, and raven bangs masked tired eyes outlined by sleep-deprived bags. A trembling hand reached up the side of a male's jawline and carded through his dark tresses, the pair of stormy hues fluttering shut as he exhaled a deep breath through his nose.

Nothing was working for Levi anymore; the constant tossing and turning in the bed sheets only grew worse, along with the headaches. The vivid nightmares began spanning multiple spectrums of his past, from his childhood to the present. The sleeping pills were to aid him, not cause him so much discomfort, so why in the hell were the convenient things not having an effect on him?

He was a mess as of late, a living corpse during the day and a tortured soul at night. It was like a disease consuming his mentality and physical needs, almost as if the imaginary virus found gratification is watching the pitiful man suffer in rapturous agony and regret.

All Levi ached to do was forget, yet somehow, the haunting memories never once seemed to vanish. Medication was proving to be the incorrect solution to his problems, so what was he left to do? He couldn't quite accept the matter easily, nothing could be dealt with in that manner. If that was the case, Levi would have a clean bill of health and he wouldn't be spending his hours arguing with body or finding solace in the abyss.

Levi opened his eyes and stared back at his reflection dolefully. What a person he had become, sunken to the depths of despair itself an unable to pick himself up again. God, it was infuriating for him to witness his gradual downfall, to be forced to look at a man who knew nothing but failure, loneliness, and misery all his cursed life.

At one point he had been someone, an individual with pride and ruthless heroism. However, those days were forgotten, and now just mere particles of memories like Saharan sand drifting endlessly across vast, uncharted lands. With the seize of Mynpheal, Levi's former life was seized as well, thus erasing what little happiness he had gained through his years.

It was times like these he found himself jealous of his cousin, for her ability to smile and giggle through all the pain and hardships she too had underwent. Naomi saw the positives in everything, and never let herself get dragged away by the monsters and internal demons attempting to weigh her down. She was always well-rested and jovial, kind-hearted and nurturing, so comforting and innocent . . .

A loud crash was merited when Levi's fist came in contact forcefully with the mirror above the sink, the shards of cracked and shattered glass falling heavily into the porcelain basin beneath the frame. Lacerations quickly spilled crimson blood that dripped down from its wounds, coating Levi's left hand in trails of warm, scarlet liquid. The languid streams dripped from his wrist once every second of so, tainting the rim of the sink with droplets of blood.

With quivering muscles, Levi drew back his hand from the splintered mirror, his reflection now distorted and broken. The image of a deteriorating man was replaced with a battered and mishandled one, courtesy of the jagged lines of glass and gaping hole left by Levi's brute action. Inhaling and expiring ragged puffs of air through his mouth, dread of the situation set in when Levi registered the infernal burning in his hand.

Clenching his bloodied fist again, Levi's fingers were engrossed by the warm, oozing fluid painted on his palms. Cleaning the cuts were a priority, especially to rid them of any pieces of glass and diminish the effect of infection. However, Levi wouldn't budge from his sedentary spot, no matter how hard he tried to motivate and discipline himself.

He unfurled his fingers and raised his hand again, palm-side up, to inspect the damage. With lifeless eyes he gazed at the self-inflicted injury, noticing how the blood was changing from a deep crimson to a stale burgundy. The involuntary movements in his hand twitched against his flesh and digits, and the raven-haired male pursed his lips at the grotesque sight. What had he gained from throwing a punch at the mirror, from thinking so carelessly and sinfully about his precious cousin? She was all he had left, and yet he thought such foolish and spiteful things about her.