Rain poured down onto the windowsill outside. The light grey scheme of the world inside and outside the room Jean sat made him wish for colour and regret the door opening to the room.
A man about his age, yet shorter entered the grey room. His large frames glittered as he looked to the chairs, having done the process countless times. He did not wear any hint of his profession, except for perhaps the clipboard of around five or more blank lined pages, ready for use.
"Hello Mr Kirstein. I'm your psychologist, I'll be in charge of your appointments for the foreseeable future." The man gave a kind and professional smile as he sat down in the seat opposite to the patient. And continued, "So, may I ask, why are you deciding to begin psychiatric care? You haven't appeared to have had any serious incidents where doctors have prescribed any psychological care. And may I say, we don't commonly see people openly applying for such appointments without recommendations from a professional."
Jean rested his elbows on his upper leg and seemed to slowly release a bit of tension which had plagued him since arriving at the building.
"Well . . . Well . . ." He seemed to struggle with words.
"You don't have to push yourself. You can tell me the things you feel comfortable-"
"No, I have to tell it." He shook his head forcefully, as if shaking off any future regret of what he would say.
"And what may that be? The reason behind this appointment perhaps?"
"Well . . . Mostly so. I guess . . ." He took a heavy breath. Before beginning.
"Basically . . . Memories of my past, mostly fond memories, or at least what I thought were fond. I . . . I remember actions I did . . . At the time that I thought were reasonable . . . That now seem . . . Childish, horrible and unforgivable."
At this the doctor straightened in his chair, his eyes glittering behind his frames as he stated, in a calming voice that aided ever so slightly on keeping Jean from breaking. "If it wasn't of any illegal course of action, I will not report it. This is a private room. Nothing of what you say will come and be spoken of outside of, unless expressly allowed by yourself." He gave a small comforting smile once again. "I have had patients who have done illegal and inhuman acts. So what you will say will not be judged a pon, I can't completely promise. But I have been trained to not bring bias or other prejudice when it comes to the previous actions of my patients. What is in the past is the past. Remember that Mr Kirstein."
Jean swallowed, followed by a silent nod.
There was silence, as the doctor patiently waited for his patients words.
"Back in high school . . . I was . . . I was a bully." He hung his head for a moment. Obvious shame washing over his being as he gave himself a moment before continuing. "But . . . Only to one person."
It began, all the way back in my first year of high school.
I started my new school life without the fear of loneliness. As all my friends had followed with me to the same high school.
I knew I was cocky. I knew I was a dickhead for my slightly harsh treatment of those who weren't part of my friendship group.
But I never thought . . .
I never thought I would go so far.
Just . . .
Just because the boy I teased, mocked, bullied and despised . . .
All because . . . I loved him.
"Say your name and what you hope to succeed in the three years you will be at this school." Said the homeroom teacher, as all the students settled down in their seats.
As the class went through alphabetical order, as according to their seating arrangement, some introduced and talked of themselves sincerely, saying one or two moderately helpful goals. While others, too shy, gave a name and sat down. And even others, Jean included, finished with cocky words of self-indulgence and self-praise, which gained laughs through the classroom. Even amusing the likes of the homeroom teacher at some points.
The final name was called, the medium heighted guy in the far back right corner, against the window. He had dark brown hair, dark and yet shining eyes and a rather moderate features.
"My name is Eren Yaeger. I look forward to being with you all."
With every other introduction there was a polite applauds and calls of greeting as homeroom began.
I never understood why . . .
Why on the first day . . .
The teacher was beginning to talk on the subject of uniform, pointing out students who probably hadn't particularly read the school rule book.
Jean had the odd urge to look to the only Y lettered last name student.
He had turned his head, knowing all his friends were guffawing at a particular joke aimed at the teacher, towards the dark brown haired class mate in the back row.
His eyes up front for a few moments before seeming to realise he was being watched. As he turned his head towards the starer.
Their eyes met. Jean for a moment felt like he saw through the other boy's eyes. Seeming to see what that boy saw.
A rather slender faced teenager, with sharp and rather mocking eyes, which within a sharp colour of strong glittering gold.
He supposed maybe Yaeger saw the same, his own reflection through Jean's eyes.
The round faced boy. With strong defined brown eyebrows and rather long eyelashes.
Jean felt naked. As if all the errors of his appearance and soul where see able to the boy across the room.
He could see only a slight touch of the truth of the boy.
Although he looked like a guy who would fight, with a rather hot temper, which Jean felt would clash with his own.
But he seemed to have no driving force he could defend with that temper. He seemed . . .
Sorrowful.
I didn't know at the time what had happened to him. The truth about him, until after. After three years.
Jean couldn't stand the stare, he blinked. Turning his head back to the teacher and the front of the classroom.
Perhaps . . .
If I hadn't looked away . . .
Perhaps . . .
If I hadn't stopped looking back at him.
I may have . . .
I may have done better . . .
May have done more . . . Or less . . .
If I had only not turned my head away.
Jean winced in his seat, his head flashing with images.
Eren, crawled onto the floor. Blood dribbling from his nose, mouth and somewhere within his hairline.
Eren, looking back at him.
Eren, turning while sitting on the lap of the science teacher. His dark green eyes once again cutting through Jean like bread.
Eren, looking back at him.
Eren, again, on the floor, this time in the bathroom. His pants down to his ankles, his hands encompassing his head as if to shield the things that had already happened to him.
Eren, looking back at him.
Eren's face, in the newspaper. A rather older photo from that particular day. Student committed suicide, Teacher's claim reason to be stress and family orientated, Students plan memorial in the school garden, death occurred 2 hours after student was last seen in school grounds, words such as these popped to Jean's attention. As he sagged into his chair. Resting his head in the palm of his hands as a loud sniff came from him.
If only, I could've done something.
If only I stopped and realised the truth.
. . .
But now that I think about it
. . .
I think I knew all along . . .
And that is why it did happen
The doctor raised is head in question. "What happened?"
The death of Eren Yaeger. Aged 18. Suicide by hanging.
If only. . .
. . .
If . . . Only . . .
. . .
If only I didn't look away.