I'm damonkey ive come to fuck shit up

Savior
It wasn't like it was a conscious decision to do it. I didn't really have a clear thought in my head when I left my house in the thunderstorm that day – there was no point when I thought to myself, "Wow, kill yourself." It wasn't like that.

What it was, was an overwhelming depression that had been with me since the first time that my dad hit me. What it was, was a sense of hopelessness after the third arrest. What it was, was every ounce of fight left in me being taken away by my only friends leaving me for college. It was just me, Jean Kirschstein, giving up.

That night, my mom had been drunk beyond recognition. I think that my dad must have been high on something, cocaine most likely. And because he knew that he couldn't do much to hurt her in the state she was in, he came up to my room and dragged me out. He said some things that night that I would rather not repeat and I essentially told him to fuck himself which got me pushed down the stairs. He met me at the bottom and proceeded to slam his fist into any part of my body he could reach until he finally got bored with me. He left me there on the bottom step, a bloody mess, and wandered off into the living room. I stood up after a little while and just left the house. I didn't put on any shoes or a coat, I just left the house wearing my plaid pajama pants and my long sleeve Jesus and the Mary Chain shirt.

It was storming and as soon as I stepped outside, I was soaked to the bones. There was no destination in my mind, just a dull buzz that told me to keep walking. I berated myself on that walk – I thought about how useless I was that I couldn't stop the beatings, I couldn't stop him from hurting my mom, I couldn't stop my grades from falling, I couldn't stop my friends from leaving, I couldn't stop getting into trouble with the law, and I couldn't stop walking.

I came to a bridge on my walk; it was a fairly small bridge, but the drop to the water was a long one. I walked to the middle of the bridge before I stopped and sat down, my arms resting on the fat bars above me and my bare feet dangling below me. I stared at the black, rushing water beneath me and hummed to myself as the rain pounded on my body and on everything around me. I remember standing up at some point, pulling myself up onto the safety bars, and swaying back and forth on the cool, slippery metal.

That was when the car came; lights shone brightly in the periphery of my right eye. I expected them to pass, but they did not. I turned my head and saw a small, white car, whose door opened to reveal a person. He stepped out and I knew that my chance for release was quickly passing.

But I did not jump. He rushed to me, grabbed my arm and pulled me back into his warmth. The rain was so loud that I could hear that he was trying to speak, but I could not make out what he was saying. I watched him as his long, pink lips tried to form words. I could tell that he had freckles covering his tan, water soaked skin.

He pulled me towards his car, looking like an angel in his white button down. I was pulled towards his car, he walked ahead of me and for a moment the rain stopped and I could barely make out his shape from the glare of the headlights. He was illuminated with the light from his car, I could almost see his fluffy white wings and halo.

But then the rain began again, or perhaps it never stopped – that's just how I remember it. Time stood still.

I was in his car within a few seconds and he was in the seat next to me quickly. We were in the backseat, and I soon found out why. He didn't speak, he just pulled me into his arms and refused to let go. He was warm, despite the cold rain, and I felt better than I ever had in his arms at that moment. I felt whole. Quickly taking to the hug, I clutched his shirt and sobbed. He stroked my back and told me quietly that everything would be okay.

When I stopped shaking and crying, I sat up and he allowed me to, but did not let go of me. I rubbed at my eyes and murmured, "Thank you."

He nodded and ran his fingertips through my short, wet hair, brushing it back, "Shhh. Do you have a home to go to?"

I closed my eyes and whispered, "Don't make me go back there tonight."

He didn't say anything, he just pulled me to him again and stroked my back. "You can come to my apartment, if you want to. Unless you have somewhere else to go?"

"Everyone is gone – Armin left with Eren and Mikasa left with Eren and Bert left with Reiner and Annie and Ymir and Krista and Sasha and Connie and, and, they're all gone, they're all gone."

"Are you comfortable with coming to my place?" I sat up a little bit and looked into his eyes. They were chocolate brown, matching his short hair. He had honest eyes. I trusted him. I still didn't know his name, but I trusted him.

I stared at him, "I don't know your name yet," I murmured.

"I don't know yours either," He replied with a small smile. "But, I'm Marco Bodt."

"Jean Kirschstein," I informed him.

He still had yet to release me, but I didn't mind. "Well, now that we've met, why don't we go home and take a hot bath and eat some good food and get some good rest, yeah?" His smile was big, genuine, contagious.

I found myself smiling for the first time in a long time. I felt warm. I felt good. "Thank you," I said again.

Marco slowly released me, "Of course, Mr. Kirschstein."

I shook my head vehemently, "That's my dad. I'm Jean. Just Jean."

His hands were over mine, "Sorry, John."

"No, Jean," I smiled, knowing his mistake before he knew it, "J-e-a-n."

His laugh trickled like water down a stream, "My apologies."

"Don't worry about it – now about that hot bath and good food and good sleep?" I asked sheepishly.

"Coming right up, Jean," He hopped out of the backseat and into the front seat in a few seconds, enough time for me to already miss his warmth.

That night, I slept in my savior's arms.