"And Ymir would give everything she had, everything she owned, every little, minimal part of her up, just to protect her. Just to keep her safe. Because Christa was her salvation. Because Christa was her light."
.: Rain :.
.: Part VII :.
What kind of fucking name is Rod Reiss?
She guessed it's the kind of name a man who's willing to name his daughter "Historia" would probably have, undoubtedly. But then again, it's not like "Ymir" was really any better.
Then she heard a laugh. Christa's. She swore she'd just heard her giggle at her thoughts.
Her head jerked upwards at the phantom sound, gold eyes scurrying with excitement as they searched about the room, looking for her.
But, of course, Christa wasn't there. Still, Ymir felt her heart sink like an anchor all the same when what she caught in the mirror was her own reflection staring back, and not the smaller girl's incandescent smile. Not her beaming, cobalt eyes crinkling as she grinned in delight.
Damn. Ymir was seriously starting to lose it now.
She chewed on her slightly chapped lip, mild shame welling up inside of her. It's as if she's gone insane, practically seeing and hearing Christa everywhere.
Ymir sniggered. Maybe she really was insane.
Her eyes glanced at the digital time clock on the bedside table, 2:35 pm blinking back at her though the acute grayness of the day. The world was pale and blurry outside, a constant soundtrack of the sky's distress played as the heavens jarred with moans and groans, relentless grumbles save for a few occasional thunderclaps to disrupt the cacophonous routine. Palm trees bended down almost dangerously in the wind, tree trunks threatening to snap in half, leaves ruffling violently like flags during a hurricane.
Ymir took a deep breath, easing herself into a dry, long-sleeved sweater Reiner got for her. It was warm. The thick cotton shrouded her torso with heat, nuzzling her icy skin with mild comfort.
Then she did something she rarely ever allowed herself to do: Ymir stared at her own crude reflection in the mirror.
Reiner had given her a hair comb (bless his face) so her dampened hair was brushed and neat instead of the wild, disheveled mess it usually was. Plus, it smelled good. She'd taken another shower, and actually washed her hair this time. It took a moment before she blinked, her lids heavy upon her eyes as a consequence of poor and troubled sleep.
And then, Ymir suddenly realized:
She almost couldn't even recognize herself.
She'd always seen the same face staring back. That same tan, freckled, scarred replica of her gazing back through marbled orbs of gold, piercing and intimidating. But now, nothing was the same. Even her scars –something so tattooed and permanent– looked differently to her.
She brought her fingers to her own cheek, feeling the way her skin felt alarmingly cold and frigid. Is this what Christa had felt when she'd touched her? When she'd caressed her face, nearly kissed her lips, was this what she found?
"Ymir," she heard a gentle voice call from outside the door, followed by faint tump, tump of someone knocking on it shyly. Just by the way the person's knuckles had tapped the wood, so delicately, Ymir could guess who was standing outside.
"Yes, Bertholdt?"
"Can..." his voice was small, "Can I come in?"
She sighed, allowing her eyes to land on the world outside the curtained window. The view of the city always seemed so grand from other people's apartments, especially Reiner's. Even as rain veiled the world, lights still shone hazy and pleasantly through all of it. Like hope.
"Go ahead," she answered monotonously, picking off invisible lint from her new jeans (bless Reiner for memorizing her pant size once long ago too).
She heard the door knob turn, saw Bertholdt's head peek inside through the reflection in the mirror. "Is everything alright?" he asked her.
"Yeah.." She turned to face him, "How do I look?"
"Great," Bertholdt said with a tiny smile. "Yes, you look great."
She guffawed, offered a bland, "thanks" then let her hands dig into her back pockets, ready to shoot a smart remark at the boy before suddenly hearing the keys to her apartment clink quietly against her nails. Her eyes became distant and unfocused at the feel of them, her brain tingeing with longing at the thought of her home.
"Um," she heard Bertholdt mutter, the sound of his nervous voice ripping her from her trance. "What would you like me to do with your wet clothes?"
"Throw them out," Ymir voiced aloud before even thinking. In response, Bertholdt stood awkwardly by the door, his tall lanky form frozen into place with uncertainty.
She stared at him. Was he stupid? Just throw the damn shit–
Wait. Ymir gasped once she remembered.
"Except the jacket," she sputtered out. "No, don't throw out the jacket. I want to keep that. Just throw out everything else though, okay?"
"Of..." Bertholdt eyed her confusedly, not knowing whether she was being serious or not. But then he sighed, nodded, remembered Ymir wouldn't waste her time lying to him. "Of course."
Poor boy, she thought. I must scare the shit out of him.
It didn't matter, though. She couldn't get rid of that jacket because: one, she needed it andtwo, she couldn't get rid of it when it reminded her of Christa. Yes. As pathetic and sad as that sounded, she just couldn't will herself to do it just yet.
Bertholdt still stood by the door, his lingering uncertainty provoking a prick of annoyance from within Ymir.
"Bertholdt," she said impatiently, hands still inside her back pockets, "What is it?"
"Uh..." He straightened up, stammered, eyes rolling nervously around the room. "U-um, I just..."
The tall boy sighed.
Ymir gave him a questioning shrug. "What?"
"I just thought..." –another sigh, shaky.– "I though this would be a good time to... You know... Finally thank you properly."
At this, Ymir raised a brow. "Oh?"
"Yes." He made his way inside the room then, still standing by the door but no longer just peeking his head inside. Although his whole body stood within the room, his fear and uncertainty made him practically transparent to her eyes, like he was there but not really there at the same time. "I've been meaning to say this for a long time, but I just never seemed to find the proper opportunity."
Ymir eyed him quietly, sternly, not a slither of patience present in her face but he continued anyway.
"What you did for me... For Reiner. You didn't have to help us – but you did. You may not know this, but you really saved both our lives, Ymir. So... We both owe a lot to you."
"Please," she scoffed, "I was just doing my job, Bert."
"No," Berhtoldt objected softly, shaking his head. "No, you weren't. Helping me wasn't part of your work. You did it to help Reiner because you knew how much he cared about me. And... you really ended up saving us. Both of us."
Ymir stared at him silently, lips pursing into a tight line before she shrugged. "You were a childhood friend of his," she said. "He really wanted you safe and out of the slums. I just followed his orders in retrieving you, that's all."
Bertholdt eyed her calmly and, for once, Ymir couldn't really decipher what the boy was thinking. (If we were being really honest here, Ymir could hardly decipher shit anymore at all, despite being extremely adept at the skill her entire life).
"You're a good person, Ymir," he uttered suddenly, and his voice was so faint and small it took Ymir a few seconds before she understood what he had just told her.
It hit her like a sack of bricks over the head.
Wait. What.
"I am not," she sighed, turning her face away from him. "Trust me, I'm not. You know, that's your problem, Bertholdt. You think people are all kind and good-hearted but what you fail to realize is that in the end, all people seek is their own benefit. No one ever does anything without wanting something in return. It's the natural order of things. So don't confuse doing what is necessary with kindness – because it's not."
Bertholdt sighed through his nose, shoulders slumping down slightly as he said, "If you say so, Ymir."
His words hinted surrender, but Ymir knew that he didn't believe her. The damn fool was convinced that what he was saying was right. The truth.
Well. it wasn't.
You're a good person, Ymir. What? No she wasn't. No she wasn't. The fucker was just fooling himself. She'd only helped them because she knew what it was like to be trapped within the dirty quicksands of gangs, suffocating and sinking deeper and deeper the harder she tried to escape. So, in the end, it was all still selfish of her. She only helped them to alleviate her own sense of self-worth, so it was all still selfish...
Right?
But Ymir found it hard to meet his gaze after that, because she knew her own words hadn't convinced him. His words were genuine. He truly considered her a decent person which –she would never admit this to him– made her feel... happy? Delighted? Flattered?
Who knows. But just something good, that's for sure.
"Do you..." she asked slowly, "Do you really think that?"
"That you're not as cruel as you think you are?" Bertholdt's voice was light, the curvature of a slight smile decorating his lips. "Absolutely, Ymir. With all my heart."
She laughed. "Oh, Bertholdt. You're just a big fucking idiot, you know that?"
"Maybe," he shrugged. "But at least I can admit it."
Ymir scoffed. "Thanks, I guess. You know, no one's ever really told me that before."
No one. Besides Christa.
Ymir cringed. No. No thinking about her. No thinking about the girl at all.
Not yet.
She glanced up at the clock again, eyes wincing slightly at the time.
Meeting Rod Reiss was only a few minutes away now. Just a few short minutes away.
She swallowed, a faint nervousness fluttering inside her as she planted her eyes back onto the boy.
Despite herself, despite what she was about to do soon, Ymir still fought hard to keep the memory of Christa from eating away at her mind, her body, her fucking soul. Because she knew full and well that it definitely would. It would fucking consume her, and Ymir needed to focus. Now, more than ever, Ymir needed to focus.
"Bertholdt," she said finally, allowing her tone to sound mild for once. She'd never been very kind to him, but she figured it wouldn't hurt. Not since she wouldn't be seeing him again after that day anyway.
"When I'm through with today," she voiced gently, "will you promise me you'll do something?"
He blinked, eyebrows raised. "What's that?"
"Ask Reiner out." Her voice was demanding, and she smirked at the way Berhtoldt's features tensed up at her words. "I know I've been picking on you guys since I first met you, but I think you should really try it. I mean,seriously try." She chuckled lightly, "Well, unless you're straight. Then that would just be very uncanny."
Bertholdt nearly choked on his own scoff, running a hand through the back of his head as his cheeks flared cherry-red. "Ah. You... You really think I should?"
"Oh yeah," she nodded. "I mean, what's the worst that can happen, right? He says no? You go right back to living life the way you did before. But if he says yes? Boy, won't you be glad you took that chance while you could."
"Hmm..." Bertholdt's eyes were squinted, staring at the floor as if he couldn't decipher a hidden message, perhaps imagining the scenario of asking Reiner out already in his head.
After a while, he looked at her, giving her one of those shy, painted smiles he was so well known for. "I guess maybe I will."
"No." Ymir shook her head, "You have to promise me you will, Bertholdt. No matter what."
He stared at her then, eyes serious and promising. He said, "Alright, then. I promise you, Ymir. I'll do it."
At this, Ymir nodded, turning her face to view the rain outside again so that Bertholdt couldn't see when her lips twitched and formed a tiny grin.
She smiled. Despite herself, Ymir smiled.
Maybe she would miss him, the fucking fool. Him and Reiner both.
After a short moment, Bertholdt finally left her to be alone, muttering a tiny, "See? And you say you're not a good person" before closing the door behind him.
She rolled her eyes at that, but she was all alone now, and when someone is alone, that is when their brain decides to wander off into the most haunting and dangerous places. Thoughts of worry threaten to resurface, and resurface they eventually always do.
She thought of Christa then, of Rod, of what she'd told Reiner to do just a few hours ago when he'd agreed to grant her favor.
She wondered what Christa was doing back at home too. Was she still sad about the coffee pot? What was that wonderful, little mind up to? Reading a book? Watching a movie? Writing down on her notebooks a brand new discovery or fascination? Something she wanted to acquire for herself?
Or...
Ymir began to push her arms through the sleeves of a black jacket Reiner had gotten her as her mind wandered into an even darker place. Was Christa... crying instead? Were the notebooks still untouched? Forgotten? She was all alone... Christa was all alone with no one there to comfort her so–
"Ymir." Reiner stood at the door now, car keys at hand. "Are you ready?"
She clenched her jaw, catching the sight of the foreign woman that stared back at her through the mirror for the last time before nodding her head and saying, "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."
Rod Reiss worked nearly an hour away from the destination that he was supposed to meet her.
That didn't stop him though. This was a chance to reach his daughter, and that's all that truly mattered to him right now.
The night before had been a total daze, a dream, and the poor man hadn't accomplished a single hour of sleep since he'd last seen her. He'd slipped on his work clothes that morning, muscle memory pushing him forward as he made his way to work, sat staring blankly at documents he couldn't decipher, and answered monotonous phone calls, all in a poor attempt at resuming with his aimless life. But it wasn't working. None of it was working because he knew the girl was real. That girl was his daughter and she was alive and well, living near him somewhere.
Maybe he was just too depressed, or too tired, but he knew he had to fight. He had to fight for a way to reach her. His muscles twitched with the desire to move, his tongue itched with the desire to speak, but Rod couldn't find the energy or the words.
And then suddenly the call came. And it was about her. It was about his little girl.
As he drove, Rod's mind fluttered at the thought of her. She was all grown up now, though. Her hair fell down in gentle tresses past her shoulders, curling up and ending just above her chest. Her eyes still glimmered in that way he'd always remembered they did, so wide and curious. She was so frighteningly beautiful too, a haunting display of her own mother. Those gentle features were carved from the same stone as hers, only ladened with even more grace and beauty. A glorious pair of wide, blue eyes stood as the only imprint of himself on his daughter's face.
But then he had noticed the bruises. And she'd had so many. Each one chipping away at a bigger piece of his heart.
His chest thumped with excitement, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles bled white. He was still in his work suit, his briefcase thrown carelessly onto the backseat. After he had answered the phone, sat quietly for about ten minutes listening to what the female voice said on the other end of the line, Rod had picked up his belongings and sprang right out of his office door, not even leaving a single explanation behind him.
This was his daughter they were talking about. His daughter.
The world was pale outside the car windows, windshield wipers sliding madly from side to side, parting away heavy streams of water in a frantic attempt to clear the view of the street in front of him.
Car tires screeched to a halt, and then Rod was hastily shutting the engine off, not even bothering to reach over for the umbrella on the backseat before he was already out and jogging towards the front door of a building.
The sign on the glass door read Sorry, we're closed but he reached out his hand anyway, ringed his fingers on the handle and took a deep breath.
This was it. This was the place.
"The restaurant will say it's closed," the girl had said on the phone. "Just ignore it. I got the place cleared up for the two of us to speak."
Rod swallowed, pulling on the handle before making his way inside. His eyes landed briefly on the clock hanging on the wall straight ahead. It was 3 pm now. Sharp. He'd made it just in time.
Suddenly, he heard someone sigh, his eyes following the sound and landing directly on a tan woman sitting alone in a booth, fizzy energy drink in hand while she drank from a clear straw. The girl eyed him quietly, not offering a single greeting or welcome, just her leg crossed over the other as she waved her foot from side to side.
"Um," Rod adjusted the tie around his neck. "Are you Ymir?"
The girl nodded her head slowly, not once drawing her lips away from the straw.
Finally, Rod cleared his throat, wiping his feet on the welcome mat a few times before making his way inside the building.
It was a restaurant. Quaint. He imagined it must be bustling with life regularly, but right now remained nothing but the ghost of what it could've been. The place was dark and barely lit at all. The remnant smell of food was the only other thing that occupied the space besides himself and Ymir, and the sounds of her sucking dully on her straw.
As he approached her, Ymir studied the way he walked. Mild. Gentle; a slight droop in his shoulders indicating defeat, or tiredness, much like the little droop she'd caught on Christa's shoulders when they first met. He hesitated for a moment, so Ymir beckoned for him to take the seat across form hers.
He was short too. No wonder Christa was so damn puny. He was even shorter than that one little prick Connie Ymir used to work with (and had always fucking detested).
Quietly, she eyed the way he pushed back his glasses up to the bridge of his nose before finally taking the seat before her. Ymir squinted at that. Hmm. Those weren't there before. The rims were thick and black, clearly quite expensive, and it made his eyes look like two bright, blue suns shining behind the glasses.
Ymir cleared her throat.
"So," she began, setting her energy drink down on the table. "Do you remember me?"
Rod blinked tiredly at her for a second, his lips drawn in a stern line before responding, "Yes."
She snorted. "Yeah, of course you do. I slammed your fucking head against a wall."
Rod eyed her directly, not a shift in his posture or expression as Ymir cleared her throat again, feeling quite uncomfortable.
Okay, so the guy must be smart (he was a fucking lawyer for Christ's sakes), but he was definitely slow or something. He was staring at her as if she had words written on her face, and he was trying to read them.
He narrowed his eyes at her then, like he couldn't see her well at all, and Ymir couldn't read his expression clearly, so she chose to speak again.
"I presume you have some questions," she told him, leaning back a little on her seat.
He nodded. "I do."
"But," she said before he could even finish speaking, "I go first. And you don't dare interrupt me – Got it?"
Rod blinked his eyes at her, not a slither of surprise drawn onto his expression, as if he'd expected her to treat him that way. As if he knew she would treat him that way.
"Yes," he agreed calmly, too tired or perhaps too impatient to argue.
"First," Ymir held up her index finger, "I want to know one thing. When I called you to inform you I know about your daughter, why didn't you just call the cops? Why not put me on trial and get me arrested or something? You know she's under-aged, so why not charge me with assault for hurting you or kidnapping her or some shit?"
"Because," he replied simply, sighing mildly through his nose, "I know who you are, Ymir."
Ymir gawked at him blankly, her brain not quite processing the information until suddenly–
"You what?"
"Yes," he said. "I know who you are full and well. Even before you met my Christa."
Ymir scowled. His Christa?
"Well, then," she crossed her arms over her chest, "How is it that you know who I am?"
"Ace," he replied. "I worked with him. I've been the group's lawyer for quite some time now."
Ymir narrowed her eyes at him. "Really?"
He chuckled dryly, and Ymir clenched her jaw at the sound of his laugh. It seemed fake. Half-assed.
"I've come to know all the members from working on a few cases," he said. "Your name always came up a lot. You were branded one of the best among them, so I always remembered you. I'd never seen your face before though, so it took me a while to recognize who you are. I never thought I would actually get to meet you – Especially under these circumstances."
"Well," Ymir uttered before he could continue saying more, "so you know I've quit the group too then, I presume."
"Yes," he nodded. "I also know you've been stealing money without permission from your own account for some time now."
Ymir's hands clenched into fists, her jaw tightening painfully and eyes flaring with annoyance. The bastard. He was going to use that against her now. The fucker was going to turn the tables and coerce her instead.
But he smiled (much to her surprise) and gave her a reassuring nod before saying, "Don't worry. That's all confidential. I won't try to use it against you in any way."
He'd practically read her mind too. Fucking lawyers. She didn't trust his words –she didn't trust a single ounce of him– but her jaw untightened slightly and her fists gradually began to unclench.
"So you're not a client then?" she asked carefully.
"No," he said. "Quite the other way around, actually."
"Fine." Ymir took a sip from her energy drink. Fucking Reiner. Why did he call him that, then? "So you know who I am. Congratulations. Now, It's my turn to know you."
Rod sighed at her words, trying hard to be patient. He didn't have to take it, but he did. Just for his daughter. "Very well, then. Ask away."
"No," Ymir shook her head slowly, a tiny smirk dawning on her lips. "You ask your questions now. Mine go after. Best way of knowing someone is to see how they think, right?"
"Alright." Rod didn't even bat an eyelash. "Then I'll go first."
Ymir swayed her hand before them in a gesture as if to say "please".
Rod began to speak, "First, I would like to know: What is your relationship with my daughter?"
We fuck long and hard all day then go clubbing every night and party until we're fucked and plastered, she was so tempted to say.
"I'm a friend," she replied instead, shrugging a shoulder lightly. "I've known her since the day she first came to this city."
"Right," his voice was breathy and shaky all of a sudden, burgeoning with thick emotions, "And how was that? How did you meet her? When did she first arrive here?"
"Two weeks ago," she said dryly, watching the way his Adam's apple bobbed inside his throat as he swallowed. Oh, god. Please don't fucking cry. I'll jam your head against the table if you cry.
"Two weeks and a day, actually. I met her when I went out to take a cigarette break at my old job."
"The one you got fired at," Rod added.
"Yes," Ymir spat, clearly peeved. "That one."
"And how so?"
"It was raining," Ymir sighed, her eyes flickering to the downpour past the glass door momentarily before landing back on him. "It had been raining pretty heavily the entire previous day, and that morning, the rain was getting pretty bad when I'd decided to go outside."
"And then you met her there? Just outside the building?"
"Yes," Ymir breathed, almost incredulously. "As funny as it seems, sir, she was just standing right there beside me the whole time I was out smoking that damn cig. Then she'd started talking to me out of nowhere, telling me how cigarettes can kill me."
Rod seemed to share her own amusement now. He chuckled lightly, eyes brightening with the thought of his daughter. "She must've read that somewhere," he mused. "No one ever smoked back at home so there was no way of her knowing that."
"Probably," Ymir said flatly, her mind pricking with annoyance at his choice of the word home. "So I took her out to eat after that. I could tell she was hungry. Oh, and you should know: she couldn't even afford to pay her own food."
Rod's eyes flashed, wounded. "What?"
"That's right. I payed for her, though I didn't really mind. Oh, and she kept carrying around this little princess suitcase with her too."
"Princess suitcase?" he echoed, eyes wide.
"Yep," Ymir nodded. "The one you got her when she was small, I take it."
He gasped, and there was that shaky, breathless laugh of his again, his eyes gleaming with a smile.
Do not cry, you asshole. Do not fucking cry in front of me or I swear–
"That's so funny," he whispered silently, almost seemingly to himself.
"Is it really?" Ymir's tone was serious now, her gaze dire and austere. "You think that's funny, sir?"
Rod stammered, struggling to find his words before Ymir interrupted him again.
"You know, Christa had fatal bruises all over her skin when I found her. Bruises that still haven't faded from her body up to this day. And they hurt. They hurt her every single day. Did you know about that? Do you know why that is?"
Despite Ymir's heated words, Rod's eyes narrowed at her carefully, unaffected. He eyed her quietly before mustering a confused, "Christa?"
"Yes!" She stopped, remembering why the man was so confused. "Oh, and that's another thing too. She used a fake name when she first came here. Relinquished her old one and scattered it entirely."
"Why?" Rod asked, seeming hurt.
"That's what I said. Why would she stoop so low as to dispose of her own name? Her own identity? I was mad when I first found out – Disappointed in her, but then I kind of accepted it when I understood why."
"She should honor that name," Rod said, speaking as if Christa's actions were an assault on his own integrity, "It carries her identity and importance. Why would she discard it so carelessly?"
Ymir looked at him straight in the eye, her golden eyes blaring like the sun. "I don't know. But I suppose that when you're used to being beaten like a sack of shit you kind of eventually convince yourself that you are one, right?"
Rod swallowed, his eyes set downcast and brows furrowing in thought. Ymir's words were harsh, but they were the truth. And that is what this man needed right now. The cold, hard truth.
Still, Rod said nothing, and Ymir sipped from her straw a few times before speaking again. "When I first met her, she had so many damn bruises. They were everywhere, but most of the ones in her arms and the one in her face have faded by now, at least. However, she's got this one bruise," she motioned to the side of her own leg, "right here by the side of her right thigh. Too fucking big to have been from someone's fists, if you ask me."
"So you think..." the man's voice was quiet, "That she had been beaten with something else instead?"
"The first time I saw it, I thought it must've come from a kick or something. But then it hit me. I've seen enough people getting beat up to know when someone's been beaten with an object."
Rod's pupils shrunk. "An object?"
"Yep," Ymir took another sip from her straw. "She never admitted this herself, but I'm pretty sure her mom beat her with something the day she ran away. Probably the closest thing she could get her dirty hands on."
"Like a book?"
"Or her own shoe," she replied rigidly. "And your daughter? She was naked when all this happened too. There was nothing to protect her. Maybe this will give you an idea of what she had to go through in her life. And I'm sure you haven't got the slightest fucking clue of how much it hurts to be beaten with something, especially when you're stark fucking bare."
She scowled at him, not aware of the glower that had settled onto her own face as Rod planted his eyes on hers. He looked torn, utterly broken apart from her words but Ymir offered him no comfort.
Good. Let him feel pain. He needed to understand what Christa had gone through.
"Now," she sighed, "I don't expect you to explain to me why you left her. I understand those are matters that don't concern me at all, but I can't help but wonder: Why didn't you help her?"
"Her mother–"
"You're a lawyer, aren't you?" she interrupted, agitated. "Don't you have enough money to send her? Or enough power to sue her mom for not letting you talk to her or something?"
"No, I–"
"Let me guess," she jeered now. "You found another woman. A better one. You got married and had kids and then life was so much better and brighter you couldn't bother to raise your own little girl. Was that it? Was that what happened?"
Rod's lips pursed into a very tight line, brows furrowing with irritation. "Let me speak," he demanded, voice thick and serious, and Ymir shut her mouth.
Good. He was angry now. Just what Ymir wanted.
That's when he began to tell her. Thirty whole minutes passed by as the man began to explain, and Ymir's hair had already dried at the ends by the time he had finished.
Once, Rod had had a wife, two sons, and a very comfortable life. Supposedly, he was very young when all this happened, but he was happy. Suddenly, however, on a very uneventful day, a car skidded over their lane on an icy road in the middle of winter, slamming directly into the back part of his car and killing both his sons and wife.
He was alone after that. Poor little Rod was all alone then, until he met a gorgeous woman with flaxen hair and a huge, bright smile. He told Ymir of how he fell in love, lived with her for a long while before one day finding out she was pregnant, in which time he decided they should marry. The woman declined, something about being against marriage or some shit Ymir didn't quite catch. Then they had little Christa, moved away from the city and lived happily in the woman's childhood home.
And then, that's when things began to change. The lady got abusive towards him, but just never his daughter. Money, money, money. That was all she ever thought about. Marriages sometimes go down the shit hole, and that's what his did (even if it wasn't officially a marriage but Ymir got the point). He left, and moved back into the city to finish his Law degree and find himself a proper job.
After that, he sent nearly every cent he ever made to her and Christa. All he lived on was bread with sugar and soups. Poor man, Ymir had thought, before snapping the fuck out of it. Oh well. Life was tough for most of us, wasn't it?
But then he told her how the money never seemed to be enough, no matter how hard he worked or how many cases he won. So he started getting involved with dirty business, serving as an attorney to alleged gang leaders and drug dealers since they paid a him lot more money. (That sure as hell explained why he was be involved with Ace and everyone. God, shit was finally starting to make sense now).
Still, it never was enough, and the woman never allowed him to go over and see her, despite the fact he hardly ever even had the time. Rod almost began to cry then, explaining his frustration. Ymir still wanted to slam his head into the table if as much as a single tear streamed down his face.
So then, when Christa was just eight years old, Rod sent over someone to keep an eye on her and to take care of her and make sure everything was okay.
"Frieda?" Ymir asked then, eyes growing wide.
Rod opened his mouth, a shaky breath escaping him before he nodded his head, enthused. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, Frieda. She told you about her?"
"Oh," Ymir heaved, taking a second to process the information.
So it was her father. So it was Rod Reiss who had done that!
"Yes," she replied. "Yes, Christa spoke of her a lot."
Rod scoffed happily. "Oh, that's great. So did she like her? What did she say?"
Ymir swallowed, her throat suddenly tightening as she felt that familiar lump that had rendered her useless the night before. She cleared her throat, managing, "Many things. She said many things about Frieda."
Then Rod eyed her quietly, expectantly, and Ymir swallowed with the preparation to say more words. She knew she at least owed the man that much, even if she didn't want to speak any further for fear that her voice might catch and crack.
It was just... It was unbelievable. Oh, what Christa would do if she found out it was her father who had sent Frieda to her all along.
"Frieda taught her how to write and read," she told him, "and God, you should see how much that girl loves to read. That's all she does. Ever. Just read and read and read whatever books she can get her hands on."
Rod chuckled, a keen little laugh rumbling past his throat as his eyes gleamed profusely, drowning within a sudden apparition of tears.
Ymir stiffened. Oh God. She didn't know what to do, or how to feel, but she suddenly felt like crying too.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Don't be such a baby, Ymir. Don't be so weak.
"That's great," Rod uttered, his voice strong and solid despite the tears in his eyes. "I'm so happy she liked her. I know Frieda loved her very much – she would always keep me up to date with how she was doing. I knew Historia was going through a hard time, but Frieda never mentioned her ever being beaten severely. I wonder why."
"Perhaps she just didn't know," Ymir said. "Perhaps Frieda wasn't very much aware of it. Christa told me things got really unbearable after she left. That's when her mother really lost it."
Rod set his cobalt gaze downcast, tears finally escaping him.
"That's all my fault," he said, not even bothering to wipe his tears. "I should've known. I should've known not to be so wrapped up in my work as to become oblivious to her state. I should've done... more. I should've done more."
"But you thought about her," Ymir voiced, suddenly empathizing with him. "Every single day, you thought about your little girl, right?"
"Yes!" Rod nodded vigorously. "Yes, that's right! Every day I lived only for her, mustering whatever way I could to reach her."
After a moment, Ymir sighed, uncrossing her arms from over her chest. "I'm certainly in no place to judge you, and I don't feel that it's even in my place to do so. But if you care to know, I think Christa still wants to see you. I asked her today if she wanted to leave this place forever, and she said no. There's something here that's keeping her in place, something that's keeping her from moving forward..."
She raised her eyes to see him, gazing at him through the heavy fringe of her dark lashes. "Do you know what that may be?"
"Me?" he asked, pointing a finger to his chest.
Ymir nodded. "That's what I figured."
"Before I left," he said, pushing up his glasses, "I gave her a tiny piece of paper with the address to my new home in this city. I don't think she could've kept it, but I made sure Frieda reminded her of this somehow. That she had a father waiting for her here."
Ymir stared at him, the blaze of her eyes cooling to thin ice with slow comprehension.
She gasped quietly, her shoulders tensed, her pupils broadened. It all... It all suddenly made sense to her.
So that's why. That explained everything! Why Christa came here of all places. Why she trod on aimlessly like a lost puppy, hoping maybe that Daddy would find her before she had the misfortune to get lost or die or...
It all made sense...
And it all suddenly made her feel sad.
Ymir was quiet. Direly so. She couldn't speak. She couldn't voice the words that had to follow because she suddenly felt sick, suddenly felt like crying.
"Ymir," Rod said after a while, noticing the shift in her expression. "Are you alright?"
"I..." she began to speak, but her stomach twisted the wrong way and her throat ached with a tightening knot that was driving her crazy. Fuck. She cleared her throat. Swallowed.
"I will ask my questions now," she voiced rather tonelessly. "Now, it's my turn."
"Of course," Rod said. "You can ask me anything."
"Just..." she shut her eyes, taking a deep breath, "just one thing. There's just one thing I want to know."
Rod waited patiently for her to speak. "Yes?"
"Historia..." Ymir uttered, and the name felt foreign on her tongue, as if she were speaking in another language. And yet she voiced it, because as foreign as it felt, it was a name that belonged to the only person who had ever understood Ymir's own language, and that made her name as much a part of her as her own self.
She looked deep into the man's eyes, at once pronouncing her only question... The one thing she's ever really wanted to know for sure. The only thing her wasted brain could never fully muster...
"Your daughter..."
Rod blinked.
"What was she like when she was a child?"
A girl with flaxen hair playing in the wind, her blonde tresses bouncing and dancing with every leap and long stride of her legs. Little hands reach up to touch the sky, but they're not quite long enough to reach it. Her laughs and giggles permeate the air, filling the field of grass she played in with more colors than the flowers did themselves.
Her little hand covers the sun, rays beaming through the spaces between her outstretched fingers. The hand is too small to cover all of it, so she laughs. She laughs. Not because anything is actually funny, but because, at that age, everything just is.
She sings little songs of her own invention. Humming lah-dee-dah's and gentle hmm-hm-hm's to herself. The tiny composer of her own music. The master of her own song.
Then her father digs his hands under her armpits, pulling her up as her little legs swing up the air. He props her up over his shoulders, and the little girl swears she can see the entire world. The sky, the sun – they were closer to her reach as long as she was up there. And as long as she was there, sitting on her father's sturdy shoulders, everything was fine.
Everything was safe.
A heart at that age knows no pain, only wonder. Only curiosity and a burgeoning desire to live and to discover.
That's how it should be.
And that was Christa. That was her as a little girl.
It's not that Ymir had imagined her to be any different, but hearing it now, coming from the mouth of someone who had witnessed it for themselves, Ymir couldn't help the little lump in her throat, the smile dawning in her lips as she stared gleamy-eyed at nothing, imagining the perfect little child in her head.
As Rod spoke, Ymir listened. And as if her own sanity depended on it, she cherished and imagined it all, picking up on every trace of his stories as if she were piecing back together a broken mirror, one scathing shard at a time.
And then Ymir closed her eyes, exhaling deeply through her nose.
That little girl didn't exist anymore. She'd been stolen from the world. It's the kind of injustice Ymir has loathed her entire life.
Adults. Most of the time they don't even know what the fuck they're doing. Christa's mom eradicated that child, stripped her bare of her hopes and her little chants of music. She stole her away from her books and from the fields of grass and from all of her little harmonies.
And why? Because she was a selfish, thoughtless bitch. Both Ymir and Rod agreed on that, at least.
Kids that age shouldn't have to know what it's like to be treated like they're useless. Life will teach them enough of that on its own eventually as they grow. But who would've known... Christa would have that taken from her so early on.
Ymir had never had a childhood, she knew this well herself. So it was as if hearing Christa's happy days made what little happiness she experienced throughout her youth Ymir's own; as if she had been there to live it all along with her, even though she hadn't. Christa had lived, sang, and laughed for the both of them. She'd had a childhood for them both.
So Ymir slowly opened her eyes, planting her golden gaze on the man that spoke before her. They'd been talking for a few hours now. The day had grown gloomier outside, and when Ymir glanced back at the clock, she saw that it was almost six o'clock. Light was finally fading outside, replaced by the artificial glows of lampposts and buildings.
This man. His mouth opened and closed with the formation of words, but Ymir's ears no longer caught the sounds of any of them. Just the muted sight of him, and every shift in his expression as he spoke of the thing he loved most dearly in the world... The one thing they both shared in common.
Christa.
It was then, that Ymir finally decided.
"She sounds..." her words rose against her inner silence, disrupting Rod's speech. "...Just the same."
His black eyebrows raised in question. "Really?"
"Yeah," she heaved, not even fighting the mildness of her voice. She was being vulnerable, but Ymir didn't care, really. Ymir simply was. "You know... All excited and happy. She still sings like that sometimes. And she's always finding the stupidest things so fucking fascinating. It blows my mind, Rod. But I guess... I guess that now it's good to know why. It's good to know she's always been like that. That no one has ever stolen that away from her."
Rod was silent, eyes setting downcast and landing on the chipped table between them. Ymir had just said his name for the first time, but he didn't think she noticed. She had finished her energy drink long ago, and was now sipping on some water instead, still not an ounce of food inside of her, but it's not like she was really hungry at all.
"What I wouldn't do to see her," Rod said suddenly, speaking almost only to himself. "Seeing her last night was almost like a dream, you know. I can't begin to explain how much I've longed for that moment. And to know... To know that my Historia is well and happy and safe – if only for the past two weeks – that means the world to me, Ymir."
His eyes looked up then, deep blue oceans meeting the golden glares of suns. He stared intently at her, and Ymir didn't even bother to look away when he thanked her.
"Thank you," he said. Ymir couldn't help her scoff.
"No," she shook her head, "No, sir. Helping your daughter's been no problem for me at all. If anything, she's helped me. In more way than I can count, believe me."
"What is she like?" Rod asked after a long pause. "My daughter. What are the things she's into? Like art? Music? Books?"
Ymir swallowed, slightly temped to resume the conversation but, viewing as the sun was already disappearing outside, and the rain had gotten only a bit milder, Ymir realized she couldn't afford the time.
Time...
Time was finally running out now.
"Why don't you go find that out for yourself?" she asked him suddenly, and despite the fervor she tried to thread through her voice, it still came out sounding faint and fragile.
Rod stared at her then, his features not quite reacting to her words until suddenly–
"Really?" His voice was so tight with excitement, Ymir couldn't help her laugh. Fucking man just mimicked his own daughter perfectly.
But then her laughter faded, and Ymir was left alone and naked in the room. The vestiges of pain, dread, and sorrow all began to rekindle (more like burst) to life, and Ymir couldn't bear to fight against them. They just were. They were as much a part of her as her own arms and legs, further extensions of herself she could never sever without losing herself completely in the process.
There was nothing left to do now. Nothing left to do but to craft her own salvation. No matter how bad it hurt. Ymir was selfish, brutal, reckless – But only she could change that. It was all entirely up to her.
Her life, solely in her hands.
She stared off at the floor, eyes stinging but never fully developing the tears that screamed for existence. No. Ymir wouldn't cry. Not here. Not now.
"Your daughter," she began, eyes still staring off before they widened suddenly. The words died within her throat, because her eyes suddenly landed on something precious, something they felt they'd known forever, but they flickered as if they were discovering something new for the first time.
They landed on the seat where Christa had first sat down to eat with her on the day they met. She smiled slightly – because she really couldn't help herself at all. That day seemed so far away now, like some far-off dream that never really happened. But it did. And it was real, because Ymir's chest tightened as she closed her own eyes, ripping her gaze away from the seat and the girl, swearing for the umpteenth time that she could hear her voice.
"She likes coffee a lot," she said, slowly opening her eyes to see him, "but this morning, she accidentally dropped the coffee pot and broke it. I've been meaning to buy her a new one, but... Do you think you could do me a favor and buy her one instead? I don't think I can afford to steal any more money from my account."
Rod eyed her, not sure what to make of her words. But eventually, he nodded, face still unreadable but his voice was gentle and soft. Understanding. "Of course," he said, "I'll do anything."
Ymir smirked.
"Good. Then listen close, old man."
She leaned in closer, a blazing concentration flaring in her eyes despite her inner anguish.
But that's just how Ymir was. You could put her through a fire, and she would never let you know that she'd been burned, even if her skin was still in flames. Even if your own eyes could still witness the catastrophe...
The girl always stood. Tall. Persistent.
"So," she told him, hands resting on the table before she interlocked her fingers in a manner that meant business, "this is what you're going to do..."
How funny was it that Rod already knew who Ymir was, even though she didn't know him? And that one day, his daughter would run away from home, and land suddenly on Ymir's lap. How funny was it that their paths would be crossed like this? Like three overlapping lines of fate that would bind their strings together.
How funny was it that Ymir would be falling in love? Through the course of two short weeks, Ymir would fall madly in love with a girl. With the daughter of a lawyer, and the same man who had all the power to destroy her.
Yes... Funny. Real funny.
It was on that night, however, that Ymir suddenly understood:
The course of nature and all living things – they didn't all follow their own careless accords like she thought they did.
All nature followed a pattern, a carefully woven pattern that bound all living things together, as if by many eternal threads. All nature followed a routine, where one shift of the wind affected the rain at the other end of the world, and where the slightest change in the river's flow affected the way the entire waters stilled. The sun didn't rise and fall as it pleased, it followed its own natural routine. All things were bound together, no matter how small, and they all eventually amounted to the culmination of everything we know. Of this sad, pleasant, marvelous, little world we call our home.
Everything... is connected.
Every single drop of rain holds a correlation to another. The same way all instruments play together in an orchestra – each individual one filling a different role, only to amount to a single string of music. The entire world was music. And now she could understand why Christa loved it so much. Now, she could see why Christa held such an infatuation with music.
Because music breathed life.
And Christa was life.
Every living thing held a unique song. Each person, the master of their own tune. Ymir... finally understood that. Nature was not only wild, it was careful and fragile as well. Just like Christa. Just like her.
And there was hope. Within everything, there was an underlying purpose.
There was a purpose for why that blonde boy would approach her on a random starry night, when Ymir swore she wanted to kill herself. There was a purpose for why Rod Reiss would one day leave his daughter, only to let her suffer and only for him to struggle to make ends meet at a stressful job.
And perhaps... Perhaps the reason was so that one day Ymir would get sick of her job, and Christa would change her name and run away from home. Maybe the reason was solely so that Ymir would one day be lucky enough to meet her, and their individual paths would beautifully intertwine, and their unique songs would combined in perfect harmony and become one.
And Ymir would love Christa. And Christa would save Ymir, all by herself.
And Ymir would give everything she had, everything she owned, every little, minimal part of her up, just to protect her. Just to keep her safe. Because Christa was her salvation. Because Christa was her light.
She wanted to give everything to her. Everything. All she ever had. Without a single desire for anything in return. And that was the most selfless thing Ymir had ever managed to accomplish – throughout the course of her turbulent, troubled life. Who would've thought... her broken soul would one day find peace and redemption within the arms of an angel? Her own angel. One too good to be true. But she was real. She was truth.
Christa was all the truth Ymir had ever known.
Love was fucking crazy, really. Ymir had never in a million years fathomed she would be a victim to one of its spells. She'd heard Reiner say once that if it didn't change you completely, it revealed you. But Ymir never believed that. She wasn't a good person. Not like that. Christa was an exception. The only exception, and that is why Ymir did what she did.
That is why she stood before Reiner then, her hands digging deep into her pockets as she gawked at the blonde boy in silence.
He was staring at her, eyeing her in a very fearful way. Not necessarily out of a fear of her, but for her.
It's meant to be this way, Ymir had told him, or perhaps she'd only told herself. She couldn't remember whether she'd actually voiced it aloud or not. But Reiner was handing her her leather jacket anyway, and a thin envelope with all of Ymir's money inside. All the money she'd earned throughout the years after she'd joined them. It was all in there. All written down in a simple check directed to Historia Reiss.
"Ymir," Reiner sighed, and his voice was weighed down and heavy, mournful as if he was losing something dear, like a piece of himself. "Are you really sure about this?"
"Yes," she replied. "I am."
Reiner was very quiet then, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. It was a moment before either of them spoke again.
Ymir was the one to break the silence. "Don't look so sad, Blondie," she teased. "You've got a whole damn gang to take care of now. Leaders don't get all mopey and shit over stuff like this."
He sighed.
Ymir gave him a full smirk, kicking his boot lightly. But eventually her face settled into seriousness as well, because Ymir understood the weight of what she was doing. She sighed. The world was pitch black outside. She knew that, even from within the windowless kitchen of the restaurant.
"The apartment," Reiner voiced faintly, "What do you want me to do with it?"
"Whatever you'd like," she said. "Just don't get rid of any of the books. I need them."
Reiner squinted his eyes at her. "Ymir, you don't even like to read."
"No," she chuckled, "I sure as hell don't. But I know someone who does. I think they'll make great use of them."
"Hmm," Reiner looked down at the floor, all emotion scrubbed clean right off his face.
"Is all of it in here?" she asked him, running a thumb over the envelope.
"Yes," he replied solemnly. "Everything."
"Good," she said. There was a lot of money in there. A lot. She slipped out the check and stared at it, Reiner had written down the exact amount. That was all her money. All of it. God, it sure as fuck looked like a lot now that she eyed the written digits. She finished filling it out, signed it, then slipped it back into the envelope without closing it. She wouldn't close it yet. Didn't feel right. Didn't feel like she was quite done with it just yet.
"Here," Reiner said, handing her a wad of cash he fished out of his back pocket. "I would've given you a card, but I know you said you couldn't afford the time, so... Here you go."
"What's this?" she asked, already knowing what it was. Reiner wouldn't let her leave without a little extra cash. The boy was practically predictable – or maybe she just knew the bastard all too well.
"A little gift from me," he told her as she took the money, "Consider it some extra recompense. I know you'll need it."
Ymir was tempted to argue, but her body was suddenly too tired to muster a single word. Or maybe it was her mind. She didn't know – she couldn't tell the difference anymore. Tonight, her heart was attached to her brain and her brain to her hands and all her organs to every single part of her body. She wore her insides on her skin. One tap on the shoulder and she felt it everywhere, as if she were a lake, and the slightest pebble thrown into the water caused endless ripples to agitate the whole surface.
"Please be safe," Reiner told her, staring straight into her eyes.
Ymir scoffed, but she didn't say anything. Alright, she would've said if she could talk. But she couldn't. A small part of her almost couldn't believe what she had just done, if she was really honest with herself.
She thought faintly of Rod Reiss, who was already busying himself by doing what she'd told him to. He followed orders like a trained dog, but Ymir guessed that perhaps, to some extent, he sort of was one.
She sighed. Her hunger was finally catching up to her, and her body was feeling weak (her brain was too, since apparently all of her insides were now tragically connected).
"Are you hungry?" Reiner asked her, almost as if he'd read her mind. But he hadn't. Ymir knew what he was doing. He was trying to buy them some more time.
She sighed. "No, don't worry about it," she said, not even allowing herself to be tempted by the thought of food, or another second longer spent with Reiner. "I have to go now. There's one last thing I have to take care of, you know."
Reiner smiled faintly. "Yeah," he said, "the girl."
"Yep," she confirmed, running a hand through her hair. "The girl."
Ymir stood with him for another quiet second, eyeing him from head to toe. He'd gotten so much taller, and she almost hated herself for not noticing before. His hair was still the same, never-changing, but his face had gotten more serious, his body harder and more rugged, and Ymir realized she'd gotten used to him. To his scent. To the way his smile unveiled a row of perfect, straight teeth, every single time taking her by surprise.
She cleared her throat, and finally willed herself to thank him. "Thanks, Reiner," she said. "Thank you for everything. I know I haven't been the easiest person to deal with, but I'm grateful for your help."
Reiner nodded imperceptibly, eyes glued to the floor. He didn't say anything, so after another moment, Ymir finally began to leave.
"Wait," he said, suddenly grabbing hold of her arm.
She stared at him, startled.
"Please," he hissed, screwing his eyes shut. He put a lot of pressure into the word, as if he were trying to seal a water leakage with only the force of his voice. "Please, Ymir. Please take care of yourself. I don't want to hear you've been taken down by any gangs. I don't want to find out your past finally caught up to you.
"Please," he looked at her then, and Ymir could see the red veins in his eyes. "Please, take care of yourself."
She scoffed. "Don't you know who I am?" she asked him, but Reiner was immune to her tone. She swallowed. "Reiner, I'll be fine. I know how to take care of myself. You know that."
Her voice was growing smaller, so she cleared her throat again. Reiner didn't let her go, and his eyes finally fell onto his own hand. He squeezed Ymir's arm tighter. She winced, felt the pain shoot through her entire system.
She could've held his face. Heck, she could've planted a big, wet kiss on his forehead for the way he was staring at her, all puppy-eyed, but Ymir didn't budge. She'd given the kid enough kindness for her own standards. So instead, she leaned in closer to him, whispered, "I will. I promise you. I promise I'll be okay. I'll stay alive. I'll... I..."
She was suddenly struck by a strong wave of pain, and this time it felt as if it was coming from inside her. She screwed her eyes shut, swallowing dryly and spitting out the words, "I promise you. I will do my damnest to live. I won't ever try to take my own life again. I will live. I will live. No matter what I have to do, I will honor my life, Reiner. I promise you. I'll honor it."
Reiner blinked at her, brows knitting together in concern. His lips formed a tiny pout, cheeks flaring red with something Ymir couldn't really decipher. She's always been gifted with reading people – but not today. All that was long gone by now, as if she'd been broken down to tiny pieces and washed down a drain.
"Bye, Reiner," she said, slipping her arm out of his grasp. "Thank you again for everything. Thanks for helping me, and for allowing me to use all my account money, and for letting me quit the gang without killing me." She chuckled dryly, "And please make sure to take care of your boyfriend. God knows Bert gets himself into a lot of mindless shit."
Reiner choked, laughed, and Ymir closed her eyes at the sound of his laughter. It ringed deep within her ears – a happy sound. She swore to always remember it, the same way her ears had engraved the sounds of people's screams into her brain. But only this time, this sound was nicer. This sound was being emitted from a friend.
She stared at him, imagining his reaction when Bertholdt would finally go up to him and asks him out. A small part of her wished... that she could be there to see it. To make fun of him and tease him when his face flushed and his cheeks would flare all red.
"We'll be fine," he told her, glancing bashfully at the ground. And that was it. Those were his last words to her.
Ymir was already turning around swiftly on her heels, trotting out the kitchen and through the front door. The door slammed shut behind her, and Ymir began to walk under the storm once again.
As rain pelted onto her, water seeping into her hair and clothes, Ymir recorded into her brain every single one of Reiner's features, taking mental note of his face, his smile, his voice. She stored him safe within a secret chamber in her mind, and then simply kept on walking.
Then she laughed.
Ymir had finally turned into Christa. She was memorizing the face of a man she swore she would never see again.
"You will open an account..."
The sky was crying.
"It will be under Historia's name. This account will belong only to her..."
The streets were flooding. Ymir's clothes were drenched. Rain fell mercilessly over her and covered the entire world.
"I will write a check. The money in my account will go straight onto hers. No exceptions. Do you understand?"
Ymir and the world were one now. All nature was the same.
"I will only ask you for one thing, Rod. I will give you your daughter, only if you promise to do this..."
She walked slowly. Lighting exploded in the sky, flashing like a thousand cameras capturing pictures of the heavens.
"You will love her. You will cherish her. You will protect her, and you will remind her that she's very special..."
Ymir was breathing heavily. Her frame heaved and bloated with every labored breath. Her chest hurt. She was cold now. Everything hurt.
"You will remind her of this every single day..."
Christa, she said. Christa, Christa, Christa, Christa.
"She will go to school. She will get a license. Teach her how to drive, how to make friends, how to be happy. Teach her all the things she should've learned growing up, Rod. Teach her what it's like to have a parent."
She floated onward like a brainless moth drawn to a flame. Stupid. Empty. There was nothing left of her at all.
"The money I give her will go towards college. A car. New clothes. Anything she wants – but just make sure she goes to college."
But Ymir still didn't cry. She couldn't. The rain streamed down her hair, her face, her arms.
"This is... very important to me."
She held the leather jacket over her shoulder the entire time.
"You will make sure my account is emptied out and transferred into hers. I expect you'll use your power and connections to make all this possible."
She didn't even realize she'd already reached her home. Time didn't exist. Ymir didn't exist.
"And then..."
She touched her back pocket, and felt once again for her keys. Walking up the steps, she realized she was still whispering the girl's name.
"And... Um..."
Christa, Christa, Christa. Like a fervent prayer.
"And then finally you'll..."
Ymir pushed open the door.
There was no light, and she could hardly see a thing. She slowly stepped inside, closing the door shut behind her.
Where. Where. Where is she?
Her brain mustered questions. Her entire body began to hurt. Ymir was famished, starving – but not for food. She was aching. She was aching for something else.
Lightning boomed outside in the night, a blinding light flashing through the windows, illuminating the entire apartment in a burst of white.
Ymir was dripping on the floor. Not just because of the water falling off her hair and clothes, but Ymir was so exhausted, she felt as if she was physically dripping.
Wasting away, one small drop at a time.
Lighting flashed again.
That was when she saw it.
A figure standing by the window. Small. Ymir blinked a few times, but her heart was already beating out of her chest before she could fully decipher it.
She marveled at the figure's form, its faded outlines and gentle curves, every bend and twist on the ghostly shape...
The tiny slope of her spine...
That tiny slope that led somewhere...
For a second, Ymir thought she was dreaming. She blinked again, and then the world suddenly made sense to her. Reality screamed into existence, and Ymir saw the gasping presence of her.
Ymir finally saw her.
Now, Ymir could see clearly.
Now, Ymir found her voice.
She gasped, the sharp intake of her breath swiftly replaced by the sound of her own voice after she opened her mouth, tired vocal chords bolting to a wake for her to utter...
"Christa?"
A/N: I incorporated some tiny bits from the last chapter into this to show how much Ymir has changed, and what aspects of her have remained the same. Humble Ymir makes me feel all sorts of feels. Also, I've been meaning to point out how all nature is connected, like every drop of rain holds a correlation to the other and how the tiniest gust of wind somewhere alters the entire way the wind flows, just to show that Ymir's previous theory at the very beginning of the story was wrong. Nature doesn't always flow to its own personal accord, and we would be surprised if we knew just how many things are actually connected around us.
Ymir having an epiphany is just... I don't know what to say. I just don't know what to say. I teared up a bit while writing this. One more chapter guys... Just one more chapter after this.
PS: *in a tiny whisper* yay christa's back!
PPS: BY THE WAY! Idk if you guys like listening to music as you read, but I have some playlists I listen to while I write and I have a specific one I've been listening to for this story. I put the link for it in my profile page in case you guys would like to hear!