I couldn't keep her out of my mind.
I felt the sweat drip down my forehead as I jogged, barely hearing anything past my earbuds as I took a turn towards the park for my morning workout.
It had been about two weeks since I last saw Reiner so I felt my chest tighten when I saw him and his best friend stretching not too far away—it was here that we met and jogged together and eventually dated.
I schooled my face, running past them to my usual route as Bertolt watched.
Reiner also glanced.
I could see the bitterness he had in his mouth, barely held back by shame and respect.
I gave him a smile and he gulped as I jogged towards the bridges.
"Historia! Wait!" He called and I felt a twinge in my stomach.
I stopped.
Why was I stopping?
I pulled an earbud out and glanced at him.
"Hm?"
"I—uh, we can still jog together…wanna come? The trail cleared up," he pointed towards a runner's path that was off-limits during winter, but now that it was near spring and the snow was melting it was again the public's favorite.
What was he trying to say?
He glanced down at the ground and Bert patted his back, jogging up ahead a bit. Giving us our space, I'm sure.
"Look," he hastily said because I was already trying to get my earbud in, ready to leave him because I knew he was going to say something.
Anything to fuck me over in the end.
"I…I reacted shitty," he sighed, crossing his arms, "when…I didn't mean to walk-in on you, alright? Everything you are—that's cool."
I frowned, blinking at him.
"I…should've talked with you more…and not have gotten so freaked out, alright? But, it's…it's just new for me, alright? And I know…it's a lifestyle or not bad to want to be a girl…but I don't mind that… I was just so caught off guard—"
"It's fine, Reiner." I quickly muttered.
He took the sign to back off and stared where Bert left off to.
"I just want you to know, Historia… I support you and, um, your—whatever you're going through."
What a shit thing to say after practically barging into my room one night and seeing me naked and then rushing off in disgust. And eventually leaving me right after.
"That's funny," I mentioned, glaring at him, "I didn't realize supporting me was looking at me like I was a freak."
It hurt to even say it but that's how I knew many people saw me.
I wasn't born a female.
Or male.
I was somewhere in-between.
It was never figured out until I grew up that I wasn't a boy. I had the parts and all but the more I grew the more I looked like a girl.
My father was caught up between disgust and intrigue and my mother treated me like the girl I wanted. They took me at face-value but the moment the problems came up—sex, puberty, and learning how to hide that part of me—the treatments, the brochures of surgical removal placed strategically in the living room where I sat…
I knew that they wanted me to be something they understood—a girl.
Or a boy if I finally wanted to keep my extra parts.
I couldn't be me—I couldn't be a girl and not damage myself. It was unheard of and when I spoke to my mother about it she only batted eyelashes and nodded slowly and concluding that I would change my mind when I find the right boy and I wanted to be intimate.
What would my future children say?
I would never have kids as a woman, but as a man I could. I still remember the day my father took me to the doctor for testing on fertility and it coming back positive—he insisted so much that I take steps to fully become a man.
And that's when I said I will figure it out.
Months later and I still don't know what to do with myself.
"…Historia…" Reiner took a step forward, "I was terrible…but I like you and—and I'd like to try ag—"
"I have a girlfriend." I shot him down right then and there, turning and plugging myself back into my music, away from reality, and jogging away.
How many times did I go to the doctor's office for stupid visits just to hear them give me the option—do you want to be a girl or boy?
Be a homemaker with sweet smiles, a chest, and a barren false womb that cannot give a husband what he wants?
Or, be a man that stands barely above five foot one, scars under his chest, and always overcompensating for his stolen masculinity?
I hated both options.
I hated them fucking all.
I wanted to be me, but why did it feel so bad to want to stay how I was born?
"Don't fucking cry," I growled to myself as I sprinted into the morning fog above the falls, feeling it grow colder and colder, pricking the corners of my eyes as they watered.
"Don't."
-x-x-x-
I was there now.
Nobody was coming to save me now.
My knuckles were white as paper, gripping the railing as I choked on the cold air burning my throat, staring into the shrouded abyss below.
I could hear the falls calling me—I heard its roar, demanding that I stop bullshitting myself and just submit to something I knew was certain all along.
Death.
No more guilt or traumatic memories.
It could end here right now.
Ilse would get better because I wouldn't be there to remind her I didn't want anyone to know what happened. Not know why she was in the ward.
Sasha would be able to stop taking care of me.
Historia would find someone better…that was my gift to her—freedom.
My feet and body felt heavy as I leaned over the rail, closing my eyes, pretending I could just slip in, but I was shaking so fucking much.
I stomped.
Over and over.
Like a marching soldier with his platoon, hammering their boots and spears into the ground to rally the final battle.
Just throw instinct to the wind. It's the only thing stopping me from finally giving in.
I lifted myself up.
One foot up.
Over.
Another.
Over the rail.
My rear sitting on a thing bar.
My feet were dangling and my grip was adamant.
If I let go, I knew I'd slip off.
I could do this—be strong.
Be brave.
"Ymir!?"
I felt my hands fly up and everything in my stomach dropped.
My eyes only saw white and dizziness as I fell.
And landing on my back on the concrete bridge.
"Y-You ruined it," I choked because I felt everything rush back to me—the memories.
"Y—You—"
"Ymir! What the hell are you doing!?" Historia cried out, ripping her earbuds out and racing over to my side, staring with wide eyes. She gathered me into her arms, cradling my head in her lap, and I saw how deathly white her face was.
"Ymir!? Answer me!"
"I—"I choked over and over.
I couldn't hold back my anxiety attack.
I was cornered and I could only let the regurgitated mess spill out of my mouth like dam water.
"My sister is in the psych-ward because of me," I felt the tears glob out in hot, burning drips as I shook.
"I—I was scared when it happened—she was the braver one of us." I confessed.
"Ymir? What is going on? I don't—Ymir, come on, let's go home, Ymir, let's go there," she eased, waiting for me to shift.
But I felt so heavy and tired.
Was this what Ilse felt all the time—the will to not even react to the world, pretend everything was just a movie and all you had to do was stay still and watch?
"Ymir."
Hah.
I wasn't even strong enough to stop functioning.
Historia helped me up and we were walking back to her apartment in the early morning.
Slowly, the falls' siren call left my ears ringing, but indefinitely whispering the same message over and over.
You will come back one day.
One day.
.
.
.
"Here," Historia wrapped me in a blanket and I was still shivering, feeling disgusted and angry with myself for letting anyone see me at my lowest point.
I didn't look at her but only my hands.
"…Babe…" her voice was always gentle. The pet name made something in me hurt less as I looked up at her, guilt written all over my face and poisoning my bloodstream.
"…would you like to come here?" She asked and I got up until I saw that she was patting her lap.
"…in your lap?"
"Yeah. Come sit in my lap." She nodded.
I never sat in anyone's lap before.
Slowly, I went over and straddled her lap, facing her and then resting my head on her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around me.
I'm sure it looked stupid to see me practically crowding her, but I felt more at ease knowing she couldn't see my face or my eyes.
Couldn't put a face to the weakness of my words.
"You can tell me…if you want…or you can sit here…" She assured, kissing the side of my head and I felt her even trying to gently rock me.
There was nothing to hide now. Even if I tried it would just be a slap in her face.
"I have a sister," I said slowly, taking my time with every word, pausing for different amounts of time to gather my thoughts and courage, trying to find words—any single word—that would hurt me less so I wouldn't cry as I gave my sob story to Historia.
"Her name is Ilse…she's…she's recovering in the ward…and it's because of me."
She didn't respond.
She gave me the time and space I needed without prying.
"When we were young… my mother was an alcoholic… she'd have parties in our house downstairs and put us to bed upstairs and tell us not to come out." I could almost hear the loud braying of laughs and drunken slurs, heavy footsteps, and blaring music vibrating through the walls.
It haunted me at bars.
It made me fear what I could not hear—someone approaching, their footsteps drowned out by the ruckus.
"I was nine. Ilse was six… We slept in the same bed because we were poor."
I used to love that because we'd play and talk all night before dozing off. It was nice to be together all the time and share secrets.
I never thought of it until that night that it wasn't good—it meant if someone got in our room then none of us could escape.
"There was a man…who came in one night…" I tensed up and she stopped rubbing my back.
"…Ymir, no…" she whispered, afraid.
"He… I always slept on the edge of the bed…because it was against the wall…and—he was a—he was a bad man," I felt more stupid tears stream down.
"I was so scared when I woke up—I—" I didn't want to go into details.
Details weren't needed because I felt Historia kissing along my shoulder and the side of my head, arms protective around me, shielding me from the outside world.
"I couldn't scream for help," this realization—this confession of my cowardice that made it go to shit—it hit me hard.
"I—I was so scared and—why didn't I scream and fight him?" I shook, unable to withhold the sobs that came from me.
"I only cried! And—and—"
That's—
"That's when Ilse woke up and she—she saw," I shook my head, "she—she was so much better than me, Historia—she—she shot up after realizing he was hurting me and—I had Papa's pocket knife hidden in the windowsill behind the curtain—I don't know why—but she grabbed it and in seconds was on the man's back and—she just wailed on him—he yelled and screamed and fell, crying—and—"
"No, Ymir," she was never going to let me go as I kept going—the words couldn't stop.
"I—I snapped out of it and ran downstairs, crying, and asking for help—trying to find my mother—but everyone ignored me—I—I didn't know what to do as I kept crying. N-Nobody asked why I was upset until they heard a loud bang outside—the—the man tried to run away through the window and broke his leg from falling—and—and that's when they saw him bloodied and stab wounds—and—Ilse locked herself up in the bathroom with the knife—and—"
I couldn't go on as Historia kissed me over and over, trying to keep me away from the pain and memories, but they wouldn't stop.
It was where she couldn't reach.
But with time, her kisses and hands made it known that she wasn't leaving—she wouldn't let any harm come to me.
"I…we had to go to court… I had to testify…I had to watch people listen to me…judge me—tell me I was a liar, and… I—I fucking hate people looking at me when I cry." I almost wanted to laugh because I felt uncomfortable even now. Almost.
"Mom lost custody…grandma and Papa took us in… the man went to jail…and Ilse was the same…but then she got worse and worse, Historia…she got worse until she stopped reacting… and we had to get her help—she… she—I couldn't help her, Historia! I was so weak and scared—If I fought, she'd never feel—Historia, I'm a big fucking mess," I tried to shrug her off but she held me even tighter.
"No," Historia spoke, firm and stern, but it was love—how could it not be?—, "it was that filthy fucking trash's fault… He should've—he should've died."
I couldn't but shake more.
I—
"He was my uncle."
Historia pulled away so swiftly and held my face that I was stunned.
"I will never let this happen, ever! You—I will protect you—and I will help your sister—you're—you're my family now, too," she said it with such a fiery passion that I couldn't deny her.
"You're my…you're my girlfriend—my…my girlfriend," I had an inkling what she was going to say.
You're my love, too, Historia.
"And nothing will hurt you…not anymore… I will keep you safe…you're safe with me." She promised and I felt so weak and—it was all so much.
I just fell forward, crying into her shoulder and she let me do this.
She let me be weak and irrational.
I didn't have to hide from her at all.
She was truly…the person I was beginning to love.
I swallowed the thought that lingered in the back of my mind—it didn't matter.
That part of me I thought I'd have to bring up didn't matter now.
I had Historia, my girlfriend.
I no longer had to fret over the fact—that if I was a lesbian because of what happened, or if I was just scared of men.
It didn't matter if I was uncertain of my own sexuality now.
She was all I needed.
My Historia.