Memoirs of the Lost Loser

Where your Loyalty Lies

"If that's what you're thinking, I'm not a titan or I'm not siding wi—"

"I'm not asking if you're a titan, Johnson, I'm asking," Miche paused to calm himself, his grinding molars visible through his jaw.

"Are titans really who we are fighting against?"

A minute, maybe a few seconds— you don't have any clue, you're not just aware of anything now. Not even the muffled blasts, or the footsteps bouncing left and right within the ward which you were sure used to be there.

You see, trust is a fickle thing. You could lose it faster than you earned it and now, it's your one currency to stay alive.

So if you told him the truth, how much can his trust go into believing you?

Miche's form was blurry now, you couldn't tell if your balance was tipping and tilting, or if the gasps of air was yours or someone else's.

You heard him call for you, your name was slower than the movement of his mouth, Miche's face was closer now than you recalled.

"Phoebe, Phoebe stay with me— nurse!"

You can't go through that again. You wouldn't bear to sit zero strapped in the torture chair, your bum and back, numb yet hurting; your wrists and ankles restrained so they could get a better angle at pulling out your nails.

You can never allow yourself to be punched and marked with tobacco butts again. Not another day of being starved and dehydrated only to be forced to drink a pail of water in one go while lying down just to drown you and make you pass out.

Then they stepped on your stomach— bounced a ball while your stomach was full of water to force you to admit that you are the enemy.

"I am not the enemy." Your mantra was repetitive, your fingers shakily clung to the sheets.

"I am not your enemy—" You managed to mumble between your labored, unstable breathing.

"I am not your enemy..."

"Okay, alright— easy." Miche shushed you, his gentle, yet shaky grip on your elbow propped you right back in the comfort of the hospital bed.

"Easy now, I didn't mean to..." Miche looked uneasy to the point that his eyes darted everywhere but yours.

"But I just have to ask—"

"So you could send me again in your torture chamber?" You swatted his hands away. You met him with a blazing gaze which he reciprocated with a worried stare.

"Just so you know, I've had enough drinking your fucking water."

The blasts got loud enough to jerk you from the trance, the squeals of the nurses started to resurface in your hearing again.

You tried inhaling as much air as you could, relieved that the surreal feeling of 'present but not here' was starting to wear off.

You noticed Miche's hands hovered over your shoulders, his worried pair of grey eyes were just a tad bit lower to meet your gaze.

"You okay? D'you need water? Fan?"

"I'm sorry— I'm really sorry," You mumbled between your breaths. "I didn't mean to be rude, I—" You paused to look at him.

"Something's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong—"

"There is something wrong!" You gulped on dry throat, you bit your bottom lip.

"What is? Swearing in my face?" Miche lightly chuckled.

"No— no you see, I was never tortured with water, Miche." You informed him, "I was strapped in the chair, they pulled my nails, but never the water."