Broken

Alcohol and Nightmares

It was well after midnight and the moon was rising ever higher in the black velvet sky.  The minutes ticked by like seconds, each one lasting an eternity and no time at all.  My eyelids whined, urging me to close them, even for just a moment, to maybe soothe the burning tiredness of my eyes.  But the anxiety swirling in my stomach wouldn't let me.  Jean had been gone all day and hadn't told me where he was going or when he'd be back.  He'd done this before — staying out with friends, coming home so drunk he couldn't stay awake or so high he couldn't fall asleep.  And he was even more unpredictable than usual.

When Jean was drunk, he was erratic at best.  The smallest things could set him off.  One spark of frustration, one piece of proof that I might've disobeyed him and he lost it.  And there was no holding back.  Alcohol dissolved the wall between morality and insanity and I'd been on the receiving end more times than I'd like to remember.

Finally, just past two o'clock, Jean came stumbling through the door, his clothes somewhat disheveled, his eyes glazed over.  I didn't say anything.  I didn't dare.  He swayed as he closed the door behind him, throwing the keys on the counter.  He looked at me.  "Armin," he slurred, staggering towards me.  "Where were you?"

My heart sunk.  I could almost feel the color draining from my face.  I fought to keep my voice steady.  "What do you mean?"

I had done it.  I'd gone too far, asked too many questions.  He grabbed the front of my shirt, slamming me against the nearest wall.  "Where the hell were you?!"

"I-I . . . I . . ."

"I texted you, why didn't you answer?!"

I knew better than to apologize.  That wasn't what he wanted.  If I told him where I was, he would kill me.  Whether figuratively or literally I honestly didn't know.  And Eren was a secret — Jean knew we were friends, but he didn't know about my frequent visits there.  Maybe one honest answer wouldn't hurt.

But what would happen to Eren?  Would Jean go after him once he was done with me?  I couldn't let him get hurt because of something I did.  So I said the first thing that came to my mind.  "I . . . I went to a f-friend's . . ."

His face contorted in anger and I knew it was going to be bad.  He threw me to the side and I slammed painfully into the coffee table.  I winced, my already beaten body seeming unable to take any more.  "I TOLD YOU NOT TO LEAVE THE HOUSE!"

I flinched at the harshness in his voice, scrambling to my feet to stand before him, tears beginning to roll down my cheeks.  He shoved me.  "WHO DID YOU SEE?!  WAS IT JAEGER?!  YOU SHOULD STAY AWAY FROM HIM!  YOU HEAR ME, YOU FUCKING WHORE?!"

With a kick to the stomach, the remaining air in my lungs was knocked out of me and I couldn't respond.  But Jean didn't seem to care.  Blow after blow, he attacked my torso with his feet, the pain getting worse with each one.  The beating from the night before was a sharp echo, the old bruises struck to create the new.  "ANSWER ME!"

I wasn't sure which question he wanted the answer to, but I found my mouth moving despite my inner protest.  "Y-Yes . . ." I whimpered, ashamed at how pathetically broken my voice sounded.  A few punches to the face, a few kicks to the head — nothing much.  Just the usual drunk outbursts, bruises, and blood that came along with the alcohol.  I found that even in the dim glow of the light from the kitchen, I couldn't see.  I was shrouded in darkness and everything around me was slowly beginning to disappear.  The jolts of pain turned to dull aches, my lungs going numb from lack of air and painfully constricting sobs. 

When Jean had finally finished with me, I just lay there, afraid I would fall apart if I moved.  I stared at the backs of my eyelids, all my tears already spent.  I couldn't cry.  Even though I wanted to more than anything else.  The tears wouldn't come.  The world was mocking me — refusing me the only relief I could get.  Well other than Eren.  But I couldn't let him see me.  Not like this.