CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tomorrow came faster than I anticipated.
By the time I woke up, it was already warm outside and the room felt empty without our things loitering around as they usually would.
As soon as I got out of bed, everything felt like a rush as my peers raced to the showers to get started early. Some were already even eating in the mess hall.
I couldn't relate to such matters.
In contrast to their excitement and hastiness, I didn't feel the particular need to leave immediately. I wanted to savor it, to take my sweet time knowing fully well that the last time I would be returning to this camp that we all once recognized as our home-I would be an old estranged man, if not, a ghost.
I wasn't one to get oversentimental. I didn't shed a tear leaving our old room in Wall Rose, I didn't feel regretful to see Marie briefly scorn me for joining the Military, and I didn't weep when my pet bird suddenly got shot mid-air by an unsuspecting hunter.
But 3 years of my life had been spent here, in this very place, that I knew like the back of my hand. I had cherished memories in each and every corner and crevice, and I had a story to tell from every single room.
This was incomparable to our small room in Wall Rose where my sole company was my older sister who could barely even be found at home, or using the Military as an escapade and means to pursue a different mediocre life, or having my poor raven taken out of its misery by a vision-impaired hunter.
"You haven't touched your food." Miche pointed out as we sat in the dining hall after preparing ourselves which took about a solid hour.
Like me, Miche did tend to be punctual. Saying how, 'punctuality is the thief of the time' or some sorts. Never quite understood what it meant other than the fact it gave us an excuse to think the way we did.
"I don't feel like beans today." I muttered, poking green peas for fun as I rolled them around with the teeth of my fork.
"Have you decided on a regiment?" He asked quietly, as he always did. For a big and intimidating guy, he was quite aloof and not in any way boisterous-like how one would expect.
"Decided since the first moment I stepped foot in the Military." I informed.
"The Scouts." He completed without a doubt, and I nodded without saying anything.
There was nothing to say and I didn't want to deal with another conversation where I'm getting persuaded to think again, which never really works because I was dead set on my decision already.
"I'm joining too."
That caught my attention as my head snapped up to meet his eyes with surprise.
"You will?" My eyebrows shot up, interest piqued.
"Yes." He nodded firmly. "I want to be able to use my strength to help a better cause."
He was, by far, one of the (if not the most) toughest one out of our entire batch. He excelled in strength and usage of gear, he was an excellent and formidable fighter who no doubt had the potential of becoming the strongest.
I had a lot of belief in Miche.
I cracked a smile, semi-relieved I wouldn't have to part with a dear friend so soon. I was also comforted with the thought that I at least had him with me to face whatever the Scouts had in store for mere cadets like us.
"That's good." I smiled, "I really admire your guts, Miche."
"I could say the same to you. You've already decided from the moment you set foot."
I frowned lightly, "But my case isn't as noble or honorable as yours. I just want to live freely, that's it. Even if it's generic and sounds like an answer any toddler can make."
"It doesn't matter what your reason is. It doesn't change the fact that you require courage to pursue such a life."
I pondered on his words, finding myself beginning to be swayed to agree with him.
"What about Erwin?"
That immediately tore me out of my thoughts as I blinked blankly at him
"What about him?" I trailed off uncertainly.
"He's joining the Scouts too, right?" He casually mentioned.
My heart dropped to my stomach and I took a few moments to process it before shaking my head, "Where'd you hear that from?"
"He's not exactly trying to be discreet about it. He talks freely and passionately about theories and humanity—everyone knows." And they're all taken with his words, I know. "Most likely, the Scouts will be his first choice." Miche told me.
I knew all that.
He was intelligent and incredibly charismatic, that's how our peers find themselves constantly drawn towards him. I knew that firsthand.
They all looked up to him and witnessed his eyes brimming with passion, radiating more brilliantly than jewels themselves.
Even from across the room, in another table seated with Nile who looked like he was used to the usual setting, he was surrounded by people who were all interested in whatever he had to say.
His short sandy hair that was cut similar to Nile's all in fault of me-it suited him surprisingly well, giving him a sense of character when you admire at him from afar. (I couldn't say the same for Nile but let's not talk about that, he was bound to grow into the style).
I tried not to get lost from staring too much.
His vivid eyes, his strong nose—God, just everything about him.
He looked like a religious icon, like somebody you'd sacrifice yourself for.
In a way, I was suffering. Suffering in agonizing silence as a sinner woven in all sins.
All I could do to possibly show how much as I also felt and worshipped him was in a pathetic way of staring from across the room in subtle longing.
It's the feeling you get when you attend church masses without letting anyone know, or donate spare changes to beggars without showing off.
I stared at him like one would stare distantly at the altar, attentively paid attention to him like he was a preacher with a sermon of his homily, listening to him as thought his words were a testament to everything holy.
In a way, I was suffering from loving him.
And suffering feels religious if you do it right.
"You love him."
I glanced at Miche as he easily called me out for the one sin I could never confess in convents.
I swallowed harshly and turned away. I wasn't afraid for once, I was positively not surprised he picked up on it. And the fact he called it out in front of my face gave me enough reassurance he would never talk about it behind my back.
"I love him." I nodded dryly.
I had a feeling that everyone, in some way or in any form, assumed I loved him. Whether it was left to their own interpretation of what that love was.
"But we have all known that for a while, haven't we? I shall love him always. He is something to me that nobody else is." I sighed, defeated.
It felt odd that words came natural to me when writing on a piece of paper or confessing them to Miche but never in front of the person who should be hearing them the most.
Miche was silent for a second, digesting my words before slowly giving me a small nod.
"Does he know?"
I pursed my lips into a thin line, unable to reply without feeling the guilt sink in my skin-my moral dilemma clashing with my conscience.
"No." I responded eventually, "And he never shall."
Miche's brows furrowed, "Why not?"
I scoffed with a disbelieving laugh, "Come on. You know it'll never work."
"You haven't even tried."
"The odds are against us and I don't want to know and confirm the high possibility of us falling apart." I shakily muttered, "I just can't handle it. I wouldn't know what to do when I know I've held heaven in my hands only to fall back to hell."
Miche stared at me meaningfully. I couldn't read his thoughts but I didn't intend to.
I didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"You're discarding the one emotion that makes you alive, that's not living at all."
I looked up at him with knitted brows.
"You love him, don't you?" Miche pointed out, stating it like the obvious. "Why don't you try harder to fight?"
"It's not a battle I can win." I argued, pessimism surfacing once more.
"He loves you." He stated genuinely, "It's not a battle at all. At least not a battle you can lose."
I was silenced, his words prompting me to ponder every single thought I've had-provoking me to reevaluate whether I was doing what was right or what I thought was right.
There was a sheer difference between. It was either being considerate or selfish by archiving whatever thoughts the people involved could have.
I never properly took Erwin's feelings into consideration by repeatedly pushing him away. I was consumed with my own doubts of his sincerity, persuaded with thoughts that whatever he felt had been purely surface-level.
I never gave him the benefit of my doubt and immediately decided it was fact.
I was corned, shamed to a degree by my own pitifulness. Exploiting and sabotaging myself and the people around me? I was gnawing at the wool I have woven in front of my own eyes.
I breathed shakily.
Miche placed his utensil down purposely loud enough for me to tear me from getting consumed by self-loathing.
"What can I do?" I asked helplessly, my tray long neglected. "I. . . I know I've been foolish. He already told me he loved me. Twice. And yet I never took his feelings into accountability and now I'm once again repeating the same cycle of pushing him away and this time, thanks to my foolishness, I think he's finally pulling away. I don't know what to do with myself and I absolutely feel sick to my stomach, I wouldn't know what to do and how to live with myself after knowing he loved me and it was I who didn't show I loved him back-"
"All right, calm down." Miche composed me with his hands in front of him.
I stared at him with wild desperation to attain answers, hoping he would be able to give it to me the same way he made me aware of my own mistakes.
"The next time he tells you he loves you, you listen. Don't turn away. Forget about whatever's holding you back and just feel this time. Don't think."