Chapter Text
Where do I even begin to explain my life? The basics are usually a good start. My name is Eren Jaeger. I'm eighteen and my life is a complete and utter train wreck. It wasn't all bad, it just seemed to get worse once my father found out about my sexuality.
Before all hell broke lose, I lived with my mother, father and adopted sister, Mikasa. My mother died after I turned 13. Her life was cut short by a familiar bitch called cancer. After that, the house seemed to fall into a regular uncomfortable silence. Even Mikasa and I seemed to drift apart after that. I only saw her at supper time and she would keep herself locked away in her room at any other time.
I can't blame her though. I wasn't much different. My mother was the foundation of everything I did and after she died there was an empty pit I could never fill. I tried to distract myself with doodling or hanging out with my best friend, Armin, but nothing seemed to work.
I gave up trying.
I fell into depression shortly after that and lost most of my other friends who were too fed up with my shit to care about me anymore. They tried their best to help, but I would either push them away or yell at them. They didn't stick around very long. I'm surprised Armin lasted as long as he did. I got into fights every now and then which added insult to injury since my teachers hated me as it was. I didn't bother handing in any assignments and I skipped class on a regular basis to smoke.
I dropped out of highschool and lets just say my father wasn't too impressed. I was getting straight D's while Mikasa was a prized student. She worked hard and it paid off. Unfortunately for me, my mother was the only reason I did any work in school. It would always make me feel good to see her smile when I handed her a test with a big fat A on it. I never got the same praise from my father.
Instead of school I attempted to work. My little smoking habit wasn't cheap and I was running low on funds. I'll say right now that it was harder than ever to find somewhere that would hire a fifteen year old drop out. It was complete and utter bullshit luck that a sketchy convenience store was short staffed and were hiring damn near anyone with legs. I scored a job and did what I could with my pathetic life.
I ended up working with a guy named Jean who trained me. I'll skip all the bullshit and cut to the chase. We started dating. I knew he was four years older then me, but I've never given a damn about age gaps anyways. I thought my life was looking up for a change; little did I know it would dip into a downwards spiral.
I'd come home one night after work and found my father sitting in the kitchen with my phone in his hand. I hadn't realized I'd forgotten it. At first I was pissed off at him for going through my stuff, but that soon changed to concern when his eyes met mine with a mixture of hate and disgust. Apparently he'd been reading my texts between Jean and I and managed to put two and two together. I remember a lot of yelling but the rest is a blur. I ended up on the ground with blood covering my tongue and the air knocked out of my lungs. I managed to run out of the house and went straight to Jean's apartment where I dropped to the floor and cried like a baby.
I didn't have a home anymore.
My depression had worsened before that which resulted in several paper thin cuts along my wrist. I'd restrained myself enough pretty well once my mother died, but now everything was crashing down around me. I needed a better distraction and pain seemed to be the only way. I'm fully aware I'm hurting myself, but that makes me feel in control.
I felt lost.
Like the world had taken a giant shit on my chest and carved out my heart with a spoon. The void was getting bigger and bigger with absolutely no end. Everything was getting worse when I was only trying to make it better. The fact my father beat the hell out of me caught me completely by surprise. I was blindsided and left to wonder why being pansexual was such a bad thing. What made it worse was the fact my father and I had been very close at one point. After mom died we would spend hours sitting on the deck listening to old records and discussing stupidly hipster things. I don't want to say I hate him now, but this burning feeling in my heart won't let me stop.
Jean was kind enough to let me stay at his place. He told me I didn't have to pay, but I would need to keep the apartment in top shape at all times. I don't mind cleaning or even cooking for that matter so it seemed like a pretty good offer. Plus I'd be living with my boyfriend. I would have to be stupid to turn him down.
And now at the ripe old age of eighteen I'm sitting in my boyfriend's apartment after another shitty day at work curled up on the couch. And this is where my life really begins.