It had been a fantasy of mine, to be completely honest. To be the saviour while everyone else sat, cowering in the corner with awestruck faces. To be surrounded and praised and cheered at, to just have some sort of attention. I just wanted, just for once, to be better than the people who ridiculed me, who teased me, who constantly reminded me that they were better... especially Mikasa. My own sister. Although I knew that she had never wanted to hurt me, that she thought it her job to protect me, it always seemed like she was doing it on purpose. She saved the day, she got all of the praise, she was the hero, and I was... I was in the background, being ignored, just like always.

But I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted it to be something small, petty, eventually meaningless. Something insignificant. I didn't want to wake up to the sound of our front door getting kicked down. I didn't want to hear my mother's cries as she was dragged from her bed by her hair. I didn't want to see my family tied up, helpless, on the kitchen chairs that we had eaten in only hours before. I didn't want to see Mikasa, a gun pressed to her temple. Didn't want to hear her gasp, didn't want to feel her blood splatter across my face and drip down my cheek, didn't want to smell the sickly, coppery scent of the crimson liquid that filled the room seconds after.

Didn't want, didn't want, didn't want... but there was nothing I could do about it.

'All my fault,' I thought numbly. Of course it was my fault, I should've been stronger, should've been able to protect my family. The family that had teased me endlessly, now slumped over, blood pooling, eyes staring accusingly.

All your fault, they said. Always your fault.

I raised my eyes to the man that had single-handedly murdered my family and destroyed my life, and all with just three sharp bangs of a handgun. My green orbs narrowed, calculating, suddenly seeing every single thing in intense detail. Hatred pushed away the fear, the numbness, the devastation. My mouth opened, almost unconsciously, words spilling out from between my lips.

"You disgust me."

Three simple words were all it took for the man in front of me to lose the little composure he had left. His black eyes flashed, his mouth twisted, and then, painfully slowly, he raised the gun and aimed it at my chest.

My eyesight sharpened, watching his finger twitch on the trigger. Watching, waiting. The man's hand didn't shake, and in one fell swoop, he pulled the trigger and sealed my fate.

All your fault.

My eyes had squeezed themselves shut. A few seconds later, I cracked an eyelid, confused as to why my body wasn't in burning pain, or why I could even still feel anything. I sat up from the fetal position that my body had attempted, hindered by the rope binding my wrists behind me. Or, at least, what was left of them.

My mind whirred, trying to piece together how my wrists were no longer tied behind me. The only explanation I could come up with is that when I ducked down low, my hands had gone up to ease some of the tight pain... and the bullet had gone right through my bonds.

I didn't waste any time thinking about it after that. I pushed off, lunging towards the man, hands outstretched. He stumbled back, raising the gun again. This time, his aim was sloppy and inaccurate. The bullet missed me by inches, and by that time I was on him.

I stomped on his wrist, hearing him gasp, seeing his fingers jerk open in pain. I kicked the weapon out of his grip, noting where it slid to. My hands found his throat and I lifted him up slightly, holding his weight for a second before smashing his head back down into the ground, hard. He snarled in pain, grasping my wrists painfully tight, flipping us over so that he was straddling me. Pinning my hands under his knees, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a five inch long switchblade, flicking it open.

All your fault.

My eyes widened at the sight of it. My legs kicked, my arms yanked, my entire body attempted to flail, but to no avail. The man just chuckled, positioning the blade above my heart. Not in a stabbing position, I noticed numbly. Almost in a... slicing position? But that wouldn't make sense.

I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away, pressing my lips together when the cool steel pressed against the fabric of my skin. I was determined not to make a single noise, no matter how much it hurt. This demonic man seemed to enjoy the pained whimpers of my family, and I refused to indulge in his sick pleasures.

Your fault, your fault, all your fault.

The man pushed the blade down and dragged it slowly across my torso, pressing hard. White hot flames flashed across my vision, and I arched unconsciously. A scream ripped from my throat despite my refusal. The pain was unbearable. It felt as though I was getting shredded slowly. Tears leaked from my closed eyes and I screamed again, hearing the man laugh.

When the blade finally stopped by my right hipbone, I opened my eyes slowly. My mind immediately flooded with hatred. I already felt the effects of adrenaline kicking in at what I was planning. The pain faded, a simple background noise. The man grinned, dragging the blade down my face hard enough to spill blood.

I growled lowly and he met my eyes in shock. I took that millisecond of time to twist underneath him, hearing my wrists crack in protest. He grunted when I accidentally kicked him in the balls in my desperation to get away. Falling back on his heels, he groaned quietly. He didn't notice when I rolled toward the gun that I had kicked away what felt like forever ago. He did, however, notice when I stood up shakily, leaning against the wall for support. The man snorted at my attempt, moving to stand up. I pointed the gun at him steadily, and his half-smile dropped.

All your fault.

"Drop the knife." I said quietly, dangerously. His hands went up, the blade falling to the floor. The man seemed to realize that I was in control, that his life was in my hands.

"Now kick it towards me." I said. The knife slid to a stop beside my foot. "Stand up." I whispered. He obliged, albeit unsteadily. He seemed genuinely afraid. 'Good,' my mind hissed.

I cocked my head to the side, wondering what to do now. The pain was slowly coming back, my adrenaline ebbing away. But all I could think about was revenge, pure and simple. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I placed my finger on the trigger and aimed.

All your fault.

BANG

The man screamed in pain, clutching his blown out kneecap. "That was for mom." I said steadily before taking aim again.

Always your fault.

BANG

He hit the floor, tears running down his cheeks, his face twisted in agony. Both of his knees, or rather, what was left of them, were bleeding heavily. "That was for dad." I almost growled.

I aimed again, this time for his forehead, before hesitating. I couldn't kill a man, despite what he had done. I couldn't.

Sighing heavily, I lowered the handgun. "The lifetime in prison will be for Mikasa, you asshole." I breathed. The pain was coming back quickly now.

I walked a few unsteady steps to the phone, keeping the gun trained on the man the entire time. I shakily dialled nine-one-one, dripping blood onto the receiver.

"Nine one one operator, what's your emergency?" A smooth male voice said through the phone. I suddenly didn't know what to say. What could I possibly say?

"Hello?" The voice sounded slightly concerned now.

"Yes, yeah, I'm here." I said, trying for calm and nearly accomplishing it.

"What's your emergency, sir?" The voice asked. I bit my lip. "I, I. I, um, I need help." I said.

"Okay, sir, could you tell me what the problem is?" The man on the phone inquired professionally.

"A man broke into our house and... and killed my family." I said quickly, worried about the hard throbbing and the amount of blood on my shirt.

All your fault.

"Okay, sir, I've sent officers and an ambulance your way. Could you tell me where the man is now?" I hesitated again before almost whispering, "he's right here."

"Are you safe, sir?" The voice asked. I furrowed my brow, confused. What did that mean? Safe? I shook the confusion away. "Yesss?" I answered as a question.

"Alright, sir, good. Now, are you hurt in any way?" I almost laughed. I would've, if I wasn't in so much pain. "Yeah, just a bit." I answered quietly.

"Could you tell me what hurts, sir?" I frowned. Everything hurts, everything. What do I say?

"Sir?"

"Yeah, sorry. What?"

"What hurts?" Oh, right. "Um, everything."

"Okay. Do you feel tired?" As if on cue, my eyelids drooped and my vision grew blurry. I blinked quickly as to not lose my sight on the man that murdered my family. "Yeah. Really tired."

This is all your fault.

The man's voice sounded urgent. "You must not go to sleep, sir. You must do everything in your power to stay awake." This confused me. Why couldn't I sleep? It was the middle of the night, I should be asleep. "Sir, I'm going to ask you some questions, okay? It'll help you to stay awake."

"Alright, I guess." I breathed, bracing the phone against my shoulder and clutching my stomach.

"What's your name?" The operator asked. 'Easy enough', I thought faintly. "Eren Jaeger." I replied, wincing.

"Okay, Eren, hello. Now, how old are you?" I squinted, trying to remember. I was... 14? No, 15. "I'm fifteen." I said breathlessly.

"What's your favourite colour?" The man on the phone questioned. This is an easy question, I can do this. I had the easiest answer possible, right on the tip of my tongue, I just couldn't say it. Why can't I say it, just a single word, it should be easy!

"Sir?" The man said, sounding worried. "Sir, are you there?" I groaned into the phone. "Sir, the officers should be at your home now. Are you awake?"

All your fault, the cruel voice in my head whispered. Always your fault.

I slid down the wall, the phone clutched in my hand and the gun still pointing at the man. I mumbled incoherently into the phone, my eyes closing slowly just as the door crashed open. My head lolled against the wall, the arm that was holding the gun slipped down.

I felt someone grab me, lift me. I blacked out for a second, and when I came to, I was being rolled out of my house in a stretcher. I watched the limp figures of my family disappear around a corner. My body was numb.

All your fault.

The stretcher rolled over the bump on the bottom of the doorway, the bump that I tripped over countless times, the bump that I had learned the hard way to hop over. The bump that taught me that, if I ever forgot to jump, my family would always be there to catch me on my way down.

The stretcher jolted, and my vision faded for a while. When I woke up, I was in a moving vehicle. There was a lady dabbing my face with a cloth that smelled of disinfectant, and I faintly remembered a blade sliding down my cheek smoothly.

Always your fault.

My breathing grew jagged as I remembered the dead eyes of my family, staring out blankly. I clutched the stiff bedding, tears blurring my vision. The woman who had been wiping the blood off of my face paused, wiping a tear away with her thumb. She didn't say anything, which I was grateful for.

All I could think about was how my entire family had died at the hands of a single man. How, if I had done something, anything differently, they might still be here. If I had fought harder, sooner, maybe it wouldn't be me here. If I had been stronger, they would've been okay.

But I wasn't. I wasn't strong. I was pathetic, insignificant, useless, pitiful. I didn't deserve to be alive. I'm not worth this, them, anything.

Forever your fault.

My family is gone, and it's

All.

My.

Fault.

It always will be.

~.~.~.~.~.~

A/N - So, what? Mildly depressing? I tried! Reviews would be awesome. ;)
Also, the next chapter may come a little late. I do have school! And I don't really have a laptop, so I have to write each chapter on my iPad and then email it to myself and save it, edit it, post it, etc. except my laptop is broken and my other one is so incredibly shitty I cannot even. I'll try my best!