Chapter 21 - Correction

                                        

                                              






________________________________________________________________________________














She couldn't move.
 Not because of the ropes cutting into her wrists, not because of the slamming headache that throbbed behind her eyes, but because there was simply nowhere left to move to.
Wooden planks rattled underneath her. Every bump in the road jostled her bound arms, scraped her skin against the floor. 
She was aware of everything. 
Every second of that horrible day looped like a record in her head.
 The blood.
 Eren screaming.
 Then the blade in his hand.
 Then the one in the kidnapper's side.
 Then—
Mikasa flinched.
Eren had fought. Harder than she did. She'd frozen instead of fought. 
Not again. 
It happened again. 
Just like that time.
Her lips pressed into a hard line. She wanted to cry but that would've meant breaking in front of Eren, who lay unconscious beside her, gagged, arms tied behind his back. She turned her head slightly. His cheek was bruised, but he was still breathing
Still breathing because of her?
No. Because he was stronger than she was.
Kiyotaka was supposed to come over that day.
 He always came when he said he would. The only person who always kept their word.
What would he think when he found the house in pieces?
What would he think when Mrs Yeager told him everything?
Was she even alive?
Either way...
He'd know she'd failed.
And Kiyotaka never voiced disappointment, but that was worse.
Mikasa stared at the wooden planks beneath her. 
It was like she was trying to fold herself into a space small enough to disappear.
Tears started to slip down, silent and slow. She didn't sob. It wasn't that kind of grief. It was the kind that settled deep, like rot, eating away from the inside.
If only she had been stronger. If only—
The cart came to a sudden stop.
Mikasa tensed. 
She didn't know what she could do tied like this, but she knew her body was still hers to command.
Boots on gravel. Voices. The back door unlatched.
A rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her up. She stumbled, but caught herself. Another pair of arms hoisted Eren out of the cart, less gentle.
The two of them were shoved into what looked like a storage room—low ceiling, barely ventilated, with only a weak oil lamp hanging from a hook in the corner. Shelves lined the walls. Boxes. Crates. A mop in the corner.
The door slammed shut.
Mikasa sat where she was thrown. The back of her skull stung from hitting the wall.