The credits rolled across the dark screen as Joe leaned back into his worn couch, the final frames of Attack on Titan burning into his retinas. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the remote, pausing on Eren's lifeless face frozen in that last, brutal moment.
"Fucking heroes," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "They had to kill him, didn't they? The only one with the balls to actually finish what he started."
Joe's eyes remained fixed on the screen, watching Eren's blood pool beneath his severed head. The protagonist had been so close—so goddamn close to wiping the slate clean, to destroying everything and everyone who made existence a living nightmare. But no, the so-called heroes had to step in with their moral bullshit, their need to preserve a world that was rotten to its core.
"Should've let him rumble the whole fucking planet," Joe whispered, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. "At least then it would've meant something. At least then—"
The front door slammed open with such violence that the hinges groaned in protest. Joe's aunt Martha stormed in, her face twisted into a mask of pure rage, her graying hair disheveled and her business suit wrinkled from what looked like a particularly brutal day. Her hands were shaking—not from fear, but from barely contained fury.
"Hey, welcome back," Joe said cautiously, muting the TV and turning toward her. Something was different this time. Worse. "Rough day?"
Martha didn't answer immediately. She stood in the doorway, chest heaving, staring at him with an expression he'd never seen before. It was like she was seeing him for the first time, and what she saw disgusted her.
"Fifteen years," she said finally, her voice low and dangerous. "Fifteen fucking years I've wasted on you."
Joe felt his stomach drop. "Martha, what happened? Did something—"
"Got fired again," she said, her voice getting louder now, more unstable. "Third job this year. And you know what Pastor Williams told me? He said I'll keep failing as long as I'm harboring a curse in my house."
"What are you talking about?" But even as he said it, Joe felt that familiar chill. The same one he'd felt when kids at school would suddenly stop talking to him. When neighbors would cross the street to avoid him. When his sister Emma had—
No. He pushed that thought away.
"You really don't know, do you?" Martha laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Of course you don't. Living in your little fantasy world with your cartoons and your delusions."
She moved closer, and Joe could smell alcohol on her breath mixed with something else—desperation, maybe. Defeat.
"I thought it was me, you know? Thought I was the problem. Every job I lose, every relationship that falls apart, every bill that comes due at the worst possible time. I blamed myself for years."
Joe's throat went dry. "Martha, you're scaring me."
"But Pastor Williams opened my eyes. He said sometimes God tests us by placing burdens in our path. Dark influences that drain our blessings, that poison everything they touch."
"That's not—"
"Your father knew," Martha's voice cracked with bitter laughter. "Smart man, your father. Took one look at you when you were two years old and just... disappeared. Packed his bags while you were at school and never came back."
The words hit Joe like physical blows. He stood up from the couch, his legs unsteady. "Dad left because him and mom fought all the time. You told me—"
"I told you what I thought you could handle. But the truth is, he said he couldn't be in the same house with you anymore. Said you gave him nightmares, made his skin crawl. Said there was something wrong with you."
Joe's hands clenched into fists. "Stop."
"And maybe he was right," Martha continued, her voice getting shriller. "Maybe he sensed what you were going to do to this family."
"I never did anything to this family!"
"Your mother!" Martha screamed. "You killed your own mother!"
The room spun around Joe. "Mom died in a car accident when I was twelve. You told me—"
"She died because of you!" Martha's face was flushed red now, spittle flying from her lips. "We were rushing to pick you up from that overnight camping trip because you called crying, begging to come home. Said the other kids were being mean to you."
Joe shook his head frantically. "That's... I was homesick. Kids get homesick—"
"It was pouring rain. She was driving too fast because you were crying on the phone, saying you needed her. And when she hit that tree..." Martha paused, savoring the moment. "The paramedics said she died on impact. But I know the truth. She died because she was trying to save you from yourself."
"You're lying." But Joe's voice came out weak, unconvincing even to himself.
"And Emma." Martha's smile was cruel now. "Sweet, talented Emma."
Joe's blood turned to ice. "Don't."
"She was so excited that morning, wasn't she? Chattering about her art scholarship interview while you walked her to school. And you were so angry about something—what was it? Oh yes, Kevin and Sarah."
"Kevin was my best friend," Joe said through gritted teeth. "Sarah was my girlfriend. They betrayed me."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Martha tilted her head, studying him like a specimen. "Because Sarah told everyone the truth before she moved schools. Said you were getting possessive, violent. Said Kevin was trying to protect her from you."
"That's not—"
"So there you were, walking your big sister to her interview, angry and bitter and full of that rage you're always carrying around. And when she started defending them, saying maybe they had good reasons to stay away from you..."
"Stop." Joe's voice was barely a whisper.
"You grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away. And you were so angry, so tired of everyone choosing other people over you, that you—"
"I NEVER PUSHED HER!"
"The bus driver said he saw you. Said you shoved her right into the street just as the city bus was coming around the corner. Said you stood there and watched while it crushed her."
Something inside Joe's chest cracked. The sound was audible in the sudden silence of the room.
"That's not what happened," he said, but his voice was shaking now. "She slipped. We were arguing and she stepped backward, lost her footing. I tried to catch her but—"
"But nothing." Martha's voice had gone quiet again, deadly. "You're a curse, Joe. A walking disaster. Everyone who gets close to you dies or runs away, and you know what? I'm done. I'm done pretending you're just unlucky. I'm done ignoring what Pastor Williams said."
Joe stared at her, feeling something fundamental shifting inside him. Like a dam starting to crack.
"Get out," Martha said simply. "Get out of my house."
"Where am I supposed to go?"
"I don't care. Find a bridge. Find some train tracks. Do the world a favor and—"
Joe's hand moved without conscious thought. The slap echoed through the room like a gunshot, and Martha stumbled backward, her eyes wide with shock. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Martha smiled.
"There it is," she whispered. "There's the monster Pastor Williams warned me about."