Attempts to Love
Hetalia Franada (France / Canada)
Rated M for Angst, Violence, Drug Use, Self-Harm, Suicide attempts, Sexual abuse and some explicit sexual content
Trigger warnings galore
Chapter 1
Matthew sat quietly through one of the many world meetings, invisible and unheard as always. As the other nations discussed Matthew watched sadly, wishing that he could participate in the conversation. He decided that he would try to be heard, attempt to put in his opinion. He was soft spoken and unheard by all. He tried again, turning up the volume to match those of the others in the room. Matthew still went unnoticed. HE started to feel the anger and frustration well up in the pit of his stomach, along with overwhelming sadness. His depression reared its ugly head. He always felt lonely and forgotten and uncared for. He had no friends and no real family. In the past few years all of his negative feelings that he had been hiding since early childhood started to reach levels that he was unable to control. He had tried every anti-depressant on the market and nothing helped him manage his sadness. He had resorted to self-harm, cutting his wrists to feel that blood loss induced high. It seemed to be one of the few times he felt happy; when his brain shut down and lost the ability to comprehend his loneliness. After nearly a year of a seeming never-ending blood flow, he began to need more to make him momentarily forget his problems. He resorted to illegal substances which only provided more problems especially on one particular day when everything went wrong. He stopped the drugs and became even more withdrawn from society. Without an outlet or anything to control his depression suicide attempts became more frequent. He spent a lot of time in the hospital because of failed tries to end his life. He missed multiple meetings per year but nobody noticed when he never showed. He often times left early from the meetings when he got upset, like he did now. He retreated to the men's restroom and after making sure he was alone he let himself cry. He turned the dial on the main door to lock it but it did not stick in that position. HE moved to sit on the counter, avoiding spots of water. He sat in the corner of the vanity against the large mirror and leaned back against the tiled wall. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his beige overcoat and curled up against himself. As he shifted to find a position that was more comfortable the pocket knife in his jean's back pocket pressed against his hip. He had promised himself to stop the cutting but still carried the blade, rationalizing it as a weapon for protection. He pulled it out of the pocket and flipped it open to reveal the razor sharp edge. He stared at his reflection in the gleaming metal, seeing the tear stained face staring back at him only made it worse. In that moment his depression escalated to thoughts and daydreams of suicide. He imagined how the others would react to finding his body laying on the counter. He felt as if nobody would care if he died, the shock would die down within a few days and they would forget him like they did now. He took the knife and held it to his wrist and paused. He took a shuddering breath before pulling the blade along his flesh. He cut deeply, no longer wanting the lightheaded feeling, he wanted to bleed out and leave his horrible past behind him and retreat into the darkness of death. It was much more painful than he was used to and gritted his teeth. The stream of tears increased in intensity as the physical pain mixed with the emotional. He watched the wound closely for a few seconds, waiting for the blood to well and drip from his arm, for his emotions to over flow and drain from him with the crimson liquid The pain eventually faded into a dull throbing and constant burnig sting. He repeated this process on the other arm and held them over the sink. He watched the dark red blood, the thing that kept him alive drip onto the porcelain and flow in small rivulets down to the drain. His tears mixed with the blood in the sink. It wasn't long until the lightheadedness started and his hearing seemed to muffle and a high pitched ringing sounded in his ears. His head lolled back until he laid limp against the tile wall. The razor slipped out of his hand and his strength diminished. He felt his breathing begin to come in short, shallow pants, his body's attempt to compensate for the continuous loss of oxygen carrying blood. His body began to feel tinglely like he was laying on a bed of pins and needles. Despite this uncomfortable feeling he was in bliss. His mind began to shut down and he could no longer process the horrors and torment that were his day to day life. The stress ebbed from his body and he laid limp against the tile wall. The blood continued to pour from his wounds and through the haze of his mind he felt like he had finally done it and his life would be over within the next few minutes.
His plan was working, that is until part of him realized that the lock had been faulty and someone had entered the bathroom. Matthew forced his eyes to open, to see the intruder, identifying him as the one man who he felt had ever cared about him, Francis. Francis stood in the door way, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He stood, frozen to his spot until he saw Matthew's eyes flutter closed again. This broke him out of his disbelief, placing him in pure panic. Francis rushed to his side, pulling off his overcoat and pressing the fabric to Matthew's forearms in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood.
"leave me alone" Matthew pleaded quietly, barely audible to the other man.
"Non! Why would you do this Matthew?" His voice was shaky from adrenaline and panic. Matthew didn't respond, barely even hearing Francis. "Open your eyes, look at me mon amour" Francis pleaded desperately.
Matthew did not do as he was asked, unable to even if he wanted. His body began to shut down, losing consciousness. Matthew went entirely limp against the tile wall and mirror. Francis tied the fabric around his arms then lifted him. Matthew was dead weight in his arms. Francis carried him out to his car, moving as fast as he could. Once the unconscious boy was loaded into the back seat he drove nearly twice the speed limit to the hospital.
By the time they reached the entrance to the emergency room Matthew's breathing was nearly non-existent. The breaths were shallow and few and far between. Francis stopped the car abruptly and yelled for help as he tried to pull Matthew's limp body out of the car as a pair of nurses rushed out to assist him.
The nurses took over and loaded Matthew onto a stretcher and wheeled him away, starting to attempt to stop the bleeding and pushing air into his lungs. They left Francis behind and he stood in the hallway not knowing if his friend would live.