First story. I hope you like it. I do not own Hetalia.
Hello. My name is Matthew Williams, and here is my story.
When I was a toddler, everything was alright. Mommy and daddy were happy. Very happy. Me and big brother Alfred were happy. Just like a big happy family. Like the ones you would see on the shows. So perfect, and I liked it like that. We had a big house, a car, and went to the best school. Typical rich family, yes? That's how I loved it.
When I grew into a kid, dad left to make his dreams big. I didn't mind it, because he came to see us occasionally. He always brought presents, but he always fought with mom. She would lock me in my room when he was here, not Alfred. Dad would yell at her and tell me to come back down. He would hold me while I cried because mom scared me when she got like this. She yelled at me, and pointed at me, and sometimes slapped me. Dad would always pull me away, and rub wherever she struck me. Alfred would always try to stop her with his small hands. She wouldn't budge, though, she handled him with care, and I envied him for that. I wanted my parents to be together again.
"Daddy!" I cried, clutching onto his shirt with my 7 year old hands. He yelled at her because she was trying to snatch me away. Tears rolled down my cheeks, as she tried to pull me over, she scratched my back. Hard. It hurted so much.
"Come here, honey. Come to mommy, mommy loves you, don't worry." the way she said it made me believe her. Her tone was so sweet, but it only made dad hold me tighter. I looked at her and opened my arms for her, she took me. Dad hesitated to let go. He was crying. She rocked me, gently. I hugged her, and burried my head in her shoulder. I yelped as she let me fall to the floor. I cried louder, screaming in pain. Dad slapped her around, before bringing me into his arms.
"Mom! Why did you do that?" Alfred asked, enraged. He was two years older than I was.
"He's not my son!" She screamed, Alfred looked so much like her. Same colored eyes, bright blue. I wanted to be like Alfie, and have blue eyes like him. Maybe mom would love me, then? I had violet colored eyes, like dads, his hair was naturally wavy, a little past his shoulders. My hair was like his, too. Mom and Alfreds' was straight, it stood in place, and glistened in the light.
Dad was a big rockstar. He had no time for us. But somehow, he always had time for me. He took me away from mom, packing my clothes in a suitcase. Alfred was desperately trying to not let him take me. Mom smiled, as if happy I were leaving. Alfred was angry. Dad told him that I was going away for a little while, and that I would come back some time. I didn't want to come back, I wanted to stay with dad. He loved me more than mom ever did.
When I stayed with dad. It was cool, he lived in a tour bus! It was small, and he lived with three other people. He was the singer of the most famous rock band in the word, 'Leaving Joy Behind.' He told me he always left his joy behind, his happiness. This time, he told me, he brought 'Joy' with him. He said he named the band after he left me. I vaugely remember loud noises that came from the garage when I was a bit younger. I soon found out that it was dad and his band. He told me that I always kept him happy, and brought him so much joy. He always told me that I was his miracle.
His friends would play with me. We played Hide and Seek in the cramped tour bus. When I counted, I would find them easily because there wasn't enough room for hiding. When one of his friends counted, I would always be found last, sometimes sleeping. Mostly because I was a good hider. And sleeping kept me quiet.
When we checked into a hotel, there would be lots of people crowding the entrance. Lots of camera flashes, and lots of screaming. It hurted my ears. I sometimes cried through that. Dad held my hand as we walked through the path way that was created for the band. I bit my thumb, tearing up. Lots of girls were 'awwing' and taking pictures of me and dad.
"Daddy..." I whimpered, tugging on his hand. He looked down at me and picked me up. The girls screams grew louder. I hugged him, burrying my face in his shoulder, trying to out every one's screams. We kept stopping on the way, he was always asked to sign something.
"Can I get a picture with you and your son?" a girl asked. I looked at her with big doe eyes. "He looks just like you, Jerred!" She squeeled. Some people tugged at me, but he held a firm lock on me.
"Smile for me, my son." I looked at him and smiled, flashes filled my vision. Girls and boys aww'd. I smiled to the cameras, beginning to like this life. We had the same smiles. He was more confident than I was, though. I didn't mind that, though. There were people with big cameras and mics who stopped us, too. They asked questions, some were about me, some were about the concert that was being held in less than 24 hours, and some were something about an album det, or something that starts with a 'd.' Dad answered them with so much pride. If possible, so much more pride when a question was about me.
When we left for a stadium, or centre. Dad would always leave me for a few hours and left me with his manager. He was a nice person. But he was scary looking. He let me in a room called the 'Green Room.' He lets me color, and try on clothes. Sometimes he would leave me with the room locked. He would only leave for a few minutes, sometimes 10. But he always came back to check up on me. Each time, I would be wearing something different. Sometimes he would come in with different people. They were celebrities, too. They pinched my cheeks, asked my questions. Like how old I was, what my name was, and told me how cute I was. They would take pictures with me.
I loved daddy's life.
It was almost 9 months when the World Tour ended. We went back to moms place. She still lived in the same place. Dad had his own house, but I requested that we go see Alfred. It was almost my birthday, too. It was middle of June. It was almost Alfreds birthday, too. Alfred was happy when he saw me. He hugged me and told me he missed me. He kept telling me that he saw me on the tv. I was shocked, I never knew I went on tv. He shoved a magazine in my face.
"I bought with my own money, and told everyone that this was my dad and little brother." On the cover was me and daddy, he was holding me, both of us were smiling. I don't remember which day that was because there were lots of days when we were smiling. "No one believed me when I told everyone, though." he said, a little defeated.
Both of us jumped when we heard yelling that was coming from the kitchen. Alfred hugged me, and covered my ears, like he used to when dad wasn't here. I could still hear clearly, though, it wasn't like they shut off my hearing. I heard glass being shattered, clothes being ripped, and moms screaming. Tears shone in my eyes, daring to be let out of the tear ducts.
"Leave! Now!" the woman screamed. She rushed into the room I was in and held me in her arms. I wanted my dad, not her.
"Daddy!" I wailed. I struggled out of her grasp. "Daddy! Please! I want to go with you!" He looked so hurt, his cheek was red. I looked at mom, and hit her in the face. "I want my daddy, not you." I screamed at her, pushing away. She threw me on the floor, next to dad's feet. He picked me up and hushed me as I cried hard.
"I'm sorry, my son. I have to leave you. I'll-" I screamed, letting more tears fall. This hurt more than mom's words.
"No! Daddy! I want to go with you again!" I managed to get out with choked words. "I don't want to be with mom no more. I don't like her. She's mean." I kept mumbling things I couldn't make out. He cried, kissing my forehead before putting me down gently.
He walked out of the door, leaving my suitcase and myself here. Mom put a hand on my shoulder and struck my face. I screamed, running for the door and opening it. Dad was just opening the gate. "Daddy!" I shouted, running barefeet on the ground. He paused, looking back. He opened his arms for me and I jumped into them. There were paparazzi taking pictures. They had followed us here. "She hit me, daddy." I whimpered out. He rocked me back and forth, before handing me to mom, who looked so nice for the cameras. "Daddy! No!" I screamed, thrashing around. I didn't want to be with mom.
"Shh, I'll come back for you again." He kissed my forehead again and left. I cried.
When the next day came, I couldn't speak. I couldn't speak without a lump forming in my throat. Mom acted like I was never there. But she still fed me. Alfred mostly cared, though.
The days went by slow.
My 8th birthday just passed. Dad came to bring me a present. A white polarbear. I named it Kumajiro, but I kept forgetting the last bit of the name. It passed Alfred's birthday, too. Dad brought him a foot ball.
Summer flew by.
School was starting. I was starting at the same elementary Alfred went to. He was three grades higher than me now. He only used to be two grades higher. I didn't mind, though. I never mind. The work was easy. The principle of the school said I could be a higher grade because 3rd grade was easy like eating a pie. So I got transferred to 4th grade. Alfred was two grades higher again. The way it should be.
I hated this.