This story includes an attempted rape scene. If you feel that would hurt you or make you extremely uncomfortable, please reconsider reading this. Regardless, everybody, stay safe. If you've decided to stay, please enjoy the story.
This is different. England loves me. He actually loves me.
America frowned, washing the dishes as best as he could. But he was distracted, and he dropped one of them.
Aside from the military, he hadn't lived with anyone else in so long. Until now. Now, he and England practically lived together when they didn't have to do work or attend events. Even then, they always talked to each other.
It was perfect.
It was so similar to a situation America had been in a few decades ago.
A face flashed through his mind, and he dropped the plate. It shattered in the sink. The shards cut into his hands.
Footsteps signaled England's arrival a moment later.
"America! What happened?" England asked. America winced. The blood was dripping from his hands at a steady rate.
England approached him. "Oh, blast. Well, I'll get some bandages. Just stay there, okay love?"
America nodded. He stayed there as England left the kitchen.
England came back with the promised bandages. He grabbed America's hand gently, washing the blood away and using soap and water to clean it. America resisted the urge to pull away, and England dried his hand soon enough.
England bandaged his hand after, smiling. "There. All better, see?"
"Yeah. Thanks, England." America smiled back.
"So, what happened?" England asked.
And this was where England would get so, so mad at him.
"I just dropped the plate." America said.
"Bummer." England frowned, before shrugging. "Well, no worries. It's all right." England added, "You seem kind of shell shocked. Are you okay?"
America didn't respond. He didn't know how to. He definitely wasn't okay, and he wanted nothing more than England's reassurance.
England had been treating him rather delicately for the past few days. He must have figured out something was wrong.
England's frown only deepened, scaring America even more. "America?" He nudged him gently. "America?"
America swayed for a moment. England caught him before he could hit the ground, but America was already out of it.
(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)
America opened his eyes. England was crouching over him. "America? America!"
America slid into a sitting position, bumping into England on the way and gently shoving him off. America was leaning on his hands heavily. England looked extremely concerned. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I always feel this way at this time of year."
"Hm? Why? Nothing... I don't think anything happened around this time, right?"
"Not for my country. Just for me."
England frowned. "America, did something happen to you? Did someone hurt you?" England asked. America didn't respond.
America remembered the first person he had fallen in love with. His name was Benjamin, and they had been unofficially married, seeing as it hadn't been legal back then.
Benjamin had hit him a lot and generally had treated America quite badly, but America hadn't had the heart to leave him for a long time. As time wore onwards, with the clock seemingly dragging him along, America grew terrified. He couldn't hurt any of his citizens; he felt horrible just thinking about it.
One night, though, Benjamin had went way too far. America found himself in a horrid position, pinned down and struggling to get away as Benjamin whispered all those horrid things to him—
"What? You want to act like a whore, I'll treat you like one," Benjamin snarled.
His breath was hot on the back of America's neck and the smell of alcohol lingered in the air.
America fought back desperately, but he found himself unable to move, his torso and legs rendered useless by Bejamin's weight. "Ben, please—,"
Benjamin's hands gripped at his hair, keeping his head down.
America screamed, finally forcing Benjamin off of him. He shoved himself away desperately and grabbed his jacket, wrapping it around himself securely.
And America ran. He grabbed his wallet and his keys, and bolted. He never went back to that house, not even to collect any of his clothes; he simply bought an entirely new wardrobe.
He left the small ring at the door, and he ran. He never went back, and he never heard from or of Benjamin again.
He hadn't really lived with anyone since then, until he'd began to live with England. England was much kinder than Benjamin— he never hit America or called him all of those horrid, offensive names.
Of course, America remembered much more than that. He remembered almost every incident. He remembered how painful it all was.
America thought of it a lot. But it just so happened that the day they'd been married was coming up later that week, and he never did well when the anniversary was coming up. It was impossible not to think of it.
England wrapped his arms around America, pulling him up. "What? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm all right. I'm just scared..."
"Of what?" England asked.
"Ghosts," America admitted, smiling sheepishly.
America wasn't just afraid of ghosts, he was terrified of them. And still, he trembled in England's arms. He felt so weak all over again.
England resisted the urge to scoff. "Well, I'm sure nothing is going to haunt you, America. You're far too annoying," he joked.
But England was wrong. America was surrounded by ghosts who haunted him relentlessly, tormenting him with dates and facts. These ghosts swirled around him, murmuring horrible lies.
As it so happened, none of these ghosts were present, or even real. But somehow, Benjamin was still among them, leading an army to haunt America.
England seemed to ward off the ghosts.
"Oh, really?" England laughed gently. America hadn't realized he'd said that out loud.
"Yeah. So please stay awhile."
"I don't have anything better to do than to scare off your ghosts, America," England said.
So I had this as a pretty random idea. I really do like the story, though it's not my best. I didn't want it to be extraordinarily graphic, so I'm so, so sorry if this is unrealistic. I usually do better with trauma-related writing, but it just feels... wrong here; not sure how to describe it.
Regardless, please review. It would really help me out. Thank you!
