A/N: Kay, so this is totally short... But don't worry adoring friends, the chapters after it will be much longer~! *Cricket chirps* Uh... Review and such? Oh! And this stories gonna be pretty much revolving around yaoi, death... all that good stuff. So, don't like, don't read. Enjoy~!
Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia or Arthur Kirkland... *muffled noises coming from closet* ...I don't!
"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been... A while, since my last confession."
"…What sins have you to confess?"
I rake my trembling fingers through my shaggy blonde hair. Take a few shaky breaths. God, I'm a mess. A sniveling, bleeding, mess. Oh and I just reek of sin. Surely, Father can smell it? Got a whiff of my pact with Satan himself? Well… If he does, he shows no sign of his knowledge. I let out a strangled cry. Rest my head on the screen that separated me from the man so Holy, that surely… he could bless me. Cleanse me. Save me. Me. Who is me? I bet you'd like to know…
Arthur Kirkland, due at his wedding in a mere hour.
Arthur Kirkland, the suspect for the gruesome murder of his best friend.
Arthur Kirkland, twenty-three year old prostitute.
Arthur Kirkland, Satan's right hand man.
Arthur Kirkland, tweaker.
Arthur Kirkland, well… Need I say more?
I suppose once upon a time I would've gagged at these doings. Would've vomited up my pure soul, unable to digest such horrid things. I was a virgin, then. In more ways than one. I didn't know the wonderful feeling of a needle to my veins, shooting up dreams and promises that will no doubt be broken in the morning. I didn't know what "The Dragon" even was... Until I chased it. Oh, God... Satan has been good to me. He always has something that will take my pain away. I love him for that. And hate him. Hate myself, too. I'm quite the disgusting man nowadays... I think I'd even give my own brother a sexual favor, if it meant I'd get something into my system that helped me cope. Forget. I have to rememer right now, though. Can't escape. Can't.
I exhale. Try to get myself together so I can tell the tale of my descent to the pleasent place I know now only as Hell. Every day I lose a bit of myself. I'm just fragments of the proud Brit I once was. The man that would laugh if he were told he'd end up like this. Covered in bruises and little marks that proved he needed an out other than tea and scones. Would've laugh himself dry, if he was told he'd be out on the streets willingly. Not a care in the world for disease or pride. After all, he doesn't have much dignity left... And a disease would probably help him kick the bucket faster, as he very much wants to do. To die. Yes, that's what I want. However, I must confess first. Beg for forgiveness.
"T-The story… It's long." I manage to gasp out between my pathetic sobs. The man on the other side is silent for a moment. "…Alright. Tell me your tale, child." And so, with a strength I did not know I had, I suck up whatever it is that keeps me from speaking. Confessing. Its been a while since I've been in a church… Well, if you don't count wedding rehearsals. I lick my busted lips. Taste the drying substance that was oh so like copper. A pill. A needle. God, even a pipe would do! Even if only for a second, it could take me to nirvana. Oh, and I'd be so happy… Happy at last. But no. I have a story to tell, and I'll tell it sober… I must. "O-Okay… Please bear with me, Father."
And so I began the tall tale from the very beginning, when I was a sensible man… A man that would never even contemplate the things I've done. I miss him.