Hello everyone! Yes, I'm starting a new Hetalia OC story. And I know you all are thinking, "Good GOD McKenzie, how many of these things are you gonna make?"
Well, the answer to that question is, dear reader, a shit-ton.
Anyway, this story will be filled with depression, attempted suicide, drama, and loads of other stuff.
Really different than the other crap I write so yay.
Anyway, let's start!
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
. . .
Eyepatch
Chapter I
Hello. My name is Tatiana, but refer to me as Lili, if you may.
I'm the good ol' age of 17, and you bet I have the normal life of a teenage girl; lots of friends, stress of prom and graduation, and the perfect family and boyfriend, right?
Well, you're dead fucking wrong.
I'm different than the average teenage girl, or a "freak" as they would call me.
You see, I don't have the perfect life. A horrible one, to be honest.
Up until I was eleven, my life was great: I had friends, a loving family, and, I admit it, I was spoiled by my parents.
Then the accident happened.
One day, my mother, my father, my younger sister, and I were driving home from my grandmother's house.
My father was driving, my younger sister was playing with her dolls, and my mother was looking my way with her warm smile.
That smile still haunts me to this day.
Then, out of nowhere, I heard a crash, and then darkness.
. . .
What I assume was a while later, I opened my eyes, and saw a scene that would haunt my nightmares forever.
Our car was flipped to the side, and I saw my father's body sprawled onto to the street, with glass poking out of his body, with a pool of blood surrounding him.
My mother's face was pressed against the bloody and slightly flat airbag, with blood oozing out of her mouth, and a large piece of glass stabbed into her lung.
And my little sister...
It brings tears just thinking about it.
Her neck was broken, with a pool of blood covering her body, and a extremely large shard of glass wedged into her neck.
Then, with the tears blurring my vision, I noticed I could open both eyes, but I could only see through one.
That's when I saw a white, bloody sphere on the ground.
Filled with curiosity, I picked it up.
I don't even remember why I did that...
When I took a closer look at it, I gasped.
It was my eye.
My trembling hand went to were that eye should be, only finding an empty socket.
From shock, I passed out.
. . .
When I woke up, I was in a hospital, with a doctor looking at me with concerned eyes.
That reminded me about my missing eye...
The doctor told me that my family was in a car wreck, because a drunk driver hit us.
Out of my entire family, I was the only survivor.
She also told me that I, indeed, lost my eye from the accident. They attempted to reattach it, and many hours of surgery later, there was nothing they could do.
My hand flew to my missing eye, the left one, but I could only feel the lumpy, moist bandage covering it.
I burst into tears, only feeling them flowing down my face from the right side.
. . .
Many months of counseling and talking to multiple therapists later, I began to feel a little better. I guess talking about it really does help, I thought at the time.
Well, you could say I was half-right.
According to my parents' will, they left the house and their life savings to me and my sister, and my father leaving all of his belongings to me, and the same with my mother and sister.
Apparently, since I was the only daughter now, all of the things that belonged to both of my parents were mine.
I felt kind of guilty taking all of my parents' precious belongings, but the rabbi said it was, "What your parents would have wanted."
Yes, I'm Jewish. You can laugh at me all you want, I don't care.
At least, not anymore...
Anyway, I decided that I was going to buy myself a new home, or at least, a decent apartment. It's not that I don't want to live in my old home (I decided not to sell it), I just... feel guilty about the accident.
After a lot of home searching, I settled on this nice, fifteen-thousand dollar double-wide in the United States.
And yes, if you guessed, I'm not American either, I'm actually Russian, but I was living in Israel at the time.
Anyway, back on topic, when I was getting ready to move (I was fourteen at the time, by the way), I was looking through my father's things, until I found a beautiful eyepatch.
See, my father was a huge fan of pirates. And I mean huge. He had many pirate-themed items, from real metal hooks to wooden peglegs, you name it, he had it.
This eyepatch was different than you see in movies and books and all that shit.
The patch was made from soft, black cloth, and instead of one cord connecting the cloth from one side to the other, it had two. One cord started at the top right corner, ending at the top left, and the other doing the same with the bottom right to the bottom left.
Fighting back my tears, I decided to preserve my father's-no, my whole family's- legacy by wearing this eyepatch.
All day, all night.
No matter what.
. . .
After I moved to my home in America, life became even harder for me.
Like it wasn't hard enough. Thanks Fate.
When I enrolled in school, I was bullied because of my heavy accent (Russian, remember?), and my eyepatch.
I realized that my parents' life savings of thirty-thousand dollars (I spent fifteen on my house) wasn't gonna last me forever, so I got a job as a waitress at a fancy Italian restaurant. And, believe it or not, I actually got pretty good pay.
But I think it was because of my shitty life story.
The manger, a pretty woman named Isabella, heard my story, and I'm pretty sure her heart shattered into a million pieces.
Isabella was really nice to me, and she even told me that she lost her family too, her parents and twin brother, in a plane crash.
So we had something to relate to.
With my housing, I figured out that living on your own wasn't that hard, once you get the hang of it.
But it sucks waking up to an empty house everyday.
While I was going to school, I met a girl named Kyrstal, who could kind of relate to me.
She had curly, blood red hair (that she dyed, apparently) that went to her hips, glasses, and ocean blue eyes.
In my sophomore year, she approached me at lunch and greeted herself as the transfer student from France. Surprisingly, we hit it off.
She was bullied too, here and at her old school, but I didn't know why.
She was much prettier than me, and she had an elegant accent. She told me that she thought she was bullied here and at her old school was because she was a huge bookworm.
That I could relate to. I was a bookworm too, and, apparently, the average teenager hates them like hell.
Kyrstal was my closest friend, well, my only friend, until she had to go back to France during junior year.
We still kept in touch by Skype and email, but it wasn't the same.
After she left, I began cutting. I don't know why, but seeing the blood pouring out of my wrists just feels so much better.
Hell, I admit it, I even attempted suicide a couple times, so I could be be with my family again, but they all failed.
I guess Fate really hates me, huh?
After graduation (Kyrstal and I were able to graduate a year early because of advanced grades), Kyrstal moved to America and into an apartment, so we could see each other again.
It felt really good to see her in the flesh after all these years.
She also encouraged me to apply for a college, so I sent a application for Auburn University.
A couple weeks later, I got a letter back, and it took all of my courage to open it.
Too bad it was an declination letter.
Kyrstal comforted me for a while after that. I feel kinda bad for her, because she puts up with my shitty ass self so much already.
What I didn't know was that I was gonna get a letter a couple months later that would change my life forever.
. . .
And that's chapter one! You all better fucking enjoy it, because it took me two days and constant plot bunny escapes to write this.
AND IT'S ONLY CHAPTER FUCKING ONE!
Well, anyway, if Lili's backstory made you burst into tears, please forgive me.
See you guys in the next chapter!