Title: Intimate borders.
Genre: Introspection, angst, dark, One-sided-romance.
Character: Germany-centric. Implied GerIta, implied Germancest, mention of Russia.
Even if I'm said to be "generally adequate",
strictly speaking
I don't understand.
( Einsamkeit)
Germany's pov.
It was late afternoon and I sat in my office, my daily work done and documents neatly folded and ordered in files, put aside from my desk that was now clear of anything except my old fashioned phone, a few pens and a note book.
The house was so quiet that I could heard the cuckoo clock's faint 'tic toc' coming from the adjacent day room. I was alone home, I know, because bruder had disappeared a few days ago, only stopping shortly by my office door on his way out, to declare that he would be gone for 'some time', probably on some rampage. He had left, along with his pet bird and my credit card, of course.
Italy wasn't going to visit today, just like yesterday and probably tomorrow. He also, had decided to take some sort of vacations, with his brother.
Lucky him.
I knew for sure that one one else would visit me any time soon. I had few friends and I know it was my own fault for not being what they call a 'social' person. I'm not sorry about it, I guess I am simply this way, the way people want me to be and I don't have to be sorry about it.
I am exactly like I am supposed to be and I have no right to change, because I am no human.
In the past, sometimes, I forgot that fact. I tried to change, to open myself to others, to become better, like any human would be willing to, to get what they want, to get closer to others. I tried my best to smile, enjoy life, put work aside for the sake of my social life.
I just forgot I wasn't allowed to, and it all got back at me, the price was high and, at the end, I gained nothing with that 'humanity' I had tried to get.
No, I'm not human, and I will never be, and I have no right to be sad about that, because my duty, the purpose of my existence, is so important that I should never consider putting it aside.
Instead of brooding over what I will never be, I should be extremely proud of what I am.
Resignation, then. It would have been much worse, though, if I had not found a way out of the negative feeling following the concept.
My reality, my daily life, is a simple routine made of work, house keeping and personal needs such as eating, drinking and sleeping. My life offers barely anything to cheer me up if only for the rare, annual occasions to have fun, at the Octoberfest or such events.
I go on with this life, with my duties, the best I can, with order and discipline, grateful for what I've been given, that status that never failed to make me proud, the task of being a nation.
But when the work is done, the house cleaned and the dishes washed, when I'm no longer hungry and not tired enough to go to bed, during these moment when I have nothing to do, the thinking start and I listen to it: My heart.
My heart, undeniably human, is aching.
Along with being denied humanity, I've been denied something else that is purely human and that they call love.
I had barely the time to understand the feeling that I was already forced to give up on it. Love, wonderful, awful, magical feeling, touched me twice but remained out of my reach.
Just right now, as I'm still seated in front of my desk, surrounded by silence and with nothing to do, I use that way I have found to calm my heart.
Calm and isolation, the perfect conditions for one who want to evade in the blissful universe of dream. Only there and then, living up to my fantasies, the loneliness I'll be forever cursed with, becomes suddenly much more bearable.
I started day dreaming a long time ago already, after that disastrous Valentine accident. Proposing Italy was utterly stupid of me, I should have known it was impossible: Nation don't get wed. Nations forms Empires or annex each other, but love has nothing to do with politics and diplomacy. Italy knew that and I had just forgotten what I was for the sake of what I wanted to be.
It is certainly useless for me to precise that I was rejected that day.
And, of course, utterly ashamed of myself, I never spoke to Italy about love and dating ever again afterwards.
I used my imagination to create a world where we could love each other as humans and I started dreaming about that other, virtual, life of mine. My free time soon was used for day dreaming.
In the world of my dreams, I lived a whole life with Italy, loved him to my heart content and, of course, I had the feelings returned and every thing was perfectly imperfect, as a human life should probably be. I keep that up until the feelings I had for him subsided in my heart for real.
The dreams helped me keeping up with reality, saved me from a depression and allowed Italy and I to stay friends.
I knew very well where was the border between what was real and what wasn't and I was content with just that.
My dreams were not only about Italy, though. When my brother was taken away from me and the wall was raised, for almost thirty years I feel tore apart, but the dream prevented me to become insane. In the dreams, there was no wall and Gilbert was fine, and we were still together.
That dream, thankfully, eventually become reality.
Unfortunately, nothing is perfect, not even with dreams.
During these times when I was so painfully alone and when I was aware that my brother was suffering all sort of hell at the hands of Russia, most probably all because of me, I felt like I could rip the skin off my head.
There was times I screamed like a wounded beast in the solitude of my bedroom at night and cried my eyes out until exhaustion pulled me into a forced sleep, then dreams I couldn't control flooded in.
Those dreams were dark, awful and disgusting, they never failed to jolt me awake, leaving me with a deep feeling of shame for what my subconscious was making up for me.
They happened often, almost every night and were mostly the same: Russia and Gilbert, Russia beating Gilbert, raping him roughly in front of me, telling me it was my own fault and ordering me to do it myself after some time.
Sometimes, Russia forced me to hit Gilbert, and I was begging my brother for forgiveness, telling him I had no choice, knowing that I was a coward. Sometimes, Ivan commanded me to rape my brother after he had just beaten him to an inch of his life. Those dreams, they were the worse.
Not only because of the horror, disgusting feeling hovering around the dream but also because, in the haze of it, that terrible act I was forced to commit on Gilbert, I could feel pleasure.
Every time I awakened from these dreams, I just wanted to kill myself until I realized that they were just dreams and that I certainly would never want to hurt Gilbert, in any way.
With time, the dreams changed, the atmosphere of pure horror softened, Russia was no longer part of them, and there was no more torture involved. The room wasn't a prison any more, it was just Gilbert's room.
But there was still the sex.
Only these times, Gilbert was no longer begging for me to stop but was moaning for me to keep going..
That was the vicious side of dream showing up, They were supposed to calm my heart down from the feelings I had, and they ended up filling it with a new passion.
Gilbert.
He was now what my day dreams were all about.
I gave up on pushing the feeling away, denial never worked well with me. I accepted that new love, but never acted up on it in the open reality.
I kept it as a secret, I'll keep it forever, they would never cross the borders of my dreams.
It's evening now, I imagine him coming back home, and he wouldn't have been out for longer than a few hours. He would push the door of my office and declare "West, I'm home!" and he would kiss me 'hello' and I would kiss him back. I would ask him: "How was your walk?" and, seated on my lap he would reply: " It was awesome" soon after, he would add "But I missed you" then we'd kiss again.
-" West! I'm home!" I was pulled out of my reverie by the real thing calling from the entrance hall.
I stood up to greet him, my face stern, like always.
-" Where have you been?" I asked, annoyance coating the tone of my voice.
-" Around" He simply said, shrugging.
-" How was your trip around?"
-" It was awesome." He said and left in the direction of the kitchen.
And I had missed him. He could not hear the words I had spoken in my mind and he couldn't see the smile that didn't reach my lips, and he couldn't possibly know all the things I want to do and say to him.
He doesn't need to know and I don't need him to know.
As long as he is with me, the reality of his presence is enough for me. For the rest, I have the dreams.
END.