Disclamier: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. Though I wish I did…. L
"I'm sorry Gilbert, but I don't want to be with you. I don't like you like that." Elizabeta said, turning and walking away, the flowers he gave her still in her hand.
She put him out, like the burning end of a midnight cigarette. She broke his heart.
But I love you…., he thought as tears slipped from his eyes. I love you more than anyone else does, could ever. But that didn't mean anything to her. Elizabeta was in love with Roderich, not him. And nothing could ever change that. Gilbert dragged himself off of her doorstep and climbed into his car. Reaching into the back, he pulled out a beer, popped the top, and took a swig. He made a disgusted face. Not strong enough. He pulled out of her driveway, making his way to the package store. Gilbert paced the isles until he found whiskey. He took as many as he could carry, dumping the bottles onto the counter. The cashier looked up.
"You're just under the limit. Having a party?" He asked, ringing up the alcohol.
"You could say that." Gilbert whispered, looking away. The cashier placed the bottles in a box as Gilbert pulled the money out of his pocket, paying for the whiskey and heading for the door. He grabbed the door knob and was just about to turn it when it was yanked from his hand. He looked up to the person who had opened the door and met the eyes of Roderich. His heart darkened.
"What are you doing here Gilbert? Elizabeta said you went home." He said, walking in, smiling.
"I AM going home. I came to get some beer for Ludwig." Gilbert said curtly. He didn't want to have a conversation with him. Who would?
"Oh, that makes sense. I'm getting some wine for Elizabeta and I." He smiled bigger. It annoyed Gilbert to no end. Roderich knew that he loved Elizabeta, but he had taken her away. Taken away Gilbert's one love.
"Well you have fun with that." Gilbert snapped, storming out the door. He stamped over to his car, tossing the box onto the passenger's seat. The bottles clattered together noisily. He left with a sneer on his face, driving away, back to his house as fast as he could. Anything to get away from that rich love-stealing snob.
He didn't bother knocking, he just kicked the door open and rushed up to his room, his part of the house. His safe haven. The only place he could go to be alone.
"Are you okay Gilbert?" Ludwig called up.
"I'm fine. Leave me alone." Gilbert shouted back. He slammed his door, sobbing and sliding to the floor. Fighting with the lid, he tore open the box and yanked out a bottle. Popping the top and taking a swig, he smiled. Something strong enough. He guzzled it down, threw it behind him to the door, and pulled out another bottle. What would Elizabeta think? He thought, popping the top and taking a swallow. He stood up and brought the box over to his bed. With a bottle in his hand, he sat at his desk and pulled out paper. He scrawled out "I'll love her 'til I die." It felt good. The truth always felt good. He wrote it over and over again, taking swallows of whiskey in between. After three bottles, writing it wasn't enough. He glared angrily at a picture of her with glazed crimson eyes.
"What do you want me to do?" He shouted at the picture. "What can I do to prove to you that I love you? That I love you more than that rich snob!" Then the idea came to him.
He pulled out his knife, from the war of course, and slowly carved at his arm, blood dripping onto the desk and floor, staining it all red. He smiled at his work, the letters cut into his arm. It felt so much better than writing it "This is for you Elizabeta, with all of my love." He said to the picture.
The emotions he was feeling rushed through him, pain, sorrow, lust, anger, love. Need. He finished off his bottle, his fifth and pulled out another, his last. Pocketing his note, he took a sip of whiskey. Drowsiness overcame him and he stumbled toward his bed. He collapsed onto it, spilling whiskey on his sheets. Blood soaked into them under his arm. Free at last was his last thought.
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger, he finally drank away her memory.
After a couple hours of not hearing anything, Ludwig headed upstairs with a plateful of food. As he neared the door, he could smell whiskey. Ludwig knocked softly. No answer. He pushed the door open, glass bottles clicking together. He spotted Gilbert on the bed, but something wasn't right. He was face down on his bed, blood and whiskey soaked into the sheets. A note stuck out of his pocket. Ludwig rushed over to him and rolled him over. Gilbert's once bright eyes were hazy and glazed over. There was no pulse.
Life is short, but this time it was bigger, than the strength he had to get up off his knees
He was dead. Ludwig noticed a note in the Prussian's pocket. He pulled it out and opened it up, looking it over.
We found him with his face down in the pillow, with a note that said I'll love her 'til I die.
It finally hit him. Ludwig dropped the plate, it shattering on the ground, and he rushed out, calling for an ambulance, though he knew it was too late.
They had a small funeral service for him, burying him under the tree that he used to play around as a child.
When we Buried him beneath the willow, the angels sang a whiskey lullaby.
Ludwig walked over to Elizabeta. "I think this is for you." He said, handing her the note. Elizabeta opened I it and started to sob harder. It was her fault and hers alone. She had done this to him. All her fault. Roderich wrapped his arms around her, trying to comfort her. She pushed him away. Elizabeta didn't want him touching her, didn't want anyone touching her. She made her way to the grave, kneeling in front of it.
"This is all my fault Gilbert….I'll fix it. I swear I'll fix it." She promised, though she didn't know how to. Tears ran down her face as she placed a picture of them in front of the grave. "You'll always be my best friend."
When she got home, she all but sprinted to her room. She didn't want Roderich to see her. She was a mess. It's all your fault, a voice said in her head. You did this to him. You killed him. "No, I didn't." She whispered to herself, but she couldn't believe it.
But nobody knew how much she blamed herself.
Elizabeta walked to her liquor cabinet and pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey. It was all they had. She brought it back to her room, draining it as she stared at a picture of him. As she finished it, she heard footsteps coming up to her room. She pushed the now empty bottle under her pillow and pulled some mints out of her nightstand. There was a gentle knock on her door.
"Yes?" She called.
"Can I come in Elizabeta?" Roderich asked.
"Yes Roderich." She answered, clearing her throat. The door knob turned just as she popped some mints in her mouth. Close call.
She tried to hide the whiskey on her breath.
"Are you okay?" He asked as he walked in. Elizabeta nodded. He looked down at the picture in her hand. "It must be tough to loose such a close childhood friend." Again, she nodded. He came and sat on the edge of her bed. "We're gonna pull through this, okay? Everything's going to be okay."
"Yes it will." She lied. "I already miss him so much." This was a truth.
"I know, Elizabeta, we all do. I'm going to miss him coming around here." He looked over to the flowers next to her bed. "He gave those to you didn't he?"
"Yes…the day that…the day that…" Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Don't cry Elizabeta, he wouldn't have wanted you to." Yes he would have, it's all your fault, the voice said again.
"Can I just be alone….please?" She asked, staring at the picture.
"Okay, Elizabeta…just stop blaming yourself. It's not your fault." Yes it is. She nodded. Roderich patted her hand softly before leaving her alone.
"I'm going to make this right Gilbert, you just wait." She whispered to the photograph.
Elizabeta smiled at the army of bottles. Full bottles of whiskey sat under her bed. This is your fault. "I'm going to make this right." She pulled out a bottle and started to drink. This had been going on for at least a month. Every night she would drink a bottle or two of whiskey. She would always get drunk enough to stop the pain, but couldn't get the crimson eyed Prussian out of her head.
She finally drank her pain away, a little at a time. But she never could get drunk enough, to get him off her mind.
Walking over to her desk, she pulled out a picture of Gilbert and sat down. "I'm going to do it this time. I'm going to make it right." You can't, he's already dead. You killed him. "I know I can fix this." Elizabeta swore she heard Gilbert's laugh. She finished off her first bottle and got another. She thought about all the good times they had had together, playing around, how he was always trying to be better than Liza. Tears came to her eyes as the nickname came up. She quickly wiped them away, drinking more. She needed to make it right. Elizabeta finished her second bottle. She placed it next to the first and got another.
"I loved you Gilbert. I didn't realize it until now." It's all your fault. You could have told him that. You could have saved him. But you had to kill him.
She opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out a locket that he had gotten her. She had never opened it. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeta opened it for the first time. Peering inside, she saw a picture of them when they were little. On the other side it read, "You'll always be my best friend, my 1 girl."
"Don't worry Gil, you're still my best friend." She whispered, putting on the locket. Some friend you are. You killed him. She finished the third, placing it with the others and getting one more. Peering inside the drawer, she found the birthday present she had gotten for him. The Prussian eagle, a silver pendent on a Silver chain. It had cost her a pretty penny, but nothing was too good for her best friend. Tears started to blur her eyes, and she quickly finished off her bottle and placing it with another. She reached for another, but hesitated. She had already drunk a lot more than she normally would. You killed him. He did this, now it's your turn. She grabbed another and pulled the top off, taking a sip of it. Her vision was a little fuzzy and she was a little tipsy, but other than that, Elizabeta thought she was fine. If only she knew.
The group of bottles grew and grew.
"Gilbert, why can't I fix this?" She hiccupped, looking at the picture. It didn't reply. Holding it to her chest, she sobbed loudly, and stumbled towards her bed. She tripped at the end of it and fell forward. And before her head hit the pillow, she could have sworn she saw the crimson-eyed Prussian sitting in the chair next to her bed. He looked disappointed. It's all your fault, he whispered.
She put that bottle to her head, and pulled the trigger, and finally drank away his memory.
Roderich knocked softly on the door. "Can I come in Elizabeta?" He called in. He got no reply. She must've fallen asleep, he thought, walking into her room. It smelt strongly of alcohol. He looked over at her bed, and was alarmed to find her facedown. Rushing to her side, he quickly realized she was still alive, but barely. Roderich phoned the hospital from her room. After he hung up, he noticed the paper in her hand. He pried it away. It was a picture of Gilbert. Tears ran down his face.
We found her with her face down in the pillow, clinging to his picture for dear life.
As he sat in the chair next to her bed, he could swear that he smelled pine, Gilbert's favorite scent.
Elizabeta never woke up, dying in the hospital. That whole time she dreamt that she was kids with Gilbert again.
She was buried next to him.
We laid her next to him beneath the willow, and the angels sang a whiskey Lullaby.
This funeral was small, just as Gilbert's had been. Roderich and Ludwig sobbed together. They had lost those close to them. And so close to each other. After the gathering, Roderich went into Elizabeta's room and sat on her bed, weeping. It's not your fault. Roderich could have sworn he felt a hand brush gently against his cheek, just like Elizabeta used to do.
"I'm going to make this right Elizabeta." Roderich said, pulling a whiskey bottle out from under the bed.
Gilbert and Elizabeta looked on with disapproving eyes. She reached for the bottle, but her hand went straight through it. I can't help you, she said, before gently kissing his forehead. As Elizabeta stepped back, Gilbert took her hand. They stood together, hand in hand. It's not your fault, they whispered together. But they both knew he would be joining him under that willow soon enough. They couldn't stop him. But they didn't cry. Instead, they stayed by his side, trying to stop Roderich before he did something bad. Something deadly.
So How'd you like my new story? I wrote this one a while ago, I just never posted it. Please comment!