Hello! :D This story is inspired and based off on bits and pieces of my life. Some things are made up and/ or exaggerated, while others are mostly true. Yesterday, June 23rd, was my birthday. Only two people, excluding immediate family, wished me a happy birthday.
I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters. I also do not own the cover picture.
I am neither a good writer nor a good author.
There is minor profanity, which I did not censor due to my belief that it may take away from the story a little. This is also unedited/ un-beta-d so please excuse my mistakes.
This is my first Hetalia fic.
You wake up, a sweaty tangle of limbs and blankets. Sunlight streams through the thin window shades and you groggily sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You slip out of bed, your feet softly padding across the carpeted floor, clutching the stuffed polar bear that you're too old for now, yet you can't bear to put it away. You yank open the shades. It's a beautiful day.
Looking outside, you smile.
Until with sinking dread, you realize what day it is.
You chance a glance at the calendar, already knowing the date yet still wanting to be certain.
July 1st.
Your birthday.
You stare at for a long while, before turning away and sighing. It hurts, it hurts so so bad, to know that just like every other year before this, your birthday would be forgotten once again in favor of your brother' know you should finally get used to the fact that you'll always be forgotten, but for some reason you can't help but continue to let yourself hope, and wish, and dream.
You know you really should stop. It just makes everything hurt so much more, when you realize that once again, you've been cast aside for your brother.
This year, as if they were rubbing salt in an open wound, everyone would be throwing a surprise party for Alfred on your birthday. You wonder why the world hates you so much.
You drag yourself to the bathroom, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. The remains of tear tracks run down your face, somewhat crusted from drying overnight. The whites of your eyes are stained a pinkish red. The bandages wrapped tight around your wrist are a dull burgundy color, and putting pressure on it stings. You faintly remember crying yourself to sleep last night, thinking about how everything is so unfair. You're pathetic. You splash water on your face to remove all evidence of your tears and change the dirty bandages. You practice smiling, plastering a small grin on your face. It's not as vibrant or bright as Alfred's 1000-mega-watt-Hollywood-smile, and it seems oddly out of place on your face, but despite being so obviously fake, you know no one would ever notice or even care.
You wonder if you're being melodramatic. You hope you're not. You really dislike stuff like that.
You shake your head, dismissing the thought, and go back to practice your smiling. After a few tries, you think you're good. Or at least, you're really sick of practicing. You stare at the mirror one last time, forcing the corners of your mouth upwards.
Walking out, you force yourself to smile.
You greet you're brother in the kitchen, who's up surprisingly early.
"Hey Mattie!" Alfred shouts back, hyped up on coffee and sugary breakfast foods, "Guess what?
"W-what Al?" You can't help but hope that he remembered.
"It's..." he stops, as if remembering it was a secret he wasn't supposed to tell, before continuing, "it's three days until my birthday!"
You feel the disappointment and hurt bubble up in your chest, making it hard to breathe. "Y-yeah," you say, forcing yourself to just keep on smiling, "that's right. Do you want any pancakes?"
"Hell yeah!" Alfred shouts, pumping his fist in the air. "You're awesome bro!"
"...Thanks."
As you flip the sizzling batter, you force yourself to smile.
It's during breakfast when your phone chimes, signaling that you got a new text. You quickly put down your fork, swallowing your mouthful of pancakes and syrup, which sticks in your throat and slides down feeling like sandpaper. You grab your phone and swish your finger across the screen.
'Keep ur bro busy so we can get ready 4 d party. Bring him 2 Arthurs 12'
"Hey Mattie! Who texted you?" Alfred hollers, pancake bits spraying out of his mouth.
You suppress the urge to either cringe or sigh, knowing that you'll have to clean up his disgusting mess, "...a- a friend," you mumble.
"Oh," he says, obviously not really listening, "cool. I'm going out; see ya later!"
You nod, turning back to your phone. The words glare back up at you, reminding you of your task.
"Alfred, w- wait!" You hear yourself say, "I'll come with you."
"Sure, whatever. Hurry up then!"
You jump out of your chair, scrambling to put on your shoes.
Hurrying after your brother, you force yourself to smile.
You're sprinting after your brother, trying to tug him, well anywhere, besides Arthur's. You, unfortunately, are completely failing.
"But Mattie," he whines, shaking you off once again, "I'm booorrreeed! And Artie's fun to mess with!"
You rack your brain for something to distract him with. "Alfred... why don't I… I… what about if I treat you to McDonald's?"
"Awesome!" Despite having just eaten breakfast 30 minutes ago, his eyes light up and he grabs your arm, probably dragging you to the first McDonald's he can find, forgetting all about wanting to go to Arthur's.
Stumbling along, you force yourself to smile.
...
You leave the place $73.94 dollars lighter. You shuffle out the doors, your head spinning a little from spending such a long time smelling the putrid odor grease.
"That was awesome, right Mattie?" Alfred bounces along next to you, seemly unaffected, even though he practically inhaled the mounds of grease soaked food you bought for him, "Hey, do you wanna go do something? We can go to the park."
"S-sure," you nod, relieved that he at least he's not trying to get you to go to Arthur's with him.
"Great!" He cheers, and once again yanks you along to wherever he feels like going. You trip over your own feet, trying to keep up with his long strides.
As you try to regain your balance, you force yourself to smile.
...
You end up playing one-on-one basketball, to which you lose at miserably. Both of you lost track of the score awhile ago, maybe midway through the game, though you guess it doesn't matter, since you haven't scored a single point anyway. You sit in a patch of shade, panting and gasping for breathe, sweat running down your face.
Alfred, on the other hand is jumping around, whooping for joy over winning the game. "Did you see that awesome dunk?"
"Y-yeah," you start to reply, but he talks over you, not really expecting an answer.
"—I beat ya by like a thousand points!" he continues excitably, "…but great game though," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
"Thanks," you glance at your phone. 10:12. Still about 2 more hours to go. "D-do you want to—"
"—Let's go to the movies! There's this cool superhero movie that just came out! Come on!"
Hurrying after him, you force yourself to smile.
...
By the time the movie is over, it's 11:46. You have 14 minutes to get Alfred to the party. You wonder how you'll be able to get Alfred, probably one of the loudest people in your group of friends, to listen to you, when nobody ever does anyways.
"Hey Mattie," Alfred says, startling you out of your thoughts, "wanna go to Artie's now?"
You almost breathe a sigh of relief at how easy this is. It's almost like he knows. "Sure," you tell him, as the two of you begin your trek towards Arthur's house.
"So…" Alfred begins, "Where do you think everyone is? I haven't seen anybody all day."
You tense up for a moment, trying to think of a good excuse. In the end, all you say is, "I-I don't know…"
"Oh. Maybe they're throwing me an early birthday party! That'll be awesome! What do you think, Mattie?"
"I—"
"—Hey, I just realized whose birthday was today!"
You look up, surprised. Happiness wells up in your chest and you open your mouth to thank him for remembering. "Y-yeah. Th—"
"It's Leon's birthday! You know, Yao's little brother? They went to China though for the summer so something…"
It hurts so much you want to vomit. Tears prickle behind your eyes and the struggle to keep them insides makes your eyes burn.
"Hey," Alfred stops mid-ramble, peering at your face, a slightly worried and concerned look on his face, "You okay?"
Blinking back tears, you force yourself to smile.
"Y-yeah, I'm o-okay." He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. "Look, there's Arthur's house."
He looks unconvinced, but doesn't say anymore about it. "Cool, come on Mattie, let's go inside." He reaches to grab your arm but you shrug away.
"O-okay. You go first. I- I just remembered I need to do s-something." Turning, you run, not wanting to see everyone celebrate Alfred's birthday and forget all about you, ignoring Alfred calling your name.
...
You lie in bed, curled up under your blankets. The small digital clock by your bedside reads exactly 12, and you know by now Alfred's probably at the party, having the time of his life, while you're just sitting here, shaking and alone. You're such a pathetic, stupid, worthless piece of shit. Today, you're going to end this life of hell.
You're trembling hands clutch a bottle of Tylenol as if it were your lifeline. Such an ordinary, cliché, generic method. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and uncap the bottle.
You pour out fourteen little pills.
Bring them to your mouth.
And place them in
The bottle again.
And with a small cry, you fling it across the room with all your might. The plastic bottle hits the wall with a hollow thump, tiny pills scattering all across the floor.
Slowly, you get up.
Go to the bathroom.
Stare at the mirror.
Try to smile.
Fail.
Cry.
...
You're not sure how long you're standing there, but after a while, you feel two arms, smelling of slightly of hamburgers, sweat, chocolate, and the Aloe Vera soap that you bought from the dollar-store last week, circle around you. He buries his face into your shoulder, and you can feel him shaking, trying not to cry too.
"Hey Mattie," his voice is small, nervous, "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry… and…
Happy Birthday."
The End.
For now...