WARNING, STORY CONTAINS SELF HARM, ANOREXIA, BULIMIA, AND EXTREME SELF HATE

AN: Updated the chapter so that there are less mistakes and a bit of improved writing. It isn't that much to fuss over, but I'm a little bit of a perfectionist. Anyways, this is author taking out their frustrations on their favourite blond, and being angry about everything. Thank you for all of the reviews, it keeps me writing. Hope you enjoy, or at least have something to burn tonight along with those pictures of Trump.

Jealous. They were all jealous of him, and he was all jealous of them. Envy flowed through Alfred's stomach and up his throat as he retched up what was left of the apple he'd eaten that day. He could barely hold the hundred calories in his now empty stomach. The bone thin country remembered the days when he had to throw up at least three times to get it all out. All that horrible, disgusting food in his body. Back when Arthur used to insult him every chance he could. The days when he lived in a less personal hell. Induced by others, those who didn't know him too well. The place he resided in now was even worse. An intimate nightmare, a hell in which the demons were everything he'd ever known, twisted into his deepest darkest fears. Alfred F. Jones was at a point of extreme desperation. Bu now, let's head back to where it all began. One fateful day at a meeting of the allies.

¨Oi! Watch where you're walking you bloody tub of lard!¨

This was the third time in the last hour that Arthur had snapped at Alfred about his weight. The countries had taken a break to just stretch their legs, and the American had happened to accidentally bump into Arthur, and was pushed a bit harder than usual, hitting the wall. For a reason he couldn't identify, the comment really hit Alfred somewhere deep, and he stayed silent instead of retorting with his usual clever remark. This earned him a confused glance from the short Brit, but he brushed it off and they both continued on their ways. Alfred glared at his reflection in the bathroom as he lifted his shirt up a little and grabbed the five pounds of pudge that thinly layered his stomach. In all reality it was completely normal, healthy in fact, but the blonde wasn't having it. The small bit of skin and pudge that he held between the two fingers suddenly became a giant roll of fat, among many others, and he stepped back in surprise, letting go of the skin and looking up into the mirror with wide, shocked eyes.

¨A-Am… Am I really that big?¨

He thought aloud, his sharp jawline turning into many chins as his sadistic imagination twisted his body imagine into a morbidly obese man. And to the vain American, that was horrific.

The second half of the meeting began as the representation of America sat down at the abnormally large meeting table, only a few seats away from his older brother, England. Al sighed softly as he sat down, and opened his notebook for the first time in forever, beginning to loosely jot down his thoughts at the moment.

¨Oh Alfred? Finally taking notes, I see!¨

Francis mocked, his tone dripping with over exaggerated surprise.

¨He's probably only writing down the addresses of all the McDonald's in the area, aru!¨

Yao chimed in, laughing along with the other countries as they all took out their issues on the insecure American.

¨That fattie doesn't know how to write down anything but a food order!¨

¨He's probably eaten a third, fourth, and fifth breakfast!¨

¨You should see how much sugar he puts in his coffee!¨

¨It all goes right to his stomach! You can see it jiggle whenever he walks!¨

¨Guys, I finally found out what the F stands for! Its fat! Alfred Fatass Jones!¨

Everyone erupted into howling and sadistic laughter as the American stood up and sulked out of the room with his notebook, carrying his new diet plans under his left arm.

The second Alfred got home, he pulled out the trash bin and went through his kitchen, an angry sobbing mess as he began throwing everything that was even slightly unhealthy into the garbage, promising that he would never eat any sugar again. When he finished emptying the majority of the pantry, Al took the full to bursting bag outside, and threw it in the trash bin for the garbage workers to pick up on their rounds that night. Tears flowed down his tan and flushed cheeks as the American ran back inside his house, quiet sobs escaping his mouth as he rushed up to his bedroom and hid under the heavy, reassuring covers of his bed. Alfred soaked his pillow with tears as he lamented over his weight, curling up into a ball, and eventually passing out from exhaustion. He dreamt of past days and other times countries had commented on his weight, but he was too stupid to think anything of it. It was a horrid and exhausting sleep.

America woke drenched in sweat and extremely tired, as he'd slept fitfully, and the nightmares still lingered at the back of his eyes, threatening to pull him back down into the horrific hell he'd just recently escaped. He quickly got out of bed, and realized how heavy he felt. God the fat was practically dripping off him, wasn't it?

"Fucking fatass and your stupid fucking ´ll never be thin enough, you goddamn butter whore. "

Al scolded aloud, gripping the thin bit of fat he had so hard that it would bruise in the later hours of the day. He immediately grabbed his laptop and sat back down on his bed, deciding today was going to be a research day, and that he was going to stop at nothing to be thin again, to be handsome again. Just like the old days.

Tab after tab was opened, and despite every damn Weight Watchers advertisement, and all of the seemingly ´healthy´ ways all of the sites displayed the dishes of food, the images struck something in Alfred that resembled disgust. It was quite unnatural and out of character for the American to make such a 180 degree spin on anything at all, but the more he thought about it, the more it all made sense. Arthur and Matthieu had always teased him, even when he was younger, about how much he ate, and how fast he did. Then, as he became a country, It was everyone's favourite thing to poke and prod at. America´s appearance. Alfred took care of himself quite well, but as everyone started progressing, and the country's obesity rate rose like a glass under a fire hose, and the teasing got worse. Now, jokes were always made at his expense during world meetings. no one ever teased him about his glasses anymore, it was fat this and stupid that. He'd ran to his older brother for comfort, but was turned away. Now all England did was take out his frustrations on Alfred. Like Al was an emotional punching bag, and god did the Brit have a mean right hook.

After hours and hours of scrolling through dieting websites and google results pages, Alfred finally came upon something interesting. It was a Tumblr blog called ´Perfection Girls´. The curious American scrolled over posts about ´diets´ and extreme exercise routines. It all seemed to work extremely well, and Al opened the ask box to write a question.

"Hey, I'm a disgustingly fat guy and I was wondering if you have any information on how I could lose a lot of weight, fast. I really need the help. Thanks, The Butter Whore."

He hit send, and continued to scroll through the blog, seeing pictures of bony girls and stick thin guys, all posing happily in front of the camera. They seemed so accomplished, yet so dead inside. If that was what it took for everyone to stop laughing at him, then that was what he was going to do. Alfred didn't even notice the tears until one fell on his hand, making him jump a little. He could just feel the fat jiggling as he pulled back, and his breath hitched in his throat, holding itself, almost as if suffocating the blonde was what would solve everything. He was finally able to breathe again as he let out a strangled sob, horrid depression clouding his vision. Al finally just fell over onto his bed and gripped the covers in his shaky hands, letting out soft cries and sounds of pain as he curled into a little ball, letting the comments of yesterday really get to him.