"Now you're walking back

To a place you call home,

But you feel so alone.

So alone…

If they

If they really knew…

I bet their minds would change."

-If They Knew, Joel Faviere

His Frozen Fingertips

Arthur Kirkland ran with a burning heart. It pounded violently in his chest and the blood pounded against his ears. Let me out. It screamed. It pushed against his rib cages and nearly ripped him apart. I have to get away. I have to. Was echoing endlessly throughout his subconscious. Arthur's legs felt as if they would fall off, but he couldn't stop now—oh no he couldn't possibly give himself up to them.

He tried his best not to look over his shoulder as he ran away. If only he had this speed during gym class. Maybe his mile run score would be a bit better. At last, he finally made it to the trees and swerved in and out of the vines and bushes. Don't fail me… You've had my back 'til now, don't fail me.

The branches seemed to close behind him as he dashed into the dead leaves of the ground and the cool leaves of the bushes.

"The little b—ch ran in there again," he heard their voices from outside the thick trees. But he didn't stop running. He never stops running.

"Well it isn't like he can stay in there forever. Let's just get him tomorrow…" the faintest whisper finally scurried away from his eardrums.

Arthur heard their voices die away, but he didn't stop running until he found his tree. Falling onto the tree, he scratched the palm of his hand as he tried to catch his breath. His heart leapt from his chest and he collapsed on the roots of the oak tree. Arthur's oak tree.

It stayed like that for half an hour. Arthur, curled up under the solitude of his tree. The leaves shaded him away from sunlight and guarded him from shadows. He finally lifted his head up and leaned against the bark, trying to calm his breathing.

One more year.

One year, that's it.

Just one more year until you can move back to England.

You'll be eighteen and you'll be an adult. You won't have to go to Hell—oh wait they coded that as high school—anymore. You'll be alone like you've always wanted.

I don't need friends.

"I like… being by myself. I need to be alone," he said quietly, looking up at the large leaves of the old tree. "Isn't that right, Oscar?" he brushed his hand down the side thoughtfully.

"I don't need friends… I don't need people… I only need myself. I can take care of myself, can't I?" he looked to the branches for an answer, receiving the same rustling leaves as every other time. "I don't want to be part of their crowds…" he continued, "I don't want to know what it's like to high-five someone without being pranked… I don't want to eat lunch in the lunch room… I don't want to know what it feels like to wake up without nightmares… I don't… I don't want to… Look down at my body and smile instead of cringe… I don't want…" Arthur choked on his words as dry tears pried his lids open and ran away from his eyes. Why was it impossible for him to cry?

He gripped the blades of grass and dug his nails into the dirt. Why? Why can't I cry? I feel so terrible and I just want to cry… But I've never been able to no matter how bad it gets. Why can't I just… Be like them? A normal kid that can at least cry when he's sad…

…No. No I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm happy. And he forced his lips into a broken smile.

He leaned against the thick tree trunk and messily wiped the tears from his face with his shoulder, gazing at the skin-colored pigment coming off on the blue sleeve.

Arthur lied down more comfortably and looked wistfully at the clouds. Up to the sky and watched the sun fall behind the horizon as well as his mind behind consciousness.

"We're all going to have partners for this assignment," Ms. Lesters said as she clapped her hands together.

School the next day was average. The beginning was always easiest. Arthur always loved learning, his favorite subject being English. Science was okay for him, but he never really liked learning about evolution—I mean the stupid teachers always left out the unicorns, fairies, and other magical creatures! Luckily, this unit was on the solar system, so he didn't not like it.

All the kids in the class looked directly at one person at the mention of partners, already having their partners picked out. Everyone except Arthur. Arthur counted the students in the room and mentally cursed when the number came out even. The others simply moved over to each other's desks as if they'd been given a list of who got to work with who. And no matter how many times Arthur's pen hovered over the list, all that came out was invisible ink.

"What do you mean we can't work in groups of three?" Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis were all up at the teacher's desk.

"I mean: pairs only. The numbers are even and everyone needs a partner."

I don't.

"Can't we please work together?" Antonio begged, pulling the puppy eyes.

Please?

Sadly the teacher was immune, for the next spoken words were: "No. Now, who in here doesn't have a partner?"

The class was silent as their science teacher scanned the room. It felt as if she was seeking out the person that took the last chocolate chip cookie that she really wanted. Arthur tried to blend in with the rest and stare into his paper. The poor loose-leaf thing almost burst into flames. He felt his pulse quickening as he tried to scrawl in more answers.

Invisibility powers… Activ—

"Arthur, do you have a partner?"

Crap.

Arthur looked up and bit his lip. His eyes flickered between the death glares of the trio and back to the teacher. Be partners with one the biggest bullies of your life or lie to your teacher? The latter was oh so tempting… His gaze lowered as he reluctantly shook his head.

The three boys looked at each other as if they were planning something. That or discussing something through their minds. Stupid telepaths. Arthur swore he saw homicidal intent in their eyes. They looked at each other for a while before Antonio clung to Francis's arm and yelled: "FRANCIS IS MY PARTNER!" for the whole world to hear. A couple kids laughed, some ignored him entirely—but ignoring Antonio was a feat. I give those whom accomplished it props.

"No way, that's so unawesome. I'm not being his partner!" Gilbert argued.

"Boys! That's enough. Gilbert, you'll be Arthur's partner or I can write you up. The choice is yours."

Gilbert made a face of disgust and he looked as if he was actually contemplating the second choice. But then he smirked and walked in Arthur's direction with no objection and a "'kay, Miss L."

Arthur visibly swallowed and shoved his face back down to the worksheet. It was so easy, why did they even need partners? He's getting closer…

"Okay, stupid," Gilbert said low enough not to be heard enough by others, but loud enough to intimidate the boy next to him. "Let's get this straight. You do all the work and if we get anything less than a 99, you'll find your body twisted in ways that defy gravity."

How encouraging…

Arthur scribbled answers down, but his writing got a bit shakier after the last statement from the silver-haired student, and suddenly, the paper didn't look so easy anymore.

What's bigger? The sun or the moon? How should he know? Stars are red? Wait is that hotter or cooler than a blue star?

It was the beginning of the year; of course all the questions were for idiots… But right now all he could feel was his heart thumping in his ears. He'd had no problem with his grades earlier, but with a great white shark sitting right next to, you, a small tuna fish, you'd better swim away. And fast.

Arthur had never been more thankful for the lunch bell.

Arthur Kirkland found himself back at his tree at the end of the day.

It's the same every day. He goes through his classes with minimum teasings—though sometimes they turn physical—then he spends lunch behind the school, and then he has to run back to Oscar (that's what his tree is named) before the beatings get any worse than they did through the school day.

Yet fate liked to mix things up sometimes.

Like today for instance, Arthur found himself trying to stop a bloody nose by the stream next to his tree.

It's okay. You can keep enduring this longer.

But the phrase seemed to lose all meaning by now.

The teenager let his eyes slip shut. Just for a minute, he told himself. You can sleep a little for a little while…

And Arthur fell asleep with his blood running from his nose to his chin.

A piercing scream cut through the thick air.

"Shut up, the neighbors will hear you again," his father grumbled and picked up another knife. "Now what's your favorite color, Artie?"

Arthur bit his lip and hesitantly replied: "Green."

He let out a yelp when the sharp object plunged into his forearm from the knife his father was holding as he straddled him on his bed in his room. Only two minutes earlier he'd been playing with his action figures and daydreaming about his first day of first grade the next day. Now he was just dreaming he'd be alive tomorrow.

"Wrong answer," his father seethed.

"G-Green. It looks like the trees and flowers! I love the tre—" the little boy insisted before his words were halted by his father.

A dirty hand clapped over the child's mouth as he made a large incision in the boy's shoulder. Even muffled by his father, the scream shook the bed as the boy squirmed, only to have his daddy sit on him heavier. Finally the hand let up.

"Artie," he breathed, "What's your favorite color?"

"R-Red," Arthur croaked out through sobs.

"Mine, too," a crooked grin lit up in the darkness of his bedroom as he felt pain shoot up his arms again.

Arthur felt blood run down his wrists and elbows to the part where it felt as if he was swimming. He bit his lip so hard it started to bleed and he fought the urge to gag at the metallic taste. He couldn't scream. Not since last time.

And by "last time" the boy was referring to when the neighbor knocked on the door. His father rinsed his arms off and answered with a grin he put up in front of company. He ended up explaining he had gotten his son the new laptop he'd been begging for and he was so excited he screamed.

Tears pricked the corners of Arthur's eyes and his father stopped for a moment, flicking them away with the same knife he'd been cutting with, leaving a drop of his own blood on his face."

"Shh," he cooed, "You're okay. You can keep enduring this longer…" and he reached for another knife.

Alfred F. Jones.

That was his name.

The new face in the crowd, transferred to the school the week before. Immediately, he gravitated towards the jocks. The popular kids. Some kids are just destined for that type of thing. Some kids are just destined for a fate like Arthurs. It was inevitable.

Yes, Alfred F. Joes was the new face in the crowd of bullies when Arthur was pushed to the cold floor once again. His elbow hit the tile first and sent a jolt of pain up his arm. He tried his best not to show any pain in fear of encouraging the monsters more. Their claws were so close to his heart, and his heart so close to shreds.

Arthur noticed he looked uncomfortable the first days. He would stand near the back with uncertain eyes, occasionally looking the other way when blood was drawn or with a yelp of pain. However, this feeble attitude was quickly demolished. How? Arthur hadn't the slightest idea.

The first week he transferred to Arthur's oh so dreaded high school, like mentioned before, he was pulled in by an invisible hook to the jocks. Promises of popularity and stardom hung in the air and Alfred took the bait too easily.

Alfred easily became the star on each sport team in all but a week. The sport during the season at the time was football. Alfred was already a big strong kid with phenomenal grades—anyone would be a fool not to pick the teen.

Though not always true, (most times however) Alfred became one of the stereotypical jocks. He played pranks and partied. It seemed like a pretty big transformation. All this happened in just a few days as Arthur watched from the sidelines. Whether it was longing or sadness in his eyes, not even I know.

Longing for the same feeling of companionship. Sadness to watch yet another soul wither away into the same form. Another clone of the rest.

He tailed the crowd like a lost puppy. A new duckling in the pond.

"Haha, look at this idiot. Follow my lead bros," the ringleader muttered to the crowd behind him.

The group approached Arthur and he instinctively backed into the lockers behind him. The poor boy knew what was coming. He merely closed his eyes and waited for the blows to come.

"Open your eyes, spaz," he felt a slap on his cheek.

Arthur hardly winced at the hit. He'd had so much worse. The boy opened his eyes nonetheless. Pale green eyes stared past the boys as if they were invisible. Pale green eyes stared past the familiar faces. Pale green eyes shined with emotion unplaced by those in the crowd. By the boy in the back named Alfred.

"Pretty eyes for a pretty boy," a boy whispered in Arthurs trembling ears. "Let me shine them for you."

The jock spit on Arthur's pale skinned face as laughter erupted behind him. Three drips of saliva fell from the apples of his cheeks down to his chin. A couple more splatters of the substance simply sat heavily on his face. Arthur fought every urge not to move an inch.

Alfred looked away with uncertainty flickering back and forth in his sky-blue eyes. Arthur was shoved into the blue lockers behind him even further as the group of six marched out in another direction.

Alfred glanced up suddenly, and ran after the group without batting an eye towards the English boy against the wall. Said person was wiping spit off of his face with a worn-out sleeve.

This was only the beginning.

Alfred F. Jones had drifted from the tail-lights to a comfortable seat in the middle of the clique. He laughed more loudly than before and looked around the school with confident eyes. This was three weeks subsequent the last epidemic.

"Guess who forgot their homework last night?" Arthur felt his shoulder fly forward from a violent shove and found Francis towering behind him.

"Y-You?" Arthur's guess only making the Cheshire grin wider.

"You're great at this game! Let's play another round. Guess who is going to give me theirs?"

Arthur gave a shaky sigh and reached for the completed packet in his bag, and pushed the papers towards the man beside him. Francis smirked and picked up the pages heavy with pencil lead. Arthur looked to the rest of the people around Francis. Alfred bit his lip when Arthur attempted to make eye-contact with the foreign man.

"Well you're worse at this game than I thought. The answer was Feliks," Francis's tone was amused as he proceeded to rip his papers. "But this was a fun encounter."

"Francis, I didn't have my homework though! You should have given it to me!" Gilbert whined after the teenager as he led the group away.

The small, uneven squares fell onto Arthur's desk heavier than what would be assumed. He swore he could hear a sound as each piece touched the wooden top. Arthur eyed the shredded pieces. The graphite was smeared from the oil of Francis's fingers. His eyes were emotionless to the world; sorrowful to those whom penetrated his barriers.

"Take your seats, class, and get out your homework from last night!"

Three months.

Was that all it took to break Alfred's nature?

Within three grueling months, Alfred had received a copy-and-paste sadistic grin in a colorful box under the Christmas tree. A copy-and-paste sadistic grin like the rest of the gang. A grin that only widened when they made eye contact. A grin that laughed at him when he lost a tooth or gained a bruise.

A grin like the rest.

Alfred marched arrogantly in the front of the pack now. His eyes always seemed hungry for more. More bloodshed. More cries of pain—and not just Arthur's.

Though Arthur always was a favorite.

Arthur was hurrying to his locker. He overslept ten minutes so he didn't get to school early enough to avoid the crowds of children. He timidly moved past everyone, avoiding all eye-contact necessary. All he wanted was his notebook.

The numbers flew through the lock on his blue locker and he opened it in record time. He grabbed an old black journal and started to run to first period—until he rammed into a wall.

Wait… Not a wall.

He looked up to see Alfred, probably a whole head taller than him. Alfred F. Jones.

Fear overwhelmed his trembling body and he cursed himself for being so oblivious to his surroundings. He bit his lip and pulled his journal closer to his frail body and backed up, muttering an apology and attempted to dart off again.

"Where do you think you're going?" a menacing voice drafted into the boy's ears and a strong hand grabbed his arm and spun him around.

Arthur stared up to mocking eyes and his own stayed horrified.

"C-Class," he croaked out, yet could make no move with the chain on his arm.

"A hit-and-run? How rude," Alfred stared deeper into the fear-stricken emeralds.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" Arthur said loud enough to be heard.

Alfred laughed and replied, "Really? And you think that's going to cover it?"

Alfred let go of Arthur's arm and reached for the journal he was protecting in his arms. The old black-leather book that was already falling apart at the seams. The crumpled paper was ancient enough. Arthur's eyes widened and he courageously tried to pry the book from Alfred's fingers.

"Give it back to me!" he yelled, ignoring the stares from passing classmates.

"Wow, this is the most I've seen you fight back! Come on, puppy, sit!" Alfred laughed as he opened the book, glancing at the pages but not quite reading it.

"You can't read it! You can't!" Arthur shouted louder and his voice almost cracked.

Alfred smiled and held the book above his head. "Sit, puppy!" he said in a way too cheerful tune.

"Please, give it back! It's important!" Arthur screamed once more and lunched for the object only to be greeted by open air.

"I told you, if you want it, sit! Come on, puppy, work for your treat!"

"You're serious?" Arthur asked as he stopped fighting.

"Sit," Alfred smirked.

Arthur looked up at the man and then to the ground. Hesitantly, he fell to his knees and sat down. His expression stayed emotionless as his eyes shifted lightly, yet stayed glued to the dirty tiles.

"Speak, doggy!" Alfred was nearly in hysterics as he laughed.

"…Woof," Arthur whispered in a shaking voice that only fed the fire.

Arthur's eyes snapped up to a ripping noise and felt a page fall on his head. Scribbled writing floated so innocently down to the ground followed by three more. His mouth opened slightly and distress was ever so present in his green orbs.

The journal found its place on Arthur's lip, crashing down with great force. Alfred was the number one pitcher on the baseball team, after all. A trembling hand made its way to his lower lip and came back scarlet. Alfred was nearly doubled over in laughter until the late bell rang and he cursed under his breath, running to first period.

Arthur swallowed his cries as he picked up the lost pages of his book and tried to make it to first period before he was marked tardy.

It was inevitable. The fate Arthur was stuck in; forced to run away at the first sound of the last bell. He nearly had psychic powers through years of experience. He nearly had super-speed from years of experience. He nearly had magic healing powers from years of experience. By those terms, he would be a super hero. But from years of experience, Arthur knew super heroes didn't exist.

Three months.

Was that all it took to break Alfred's nature?

Alfred was trailing behind the gang as they ran. Dang Arthur ran fast. He could be on the track team and win every single competition with this energy. But he isn't. He's just some loser that keeps his ugly face down—to the relief of the rest of them— and is a little punching bag to the everyone. If he wasn't, who would be?

That was Alfred's logic. The things he repeated every day. The things drilled into his brain from the first month he was caught into the crab trap otherwise known as Hetalia High.

Alfred nearly rammed into the kid in front of him. Why did they all stop so suddenly? He glanced around, seeing irritated looks plastered on their faces. Was he supposed to be annoyed? Alfred made his best angry face.

"What's up with that kid and that stupid forest?" the boy in the front of the pack grumbled as he started to lead the rest away.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked as he lingered by the forest entrance. His eyes wandered dazedly to the entrance as if it was calling him.

"The kid runs in there every day before we can catch him. Mark followed him in there once but came out with poison ivy and snake bites. I'm surprised that idiot comes out alive each day," the guy explained and started to walk off again.

Alfred watched the guys leave, yet his feet wouldn't move themselves. He kept feeling some kind of magnet in the forest. He felt the breeze pushing him in. The light calling out to him from the other side of the thick bushes and shadows of green.

Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped into the dead leaves at the entrance.

It was almost magical how the trees seemed to move themselves out of his path. The snakes slither away from him, the deer glance at him before moving on. The beautiful colors that revealed themselves in the canopy.

The labyrinth was huge. Where was he even going? For all he knew Arthur headed in the opposite direction. But something just kept him moving. Something kept his boots in the muddy floor. Something pushed him past the branches, sheltered him from the vines—something brought him here.

He took a final step into the clearing and his eyes widened. This place was nothing like the creepy trees and bushes he ventured past to get there. The grass was greener than green and the sky was bluer than blue. There was nearly nothing there, though that didn't tarnish the beauty.

There was a single tree in the middle of the entire field, and a stream beside it. There were flowers scattered about, and one out of place large boulder. The sounds of birds soothed him. The melodies of the leaves rustling calmed him. He felt at peace as the water splashed by in the creek.

Yet one sound unsettled him.

Sobs.

Alfred's eyes widened as he watched after the figure kneeling at the tree. The pitiful thing clutched onto the bark until his hands bled. His head was scratched as well, but the boy didn't seem to notice it. A journal was to his left. A backpack was strewn a while away. Was it just him, or did this child look familiar?

Alfred felt a gasp unwillingly escape as the boy turned around and faced the sky with dry cheeks, yet sobs continuing to pour from his lips. Quivering lips and eyes screwed shut. Hair tousled and clothes dirtied. Bloodied.

It was Arthur, and he was certain of such a thing.

"I'm sorry, daddy, mommy," Alfred had never heard such a raspy voice before. "I'm really sorry… I tried to get it back… But he ripped some of it out. It was yours , daddy… And I ruined it… I'm sorry I'm a bad child."

Alfred stilled all movements—even breathing—as he watched the child before him. The seventeen-year-old looked so… not even sad did the boy justice. His eyes were nearly vacant and he seemed like he couldn't see anything materialized. He just stared into the deep blue sky as if it had all the answers.

"I already memorized every page… But it's your handwriting. Some got ripped… I'm trying for you… I know you never said you loved me… but you did right, daddy? I love you, too. So I'm trying really hard for you," he choked on another sob before continuing, "but it's getting harder each day! I nearly lost you…" the boy stroked the leather cover of a book. "It's getting harder… So much harder each day to just stop myself… I just want to drown myself in the creek…" his eyes wandered helplessly to the clear water splashing around. "Can I?"

Alfred couldn't breathe. Who was he asking—and why would he ask for death? Why..? Arthur was such a mystery and one worth solving.

However, a slice of him was too scared to peel back the colored wrapping paper.

"I know… I'll try my best… It's only another year…" Arthur cried invisible tears. "I know… I only have Oscar… But I really want you, daddy. I miss you… I know you loved me… right? You did?"

Alfred listened to him attentively. What kind of person had he been to judge him from how he looked? To taunt—to hit—such an innocent soul? To… Humiliate him? Guilt settled like a rock in his stomach.

Arthur yanked off his school blazer that seemed to be stitched into his skin during the school day. He peeled back the fabric and Alfred felt his breath caught in his throat again. There were so many. So very many scars. There were cuts and slashes and gashes and slices covering every piece of flesh. The red patches continued down to his wrists and up to his shoulders and disappeared down his shirt. Some of the scars were words written in dried blood and chapped skin. Alfred was too far of a distance to read them, though his eyes strained to the point where they were pained.

Arthur traced his scars thoughtfully and continued: "I know you only did it because you loved me… Because you wanted to mark me your own…" Arthur sobbed out the next part: "but it really really hurt, daddy… Couldn't you have just hugged me instead? Then I'd still be yours … Just easier… And less painful…"

Arthur lifted his pale green eyes to the clouds again and whispered "good night, daddy," before he settled himself on the grass ad his head on a tree root.

Was the poor guy going to sleep here? Where was his home?

Alfred swallowed; only one thing running through his otherwise empty mind. The same thing repeating over and over and once more and then again and again as he made his way through the now dark forest. His door to his bedroom shut and he ran under his covers. The phrase was still repeating.

What the heck had I just over heard?

Thank you for taking the time to read my story ^.^ I'm not sure when I'll update, but I'll try. :P I really shouldn't write two stories at once... BUT I CAN'T HELP IT Reviews are cookies to me~ (Psssssssst I love cookies.)