Repeat
She felt a thick tension on her shoulders, weighing her down as she crouched by the corner of the dim, dismal room. She clawed at her head, trying to muffle out the sounds of the faraway screams she could hear- the gurgling of slit throats and the cracking of skulls against thick, iron walls. She winced, a shudder electrifying her nerves, and suddenly jerked back.
With eyes darting like a petrified animal, she could hear the thumping of footsteps from behind the door. She backed herself up against the wall, wanting nothing more than to dissolve straight into it. The wounds up her back- the thin slashes as painful as a whip- burned with memory and her neck tightened as she tried to swallow down saliva that was as thick as glue.
She clawed her nails into her waist- so forcefully and so painfully that she felt them dig into her skin past the thin layer of clothing that did not help warm her in the freezing, harsh winter of the Soviet Union.
The door creaked open.
Behind the darkness, she could see glowing orbs of amethyst glaring-
She jerked up the bed, sitting straight up, her gasp tying a noose around her neck. Panting, her chest was pressured with the pain of her bursting lungs making her grip at her head, blinking sporadically.
"Hungary-"
"Don't touch me!" she screeched, violently backing away.
Austria had been sleeping next to her, his hair tousled from bed yet his eyes suddenly alert from her panicked craze. She stumbled off the bed, adrenaline surging in her blood.
What was happening?
The dim dark room seemed grey in the night, reminding her of her small confinement that she had been thrown in back in the Union. The freezing night that seeped through the walls were reminiscent of the harsh, biting iciness in the air- merciless. The covers that had slipped off the bed were like a thick pool of blood-
She could see Prussia, hair caked in blood, writhing on the floor. His eyes were bulging red- like the brightest of demons- and his hissing voice was like screeching, grating nails on a chalkboard, jarring her ears and sawing her bones.
She pushed back, crawling away from the covers, her eyes tightly closed.
"Hungary!"
She had pushed herself against the wall, feeling the sheer coldness breathe into her.
It was 1956 all over again. She could see nothing but chaos. Tanks rolled in and her people were like scattered ants amidst the plain. Many were running towards the tanks, their faces valiant as they held stones and artillery in their bruised hands, while many lay on the floors- spasmodically wincing as blood gushed from their heads amidst bodies that would never stand.
Budapest.
They were attacking Budapest.
Her capital.
Her heart.
She doubled over, the gun falling out of her hands, and she felt the scraping on her knees as the cheap cloth that made her dress ripped. She could see the crimson redness swell from her chest, dripping down, making a putrid pain grip her chest.
She could not breathe-
She could hear the amplified voices of screams in her head, clashing with anger and fear. She could see a young girl, no older than sixteen, run with a barreled gun in her hand, towards the empty alleys to defend.
Coughing, she tightly gripped her own shoulders, pushing down at her chest to where her heart was. It ached- it ached so much. It burned in her. It felt tightened and oppressed as it was before-
Someone had gripped her arms- someone had breached through and was touching her shoulders-
"Let go!" she screamed. "Let go!"
How many times had she screamed that before? How many times had she tried to pry those large, thick fingers off her shoulder and arm? How many times had she been beaten mercilessly, her people shot down like dolls, their blood draining into the ground? How many times had she been oppressed and bound- weakened by the fact that her people were fleeing?
How many times had she tried to stand, before falling back on her knees?
"No!" She struggled. "No!"
She was terrified.
It was all too fresh in her memory- all too raw. She was back, wasn't she? She was back in the cold walls of the Soviet Union- back in their false little happy place, filled with wails, beatings and cold cabbage soup- filled with threats and slits and bottles of vodka.
She could smell it- smell it wafting into her nose with every breath.
She looked up, finding a worried Austria tentatively edging towards her, his hands extended slightly to show her he was no threat. He took tentative steps before lightly kneeling down to her crouched form, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Hungary?"
"I hope you're not planning anything, Ms Hungary," he had said with his childish sweet voice. "I wouldn't want to crush you down again. I'm afraid I'll step down so hard your spine would break!"
She clogged her ears.
Why wouldn't he get out of her head?
"Hungary?" repeated Austria.
"Get out," she muttered, tightly closing her eyes.
"What?"
"Get out!" she suddenly screamed. "Get out! Get out of my head!"
Was he really in her head?
Maybe…
Maybe it was she who was dreaming.
Maybe was actually in the Soviet Union this very second, behind the cold walls of the Iron Curtain, in that small, cold confinement of a room, trembling and shaking with every step she took, either from the cold or from the impending fear of another punishment. Maybe… maybe she was dreaming.
Maybe the wall hadn't truly been broken- her country hadn't claimed independence-
Maybe… she had never really left.
"No…" her voice was strangled- choked. "No! No!"
She looked around, manically trying to prove herself wrong. The walls were dark and grey in the night and the frames of the window started to move, forming bars like the jailed windows on her room. She snapped her head around- it was cold, too cold- as icy as the lonely emptiness that covered the rooms.
"No! I can't be here!" she screamed, clawing at the wall as she started to stagger up. "No- I can't- I tried- I can't be here!"
"Hungary, calm down-"
"No!" she trembled, trying to find an escape. "I have to- I can't be here!"
She tore for the door, sprinting towards it like it was the only light- the only salvation. She threw herself at the door, gripping the handle with unstable hands, and pulled at it like a savage. Austria gripped her from the arms and pulled her away from the door.
"No!" she screeched, tears pooling out of her eyes. "I have to leave! I can't- I can't-"
Her voice clogged as tears cascaded down her face painfully. She tried to scream out, but she sounded like a dying dog- too beaten to speak. Her hands were trembling and her eyes darted around the room with panic.
She couldn't stay- the Union was closing in on her. The oppression was too harsh on her- it was so cold- too cold. She had been beaten- she had been hung- she had endured nights freezing out in the snow. She had seen too much blood- she had seen too much gore-
How could she stay in the empty, dim darkness forever?
She struggled against his grip, pulling and pushing away from him with craze- but he would not relent. He called out her name yet she screamed, blocking down his voice. He tried to shake her out of her stupor, but she just tried to scratch off his hands. He tried to embrace her, but she would not give in.
To her, in this dark, grey room, he was Russia.
Electrifying was the thought of the name in her mind.
It made her nerves freeze up like they had been iced and a strangled cry creaked out of her lips. Tears dripped down her face and the bitter, metallic taste of blood splashed in her mouth from where she had bitten down her tongue.
"N- no-"
"Hungary, it's me- it's Aust-"
"Leave me alone!"
"Hungary- it's Austria- Hungary!"
She could not breathe.
She felt her chest tighten as though it was pulled and tugged at to stretch until it would snap. Her head was clouding as a frame of darkness started to surround her vision. What was happening?
"Elizabeta! Elizabeta, wake up!"
Amidst the grey of the dim, dark room of her confinement, while she sat by the corner, her nails grating against the wall, she could see a small light of colour that splashed upon the image set before her eyes. It widened slightly- brightened until it was a thin orb- a beacon of hope that she had been subconsciously following in her heart for years.
Thin music wafted by, dull tones of a piano- a wreathe of memory that she had been holding in her heart- loving- for years.
"A-aus-" her lips were dry and her throat was strangled from voice. "R-rod-erich?"
She felt him sigh with relief as she slackened the grip of her nails on his forearm. Looking down at her hands, his own fingers were wound around her wrist dripping with blood that stained his shirt due to her nails digging into his skin.
She felt a surge of dizziness overtaking her, making her falter to the side before she stood up straight, her hands limp to his hold. She took a good look at the room and saw the first breaths of morning sunlight creep behind the windows. The purple hue of the curtains was lightly glowing and she caught the light lilac of the covers already a puddle on the ground. The walls had light patterns of flower and vines, leaving no grey emptiness in their midst.
She looked up, finding Austria standing right in front of her, his violet eyes searching her with so much concern. He relinquished his grip slightly, relaxing it from her hands.
"Elizabeta?" he said quietly.
The silence was defeaning.
It flooded back to her like a blur of colours. She remembered the cold clipper in her hand, she remembered running down the fields towards the borders, she remembered throwing herself into his arms- breathing in his scent-
"I-I thought-" her voice cracked. "I- I thought I was back…"
She flinched, backing away as her back hit the door, her eyes wide.
What was happening?
"What's happening?" she whispered, looking up at him with a deranged glint in her eye. "What's happening!" she screeched.
He pulled her into a rough embrace, cradling her head against his chest and pressing her whole body to him. Her fingers clawed against his back, her nails scratching through his skin against his shirt with the utmost chaos that was running amok through her body.
She wailed.
She was a wreck.
Her wounds were still fresh and her scars were never fading.
He gripped her tightly and she could smell his scent right off his neck as her tears smeared against his skin and her vision. She could smell his rich cologne- so different from the empty coldness that used to eat at her nostrils.
She was alive- she was still here.
"I'm still here," she croaked, tears spilling. "I'm still- still here."
Her scars bulged off her skin, biting at her nerves with a newfound determination. They stung- her whole body felt ablaze with memory. Her fingers dug into his skin- he was here. He was here. She kept repeating it in her head like a prayer. He was here. He was here.
She clung onto him with all the force she could muster- not caring if her fingers ached and her wrist shoulders stiffened. Like a lifeline- he couldn't fade away. She was too scared she'd blink and he'd be gone, then she'd be alone.
Like all those years.
She bit down on his shoulder, trying to press down the tears that wracked through her thin frame, not caring as he winced and stiffened from the pain that surged down his shoulder.
However, her tears would eventually dry and she would suppress the sobs down her thin frame. He would pull away and caress her cheeks, his warm breath soothing her nerves. He would carry her to bed, whispering comfort to her ears, before stroking her hair until her wide, lifeless eyes would slowly droop to a troubled sleep, purged with loneliness, emptiness and the strong smell of vodka.
Only then would she burst awake once more, blinded by the fear that she was back in the Union once more.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
NOTE:
1956- was the Hungarian Uprising of 1956 where Hungary wanted a few concessions (biggest was wanting to leave the Warsaw Pact which bound all the Eastern European countries together at the time- think of it like the Soviet NATO) but the Soviets wouldn't allow it, so they rolled in their tanks. The Hungarians tried to fight off the Soviets so the death toll was pretty large- this all took place in Budapest.
Also, the sixteen year old girl with a gun is actually inspired by one of the most famous pictures concerning the Hungarian Uprising- a girl who was sixteen had a gun in her arms at the time.
As for the part mentioning the clippers and running towards the boundaries- Austria and Hungary had a fence which divided them, but, the eventually clipped it down (the prime ministers of each of them) symbolizing the 'diminishing' of the Cold War. Since it'll be too detailed to explain it'll probably pop up in another one of my future-to-come-hopefully stories.
AN: Review...?