Hurting
! PLEASE READ NOTE BELOW !
Now that I have your attention…*ahem*…MUNCHAUSEN BY PROXY IS A REAL THING, AND IT KILLS MANY CHILDREN ANNUALY. YOU WILL LEARN ABOUT IT IN THIS ONESHOT. Please understand that it is extremely dangerous and real, and that it is not well known, so everyone should learn about it to help prevent it from happening. SPREAD THE WORD. I'm trying to make a difference. I read about it in a book called Sickened, by Julie Gregory. It is a NONFICTION about a girl (the author) who suffered from this terrible thing. PLEASE UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT IT IS AND READ THAT BOOK! It has a better description about this than I can ever give. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I only own the parents. You own yourself, and Himaruya Hidekaz owns all of the Hetalia characters.
One minute, you were lying on the floor of your trailer home, with your two younger siblings underneath either of your arms while your parents fought. Then, you were here. How did that happen? You weren't really too sure.
You were now sitting in an office, a doctor's office, to be precise. You bad been in so many different offices that you had not bothered to keep count, but you hated them nonetheless. They were too white and smelled stale, almost burning the inside of your nostrils from so much oxygen.
But this time, it wasn't one of your many doctors that your mother had constantly sought out for your strange condition. It was a man foreign to you, and your mother was not here to comfort you and tell you it was alright. The man appeared to be scrutinizing you and your two young brothers, and you held them both close, as if helplessly attempting to protect them from the man's sharp professional gaze.
The man before you was young, maybe in his early twenties. Of course, that was old for you, but most adults called people young until they were thirty or so. The man was surprisingly strikingly handsome, with a solid form and sleek muscle that made him look lean and fit, and his green eyes and bushy blond hair seemed to coordinate well together, even if his eyebrows were slightly larger than normal. He was wearing a tan suit with a green tie, so you instantly knew he wasn't a doctor. He said nothing, just continued to watch you. You attempted to swallow the tears that threatened to overflow; his gaze was penetrating, as if he were attempting to read you like a book. Your brothers saw this, too, and you kept them tucked in your arms, a mother gosling holding her chicks under her wing.
The brothers you protected and cared for so deeply when your parents continued to fight and beat them and lie…Now they were being stared at menacingly by a man you did not know. An amazingly handsome man, yes, but a man you did not know.
They were twins, which infuriated your mother. They were apparently a surprise, according to your father. But your mother's glare said otherwise. You always thought it was because they did something wrong, because your mother always seemed to scowl at you like that whenever you did something, too, like not look sick when the doctor came in. But they couldn't have done anything wrong – they were only five. One was Alfred, and the other was Matthew. Alfred was usually wide-eyed, with his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity and wonder and excitement, and his little legs dashing around faster than you could catch him, and had adorable sandy blond hair with a strange cowlick that never seemed to falter. But today, he was quiet and scared. Matthew looked almost exactly like his twin, with the only real differences being his sandy blond hair (which was longer by a few inches), he had no cowlick, but rather a strange single curl that formed a small "Q" shape, and his eyes appeared darker, almost violet. He was quiet most of the time, following Alfred who followed you, not really wanting to get into trouble unlike his mischievous brother and preferring the quiet. But the both of them looked equally terrified as you tried vainly to comfort them by touch alone.
They did not look anywhere near as sick as you did, though. Your long (hair color) hair was unruly and damp with sweat, your bones bulging your bruised skin painfully, enough that you could count all of your ribs easily. Your skin held a sickly glow under the florescent light, and your dark circles under your (eye color) eyes, along with your hollowed cheeks, made you look like a skeleton, and your labored breathing never helped to make you look any better. But what did it matter? You were only twelve. Looks don't really count then, do they? At least that's what your mom said. Your clothes hung loosely on you, too big for you and slightly dirty. Alfred and Matthew both wore nightgowns that you took special care to clean constantly to make them look presentable enough, seeing as they did not look sick.
The man did not say anything for a long time, and your anticipation bubbled. Who was this man? And why was he just sitting there, staring at us?
You finally managed to return his gaze, and his grassy eyes softened slightly. "So you've been to the doctors quite a bit, huh?"
You nodded. This man had a funny accent that you remembered hearing from one of the TV shows that your dad watched at home. He never really got off of the couch anyway, except when he had to work. "Momma says I'm really sick," you said. "And nobody seems to know what's wrong."
"Ah, I heard about that, too," the man said. "Your mother believed it was a heart problem?"
It never occurred to you that he said that in a past tense, so you nodded. You said nothing else, however, in fear of what this man was trying to say to you. Your stomach tensed up, and you shook slightly, a small spasm that wasn't like a shiver, but enough that it was visible slightly, and enough to jostle the two five year olds cradled in her arms. They recognized it as the sickness their mother always told them you had, and they hugged tighter to you, hoping to be of some support.
"Well, I think you will be happy to know it is not that at all," the man said. You were not happy about that at all. Whenever a doctor told your mother that she was wrong (or even worse, if there wasn't anything wrong with her at all), she would get very angry and go to another doctor right away, but not before hurting you, saying you did not act sick enough. I can't help you if you do not show the doctor how sick you are!
"Do you remember any of your siblings, love?" He asked suddenly, and you froze. Yes, you did. There were three of them, as your mother was constantly remarrying, complaining that all of them were no good son-of-a-bitch faggots, whatever that meant. She told you that they were sick, too, and they got worse, slowly turning paler and thinner than you have ever thought anyone could become. They looked like they could be blown away with the wind. And eventually? One by one, all three of them died. That was what scared you the most. You loved them, and they died. In the same way your mother told you you would die. She said if you did not act sick, then you would die just like they did, in bed, wheezing out their last breaths, fighting in vein to live.
"They had the same condition you did?" The man prodded. Matthew and Alfred looked up at you, knowing you had become upset. You just stared down at the floor, your memories jabbing your heart with a poison dagger, the poison flowing through your veins to the rest of your frail body. The twins never knew them – the last brother died maybe two months before they were born. But they knew that you loved them. Alfred grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze, while Matthew leaned his head against your side. You did not look at any of them – you just stared at the white tile on the cold floor below you – but your dark thoughts ebbed away slightly. They loved you just as much as you loved your older siblings, and you loved your little twins. Even if you loved them less like siblings and more like a mother to her children. Eventually, you nodded to the wall, answering the man's question.
You could see from the far edges of your vision that the man smiled gently. "I suppose I am not the right person to tell you what happened. But I don't really have a choice, and I'm sorry. My name is Mr. Kirkland."
You looked up at him hesitantly. Ignoring his introduction, you said, "What are you talking about?"
He sighed, not necessarily appearing exasperated, but more nervous. "Your mother…" Your head perked up a little, and your grip on your brothers tightened slightly. The three of you watched the man intently as he said, "You…She hurt you, didn't she?"
"No," you said quickly. "She didn't. She did all she could to help me."
"But, love, there was nothing wrong," he said. You opened your mouth as your thoughts tumbled in your head. Yes there is, you thought. Something is wrong with me, Mom said so. If you told a doctor that no, nothing was wrong, your mother would…You could feel your head being hit against something hard just thinking about it.
"Yes there is. Mom said so. She said I'm sick," was all that came out. You stopped when you realized what you said. She said it? "I am sick," you added. Your mother said so, and you sure felt it. Just standing made you wheeze for breath, and your heart rate increased and skipped and you had issues breathing through your nose so you drooled and your mother said you couldn't eat anything, either.
"She made…" Mr. Kirkland stopped himself mid-sentence, then shook his head. "Never mind. Well, your mother…You…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, seeming lost and annoyed with himself. "Forgive me, I'm new in this business," he added with an almost humorless chuckle. You and your brothers remained silent. "Your mother…She is in trouble for some things, as is your father." Your eyes widened, and you heard Alfred whimper next to you.
"Are they hurt?" You heard his little voice ask. It sounded concerned, worried, lost, confused, and broken. You petted his small arm for a brief moment to comfort him.
"No, don't worry. They aren't hurt," Mr. Kirkland added quickly. "They just…Broke some rules, see? So they are going to be gone for a little bit."
Your eyes widened, and both Alfred and Matthew sniveled in unison. Where would they be? You imagined your parents in a jail, in a cold dark cell, huddling together for warmth, starving. "Don't worry, though. They will be okay. They helped us figure out why you were sick, too," he said with a smile.
"Is that why they're in trouble?" You asked. Somehow, deep down, a twisty feeling in your gut told you it was not okay. Something was wrong.
"Sort of," Mr. Kirkland said. "They knew all along what was wrong, they just never fixed the problem, see?" You stared blankly at him. This can't be right. Your mother always said she bent over backwards trying to help you, she said she risked all of her time to help you. Why would she do all of that, but know what was wrong in the first place? "I try to do something for you, you ungrateful brat, and here you are, not talking to me!" Her words echoed in your head like a buzz from a bottle fly. "Jesus, here I am, wasting all of my time, money, and energy on you, and you won't even fucking talk to me!" Of course, I was half asleep because of the medicine the doctor had just given me, but she might not have known that. She seemed so happy earlier, when they stuck that awful tube up my lower area. I screamed a lot, because it hurt and I wanted it out, but she stuck by me, smiling gleefully, mouthing doctor's orders, honey. I thought she was happy. Did I do something wrong?
"She tried really hard to fix me," you said. "She gave me all sorts of medicine and took me to all kinds of doctors, and she said she would help me get better." She said, she said, she said…
"I know, love. But she didn't even need to do all of that. All she needed to do was get you off of the medicine when you first took it and feed you properly."
That seemed too simple. After all of these shots, surgeries, exams, tests, and tubes, all you needed was some good food and less medicine? And if she knew that, why didn't she do it? "How come no doctors told her that?"
"Because they really didn't know why you were sick until now," he said gently. "Now they know why, and they know how to help." He really seemed like he was struggling to answer these questions.
"Why am I sick then?"
"Because…" Mr. Kirkland thought a moment. "Because she put you on all of those pills and didn't treat you the way you should have been treated."
Your head was spinning. But…How? Why? You remembered your mother and looking at you, and saying suddenly, "Honey, you look sick. Here, take this pill." "But I feel fine, Mommy." "Don't backtalk, just take it." "Yes, Mommy." And you remember after that, you would get headaches that seemed to burn your skull in half, and you thought how good your mother was at predicting the future. And once, you remember after that, one of your doctors telling you not to eat anything for a bit, just drink fluids. That was the best day ever, because you remember eating one of the biggest dinners you'd ever seen at your house; lots of chicken with mashed potatoes and beans and cranberry sauce and dressings and sides, and a big chocolate cake with ice cream for dessert.
It never crossed your mind once that the doctor said little food intake for a few days. You assumed that your mother talked in private to the doctor and he changed his mind about it, saying lots of foods.
"And your bruises? Where did you get those from?" Mr. Kirkland asked. You were getting angry. This man was asking too many questions, and now he was pointing out your bruises. You tried to put a lid on your boiling emotions as you lied to him, simply saying you fell.
"Your mother has the same markings, as does your two younger brothers here."
You looked down quickly at them, and you saw Alfred lifting up his nightgown to examine his large bruise carefully. You quickly pulled the shirt down, whispering 'no' to Alfred. "You can't be showing those to people."
"But he said you had bruises, and I thought you would feel better if he knew I had some too," he said, looking sad. You kissed his forehead, hugging them even closer, so they were almost on your lap.
Mr. Kirkland smiled sadly. "Why are you lying, love?"
"I'm not lying," you said through gritted teeth. You wanted to leave. This man was crossing the line. Since when did a doctor question your personal life outside of your health? But no, this was about your health, right?
The man appeared slightly frustrated, which was only visible as a flash in his bright eyes. "Sorry, I'm pushing too hard, huh?" You nodded sourly. "I apologize. Well, I will just tell you what is going to happen for a while, then." You blinked, wondering what he meant. So something is changing, then. Is he taking us away? He continued, "You see, your mother and father are fine, they still need to go – " He hesitated. "On a vacation for a little while. In the meantime, you're going to stay with a caseworker for a bit. Someone like me," he added.
"Will they ask us questions like you're doing, too?" Alfred asked innocently.
Mr. Kirkland laughed softly. His chuckle reminded you of something, like a soft, warm blanket on a cold winter night, one made of the softest fleece that could make the roughest of people smile and the oldest of people snuggle up into for comfort. "No, I am asking these questions to get to know you, love. I am going to be taking care of you for a week or so, at least until your parents get back."
You had never felt so conflicted in your life. Right then and there you felt as if you were being torn in four. On one hand, you were happy. You would be free for even just a little bit, free from all of the medicine and yelling and chaos, but on the other hand, you didn't want to leave your mom and dad. You wanted them there, holding you like a good mom and dad, instead of you having to hold your little siblings. You wanted to be with this man, something about him intrigued you. He seemed kind and genuine, and his appearance wasn't all that bad, either. He looked good. And he looked like he wanted to help. But at the same time, he looked like he was studying you, a scientist studying a lab rat. He looked like he could unravel your knotted secrets with a simple flick of the wrist, and it made you uncomfortable. What in the world were you going to do?
Then again, what could you do? The hard, thin bed underneath you was feeling as if the microscopic threads were tightening, making it harder than steel, and your body felt weaker. You struggled to keep your vision from blurring. What is happening?
Alfred and Matthew looked up at you expectantly; a nervous and indecisive look on their face. You had to make the correct decision, but you don't think you had the power to turn an adult down. It must have already been decided. So should you fight it? Or go along with it?
You felt a squeeze on your hand, and you looked to your left to see Matthew looking back up at you. "It w-will be o-okay," he said softly. His voice, unlike Alfred's loud and self-assured tone, was gentle and quiet, only ever speaking in a whisper and a stutter. You smiled softly at him and stooped to kiss his forehead, feeling less weak. Something inside you gained confidence. Mr. Kirkland smiled gently at the gesture.
It was that smile that made up your mind. "Alright, I guess. They're coming with me?" The sudden question popped out of your mind faster than you could even think of where they would go without you.
"Of course," Mr. Kirkland assured. "All three of you will be well taken care of."
You really hoped you wouldn't regret this. The last thing your brothers needed was to be sick like you. You prayed that everything would be okay, and that your parents would be okay, even if you were still upset.
...
The first day was a life changer, to say the least. Mr. Kirkland was trying to be nice, giving you lots of food and things to play with. His house was beautiful, too; a Victorian house in the middle of the woods with a lovely paint job and porch, and a wonderful backyard with plants of all kinds, from roses and daisies to apple trees and ferns. Many plants you did not know the name of, but they fit together like the Garden of Eden, and a stone path led to his front door and another stone path led from the back door to a pond surrounded by lush plants (as most of the house was), with several rocks stacked up, water trickling down gently, and many koi fish inside, swimming lazily.
Mr. Kirkland took good care of not just his yard. His home was beautiful, inside and out. Even if it looked like it was for old people, with antique decorations and furniture and lots of books. Nonetheless, there wasn't a speck of dust to be found anywhere.
Matthew and Alfred warmed up to him instantly. They enjoyed the yard and all of the food that Mr. Kirkland gave them (even if it wasn't handmade), and they were very interested in the koi fish, but you remained suspicious. Your mother once told you that you were a good judge of character, just like the twins are now, but you became, as she said it, "annoyingly reclusive and silent." It wasn't your fault. Your mother told you to be wary of other people, because they could take you away and hurt you. Was this one of those times where you were wrong and your brothers were right?
You continued to watch your siblings play with the koi fish, making sure neither of them got too wet and they didn't hurt the fish. Mr. Kirkland sat next to you in the other lawn chair, not saying anything but watching them with a soft, amused expression. Like a father watching his children, similarly to how you treated your brothers.
You didn't really understand what was going on. Your whole life, you've been confused. Going along with what your mother said was much easier than trying to figure out what was happening – after all, mothers know best, right? But why was this man looking at the twins with such a deep and…caring expression?
You decided to let your mind go blank for a moment, as you did whenever you felt upset. You took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of herbs, flowers, and freshly cut grass. You listened to the sound of Alfred's laughter as he tried to catch a fish with his hands, and Matthew whispering that it wasn't a good thing to do – you could hurt the fish! You closed your eyes and placed your hands on your lap, feeling relaxed. This place wasn't too bad, really. You could get used to it, right?
Eventually, Mr. Kirkland spoke. You still couldn't figure out where he was from, as his accent was only vaguely familiar. It shook you out of your reverie in the quiet peace of nature, which made you a little upset.
"You doing okay, love?"
You only glanced in his direction, like a driver would glance at a passerby. Not with distain, but with a mild curiosity.
"Is that a yes or no?" He said with a chuckle. "I'm going to have a hard time getting to you, aren't I?"
A hard time getting to me? Am I an untamed animal now? He's the trainer, trying to break me in? You glared at the grass below your Mary Jane shoes, which were tattered and dull from years of hard use.
"I know it's hard, but you really did a good thing for your brothers." You finally met his eyes. He was talking about you letting him take care of you and the twins. You watched him with a slightly tired expression as he added, "I'm sure they are in good hands. You take good care of them."
You did not answer, just turned your head slowly back to the beloved sandy-blond duo; Alfred was leaning over the edge a little on his knees, hi small hands reaching for one of the large fish, and Matthew was standing next to him, watching him silently. They were your greatest friends – the only people in your family you could look out for and protect. You held them when they cried and defended them from your parents, snuck food for them and clothed them (well, your mother bought the clothes, you just got them into those clothes). And in return, they held you when you cried, defended you from your parents, stayed by your side when you were feeling ill, and cheered you up by playing with you. They were also awfully cute, with their surprisingly thin legs and arms (compliments to lack of food), big, pink cheeks and a tiny pink nose, and large, beautiful eyes. They told you you were beautiful, too, but you sure didn't feel it, with your bony limbs and sickly appearance. But in truth, you could be beautiful if you weren't sick. All you needed was a healthier appearance, and you could be pretty. But that will never happen.
"You are a good sister," Mr. Kirkland said with a sigh. "It warms my heart, you know. I think they really love you, too."
"Of course they do," you said, a little disappointed that your voice was not as flat as you hoped it would be. You sounded like an old, sentimental woman. "They care about me as much as I care about them."
The man smiled at you kindly. "I figured as much. They won't stop talking about you."
"When was that?" You didn't remember them being alone with Mr. Kirkland.
"About an hour ago, when you were…What were you doing?" He thought a moment. "Oh, yes. You were napping."
Napping? Oh, I must've fallen asleep while I was lying on the couch. You remembered lying down with your two brothers, Mattie tucked under your arm and Alfred sitting on your legs.
"They told me about your family a bit. I suppose that explains the bruising and sickness." Your heart sank.
"What…What did they say?"
Mr. Kirkland smiled again solemnly. "Everything, really. About the guns stashed around the house, the pills, your sickness, and much more."
No. No, no, no. You swallowed voluntarily, choked up. This isn't good. He knows. And he might tell. What if he tells on Mom and Dad? You'd lose them. You didn't want to go into foster care, like all of the bad kids. It got you a little choked up.
"I can tell you're worried," Mr. Kirkland said calmly. Suddenly, you hated him. He knew about what happened, and he's gonna take you away from them. And what would happen to your little brothers? You boiled, standing up and facing him threateningly. Your brothers saw you and watched hesitantly as you yelled at the surprised gentleman, "You don't know anything! Mommy and Daddy love me and take good care of me!" You struggled to fight back tears. "You can't take them away from me!" You felt the tears welling up, and you didn't want any of them to see you cry, so you ran.
You ran as fast as your slender legs would carry you, feeling the dirt cushion your step as you sprinted, your weak heart pounding. You could feel the blood trying to keep up, but your head became light. You ran, anyway. You ran into the woods surrounding the house, not knowing where to go, but as your breathing became heavily labored, you knew you weren't going to get very far. He yelled for you and ran towards you, but you did not listen, running around trees and rocks and jumping over sticks and ditches until you could no longer carry on. You collapsed not long after, almost unable to breathe and weakened.
Mr. Kirkland eventually caught up to you, and he lifted you up off of the ground easily bridal style, and you tried to fight him, burning with embarrassment, throwing weak punches on his (surprisingly firm) chest and wiggling meekly to get down, but blacked out soon after he started walking.
...
You awoke slowly, feeling first searing pain in your chest and head, and then you could move your body little by little, until you registered some weight pressing on you. One heavy one on your legs, and one on your forehead but it was cool and…wet?
You opened your heavy eyelids slowly when the weight on your legs shifted. You looked down to see Matthew sitting on your lap as you laid on a couch in Mr. Kirkland's house. He was cuddling a stuffed polar bear that you did not recognize, his eyes puffy and his face red. He was looking right at you. And the wet thing was a cloth on your forehead, cold water dripping down the side of your face.
"A-are you o-kay?" He asked in his quiet childish voice. You smiled down at him, raising a shaky arm and patting his head gently, his sandy-blond hair soft. He closed his eyes and smiled slightly at your touch.
"Yeah, I'm okay." Your voice was hoarse, and your throat was dry from running. His smile widened a little, and he hugged your legs. "Where did you get the bear?" He looked down at it and hugged it, its arms, head, and legs dangling. It was rather large on the child, maybe half his size.
"Mr. K-Kirkland gave it t-to me, because w-we were s-scared for you."
You were about to comfort him when you heard a sound that sounded like scuttling, then a loud thump, then more scuttling, until you could make out a little cowlick bouncing furiously toward you from around the corner of the bed you were laying on. You chuckled, realizing Alfred heard you and ran so quickly he fell. You could only see his cowlick until he put his small arms on the edge of the couch and tried to pull himself up.
"(Your name)! You're awake!" He said loudly, then lost his grip and flopped on the floor with a thud before finally making it onto the couch, when Matthew helped him up. Alfred hugged your arm and you ruffled his hair. You heard another pair of footsteps. You watched as Mr. Kirkland walked over to you, smiling.
"I'm glad you're awake, love. Feeling any better?" You glared at him, cuddling your brothers close to your chest protectively.
You heard a small whine of protest from Alfred. "Don't worry! He's not mean!"
"He's going to take us to foster care, Alfie. He's mean," you said simply through your teeth, not taking your eyes off of the man.
Mr. Kirkland's smile disappeared. He looked sad and concerned. It did not fool you. "Don't worry about it," he sat down in a chair across from you. "You will not be hurt anymore this way."
"We were fine before," you growled. The cloth slid off of your forehead and onto the floor with a sloshing noise. That made you a little sad, but you did not waver. He helped you, and you were still being mean to him. Would your parents have carried you to bed and put a cloth on your head, coming in to check on you lovingly when you awoke? Probably not, they would have most likely beaten you for running away.
"No, you weren't. Your parents made you sick," Mr. Kirkland said.
"No, they helped me," you hissed.
"So beating and starving and ridicule is considered helping?" Mr. Kirkland asked, his patience suddenly wearing thin. "I don't think it is."
You glared menacingly. "How dare you make such accusations!" You sat up, hugging your brothers so they didn't fall off at the motion.
"These are facts, and you know it just as much as I do. Just as much as they do," Mr. Kirkland pointed to your brothers. "They are no safer there than you were. They were going to get sick and hurt, just like you were. Just like Patrick, Allistor, and Dylan did." That hit you hard. Your three brothers were sick, you got sick, and now your younger twin brothers are going to get sick? Is it contagious? "It is not a disease you have, love," he said quietly, cooling down when he saw your pained expression. Alfred snuggled into your arm, and Matthew held tight to his bear and did the same. "If your parents took better care of them – and of you – no one of this would have happened."
You blinked. "They took g-good care of me. They d-did every…thing they could for me." You felt like a broken record, constantly repeating that statement to him defensively.
"Tell me then, love, did your parents ever disobey the doctor's orders?"
That's when it clicked. All of the pieces fell together at that question. Your mind raced with all of the things that they did to you. Gave you pills when the doctor told you to stop taking medicine for a while, fed you almost nothing when the doctor told you three square meals a day and fed you just about everything anyone could have when they said a bland diet. She was the one who told the doctor about the migraines, and the pills seemed to amplify them. She was the one who told the doctor about the lack of eating, when in reality you were given almost nothing. It was her.
You quivered slightly. Your brothers saw this, but couldn't snuggle any deeper than they were already. They understood what you were thinking. You patted their heads, but your dazed eyes remained on a spot far away. They tried to warn me, too. Your sweet little brothers knew what was going on, and you shrugged them off or scolded them for being rude to your mother or father. They tried to tell you, but they didn't know the words. (Your name)! Mommy is really mean! She hit me! She's gonna hit you too! (Your name)! Don't listen to her! She's mean! It's not your fault, (your name). It is Mommy's fault. Don't feel bad, (your name). Daddy didn't know Mommy was lying.
Is that why your mother glared at them so often? Did she know they knew? You always thought it was because she believed they were a mistake – but they were so far from it. You were ashamed. Your mother blurred your vision, clouded your thoughts into thinking whatever she did was the right decision. Embrace you in a warm hug, then stab you in the back with a cold knife. But your brothers saw it. They saw through her thick cloud, and tried to warn you. And you pushed them away. Any longer and they would have been corrupted like you.
Your heart hurt all of a sudden, like it was skipping beats. This can't be happening. Why me? Why my brothers?
Mr. Kirkland looked sympathetic. "It's hard, I understand." No, he didn't understand. He doesn't know what it's like, does he? "Come, do you want some tea? You look pale, poppet." He stood up, and you nodded. "Is Earl Grey okay with you?" You nodded again, your eyes not moving from that hazy spot on the wall across from you. "Be back in a tick, then," he said, before he left.
Alfred patted your arm. "She is mean, you know," he said simply. There was something about them, the way they saw the world, which seemed so childishly innocent, but always seemed to have a mature meaning. You tore your eyes from the spot you stared at to look down at him, and then at Matthew, and smiled.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you tried to tell me before. I won't ever doubt you again."
Mr. Kirkland came back not long after with some hot tea, and you looked at him a bit differently after that. He was no longer an evil person trying to take you away from your home, but a person giving up his time to help you and your little brothers.
…..
The following days were peaceful, and you really began to talk to the man who took care of you for the week. You learned so much about him. Turns out, he was from a place called England (London, to be specific), and when you told him that you thought his accent sounded familiar, he laughed and said, "You probably heard it from Doctor Who," and you laughed with him, because you realized that was where you heard it from. He loved fairytales, tea, embroidery, books, and, while having a slightly grumpy attitude at times, was kind to you and your brothers. You really took a liking to him. He was nice and always took care of you and your brothers. He never lost his temper, except that one time when Alfred was chasing poor Matthew around his house and accidentally knocked over and broke an expensive vase. But he only yelled a little, then felt bad and gave them ice cream while apologizing profusely. He even taught you how to embroider and play the piano a little (turns out you were pretty good).
Eventually, however, Mr. Kirkland took you and your brothers to a place called 'court,' whatever that was. You really didn't know, but it sounded weird. He said it was to put your mommy and daddy in time-out for hurting children and other bad things they did. You liked the idea; a time-out was just what they needed. When you asked how long the time-out will be, though, Mr. Kirkland just shook his head and said, "We'll see."
He brought you first to the doctor's office, reassuring you that it wouldn't be bad, and that he knew the doctor well. He waited with your brothers in the waiting room when you went inside. The man really was nice. He smiled a lot and, even though it was just a checkup, he made sure he wasn't hurting you. The office was a little different than all of the other ones you had been in, too. It had blue tile flooring and pretty paintings on the walls, and most of his stuff was colorful and fun. And you weren't as sick anymore. Already, only after a week, you felt your headaches less and less every day, your breathing came easier, and eating good food three times a day, and you never even had to take a single pill!
You just assumed Mr. Kirkland used magic.
The doctor was thin and almost feminine, with long black hair in a low ponytail and dark brown eyes, and looked to be in his late twenties. He had a strange accent, too, and kept saying 'aru' at the end of most of his sentences, but you recognized it from some of the Kung-Fu movies your daddy would watch, and knew he was Chinese.
Eventually, once he said the checkup was done, the man, Mr. Yao, showed you pictures, but you didn't remember when they were taken. They were of you, and it appeared they were shot before you were under the care of Mr. Kirkland, because you were not as healthy-looking as you were now; it was actually a surprising change. You looked down at your body from where you sat on a rather comfortable bed that looked like something a therapist would let a patient lay while they talked. Then you looked back at the photos. There were three of them, each one of you in the same position: lying on a dirty carpet (you recognized that carpet as the carpeting in the trailer), appearing to be in a troubled sleep. You were bruised and bleeding, and you were much thinner and paler, not to mention your drool was a mixture of saliva and blood. You hardly ever drooled now, and you didn't think you were that pale, either.
The only difference between the pictures was where they were angled. One was an overhead shot, getting your bloody clothes, another was on the side, so you could see your face, which looked pained, and the last was on the opposite side, so you saw the back of your head, with your hair mangled and blood-clotted. The sight was sickening. It made your stomach curl not just from the blood and gore, but from the fact that this is you. Not some police shot of a murder victim that you never knew and will never know; this was you. And this was because of your parents. You frowned at the picture thoughtfully.
You knew when that happened, but you didn't remember anyone taking pictures. "When did you take these?" You asked, sounding innocent despite the gory selfie in front of you.
"I didn't take them, aru," the man said. "Arthur took them the day he got you."
"Who's Arthur?"
"Oh – I mean, Mr. Kirkland." He laughed to himself and tapped his head with his knuckles. "Suppose I forgot you called him Mr. Kirkland, aru."
"Why did he take them?"
"Because he wanted proof that you were hurt. He wanted people to see what had happened, so they could believe it. If he did not take pictures, and just told them the story, he would have no proof."
You nodded. "So why are you showing me these, Mr. Yao?"
"I wanted you to see how much prettier you looked, (your name). You look so much better than you looked here. Take a look for yourself."
He gestured to the large mirror at the end of the room, and you jumped off, feeling only a little dizzy at the motion, but walked over to the mirror, Mr. Yao watching silently.
You saw no blood, and only a few bruises on your arms. Your fancy blouse and dress pants that Arthur bought you (for the court meeting) probably covered up the majority of the others. Mr. Kirkland brushed your hair every morning, and it looked really pretty, your (hair length) (hair color) flowing nicely, gleaming a little in the light. Your dark circles were better, and you looked more healthy and fit, gaining some much-needed weight. You blinked at the reflection, and it blinked back. Is that really me? You told yourself you couldn't be pretty, but…You were. You looked in the mirrors all of the time at Mr. Kirkland's house, but only as a glance as you passed by or to brush your teeth or get dressed. You never really saw yourself and how much you had changed. In fact, you never even thought you looked any different. It's once you see the before and after that you realize how much you've changed.
You giggled at the mirror. You tried not to look sad or sentimental for Mr. Yao. "Mommy said I looked ugly, so I would never get married. Do you think I can get married now?"
Mr. Yao laughed. "Well, you're too young to marry right now, but I wouldn't be surprised if boys came from all over the world to see you, aru."
You stuck out a tongue and crinkled your nose. "Since when did marriage have to do with boys? I thought it was all about cake and presents, like a birthday!"
Mr. Yao laughed again. His laugh was not like Mr. Kirkland's, because it was lighter and sounded more like a loud chuckle. But you didn't mind. "Well, you will learn much about that later, aru."
…..
You had to wait outside with Mr. Kirkland while Alfred went to see the doctor, then Matthew. You held whoever was waiting for their twin, talking pleasantly to Mr. Kirkland about what the doctor said to you.
Once all of them were checked up, Mr. Kirkland drove up to the place he called 'court.' The entire way, he told you things about court, telling you what to do and what not to do, and you listened intently, because he looked like this was really serious.
The courtroom was really big and fancy, and there were lots of people there that you didn't know. Most of them were on rows of seats throughout the room, and you recognized Mr. Yao and a few other doctors that you had before. There were also three desks – one of them empty except for one person you did not know (he was shuffling through papers in a briefcase calmly), and the one next to it with your mother and father (plus another random person next to them) and a larger desk facing them that was much taller than any of the other desks and chairs. It had two parts – one of them was taller than the other. The shorter one was empty, but the taller one had a man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties sitting in a chair behind it. He was small, with jet-black hair and deep brown eyes. He stared curiously at you as you and your brothers followed Mr. Kirkland to the table next to your parents. You looked over at them and saw your mother sneering at you and your father glaring. Alfred whimpered and both of the twins hid behind you as you tried not to limp too much with all of the people staring. You sat down in between your two brothers in the desk next to your parents with only one other man there, in between your brothers, but the distance between your parents and you was too close in your opinion, and you tried not to look at them again, even if you could feel their eyes boring into the side of your head.
The man with the black hair hit a little hammer thing against his desk, which you thought was funny, because Alfred had a toy like that once, but it was colorful and soft and made a squeaking noise when you hit it on something. But this one was wood and hard and made a loud cracking noise that made all three of you shrink down a little.
The other people heard the loud clap, and all of the murmuring stopped at once.
You really weren't paying attention too much, because everyone was using big words that you didn't understand. The small man introduced himself as Kiku Honda, and talked for a while. His accent sounded like Mr. Yao's accent, but a little softer. You looked around and saw Mr. Kirkland sitting in a seat behind you. He winked at you, and you smiled in return.
You didn't understand what the man next to your parents said, either, but it sounded like he was telling lies. He was in a suit, like almost everyone was, and he had slicked back blond hair, thick muscles, red eyes, and a curious scar on his left cheek. His accent was harsh and guttural, but you didn't know where it was from at all. He talked for a bit about something to do with you and your medical records and how they show progression and differentiation and some other big words you didn't understand, but it sounded like he was against you and fighting for your parents, and that made you mad. You fought for them once. Was he, perhaps, under the same spell you were in before? You weren't sure, but his red eyes showed so much hatred that you thought he would pull a knife out of thin air and slice everyone's throat with it. You wanted to argue that he was wrong, but Mr. Kirkland told you to not say anything until you were asked to, so you bit your tongue.
Then the man who was sitting at your desk stood up. You watched him get up and pace thoughtfully around the room. He was probably no older than Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Honda, Mr. Yao, or Mr. Whoever-the-heck-was-going-against-you-with-the-cr eepy-scar. He had brown hair that looked exactly like Alfred's, except the color. It even had his cowlick, even if it was a bit longer and curlier than his. He had glasses and violet eyes and a mole a little below his mouth, and he walked with a straight posture and strict expression, his hands folded behind his back, just walking and staring out the window, saying nothing.
You thought he would never speak, until he turned and talked to the audience. He had an accent, too, and it sounded like Mr. Grumpypants over next to your parents (sort of) but again you couldn't place it. He talked in big medical terms that, while you didn't understand most of it, you understood the main point.
"Ladies and gentleman, I will be extremely blunt about this case. No loopholes or tricks, because this is something that is very uncommon in the world, but it is the silent killer of many young children. It is not, in fact, a disease or disorder that this child, (your name) (last name) has. It was not a disease that her older brothers had, either. Dylan (last name), Patrick (last name), and Allistor (last name), who are all deceased, bless them," your heart sank a little, "and all appear to have similar symptoms that (your name) is struggling with. However, these are side effects of something rather unknown to the common people today. It is imperative that we all learn it." He paused. "I was told what had happened in detail by Mr. Arthur Kirkland, who is currently in the stands here today. And I did extensive research on Munchausen by proxy, or MBP, for short. This is a devastating form," he paused again, "of child abuse."
Your mother slammed her hand on the desk and stood up. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She babbled profanities while your father clenched and unclenched his fists in his lap, a glare almost matching Mr. Grumpypants' until Mr. Honda smacked his little not-so-fun hammer so many times on his desk you were sure it would break, calling out the word 'order' until she silenced. "I will not tolerate any vulgarities in my courtroom, thank you. Continue, Mr. Edelstein."
The man nodded, and continued. "This is a form of abuse where a caregiver will intentionally falsify history, signs, or symptoms in a child to fulfill their self-interested emotional needs. They will even induce many symptoms themselves, restraining nutrition to make them thin, giving them medication that was not prescribed by a doctor, etcetera." You tried to ignore the many eyes that studied you as he said this. "The offender tends to express complicated emotional problems, such as suicide or overdosing or excessive alcohol intake. And, more often than not, violent physical abuse is expressed to the child as well.
"I decided with assurance that this is the problem because everything fits perfectly into place. Mrs. (last name) has had a history of suicide attempts, and Mr. (last name) is shown in records to have been removed from a local bar often due to over-drinking." Mr. Edelstein walked over to where he was sitting earlier, grabbed some papers off of his desk, winked at you, and then showed them to Mr. Honda. "These are those records."
Mr. Honda studied them carefully. He muttered an "Interesting…"
"The symptoms of the children fit as well," Mr. Edelstein continued. "Three children, with all of the exact same symptoms and no cure, all departed, now one more with the same problem, which, to the naked eye, may appear to be some sort of hereditary disorder. However, aside from the many psychological problems, the family history of my client is healthy. No other person had experienced similar symptoms, and if it was something contagious, how did Mr. and Mrs. (last name) not get it by now? They had not taken precautionary measures in sanitation.
"When the house was searched, there were many bottles of medicine that were prescribed for (your name), all of which were from forged signatures and no doctor under that name can confirm it was them. The bottles were almost empty. Here is the list of medications."
He handed Mr. Honda another paper. Mr. Honda read them in mild surprise. "These are not medications that are safe for children. And many of these are not to be used at all anymore."
"Exactly," Mr. Edelstein said. "There are medications there such as Afinitor, which is used for brain tumors and cancer. This child has had none of those in the past, and does not have any records of testing on this done ever, which is the same for all of their family members." He looked at the audience. "I have here a witness, Mr. Arthur Kirkland, who not only took (your name), Alfred, and Matthew from their trailer in the middle of a fight between their parents, but took care of them for the week after, up until today. Mr. Kirkland, if you please."
Mr. Kirkland stood up and walked over, smiling at you as he passed, and had to put one hand on a book and raise the other, repeating something about truth and God and stuff. Then he sat down, and Mr. Edelstein asked, "So, Mr. Kirkland, how are you today?"
"I'm doing alright," Mr. Kirkland nodded. "And how are you, Roderich?"
"I'm doing good," Mr. Edelstein replied. "So, I'm sure everyone here wants to go home as soon as they can and get this over with, so I'll just be straightforward with the questions. Sound good?"
"Fair enough," Mr. Kirkland nodded again. They spoke like old friends, as if they knew one another from somewhere before. You wondered if they went to school together or something.
"So, for those of you who do not know, Arthur here is a social worker of sorts. So he had complete authority to take the children. Tell, me, Mr. Kirkland, about that day when you found these three children."
"Okay," he said. "Well, I was called up while in my office to check up on some three children. It was a neighbor who called. She said she heard lots of shouting and screaming, both from the parents and the children, and told me that she had enough of it, because it was a common occurrence. So I did the usual things, getting the warrant and the car and whatnot, and drove over to the given address. When I got there, though, I saw a small house that had appeared burnt down and a trailer in the front yard. The lights were on, and I could hear the yelling from where I was parked in the car on the driveway. Such profanities I would never wish to hear again in my life. I got out of the car, with my gun in my hand, because I was worried that the screaming people would not be too happy if I just barged in, and one of them – a male voice – was threatening the female voice with a gun, from the sounds of it. I called for backup the second I heard that, and had no choice but to wait for backup. They arrived not long after, and I went inside alone, two of my coworkers waiting at the door in case I was hurt.
"I got inside to find the parents in the kitchen screaming at one another, the gun Mr. (last name) was threatening Mrs. (last name) with was on the counter. The children were on the floor, (your name) was knocked out, bloody and beaten, and Matthew and Alfred were crouched on either side of her, trying to wake her up, crying. They later told me that their mother and father were lashing out at them, and (your name) defended them, only to end up beaten herself. The site itself was in terrible condition, very poor standards of living, and I had to call backup because the two parents actually tried to fight me. We had to have almost five people force them into the back of the police cars. I snapped some pictures on my phone, as evidence, and gathered up (your name) into my car, with Alfred and Matthew following behind me, and brought them to the hospital so they could be bandaged and have their wounds cleaned. Of the three of them, (your name) was in the worst condition. She was unconscious during the entire time Mr. Yao was bandaging her. She finally came to the next day, and I let her brothers in with her, because they were absolutely beside themselves with worry."
"So what did you notice, Mr. Kirkland, while you were taking care of them?" Mr. Edelstein asked.
"Well," Mr. Kirkland thought a moment. "(your name) was very on guard and wouldn't listen to me for a while, but when I told her the truth about what has been going on, she opened up a lot more. The three of them were very close, and have a hard time when separated, especially Matthew and Alfred when separated from (your name). It appears as if she was the motherly figure to them, taking care of them faster than I could even process what they had asked." He chuckled, then continued. "Physically, (your name), like I had said earlier, was the worst of the three. Alfred and Matthew did have some sensitive bruising, and were underweight, but, as you would see in the pictures I had taken when I had visited the trailer, (your name) was very dangerously thin."
Mr. Edelstein handed Mr. Honda some photographs, and you assumed they were the ones Mr. Yao showed you. He raised his eyebrows at them. "So did she look like this during the entire week?" He looked back up at you, his dark brown eyes blinking in surprise. "She looks very different now."
"Well, there are some more I had taken as she had stayed, and, day by day, you could see the difference three good meals and less medication could do." Mr. Kirkland winked at you, and you beamed. Alfred and Matthew smiled as well. Mr. Edelstein gave Mr. Honda some more photos, and Mr. Honda nodded.
"In the first day, she had collapsed from exhaustion with a high temperature and irregular heart rate and breathing. I had Mr. Yao come to my home to help her, because she seemed rather uncomfortable in a doctor's office. He took care of her and left, and she woke up soon after, seeming alright. I gave her some tea and she seemed fine. During the week, she had many episodes, with headaches, breathing troubles, and other things like that. But as the week progressed, she did just fine."
"What exactly were the health symptoms?" Mr. Edelstein asked.
"Well, there was headaches, breathing troubles, stomachaches, muscle fatigue, a fever one day, and exhaustion after little physical labor."
"Alright, and how have you seen improvements?"
"Other than her physical appearance? She is not sleeping as often, she can play longer with her brothers, and she's eating more and having less headaches."
"I actually will be calling you back up here later, Mr. Kirkland, but I think I want (your name) to answer some questions so she doesn't have to hear the rest. I think she's been through enough as it is." He turned to Mr. Honda. "Is that alright?" Mr. Honda nodded and looked over at you.
"Come over here, (your name)." You froze. "Don't worry, you aren't in any trouble," he added with a chuckle. You stood up, and you saw Mr. Kirkland sit back down, and he high-fived you as you passed, making you giggle. That gave you a bit of encouragement as you walked over to Mr. Honda. The small man gestured to the empty desk attached to his, and you sat down. Your brothers looked excited – their sister looked really important sitting there. You, on the other hand, didn't like the many stares you were receiving – two of them from your parents that looked like they wanted to rip out your throat. You wished you could just dissolve into dust and blow away in the wind. Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Yao seemed to notice this, and Mr. Kirkland bowed at you and Mr. Yao gave a big smile and a thumbs-up.
They made you hold up one hand and place the other hand on a book – which you knew to be the bible – and you repeated what they said just like Mr. Kirkland did.
"So, (your name)," Mr. Honda said politely. "I am the judge here, which means that I listen to both sides of the argument, then decide which is right and which is wrong."
You figured that wasn't the entire story, but you went along with it anyway. The man had a soft voice and eyes, so you felt like he was trustworthy. "And you will make the right decision?" He smiled and nodded. "What happens if you think I'm right?"
There was a chuckling in the crowd, but you didn't see what was so funny. "Well," said the judge, "if you are right and your parents are wrong –" you could see your mother fuming at this – "Then your parents get a … well they get in trouble for what they did."
"And what if you think I'm wrong?"
No laughter this time. "Then you will be back in the care of your parents and you will continue as if nothing happened," he said, sounding almost solemn. You felt immense fear at this.
"You wouldn't do this, would you?" Your voice shook and you felt a tear in your eye, but you tried to fight it back, because it wasn't polite to cry in front of other people, especially Mr. Kirkland and your brothers.
Mr. Honda smiled sadly. "Well that is what would happen if your parents won."
Mr. Edelstein walked over to you, a tissue in hand, and passed it to you gently. You smiled and accepted it, wiping your eyes, flushed with embarrassment. "(Your name)," he asked calmly, "Why are you so frightened by this?"
"Because they're mean," you said. You remembered what Mr. Kirkland told you. "They killed my big brothers, and they're gonna kill me next, and then Alfred and Matthew." Your voice quivered. The thought of your younger brothers dying was almost too much. You shook your head. "I can't go back. I can't let them hurt Alfie or Mattie."
Mr. Edelstein smiled sympathetically and patted your shoulder. "It's alright, (your name). If you tell us what happened, completely and truthfully, then you won't have to go back, okay?" You nodded once. "So, how are you feeling?"
You smiled weakly. "Better. Mr. Kirkland really helped me."
"And tell me, what was wrong before?" Mr. Edelstein asked.
You gulped. "Lots of things, really. Pretty much everything Mr. Kirkland said. But I also felt lightheaded a lot and my head felt heavy on one side," you flopped your head to the left as a demonstration, and there was more chuckling in the crowd as you closed your eyes and stuck your tongue out.
"Sounds pretty bad," Mr. Edelstein said with an amused smile.
"Well Mommy made it sound worse when she talked to the doctors," you said simply. Mr. Edelstein raised a brow, and there was complete silence in the room, except for your mother mumbling under her breath, glaring maliciously at you. "She said I had terrible headaches almost every hour one time, when I only had a headache two days before."
"And why didn't you say anything to the doctor?"
"Because Mommy did not like it when I didn't sound sick. She would glare at me and hit me a lot when I didn't act sick." You felt better saying all of this out loud, even if your mother and father looked like they wanted to explode. You continued to tell him everything, from your mother lying about things you never did to your father so he would beat you, to not eating what the doctor told you to eat…And not once did you cry. You felt happy, even. Delighted that you could finally tell what happened – and your mother and father would finally get in trouble. It was like a weight was lifted off of your chest and shoulders. But you did a good job of hiding it. You wouldn't look very believable if you were smiling.
"Alright, (your name), you did a good job," Mr. Edelstein said.
After you got down, you and your brothers were escorted out to a little room with lots of toys. Mr. Kirkland said that would happen, because they only needed you for a little bit to answer questions, and then you could play. But he said he would take a bit longer to come back, so you'd have to play without him. That upset you a little bit, but the toys were lots of fun.
It took a long time for Mr. Kirkland to come back, and when he did, you and your three brothers hugged him tightly, you hugged his waist and Alfred and Matthew taking either leg. He laughed and patted your head. "Goodness, I was only gone for two hours!"
"Did we win?" You asked quickly. "Am I gonna have to go back to Mommy and Daddy?" Matthew and Alfred whimpered at the thought, but Mr. Kirkland shook his head.
"I don't know yet. We have to wait for the final decision to be made," he said.
So, for another hour, you played with your brothers and Mr. Kirkland, solving a jigsaw puzzle of a swimming duck in a pretty lake. You only got halfway done when Mr. Kirkland was called to come back in. You went with him, but your brothers had to stay behind, much to your dismay.
"Why can't they come?"
"Because they are too young," Mr. Kirkland said simply. "You are old enough to hear what the decision will be first-hand."
Your brothers looked at you sullenly, but a woman came in to play with them and keep an eye on them. She sounded like Mr. Edelstein, with an accent similar to his. She winked at you with green eyes, her long brown hair bouncing a little as she skipped over to your brothers. She seemed trustworthy.
You walked back into the big room and sat down in the chair you sat in before, and Mr. Edelstein was still there, closing his briefcase composedly. Mr. Kirkland sat on the other side of you, which made you feel more comfortable. Mr. Edelstein winked and you, Mr. Yao waved, and Mr. Honda smiled, while your parents scowled at you and Mr. Grumpypants just stared ahead.
"The jury has come to a conclusion," Mr. Honda said softly. Everyone in the room leaned forward a little to cling to his every word. He cleared his throat. "(Your name) (last name), Alfred (last name) and Matthew (last name) will be in the custody of Arthur Kirkland, and Mr. and Mrs. (last name) will no longer have custody of their children, and will be sentenced to a life in prison, guilty of all charges of forgery, theft, child abuse, and murder."
You went numb for a moment, and you could hear your parents screaming and shouting profanities until security had to come in and take them away, but it just sounded like background noise.
I no longer have to deal with them. I don't have to live with them. And Mr. Kirkland will be my father. You blinked a moment, then turned blankly to Mr. Kirkland, who was smiling over at you. You made a noise in your throat that sounded like a hoarse squeak, and leapt out of your seat to hug him tightly, tears pouring out of your eyes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You chanted, your voice muffled by the adult's shirt.
He chuckled and hugged you back. When you let go, Mr. Edelstein handed you yet another tissue, and once you wiped your eyes you hugged him (Mr. Kirkland found the shocked expression on his face hilarious), then you went up and hugged Mr. Honda, Mr. Yao, and then back to Mr. Kirkland. You had never been so happy. The people in the stands were laughing, cheering, or "awwww"ing at your frantic hugging, but you didn't care. You felt like every step you took was on a cloud, like gravity couldn't hold you down anymore.
Nothing can hold you down anymore.
You were free.
Free.
You went to tell your brothers as soon as you could, and they were happy, too. You hugged both of them tightly, and told them that everything would be okay now.
And it sure was.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
So that is what Munchausen by proxy is. I hope you learned something.
So a really long oneshot that I actually came up with while I was in Disney World. I had read the book Sickened, and wanted to spread the word about it a little. So whenever I had free time/inspiration, I would write a little in my Notepad on my iPhone, that way I could remember everything. I really wanted this to be a chapter story, but I just decided to make it all one thing. This way I could work more on my You Must First Hurt Before you are Comforted story.
I bet you're wondering why the main character (you) still tried to believe your parents were not evil and still said they took care of you even after they beat and starved you. You see, with the Munchausen by proxy abuse, it is also known as the "Loving Parent Abuse" or something like that. I dunno. But the parents still act loving, which is not something I put in here on purpose, so you could really understand the severity of their evil. But they tend to act loving, even if they abuse the child. They say it's for their own good and whatnot. So the child believes for a while that they are fine, only sick.
Note: Mr. Arthur Kirkland = England, Mr. Yao = China, Mr. Kiku Honda = Japan, Mr. Edelstein = Austria, Mr. Grumpypants/Mr. Whoever-the-heck-was-going-against-you-with-the-cr eepy-scar = 2p!Germany, Alfred = Young!America, Matthew = Young!Canada, Allistor = Scotland, Dylan = Wales, Patrick = Ireland, the woman who played with your little brothers = Hungary.
I really liked how the characters were placed. I thought England should be the father, because your younger brothers were America and Matthew, and your older brothers were Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, which was almost exactly the same position England was in at a time. I love Young!America and Young!Canada, because they are just too cute :3, and you never really see Scotland, Wales, or Ireland in Hetalia, so they are dead (lol). I assumed China would be a good doctor, because he probably has a lot of medical experience, and Japan be the judge because he is very thoughtful and wise. Austria seemed like a good lawyer to me, and I didn't want to use Germany as the lawyer for the parents, because he really is a good guy, and the parents are evil, so I had 2p!Germany instead. Not sure if he would be much of a lawyer, but hey. And Hungary seemed like a good babysitter to me, because she did really well with Chibi Italy. Not all of these are my favorite characters (I love them all), but I picked some that I felt fit the oneshot well.
Sorry I starved and beat you in this story :P
And sorry if I failed at the court thing. I really don't know anything about law and order and junk like that, so I suppose I really milked it. But oh well, you get the idea anyway.
~Dreampainter