Isn't it ironic?
I hurt the ones who love me the most but love the one who hurts me the most
I can't help it. He treats me so roughly, I love it. He doesn't care how I feel, only pleases himself, but if I make him feel great, do things even whores wouldn't do, he rewards me.
Then leaves as soon as it's over.
I don't think Spain knows, him and his empty head, that best friend is fucking his Lovi senseless three times a week but sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I stopped lying and let him in my world, told him the truth and all my sick little secrets. Each time I wonder it changes. Sometimes he gets angry, at me, at him or even at himself. Sometimes he hugs me, crying, telling me he's sorry and blaming himself.
I'll keep hurting him and lying until one day when I wonder and it changes to something good.
Tonight at dinner I get a text message.
"Come over."
That's all it say but I know he wants a roll in the sheet and instantly I was out the door, putting Spain's questioning look and my empty stomach out of my mind.
I didn't come back until late.
Two A.M. late.
Covered in hickeys and limping.
As I closed the door, the lights flicked on and there was Spain, looking royally pissed and down right scary. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he knew my dirty little secret and was prepared to take out his old battle axe to someone's head, hopefully not mine.
For a second he opened his mouth like he was about to ask why, why I had been sneaking around his back, why I had been hurting him, but then he closes it and shakes his head. For the first time in the centuries I've known him, he had nothing to say to me.
That was probably what started the tears.
The fact that he wasn't grinning that mega-watt smile.
The fact that he had no words to say to me.
The fact it was all my fault.
He didn't move to hold me as I sobbed. It didn't surprise me. I didn't deserve his sympthy and he wouldn't give it to me either way.
I decided quickly that I liked it better he wasn't talking to me.
"Was it worth it?" He asked, his voice was cold and hard like he was talking to... I couldn't find a word for because he spoke to everyone, saint and sinner alike, with a cheery voice and warm smile. It hurt so much more.
He didn't care though, he just kept talking. "You're crying and who's going to fix you? Not me and certainly not Gilbert. Was the sex worth the pain?"
He was right, I knew he was right and when this whole thing started I knew it would end like this but the real ending always hurts more.
He shook his head again, sending his beautiful locks scattering. "Forget it, Romano." He spat my country name out like tasted sickening in his mouth. "Because you didn't even think of my feelings, did you? It was all about you." He didn't look at me as he went back upstairs and I didn't look back as I ran from the house.
It wasn't worth it. I never once looked back to see what I had and I got greedy.
Isn't it ironic?