Yeah, so this is a fic that was begging me to write it. Seriously, it was like, write meeeee…..come on…I know you want to. On and on until I broke down and was like, FINE! I'LL WRITE THE GODDAMN FIC! So this is what came from it. Not my best work but still.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, although I would sell what little sanity I have to own it.
WARNING: Swearing, YAOI; DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ; USUK, because it is in the angst genre, there might be some self-harm, again, don't like, don't read, it's as simple as that. If I happen to accidentally use something that someone else has used in their fic, I apologies, and all rights go to rightful owners.
Arthur Kirkland was sleeping. He wouldn't be sleeping for long. In fact his alarm was going off right now. He groaned, and sluggishly flopped out of bed. He blinked and stared at his clock. 5:00 glowed brightly back. Jeez, that was just barely an hour, less sleep than usual, and he usually only got three to five hours of sleep each night. He slowly stumbled to the bathroom to take a hot shower and wake up. In the shower he examined the bruises that dotted his arms and body. They weren't too bad, but they were definitely multiplying. He got dressed for school, and made sure to wear a long sleeved shirt. When he was finally dressed he scarfed down something that could be described as food, and then left. His father wouldn't be up by now, so there wouldn't be any reason to wake him up. Anyways he was passed out drunk, and if Arthur woke him up then he would be beaten for disturbing his peace.
Arthur dumped his stuff at his locker and then walked to his first class. He was going to have a very hard day. He barely made it through his first, second and third classes without falling asleep, but now he had a headache and he had no study halls to catch some sleep in today. He caught some sleep in lunch, but his stomach woke him up and demanded food. So he sacrificed the last few minutes of his nap to eat. Then there was fourth period. This was both a blessing and a curse. The reason behind this blessing and the curse is Alfred F. Jones. Alfred F. Jones is a loud, annoying, self-centered, egotistical, genius, nice, cute, lovely person; unfortunately all the players on the football team hate him. Many times he has found himself crammed inside a locker. Arthur, through some miracle, made it through the day without collapsing. He trudged home, his vision swimming. He climbed the stairs and flopped on his bed, to sleep as much as he could before his dad got home. Once his dad arrived home there would be no peace. You see, his dad enjoyed beating Arthur for stupid mistakes he made, like not making dinner for him or for being asleep and not able to wait on him, so his dad asserted his male dominance over Arthur by beating him and reminding him how much of a failure he was. Then his dad would drink more alcohol and usually pass out, but those were the good nights.
"ARTHUR KIRKLAND GET YOUR SKINNY ARSE DOWN HERE NOW BEFORE I HAVE TO COME UP THERE AND BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!"
Arthur groaned, nothing like your father yelling at the top of his lungs to wake you from a nice nap. He trudged down stairs and met his father in the doorway. His father was propped up in the doorway and clutching a bottle of beer, he was pretty drunk so Arthur hoped that he would pass out soon and maybe he could get some sleep tonight.
"GET OVER HERE YOU BITCH!" "I SWEAR TO GOD YOU ARE A USELESS CUNT!" "YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE THE REASON YOUR MOTHER DIED!" "IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SO SELFISH SHE AND YOUR SIBLINGS WOULD STILL BE ALIVE!" "WHY DO I HAVE TO BE STUCK WITH YOU!" "YOU BASTARD CHILD!"
This was it, the main ranting and ravings of his father. The sad thing was all that he said was true. He was a useless insignificant, killer. Arthur tried to run away, but he didn't get farther than the stairs when rough hands pulled him down. His father broke the beer bottle on Arthurs arms, as Arthur tried to protect himself. But as the beatings went on, with Arthur running in little sprints all over the house and his father catching him, Arthur grew so weary. God, how was he going to get through the next day if this continued much longer? Finally his dad slowed down and collapsed on the couch. Arthur tended to his wounds and then went upstairs and collapsed on his bed. It was 3:00 A.M. He would get two hours, than he had to be able to get up for school.
As Arthur trudged through school, he found himself swaying. 'Not good, not good.' He thought. He concentrated on where he was going and to get there as normally looking as possible. He collapsed into his seat and since it was a movie, and the teacher most likely had a hangover, he was known to get drunk often, Arthur promptly passed out. He got about 50 minutes of sleep, so he figured that he would be alright in his next classes, at least until lunch. His prediction proved to be correct. He made it until lunch, where he fell asleep in the student council office. Nobody used the office during lunch and Arthur knew that he could get some sleep, at least until he made it home. Oh god, why? What had he done to deserve this kind of weight on his shoulders?