So thanks for checking this out guys. I am very excited to try this out. I've never tried anything this dark before and I'm just really loving the writing process for this.

The only trigger I can think of is for some aggression and physical assault maybe. Thanks everyone and enjoy!

Ch 2 New Orleans Part 2

Amelia's eyes cracked open, sunlight pouring down on her face, warming her. After she came from the water she had wondered if she would feel warm again in her entire life. Silly way to think. When you were going to live forever everything was temporary.

She tensed up a little when she realized she wasn't on the boat. This room was still on the small side but a little bigger than the cramped cabin on the boat she'd been dragged onto. The paint was a light blue, a little chipped near the window and ceiling. The floor was bare aside from a small knit rug at the doorway

The rest of the room was tidy, mostly because there was so little in it. A nightstand with a mirror and pitcher and basin on top. A small chair beside the window and a religious icon hanging up on the wall.

Maybe she'd been dropped her off with some sort of religious charity? She swallowed hard, trying to think without hyperventilating. After what she'd been through she wasn't sure she could stomach that.

To her left she finally saw the lamp and clock beside a tray that was covered up. She pulled of the cloth to find a glass of water and a plate with some bread and ham on it.

She took a piece of bread, slowly eating a bit of the crust. Her belly was growling but if she crammed herself full in the state she was in, she had a feeling she'd be sick.

The bread almost became lodged in her throat when the door opened. Her would be rescuer walked in briskly, rubbing his damp hair with a towel.

"Do not get crumbs in the bed," he said with a childlike smile before crossing the room to open his dresser in search of a clean shirt.

He finally felt a bit more human after a shave and a bath. The night had been long and sleepless but now in his small, humble room he could relax. Somewhat, he thought watching his guest out of the corner of his eyes. There was much to be discussed.

"You have been sleeping for three days," he explained conversationally, looking at her through the mirror. "The rest has improved you."

She was a mess but she looked alive at least. Her cheeks were flushed; the color that had been leeched from her within her deathlike sleep had returned in full.

"What year is it?" she asked suddenly with wide eyes as he tugged on a shirt. Holy shit what if she'd drifted in that river for months? Years?

"It is November 12, of 1925," he stated watching her visibly relax. "You are lucky. You could have drifted right into the Gulf Coast."

"That would'a been a real darn shame," she agreed as she slowly picked off her meal. So she hadn't lost much time. It had only been four days since that awful night when she'd been drowned.

"Nice clean place you got here. Boarding house?"

He inclined his head and took a seat at the end of his bed, his eyes bright and making her queasy.

"You are America," he said with a giggle as she watched him warily. He looked really excited about something and it made her nervous as hell.

"Yeah I'm an American. Born and raised," she said sitting up straighter. "What's it to you bub?"

She'd been through hell and back. The time for running scared for the hills was not now. She could probably knock him out cold even for as big as he was if need be. He was only a man. She was so much more, and getting her strength back by the minute.

"Нет," he replied shaking his head. "America is land of opportunity but not miracles. Women do not simply expire only to return to the land of the living. A human would have rotted away and died. But you…you are different."

"I'm not different. I'm just lucky is all," she insisted making to get up from the bed when he grabbed her wrist and halted her.

He smiled sweetly as he pulled her insistently closer on the rumpled sheets and she started to breathe harder. The strength in his hold was crushing and immovable.

"You are different. It is the reason you are panicking now," he said, in a sing song voice and at odds with the harsh hold he had on her. "You are not human."

"You're crazy!" she spat, her voice holding a note of hysteria as she tried to pull away. His hand tightened imperceptibly and would have brought her to her knees if she had been standing. Wide blue eyes stared at him, like a cornered animal. "You're the one who's not human!"

"I am Russia!" he said his accent heavy and rich, his eyes wild. "I am a country built on snow, death, and hardship. No matter how many times they beat me or tried to kill me I endured."

He pulled her captive hand in his and pressed it flat against his neck. There were so many scars, maybe hundreds of white lines that had at one point been red and angry she was sure. Her fingers felt the indentations and lines before they curled away from his skin.

"Let. Go. Of me!" she said regaining her wits and slapping his wrist hard. The sound of the sting echoed loudly as his hand was repelled. And just for good measure she shoved him hard enough that he would have fallen on his ass if he hadn't stumbled to his feet.

They were evenly matched. He might have been bigger and older but she was no delicate spring chicken. She'd kick his ass and leave him broken and bruised if he tried to mess with her again.

As riled up as she was now there was some undeniable pull to the man standing very still across from her. She hadn't noticed it before because she'd been to battered and out of it. But now there was definitely something there that couldn't be ignored.

Ivan took a few breaths to calm himself, overexcited and swelling with so many new emotions.

"You are America," he repeated his eyes unwavering as she blinked back tears. "I am Russia."

She felt her bottom lip tremble, her stomach clenching hard at his words. She'd dreamed of meeting someone who could understand and now she was terrified. This wasn't what she'd expected at all.

"I know what it is to be turned on by those whom you only wished to watch over and protect. To have mobs tear you down. When your strength fails you and they demand blood to satisfy their rage. We are the scapegoats of this world; chosen to suffer and carry on while God turns his back on us."

He sat down on the bed with a sad smile as he let his words sink in.

"If she even exists," she said in a hushed voice. "I d-didn't think there was anyone else."

"There is no reason you would have known. Those of us who are wise find ways to conceal ourselves from mankind. We are hidden from harm but also from those like us."

Amelia tried to run her fingers through her hair as she processed everything but the rat's nests and tangles cut into her fingers.

"I need a bath," she declared crossing her arms.

He pouted, disappointed by her reaction. Perhaps he had been too eager he could see that. It was simply because he had been alone for so very long.

"It is down the hall to the right. Lock the door when you enter," he said offering her his own towel wet from his bath.

She nodded, wrinkling her nose a bit at the dampness and he almost laughed out loud. She looked like a drowned rat and yet still expected small luxuries that were not in his power to give.

"Thanks. Uh, do you prefer Ivan or Russia?" she inquired looking up at him.

"Ivan."

XX

She turned the water on hot, wanting more warmth to forget the cold as the taps whined loudly and the tub filled up. She shed the too large shirt on her body and gripped the small sliver of soap Ivan had given her to bathe with. A small cracked mirror on the wall confirmed that she looked like hell.

She gave herself over the tears she felt, shaking and sobbing as she lowered herself into the hot water. She cried so hard and long that she could taste the salt when she finally hiccupped and felt herself calming in the embrace of the warm liquid gently lapping at her skin.

Amelia Jones was no yellow livered coward but she was afraid. If she had been rescued up by humans things would have been simpler. She would have picked up the pieces left of her life by herself.

Now there was another element and one that she wasn't sure if she could trust or come to depend on.

While Ivan seemed receptive to the idea of keeping her around he was way too intense when she was still trying to get her bearings and recover.

But she thought beginning to scrub at the dirt and filth on her skin. She didn't want to be alone.

In her childhood even among her mama's people, the ancient tribes, she had been forced to watch everyone she knew and cared for die. The circle of life continued with new life brought forth and death following on its heels.

The Russian down the hall was eternal. If she allowed herself to stay near him it was going to change her entire world.

XX

I think I mentioned twice now Amelia's mother. You can think of her as Mama! America. Similar to Mama! Greece, Mama! Egypt, and Grandpa! Rome from the comics. The character America is quite young but the land itself has been inhabited for so long that to me it just makes more sense that there was at one point a predecessor to Amelia.

I don't intend for the relationship between Ivan and Amelia to be abusive though I admit their interactions have been very iffy at this point.

As always reviews are highly appreciated my dears.