Chapter 2: Breathless

Beijing, 6 A.M.

Yao Wang plunged himself into the warm bathwater. Here, surrounded by the thick steam and comforting warmth, it was easier to forget what had happened between him and Ivan. The Chinaman felt his brain grow foggier. But, Yao thought, was the problem really gone just because you forget about it? As soon as he left the warmth, the painful memories came back like a dull, throbbing pain in the back of your mind resurfacing into something more acute, breaking the surface of serenity.

China submerged half of his face under the water and held his breath. What if…everything simply ended here? He was destitute, alone, and left with absolutely nothing. What if he no longer had to endure the pain? It was as simple as sliding underneath the water and letting go. He will cease to breathe.

Tempting. It was all very tempting.

Yao giggled nervously. Once upon a time, he had known a different kind of breathlessness. That first moment when Ivan appeared before him, with his violet eyes lit by passion and his blond hair fluttering lightly in the freezing wind, the Chinaman had simply…forgotten how to breathe. This feeling had continued throughout his stay with Russia. From time to time, he needed to be reminded, to be given the proof, that he was still alive. Was he in heaven, to be subject to such joy? Perhaps he was in hell, to be forever taunted by a man he could never truly have.

Today, he had learned another kind of breathlessness from the same man.

Moscow, 1 A.M.

Ivan gasped from the unbearable pain. He staggered, supporting himself with the desk. Fresh blood dripped form the recently reopened wound in his chest. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the wall and laid one quivering hand in the hole where his heart once was. His entire body was convulsing, as if the whole country was revolting against him.

The Russian coughed violently, tasting the iron in his mouth. He smiled serenely. The Soviet Union was collapsing, and he could already feel himself fading. "Скатертью дорога.,"he said, stopping only to catch his breath. Perhaps heaven, hell, or wherever he was going after he faded would be a warmer place. He would leave the center of the stage to Alfred…for now.

"I'm sorry, Yao."

If they had loved each other, why did they every break up?

With this last regret, the Советский Союз breathed his last.

Washington D.C, 5 P.M.

Alfred was lying down in a bunk bed on his cruise ship, the "Capitalist Heart". The name served only to taunt Ivan and Yao. When they had first seen the name inscribed on the side of the ship, the two comrades merely looked at each other and laughed. Even so, Alfred felt the hateful glares when he wasn't looking at them, How far had he gone to try to break the two apart? Undoubtedly, he had succeeded.

But was it worth it? Was it really worth the trouble, pain, and tears of betrayal he had seen when the Sino-Soviet breakup occurred? Alfred wasn't sure anymore. This uncertainty frightened the American the most. He had never been unsure in his life. "Stupid Communists…" Who cared if America was at fault, as well? He could just blame it on somebody else, like he had always done. The American was uncomfortable with this new sensation. No, he despised it.

America tried to get up, but his ever rising panic got to him first. Dizziness overwhelmed him as he realized that he couldn't breathe. What would happen if he were to…just disappear? Alfred sat down on the bed, sliding a hand down his cheek. If he had a heart attack, would the world even notice? Would they care, or even worse, would they perhaps revel in his death?

Alfred shuddered, still gasping to breather easier. He preferred not to think about such things, but here were his faults, laid out as plain as day in front of him. Laughing sarcastically, the American flopped back onto the bed. "Who cares?" He said to no one in particular. Would anyone care? No matter which country winked out of existence, there were plenty more to take its place. Besides, in this era, all anybody cared about was profit. What use was love and affection? It did not serve as any kind or currency. In fact, it was nothing but a hindrance. No one would care…

The phone started ringing.

[[I KILLED IVAN. Don't murder me…I swear, he's making a comeback...Soon, I think]]

Translations:

Скатертью дорога: Good riddance

Советский Союз: Soviet Union