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Chapter Two: I Can't

It's only been two days since he was caught. Caught … How could he have been so careless? And why … why did he cry like that in front of Finland? Iceland rubs his wrist, relishes in the pain the action brings him. He lost his cool in front of someone else. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He needs to be more careful. He needs to be more collected. No one wants to see his emotions. No one wants him around. He needs to … He needs …

Anxiety bubbles up in his stomach and spreads up through his throat and into his head. He can't breathe, he can't think. He feels like he's suffocating. He needs to free the emotions locked inside of him. He needs to breathe. He needs to breathe.

He jumps from his chair and runs out of the meeting room, ignoring the stares of the rest of the world. His vision is getting hazy. His thoughts are on one thing, and one thing only – blood. Pain. Cut.

He needs it. He needs it so badly he can't describe it. It's getting harder and harder to fight the urge. He slams open the bathroom door, closes it, brings a razor blade to his wrist. Almost immediately, the pressure is gone from his throat, his lungs. He can breathe. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, sees for the first time the tears on his face. He glares at his reflection. Emotion is bad. No one wants to see it. Not even he does.

He returns his gaze to his bloody wrist. It's not enough. It's never enough. He cuts a few more times, watches in relief as blood pours out of his body and into the sink. It's a little difficult to cut, due to his shaking hands. But no matter. He can still bleed. He isn't gone yet. He isn't broken yet.

"Iceland," a voice gasps. He whirls to face the man, Finland. His gut and his heart weigh heavily inside of him. Caught. Caught again. Now Finland will know he lied about getting help. Now … now what?

Finland takes a few steps forward. Iceland takes a few steps back. Finland reaches his hand out. "Iceland, please. We can fix this. You just need to trust me."

Iceland shakes his head rapidly, clutches the razor blade to his chest, ignores the blood staining his clothes and the floor. Finland wants to take the pain away. He wants to take away the only thing that keeps Iceland sane. He wants to 'fix' him. But there's nothing to fix. There isn't.

"Iceland …" Finland trails off, drops his hand, looks a bit lost. "At least let me help bandage your wrist."

Iceland thinks carefully, weighs his options. In the end, he decides to let Finland help wrap his cuts, as long as the smaller man doesn't try to take away his blade. He slips the razor blade, blood and all, back into his pocket before taking a wary step closer. Finland cleans and wraps his wrist gently. Iceland wishes he wasn't so gentle. He wants the pain. He wants it so bad.

Iceland tries to exit the bathroom, but Finland doesn't release his arm. "Let me go."

Finland shakes his head, eyes determined. "No. You need help, Iceland, whether you want it or not. You know you need help!"

"No, I don't!" he snaps. He pulls at his arm. Finland tightens his grip. "You don't understand!" he cries, almost whines. He feels close to tears. Again.

"Then help me understand! Make me understand!" Finland shouts back, eyes watering. "I just want to help."

"Well, I don't want your help! I want you to leave me alone!"

"Why do you cut?"

No. Not the dreaded 'why' question. Iceland freezes. Does he have an answer? Does he want one? Will he give one? He doesn't know why, and yet he does. But can he really put it into words? Does he even want to?

"Because I need it," is what he settles for saying, voice considerably lower.

Finland, too, has calmed down. "No, you don't. Tell me what's wrong so that we can fix it."

"There's nothing to fix," Iceland snaps, eyes staring at the ground.

"Yes there is. You wouldn't do this if there was nothing wrong."

Iceland remains quiet. He doesn't have an answer. He can't give one. He can't explain. He's never been good at words. He's never been good at a lot of things. But keeping quiet, keeping out of the way, keeping his emotions in check – those are things he's good at. He's good at keeping to himself.

"Why do you cut?" Finland repeats gently. Iceland chokes back a sob, but tears still manage to escape.

"I can't stop," he says, broken.

And that's when he realizes, that he is broken. Cutting, keeping to himself, pleasing others – he's broken. Cutting doesn't keep him together. It breaks him even more. He looks at the scars on one wrist, the bandages on the other, this time with new eyes. He's broken. But does it matter? Finland wants to help fix him. Does he want to be fixed?

"I don't want to stop," Iceland says forlornly.