I inserted certain scenes that refer to the past, just so you won't get confused. The story is kind of nonlinear, meaning I could jump from past to present. It's like flashback after flashback.
I was trying to describe Alfred's feelings, but I don't think I made a good job. Emotions are just hard to summarize down in words.
Anyway, please review. I'd love it when you do.
Italicized + double quotations means a dialogue that was said in the past. I did it so it doesn't sound so confusing. I know that's not the right way to write, but…
-chapter three-
He watched her unconsciously lying on the bed, pale as a corpse, but her lush pink lips and steady breathing indicates that she was unmistakably alive and healthy, much to America's pleasure. He covered her body with the silk quilt as she mumbled a foreign word under her breath as he tucked her in the sheets.
Her short red gown was untidily hung on the bed post, while the heavy long train or extension of the dress carelessly decorated as a heap on carpeted floor. A single lampshade lighted the room, which America was hesitant to put off, by then, he wouldn't be able to see her angelic face.
He let out a sigh of relief, knowing that she was able to sleep soundly, despite the bothersome events that happened earlier that evening. Of course, a little vodka had helped, it was inevitable, but she was able to forget about Russia for a while which America was already thankful for. He only needs to worry about what will happen the next morning.
Ironically, while she was sleeping so soundly, while he was not. He insisted to stay at her hotel room, afraid that she might hurt herself without him having any knowledge of it. The unsheathed knife on the bedside table was enough proof that she had attempted. A few drops of blood had stained the ivory sheets, blood that was shed for her to stop.
America rubbed his bandaged hand, pressing his thumb hard on his palm and soon enough fresh blood had stained through the white cloth. A little cut was nothing to him, of course. After years of wars and battles, after harsh experiences of pain and suffering, he hardly cared. Encounters that left scars on his body, on his lands. Some had already faded yet few remain visible. Though he'd wished he had kept those scars, as a reminder of his failures, accomplishments, and mishaps; he was thankful enough that they had faded, at least the ones on his lands.
Gently, he unwrapped the bandage. Once again he saw the red throbbing cut across his palm. He sat up the bed and brushed his fingers through his hair, as he started to think.
"Just leave me alone!" Belarus' words were swimming though his mind, reviving the past. "I know you hate having me for company and you shouldn't even try to be nice to me if don't really want to!"
1992. He remembered her crying, crystal tears dripping down her cheeks, falling on his neck. "Please, just leave!" She tried to push him away, and to no avail, she retreated. "I understand why you don't want to hurt my emotions, but please, just walk away. I will not take offense—please, just free me and go back to your usual wonderful self, because… you haven't been yourself lately. I'm a burden and I don't want to cause any more problems, so please, let me go and leave me here. Just do what you'd rather do…"
"But I am! I want to be with you, Bela! Why can't you accept the truth?" He remembered how warm she felt against his skin, how her body relaxed and how it started to accept the foreign touch. How the relieving sound of the metal knife clanging to the floor had felt.
America laughed a little remembering that scene from the past. He stood up, unable to sleep. He walked toward the windows and opened the curtains. The breathtaking of view of Paris at night overwhelmed his thoughts. Paris was so nice, and it would be fun if he could actually take Bela around the city. It's not like he'd never toured around Paris before, in fact he and a group of friends went here for countless times, but he never actually took a girl out yet...
He looked back to check on Natalia, a radiant creature with soft platinum locks quietly sleeping between the sheets seeming so innocent and angelic. It would be nice to take her around the world, but knowing her, a cold and distant person, must be hard to persuade. Why must Europeans be so… different?
"You're weird," Belarus once told him.
He couldn't agree more. But he was of course, America! What would he be if he was not the way he is right now? The way Bela had said those words had been soft, and her voice indicated that what she said was not stating something negative, but rather, almost a compliment. It was already good enough for America, who smiled like a complete idiot hearing those words from her.
"Your Western food looks unhealthy… how could you feed your people with such poison?" She said those words once, having the first time to try eating a burger, and though when she took a bite, she smiled—a quick upward curl of her lips which quickly faded, yet a smile nonetheless. "A Mcdonalds recently opened in Russia. I never would've understood why so many people were eager to take a bite of this… sandwich. "
"Eh…? Don't you think my food is delicious?" He had said, whining between bites. "Dude, I find it hard to resist!"
She frowned. "Well, it is tempting… and maybe that is the same way brother had felt when he let this fast food restaurant invest on his country."
Her world revolved around Ivan Braginski, from most of the twentieth century, carrying the habit until the twenty-first. It was unhealthy, and soon it was able to corrupt her. When Belarus had been under America's protection, way back in the 1990s, he watched her misery along with her confusion and tried to repair the damage of what her love had done. He was determined to do so, to help her, to completely cut the string that connects her to Ivan. Yet she tangled herself with that string, so it was almost impossible to break free. He was certain, that Ivan had attempted to cut the string several times in the past, to free himself from her demeanor. Yet she would tie it tightly around his fingers, forcing the string to fate them together.
Anything with a foundation not strong enough will collapse.
And so, it did.
Belarus at this time had let go of the string that she has with Ivan, yet tables were turned and Ivan was the one holding her back. It was never easy to move on, that America knew so painfully well. He could understand Bela's remains of love towards her brother. He just hoped that she'll be able to let go, even if it takes almost as long as forever to finish the process. He was just worried about the possibility that she might never move on from her unhealthy position—never to move on like Alfred.
If only she would notice the red string on her other hand, the string that would lead her to her true love, yet to where, America unfortunately did not know.
A few people who knew of his love for Belarus had asked him of what made him fall for her—an Ice Queen that she is.
"Because she thinks I'm an idiot…" He trailed off, never finished.
They would laugh, saying, "Everyone thinks and knows that you are, Alfred!"
They thought it was because of her breathtaking beauty, though they were right, but it wasn't exactly the reason of why he fell for her. Theories were exclaimed, one saying that he had a masochistic side, and so Belarus would be the perfect partner. America only laughed at each guess that his friends would make, none having the correct answer.
Somehow, the thought of Russia's acts earlier that evening had entered America's train of thoughts. How could he, as Bela's brother, could withstand to persist on bothering her, hurting her, reopening the wounds that Alfred had tried so hard to stitch back? He knew well of Russia's capabilities, his strengths, his charms, his bloodlust anger—and America envied him. How could Ivan Braginski effortlessly make the perfect woman to fall in love with him head over heels?
America felt anger. Not only because Ivan had hurt Bela, or had he plan to declare war, yet also of the fact that he was too dense to see what was always in front of him. There she was, ready for him to take her, yet he would never bother to look at her, never understanding the beauty she held. If he would've just accepted her love towards him, then Bela would be smiling and laughing, rather than frowning and crying. Though Alfred knew that the sight of them being happy together would hurt so much… yet, at least Bela would be happy. He was the hero, after all. He was warned of the consequences of sacrifice, to be a part of his responsibilities for the better good of the world—of Bela.
He considered that Russia may not be as big as a villain he thought he was, after all, Bela had loved him. There must be something about him that made her fall, something that made her crave for his company, for his love. Knowing him, a quiet, distant person, someone who likes to put himself above others (well… America couldn't blame him), someone who was likely to be a prey, yet turns out to be the world's deadliest predator. Alfred tried to see his bad side, his side that he knew Bela does not deserve, yet, he couldn't completely ignore his good ones, those qualities he knew Bela had loved.
That night when he witnessed Natalia crying, in that conference room, that time when Russia had followed her, in the verge of crying as well. He noticed his concern for his sister, his guilt that was killing him. The way he had protested of America's offer, his offer that Belarus would stay with him. The way he had let her go, the way that he didn't force her to refuse, that he let her go in her own free will—it was enough evidence that he was a good brother. He remembered the way Russia had kissed Belarus' forehead, an affectionate as well as sincere gesture. He remembered his piercing violet eyes as they flare up at America.
He was only trying to protect his sister all this time. He loved her. There was a possibility that he's starting to fall for his sister now, now that she was with his rival—Alfred Jones.
Alfred had feared for that, for the possibility that he might interpret his brotherly love for Belarus as a different one. That Russia might realize a romantic perception of his sister—by then, Alfred knew he had to give up, for Bela's sake.
"You must understand, Natalia, I am always here for you." Russia had said to Bealrus. "I will protect you from those who wish to harm you and be your solid foundation, but all that process can be done without tying knots. I can't marry you, Natalia. I'm sorry I cannot return your love. Just don't ask again, my answer will always be the same. I will never marry you. Please, calm down and understand."
Alfred wasn't sure if that would remain the same. Natalia's a beautiful woman, charming and interesting and absolutely worth dying for. He wanted to keep her all for himself, yet he didn't know how to make her his, and only his. Russia had her all to himself before, yet he let her slip off his fingers so casually. He may take her back, away from Alfred's hold, and he'll do it swiftly and effortlessly, being the sweetheart he is that she so dearly loves.
"Jones, just don't take my sister away from me, you understand?" said Russia that night in New York.
A huge part of his conscience was telling him that he should never let Belarus fall the hands of Russia again. Not after what he did, whatever it was. The way she would cry and stroke her own cheek in dismay, might've meant that Russia had struck her. It was an unforgivable gesture. He was the mighty Russia, and her brother. How could he strike a lady, even more a sister? She considered him as her hero, the title Alfred would die for to earn.
"That lucky bastard," America murmured, absentmindedly punched the wall beside him, therefore receiving pain from his cut, making a loud noise that made Belarus stir in her sleep.
Oh no, America thought. I'm an idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot!
He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had completely forgotten about her presence. He watched her half-awake gestures as she sat up, hugging a pillow tight against her chest. Her blond hair was a tousled mess, strands sticking up in a weird way, and her bow had hung loosely under her left ear. She looked at him in narrowed and moist purple eyes. She looked like a puppy that was too lazy to wake up.
She's absolutely cute, America silently commented, forming a light pink streak across his cheeks.
"A-Alfred…?"
"Sorry, I woke you up, didn't I?" He opened his hand, hidden from Natalia's view, and saw fresh drops of blood dripping from the reopened wound.
She rubbed the sleep from her lilac eyes which she used to stare at him blankly. "What were you doing?"
"N-Nothing…"
She pushed the quilt away, and quickly grabbed a robe to cover herself. "What was that noise?" She made her way towards him, steps shaky. As if she might fall any minute, America met her halfway, letting her body collapse on his chest. She firmly gripped the fabric of his button-down shirt, trying to hold on to him for balance.
She felt a sticky liquid on her hand, which Alfred was holding. She focused her vision on his hand that was placed on top of hers. Slowly, he slid his hand downward to her wrist, and on the back of her palm she saw red stains—blood.
She remembered the little event that had happened earlier that night. Quickly as the memories flooded in, she forced them out, turning her undivided attention to Alfred alone, trying to flush out unwanted emotions out of her heart.
That wound on Alfred's palm—that cut that she'd given him. "I-I'm sorry…" she touched his hand, softly gave the cut a gentle stroke. "I've been a pain, hadn't I?"
"It wasn't your fault, Bela." He smiled his dazzling juvenile smile, almost convincing her that she had done nothing wrong. That smile, those eyes—orbs of electrifying blue that seemed to have penetrated through her body and somewhat found her core, melting her from the inside. She wanted to believe him, that she had nothing to feel guilty about, yet she wouldn't forgive herself if she would forget the things she'd done to Alfred. Horrible things that she did to him—she had stabbed him, slapped him, insulted him, possibly even made him cry. Those horrible things she'd done to him over the years…
She had nothing to feel guilty about at first.
In the 1990s, when she was forced to stay in Alfred's homeland as orders from her leaders, she was this angst person who hated most of the world, cursing her fate, cursing the Land of Freedom and the people who lived in it. She hated how the Americans could smile so gleefully, as if problems and mishaps never existed in their country. She hated that they were given this much freedom to enjoy, so much freedom that could possibly be a burden to the American government, economy and wellbeing. She had come from a Socialist government, and Democracy seemed so foreign to her. These undisciplined people, these Americans, they seem to be weak, divided, and disorganized. The Western culture, the liberated acts they could do in public, it seemed so wrong to her. Why would Alfred Jones even think Democracy can be of a better government, than hers? She had nothing against the citizen's rights and the freedom they held, however such undisciplined culture can be harmful to the country in general.
Though what was she to do about it? This may be for her good. If the Soviet cannot make such a stronghold of the United States to collapse, maybe the citizens themselves could make it possible. She won't ask anything more than that. After all, America was reason why she had to leave her lands and had separated her from her brother and the rest of the Soviet countries. America who had made the dissolution of the USSR possible… he deserved a slow, painful death. If only she could get her hands on him and kill him brutally with her own knives… yet she knew, it was impossible to get his guard down, and doing such ruthless acts against him could lead to another generation of war—and she wouldn't want that. The last one was stressful enough.
She wondered how Alfred Jones was, and how was he to treat her—an old enemy. She had only saw him a few times, talked to him even fewer, and she not seen him for decades. She bent her mind trying to remember scenes from the past, when she had seen or talked to Alfred. She remembered that bloody battle between the Soviet Union and Germany. She remembered how the Germans crossed her borders, how they had mistreated her people. She remembered the blood on her hands, on her cheeks, on her dress. She remembered killing enemy after enemy, when a man in a strange brown jacket had blocked her way.
"Comrades, you better stay alive!" The man in the brown jacket announced, his voice overwhelmed by the gunshots and battle cries. His accent was certainly not German, and she didn't know if he was enemy or not. He held two pistols, firing at the German soldiers. He had his back turned to her the entire time, and from what Belarus was seeing, he seemed to be a good shooter. He was fighting on her side, yet she was unsure of this foreigner. Swiftly, she grabbed his shoulders, pushed him to the dry ground, straddling on him with a knife across his throat.
She waited for him to raise his arms and point the guns at her, yet he remained still, eyeing at her in a bizarre way.
He had cool, blue eyes, contrast against his reddening face. "Um," he murmured. "You must be Russia's sister, right? D-Don't worry, I'm America and I'm fighting on your side!"
She played that scene from long ago repeatedly in her mind, as she walked around the airport in Washington, dragging her baggage behind her. That scene was from the second war, and it was over now, as well as the Cold War. It was 1991, and she had lost along with her family, and now within the boundaries of the United States. She searched for that familiar blue eyes and sun-kissed streaked blond hair that she had last saw in 1945. It was not long when she spotted that man sitting on a metal bench, his head leaning on the wall beside him, seeming to be asleep.
She walked towards Alfred Jones, trying to come up of a way to wake this carefree man. She took the seat empty space on the bench beside him, and examined this stranger who she was to spend a while with. Somehow, strangely, she felt fear. This was of course, the most powerful country in the world, and she was afraid to wake him up, afraid that she might trouble him and he might hurt her for such an act. So she waited, and waited, for hours it seemed. Until she felt her feel her eyes dropping as well, for the reason that she had absolutely no sleep from the entire flight from Belarus to America, for her thoughts wouldn't allow her such luxury. She hadn't realized her need for sleep, until the time she woke up on the same spot, with her head resting on someone's shoulder.
She sat swiftly and stiffly, that it had surprised the man beside her.
"Ah! You're awake!"
Belarus covered her face with her hair and blushed a little, cursing herself for the carelessness. "I-I'm sorry for troubling you like that." Her hands shook, fearing of America's possible negative reaction.
Surprisingly for Belarus, America laughed with the sincerest humor. "It's not a problem, dude. I don't mind at all!"
She then fixed her eyes with mild confusion to Alfred Jones, and what she saw was a sweet, gentle, and down-to-earth person, unfitting for his great title. Though, deep inside she was thankful that he was a humble and approachable person, rather than the opposite, which she had expected.
The longer the time she had spent with him, the better she knew and understood his beliefs and outlooks towards his country and people.
"What I want for my people is for them to feel safe and protected, so they won't worry about their lives and wars." America once told her. "It's not a good world to live in where life feels like a prison. I want the whole of America to get the satisfaction the country can offer, not just the ones with authority."
By the time she had to leave America and had to come back home, she felt almost nostalgic and unwilling to depart. Even though the American Government had mistrusted hers, even though their leaders demand them separate, she still can't get over the fact that she was leaving the United States, a place she had already gotten used to.
"Hey, Bela…" America told her before she had to board the plane back to Europe.
"What is it, Alfred?" She waited for him to reply until there was made an announcement for the last call to board the flight. "I have to go."
"Wait!" He grabbed her hand. "I just wanted to make sure that you won't be suicidal, once I let you go."
Belarus shook her head. "I promise I won't."
"Great. I expect you to be alive the next time we meet." He smiled at her. "Hey Bela… if you ever feel down, you could always give me a call… also, I would never neglect a friend. In fact, I could be your hero, if you would just let me…"
He was a sweet, adorable person. Yet Belarus knew that Ivan was waiting for her. She doesn't want to leave his side, however it had felt like centuries apart from her brother. "I don't need a hero," she told him gently. She doesn't want one. She doesn't want someone like him to worry about someone like her. He was just too compassionate, too kind, too humane to get involved in her broken world. "I'll look forward to seeing you again." With those words, she left him.
They would hardly even talk again, after she left for her home. Upon seeing Ivan, she guilty admitted that she had almost forgotten about America. Though every time they would catch each other's eyes, a smile would escape their lips and they would look away just as quick, busy with their own lives. They hadn't had a proper meeting, not until that night in New York, where she had gotten her heart broken by Ivan, and America had come to save her, like the hero he always promised he was.
"Alfred…" Natalia kissed the red cut on his palm, hoping to soothe it. "Maybe that helps? My sister always does that whenever I hurt myself, saying it will make the pain go away."
Alfred smiled at her. "She's right."
"Alfred… I'm so sorry…"
"Bela, I told you, it's just a cut! It was purely accidental!"
"B-Besides that…" She swallowed. "I'm just so sorry…"
"Hmmm? For what?"
"For all those mean things I said and did in the past century."
He laughed. "I could totally understand, Bela. That was immediately after the Cold War. It must be hard for you to completely trust an enemy… and I know you never did, yet even so, I'm thankful."
"Alfred… you were a great friend, before and now, thank you." She looked at feet, unable to look at those gentle blue eyes that makes her feel so guilty.
A sudden gesture had completely taken her by surprise. Heavy hands grasped her shoulders, making her face lift up, only upon seeing his eyes locked with hers, his face closer now. He had a wide smile on his lips, his eyes looking as happy as the one's of a child's after receiving the perfect toy for his birthday.
"REALLY?" America blissfully exclaimed, shaking her shoulders. "I was a friend? So you actually considered me as a friend before? Whoa, I thought you hated me all the while."
Belarus blushed at his words. "O-Of course you were a friend!"
Again, taking her by surprise, Alfred suddenly wrapped her arms around her, embracing her close to him. "Ha ha! That's good to hear!"
It seemed forever until he let her go. "Hey, Bela!" He held her at arms' length. "Let's sleep now! I'm planning to take you around Paris, since we're already here and we'll probably never get the chance again!" He was talking too fast now, too energetic for the time of the night.
"Around… Paris?" She imagined them walking on the streets of Paris, looking like idiots in love. It's too embarrassing, she thought. "I-I don't think that's a good idea."
"Oh, c'mon, Bela! Please?" He stressed the last word, prolonging the diction, ending up in a soft hiss.
Of course, that pleading voice paired with his irresistible pleading puppy eyes, Natalia found it hard to refuse.
"F-Fine, then…" Her voice was soft as a whisper.
He jumped in childish excitement. "GREAT!" quickly, he jumped on the bed, rolled to one side and patted the space where Belarus should sleep in. "C'mon. We'll have to get up really early for tomorrow!"
His idiotic grinning face had made Natalia laughed. "Alright, you little brat." She made her way to the bed, laid on the space provided, and covered herself with the quilt without even removing her robe.
"Goodnight!" Alfred said gleefully.
"Goodnight."
And the lamp went off just like that.
As expected, Paris' beauty was breathtaking. What fascinated Natalia most was the architecture, every curve, every small detail, every stone that had been put together to build the perfect Cathedrals, the perfect structures.
"Hey, want to go to the Eifel Tower, Bela?" America sat across the seat from her.
"No, not really. Let's not go there."
"Hmm? Why not?"
"Because they're all probably be there."
She was certain that the other countries were visiting the Eifel tower right at that moment, since they all had the habit of visiting an attraction in the country they had gathered, before leaving back to their respective homes. She feared for the possible presence of her brother, and so she refused Alfred's offer. She had been to that tower before, and there was nothing so special about it but the sight of lovers, foreign and local, being dreadfully affectionate in a public area and no one could judge them. This was the City of Love, Aphrodite's great kingdom.
It would be embarrassing for her to go to the Eifel tower without a lover, another reason why she declined. Countless times she had dreamt of being in that place, hand in hand with Ivan. It was a bitter thought. Her dreams were shattered—all of them. She doesn't know what to do without being attached to her brother, and now she's searching for something to satisfy her obsession with. She thought being spending time in Paris could help her find her answer, yet the city was offering her nothing. She only agreed to smile and pretend to be having fun for Alfred's sake, since he seemed to be having the time of his life.
"Aw, shoot." He complained, but his lips were still smiling. It seemed that he didn't care what they would do, or where they would go, just talking and spending time with each other was already enough. That conclusion made Bela feel lighter, like another pound was taken off her shoulders. "Oh, I know, let's eat somewhere fancy. I'm starving! I'll make France give us a rush reservation!"
He instructed the driver of the taxi to take them to a restaurant he knew, somewhere he told her that was nearby. Belarus hoped that the restaurant they were to dine was not as fancy as she imagined, for she certainly hadn't dress up for it.
Alfred was wearing a gray suit and a black tie, a fitting attire for the theme of the city. While she, wearing a short blue dress under her thick black coat. Sure she dressed appropriately, but fashion plays a significant role in France, and she did not want to be judged by the people around her.
"By the way, you look very lovely today, Bela." Alfred commented. Oh man, w-what am I saying, he thought. He pretended to look out the car window, just to hide his blushing face, and looked at her through her faint reflection. He guessed that he was just desperate to start a conversation with her, just to eliminate the awkward moments. He was the lamest guy on earth at that moment. He could tell that the driver was constantly glimpsing at them from the mirror and smirking. Okay, so maybe Alfred wasn't the smoothest guy in the world, but being with someone as gorgeous as Natalia, makes him stutter involuntarily, especially with the current situation. He actually persuaded her into hanging out with him in Paris. He wished he had thought everything through. He just didn't realize how awkward it is to hang out with a female friend in the city of love. In different situations, him hanging out with another girl in this city wouldn't actually be any difference to the way he normally acts. Though being with someone you like so badly, and being in the city where love blossoms, and you just cannot make a damn move on the girl, is a really damaging thing on his ego. Yeah so I'm the lamest hero in the history of lame… so what..?
"A great monument, da?" Natalia said, quickly unplugging Alfred's daydreaming.
"Huh. What?"
"The Eifel tower."
"Oh... yeah, it is." He didn't realize that the sight of the famous Eifel tower what outside his window, and he didn't notice it since he focused his eyes on Natalia's reflection on his window.
He was sweating again. Why does he have to feel so nervous today? Bela was sitting quietly on her corner, and he could tell that the silence is getting to her too. The way she would cross her arms and tap her feet on the carpet impatiently, were obvious body language that she was already intolerant and bothered of the discomfiture growing between them. Alfred's eyes drifted around the car, outside the window, just anywhere but on Bela. He was trying to degrade his nervousness, letting minutes come and go, thinking of a good thing to say. His eyes drifted to the driver who was looking at him from the mirror and rolled his eyes. Alfred blushed at the embarrassment.
"Hey," Natalia said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I didn't know there was a fast food restaurant here…" She pointed to the McDonalds outside the window, and Alfred fixed his eyes on it as the car passed by.
"Oh yeah, I forgot. I invested in this place, in case I needed a place to eat decent food whenever I come here."
"But isn't France known for its best dishes?"
"Well, yeah, but for a time you'll get sick to foreign foods, and start to look for an old favorite…"
Natalia nodded. "I see."
Awkward silence.
"Hey, you think we can eat some burgers some time?" Alfred said. "It's been a while since you last tasted burger."
"I actually got a burger every once a month or so, since there's a lot of fast food chains in my country."
"Oh."
Awkward silence.
"I thought that restaurant was nearby," Natalia said. "It must be thirty minutes since we boarded this taxi."
"N-No, it's only been fifteen minutes…"
"Oh." She sighed. "Must've felt longer when we're idle, da?"
"Yeah…"
Awkward silence.
Neither of them was speaking this time. Alfred knew that their destination was nearby so maybe by then he could actually think of a worthwhile conversation with her. She'll never agree to go out with him again if she wasn't having fun now. He mentally face-palmed himself. Is this even a date, He thought, questioning himself.
After a short while, the driver played a song on the radio, where he didn't know the song or the title. The lyrics were in French, but he somehow he knew he could understand them.
"I know that song…" Belarus addressed the driver.
"Yes, it was one of the greatest love songs ever written and composed. Yet the artist was not well-known and the song did not become famous. Yet I think a few people over the internet discovered this song and somehow it became a little popular." Said the driver who smiled at her.
"Yes, I heard it somewhere before." Natalia said. "It was a song written by Antoinette La Vau, who had loved someone so much, and she talked about the sweet moments she had with her beloved. I-I thought that song was a happy one, yet at the bridge she talked about how the man had no feelings for her, and everything she thought they had was only in her mind. In the end, the man pushed her away from him, and she wouldn't stop loving him. In the end, she found that he loves another woman, so she stopped and killed herself, yet she continues on loving him up until the end."
They're having a much more interesting conversation than what I can come up with, Alfred thought bitterly.
"An unfortunate story, yes." He said. "But, what everyone doesn't know is that the story is real, and Antoinette recorded the song before she committed suicide."
Natalia did not reply.
"After her death, her lover, Georges, confessed his love for her, and everything he had done was to drive her away from him, because he knew he was dying of cancer, and he doesn't want her to cry over him when he did. Georges died seven months later, and he died smiling. His last words were 'I can finally see her.'"
Natalia's face gloomed. "That was an ill-fated story… you know, sometimes I try to kill myself, because I learned that the one I loved doesn't loved me back, yet I know that even if I died, he wouldn't change his feelings for me."
The driver looked at Alfred again, who shook his head. It wasn't me, thought Alfred.
"Every time I would try, though, this guy stops me." She looked at Alfred. "I just don't know if he is a curse from hell or a blessing from God." She smiled at him.
And of course, the hero couldn't help but to smile back…
"HOLD ON!" the driver announced before taking sharp turn, making Belarus, who was not belted, crash her body into Alfred, her lips close to his neck. "I'm sorry!"
"B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-BELA!" Alfred what completely taken by surprise, Belarus having to be on top of him, likely to be hugging him, while he could feel her breath on his neck, her leg across his knees.
"Aw," she had her hand on his left shoulder which she slid idly down his chest, sending tingling sensations all over Alfred's body.
"Ah…"
She jerked away, with cheeks flushed as pink as her lips, upon realizing that she had her body rested on top of him. She felt like she wanted to bring her knife out in embarrassment, hidden behind her short skirt. Having such a short dress gave her difficulty to conceal her weapons, but somehow she could not refuse wearing it. It was of course, another gift from Alfred, (and she shyly admitted that it was beautiful, and it would be a shame not to wear it). Somehow she felt like he chose that particular dress on purpose, to stop her from bringing her weapons, so he could play the hero—or maybe he had other perverted reasons. Either way, Natalia did not want to know further.
She placed her hand on her thigh, close to her hips, feeling the blade beneath, slowly pulling it up, attempting to go for the weapon, attempting to threaten America into vowing that he would forget that moment, and bury it deep, deep, into his memory.
"Bela—don't!" America placed his hand on top of hers which was placed on her thigh, gripping her hand with the fabric of her skirt, pulling it up a bit, revealing the garter underneath, as well as the blades.
"Gah! Stop!" She swatted his hand and moved a little away from him.
By the time his palm was on his forehead, Belarus had pressed herself against the car door to her side, making an uncomfortable distance between them. The knife was dangerously positioned in her hands. Her message was clear; go away you perverted bastard.
She had misinterpreted the situation, and for that, America could not blame her. He admitted that what he had done was idiotic of him (to no surprise), and he should've done something less hasty to stop her from unsheathing her knife before she could threaten him and the driver. The sight of Bela's flushed cheeks, and weary eyes were a distraction to him. She looked cute like that, just being offended—wait, what am I thinking? I should apologize… to her, America thought.
A deep shade of crimson formed on his cheeks, as well as Natalia's, both of them struck witless.
Alfred was dumbfounded, as well as guilty, even with clean intentions. Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, stupid, stupid, idiot of an American. You're a poor excuse of the American civilization! You idiot! Way to go ruin a perfect evening! Way to go making the girl you like think that you're some echi freak! You're an idiot, Jones, Alfred thought, a big fat idiot!
He had something he should feel guilty about as well, something he couldn't explain. He hated to admit it, but for a moment, just upon realization and before she had slapped his hand, he felt… well, you know. He felt inclined to that touch, to that sensation that he wanted more, more and beyond.
All in time. All in damn time.
"S-Sorry…" He managed.
Belarus did not utter a word, until the cab had stopped to their destination. She got out quickly, not waiting for Alfred to open the door for her.
"Bela—" He called as he got out of the car as well. He could not think straight, almost forgetting to pay the fare. He leaned down to the driver's window, paid him, and tried to catch up with Natalia who had already entered the restaurant without him.
"Hey, son." The driver called, making Alfred stop to address him.
"Yeah?"
"I did you a favor. Now good luck with your girlfriend." He winked at him before driving away.
How was that a favor? You made her hate me, damn it, he thought. He rushed in inside to catch up with her. She was at the entrance, with a guy who works there, having his hands on her shoulders, trying to take her coat, as she shrugs it off. With a hint of jealousy, Alfred interrupted. "I'll do the honors." The boy blinked at him and stepped back immediately, afraid of Alfred's sudden glare along with a deep, threatening voice.
Belarus was aware of Alfred hands on her shoulders, sliding down her arms as she shrugged off her coat.
That touch… That touch…
Tingling his hands were, when he had placed it against her bare shoulder after her coat was taken, sending Goosebumps down her arms.
"I'm sorry, it wasn't what you think," he said so sincerely, that Bela had believed him.
She had to pretend that she wouldn't forgive him, that she was tremendously offended, as well as violated. She had to pretend that she hated what had happened, that she felt annoyed by the situation. Though, she was a little annoyed, to herself, and not to Alfred. She was very much aware of his clean intentions. The reason she had swatted his hand and moved away from him, rushing and trying to avoid him, was because of the building sensation around her body that she had never felt against Alfred's touch. She hated that sensation—that feeling that she almost desired for… she had to admit to herself, she loved it as well. But, no—she must neglect it.
"Bela… please, don't get angry with me…"
She did not reply.
"Bela, please…" He tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm sorry."
There was something different about this touch now, something she liked even more. She could not identify it, not with him. His hand felt cold, yet warm and welcoming. The contrasting feeling she had been sensing was driving her to the point of absolute confusion.
It was just a touch…
A touch that had went under the garter on her thigh…
It was just a touch, Natalia assured herself. It changes nothing. Yet, after all the hesitation, she couldn't help but to twine her arm around his. "Forgiven."
There's nothing about it. It's nothing, stupid girl, she thought. Don't ever think on using Alfred as an instrument to forget about Ivan.
Seducing was the thought, as well as that touch, she couldn't give in. She can't afford to.
"Bela," Alfred whispered close to her ear. "Let's go, I promise never to speak on it again, okay. Let's just forget about it."
Oh. So he never meant anything about it.
It kind of upset her. It was a disappointment that she couldn't even seem appealing to him—what am I thinking, she screamed at herself.
He led her to their table, and every second of it she had thought of her silly fantasies, and despised herself for it. She thought hard, that she seemed lost to the world, except for the Alfred's touch that connected her to reality. She almost stumbled, yet another hand had secured her. It almost felt depressing to have him let go of her as they took their seats across of each other.
But, no matter. There was plenty of time with him.
Obsession—it was once again infecting her blood, veins throbbing with desire and a hint of love. Her inner, wiser self was trying to stop her, pulling her red strings, and tangling her again, trying to knot her back to Ivan, because her wiser self knew that Ivan is much, much easier to deal with than this American.
It was always the heart that controlled over Natalia Arlovskaya, though, not her brain. She felt a mixture of different emotions, and she wanted to cry so bad for it, not knowing if it was for joy, or for the sadness she felt.
Not again, no. I won't believe it. It takes much more than that to convince me.
Much more.
"Saints and Sinners may be separated by their actions, but they are united by their reaction to passion."
― Gaiven Clairmont, Unknown Book 12377521
-end of chapter three-
What? Did that escalated quickly?
Sorry.
This wasn't supposed to be the end of the chapter, but if I included the rest, it would be too awfully long—even for me (also, I got to remind myself that this is fiction "T")
Oh, and is someone here a RusBel fan? Please inform me if you are, because it's gonna influence my story a lot.
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PLEASE :')
(but please be gentle)
