Broken and Slowly Bleeding Red Chapter 4: Pieces, a hetalia - axis powers fanfic

Broken Slowly and Bleeding Red

Chapter 4: Pieces

I really can't believe how many people have followed this story! I thought that since it was such an unusual pairing, no one would want to read it. Guess I was wrong. xD Thank you so much! I like love you all, and I don't understand why you read my crappy stuff. When you come to the part that is Lovino POV, he is not actually saying all of that to Francis, but for the most part that's what he was telling him.

I don't know why he started to hate me. I don't know what I did. But the first time he hit me, I was shocked. The second time he hit me, I cried myself to sleep. But after about the seventh or ninth time, I accepted the fact I had become nothing more than a punching bag, but I learned to deal with it.

Lovino quietly walk down the spiral staircases, heading down to the kitchen after another long night. It had been a week since he moved in with the Frenchman, and he was still getting used to this whole new routine. Every morning, Lovino would be roused from sleep by a melodic voice, and gently shaken awake. He'd open his eyes to see two blue ones gazing back down at his, and then he'd be told to come down for breakfast. Lovino would then proceed to grumble, and make his way down to the kitchen. It was somewhat annoying. He felt like he was being treated like a kid. He didn't need that.

Once down in the kitchen, he took a seat at the table, his eyes focused on his fiddling fingers.

"Ah, bonjour mon cher." Francis greeted cheerfully as set a platter of fruit on the table next to the croissants he had already placed on the table. "I surely hope you were able to sleep well this time." He gave the Italian a small smile, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Lovino shrugged him off, reaching over and placing some fruit on his plate. "I want some coffee."

Francis sighed, standing up straight, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, you could at least ask nicely." He shook his head, and turned around, walking back over to the counter to make the other a cup of coffee. "Anyways, I must say, you've been doing a great job at the restaurant. However, it would be nice if you'd not be so grumpy around the customers."

Glancing up, Lovino grunted in response. "If they don't like how I act, they can go somewhere else. I don't give a damn." He mumbled, stuffing his face with a piece of croissant.

The Frenchman chuckled lightly, setting the cup of coffee in front of Lovino. "The problem is Romano, I do care. I don't' want to lose business." Sending a mere glance Francis way, Lovino scowled. However, though he wouldn't admit it out loud he was thankful for the kindness he had been shown so far, and didn't want to disappoint Francis. Maybe he could try to smile, just a little.

The two ate in quiet silence; it was a lot less awkward then it was the first few days. Lovino kept taking occasional glances up at Francis, but acted like he looking beyond him whenever Francis would catch his eye.

There came a point in their meal while he was in the middle of taking a bite out of a ripe, red strawberry, when he noticed that Francis was staring intensely at him. A rosy blush painted itself on Lovino's face, as he lowered the strawberry back to his plate. His eyes locked with the other's shyly. "W-Why are you always staring at me?" He asked quietly, reverting his gaze down to his plate. He gnawed on his bottom lip nervously, and started pushing his pieces of fruit around his plate.

"Why? You intrigue me Romano." Francis replied simply. "I wonder about you, about what brought you here and what has hurt you so much… you felt like you had to escape."

The room went silent after his words. There was the faint sound of ticking from the elegant clock on the wall. There was also the soft sound of birds chirping pleasantly near the open kitchen window. Yet, there was no uttered sound from the Italian. No words were spoken in return. There was simply the thick silence that hung over like cloud injected with lead.

"Signore Bonnefoy…." Lovino quietly muttered.

"We have not regressed suddenly in our relationship have we?" The Frenchman inquired upon the formality.

"Francis." The Italian stuttered. He kept his gaze down. His hands moved down into his lap, fingers drumming nervously on his thighs. "I don't want to talk about it." He looked back up at the Frenchman, his hazel eyes mixed with sadness, and a fear that had and always will be there.

"But it's good to tal—"

"Not this time." Lovino bit his lip, and then pushed his plate away. "I-I'm going to get ready." He stood up from the table, and then continued walking out of the kitchen.

Francis sighed, and watched silently as the other walked away. His heart seemed to fall down to the bottom of his chest. He didn't understand. He wanted to reach out, and help him. He just didn't know how. He had been trying his best to get him to talk to him, but with all his efforts, he always got shot down.

"Romano! Bonjour!" The dark haired, somber Italian was greeted by an energetic filled hug, and kiss on the cheek once he arrived at the restaurant. Lovino smiled slightly, hugging the girl he had come to know as Victoria. She was a pretty girl, with long dark legs, and bright happy eyes. Lovino had come to find out that she was another person that Francis had taken under his caring wing, and guided out of difficult times.

"Buongiorno Victoria. Dios mio, you look beautiful today." He said, lightly pressing a kiss to her coffee cheek.

Francis walked up, wrapping his arms around both of their necks. "I hope you aren't flirting with my little girl." He said, leaning into the shorter man's ear.

Lovino shook his head. "Why? Are you just being an overprotective little shit?" Victoria giggled, her cheeks heating up. "Or are you perhaps jealous that she likes me better, hmm?"

The Frenchman grinned, leaning in closer to his ear, and whispered softly. "Maybe I'm jealous of her." He took a step back, watching with amusement as the Italian turned redder with each passing second. "Let's get the day started." He clapped loudly; alerting it was time to get to work. He kept his gaze on Lovino as he stepped back towards the kitchen, a small smirk running across his face. A scowl appeared onto the flush face staring back at Francis. Crossing his arms over his chest, the young Italian followed behind quietly to the kitchen. His ears brushed pink as he followed.

A few days later Lovino woke up screaming. His hair was matted down from sweat, which also was the cause for the damp sheets. He looked up, breathing heavily and quickly, and saw Francis rush into his room. The tall man sat beside him, sitting the young man up. He wrapped an arm around him, and tried his best to calm him.

"Romano…Romano." He whispered softly, placing a gentle hand on the Italian's face. "What is it? Was it another bad dream?"

Lovino smacked the man's hand away, and moved away from him, shakily. "You, y-you just stay away from me bastard."

Francis frowned, and took the other's hand in his. "Romano. I'm tired of seeing you like this." His slightly calloused fingers, gently brushed over the Italian's skin. "Please…. Tell me what's wrong."

Lovino looked up at him with tired eyes. He needed to tell someone, or else this was going to keep eating him until there was no soul left in his body.

~Lovino POV~

I was only three years old when my mother died. She passed away when my little brother, Feliciano, was born. There were complications during the pregnancy, and my mother made a choice, a choice that saved Feliciano, but killed another angel in the process. You might think that my father would have hated my little brother for 'taking' away his amore, but he didn't. No, instead he adored Feliciano because he reminded my father of mother. They were so alike. So much that all the love my father had, went to my brother. If it wasn't for us moving in with our grandfather, and getting at least some affection from him, I would have been nothing but an outsider.

But it wasn't so bad, I was still happy. I was happy until grandfather died. After that however, everything changed.

When I turned nine, my father decided I had become a nuisance, and was afraid I would become a bad example for Feliciano. He locked me down in the cold basement with nothing but a small palate of blankets. The first night I was down there, I prayed to God asking what I had done. I never got an answer. I think he decided I wasn't worth it, or maybe he agreed with father. Maybe he preferred Feliciano over me too. My brother was perfect. He was sweet, cute, and always did what he was told with a smile on his face. How could I ever compare?

When I turned eleven father came downstairs one night, his breath smelling of alcohol, and climb over me cooing sweet words to me he had never said to me before. I thought maybe he was finally going to let me out. I had finally done something good. I was wrong again. He held my arms, and tore off the tight worn pants with the holes in them, and turned me over. I struggled, and whimpered, asking what he was doing. He ignored my questions, and slammed into me without any sort of warning. I screamed, tears pouring down my cheeks. I didn't understand.

He told me he loved me.

I wanted him to stop.

He told me it would feel good eventually.

I told him it hurt.

He hit me when I wouldn't shut up.

My childish sobs grew into hysterics when I felt the blood dripping down my leg.

I wanted to end, but it felt like eternity until finally it did end.

He pulled out with a grunt, his chest heaving up and down. He turned me back over, and kissed at my tears. He started crying himself when I wouldn't stop, telling me over and over that he loved me. He told me he would never do it again. I believed him.

I believed him until he came back a week later. Each time he would tell me he would never do it again. Each time I believed him until he did what he promised not to, breaking the trust once more. He started coming more frequently, and he became rougher as time went by.

I think one time I told him I wouldn't let him touch me ever again. He became furious, lashing out at me, and his hands wrapped around my throat. The bruise marks stayed there for the rest of the week. Father told me that without me, he would have to go to Feliciano. He knew that would get to me. There was no way, no matter how much I hated Feliciano for getting things so easily, for being the golden child, there was no way I wanted him to go through this evil.

"I couldn't take it anymore…." Lovino sniffed, finding himself in the warm comfort of the Frenchman's arms. "I had to get away."

Francis didn't say anything in return. He simply held the other close, comforting him with his actions. This wasn't one of those times words would work. Instead, he let him cry into his shoulder until Lovino finally calmed down.

As Francis moved to stand up, Lovino grabbed his wrist, holding him firmly in place. "J-Just…please stay." The Frenchman eyes softened, and he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"Of course."

"But stay on your side, d-don't you dare touch me."

The blonde nodded, giving him his assurance by getting up and pulling over a chair instead. He sat down, and smiled gently at the other.

Lovino let out a slight sigh, turning over so his back was towards Francis. He pulled his blanket over his body, biting his lip. "Umm….thank you."

Francis smiled sadly. His brain still processing the horrible things Lovino had to endure. He wished he had met him earlier. He would have protected him sooner. He could have done something.

"I haven't done anything to deserve any thanks, but you are welcome…."

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