Canada's P.O.V
I hummed to myself as I made my way back from the meeting. It had been really good; it had been the first one I had attended since I got back from the hospital little over a month ago. It had also been the first time that the other countries had asked for my opinion. On nearly everything, too! England had asked me for advice on the economy, whilst America had asked about a bit more trivial matters, such as what burger (AN: There! I used an American term. Are you satisfied, spell check!? Are you!?) from McDonalds he should buy.
I smiled as I thought of France's gift. Every day, I had found an entire basket on either my doorstep or desk. Each basket always had had a note attached that read: 'you are always loved- France' Yes, I certainly feel loved. France had taken me to a nice café only yesterday. He wasn't afraid to show how much he adored me, either. France always held my hand when we were walking, or maybe when we were just sitting. France would sometimes catch me by surprise and pull me into a spare room and- well, let's just say things got active.
Because of France's advice (and constant persistence), I am now seeing a psychologist. She is helping me a lot. Apparently, I'm diagnosed with depression, borderline multiple personality disorder, sibling rivalry disorder and sever loneliness. That really doesn't sound good. I mean, I'm not that bad, am I?
"Bonjour, my little Canada." France greeted as he hugged me from behind. He leant over and kissed me on the cheek, making me blush. Damn it, I hate that blush, no matter how cute France thinks it is. "How are you feeling today?"
This had become a bit of a routine. Every day, France would ask how I was feeling. He would do it intimately like now, or casually work it into whatever conversation we were having, or even if he was far away he would always call me. It never bothered me in the slightest. To be honest, I loved the attention! Except, and I admit that this was a little unfair, I would get jealous if I saw France giving attention to someone else. He wasn't flirting with everyone anymore, but still. But France never failed to reassure me that he was only mine. Okay, so maybe I am a little possessive.
"I feel really happy, that's how I am."
France chuckled. "That's good. Nothing has upset you? Nothing at all?"
I hesitated before answering. "No, nothing. I-I'm fine."
France spun me around to face him. "Canada, 'I'm fine' isn't a real answer." he said, his voice immediately serious. "What is wrong?"
"Oh, it's nothing really. It's not important." I tried to look away from him, but his hand pulled my face back to me.
"Tell me, it is important."
I sighed. "It's just, how long is this all going to last?" I continued when he frowned at me. "I mean, how long is everyone going to keep noticing me? Pretty soon, they'll all forget me."
"Canada! No one will forget you again!" he said fiercely. "Besides, if by some chance they do, I will always, always remember you."
I tried to gulp back the lump in my throat. "Yes, but how long will you love me?" I pulled away from him violently. "No, really? How long!? Why would love me when there are so many others that are so much better than me! Why, I bet you'll see some pretty girl and be all over her and forget all about the weird boy with the bear!" I held my face in my hands and stifled a sob. "You won't love me anymore."
France didn't answer me. He just turned and walked away. 'He knows you're right.' A voice inside me sneered. 'No one would want you. You're not worth it.' I couldn't keep it in any longer, the tears streamed freely from my eyes. Sobs racked my body and turned so violent that I was afraid they'd tear me apart. Glaring, I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists. "Stop crying." I muttered. It was working. I grabbed my hair and yanked.
"STOP CRYING!" I screamed. I screamed until my voice was hoarse, and then I continued to scream. I punched the top of my head exactly three times. "Stop! Crying! Now!" In my fury I ripped off my glasses and smashed them on the ground. I grabbed a sliver of the glass. Without thinking, I tore off my coat and forced my sleeves up.
"NO!" I flung the piece of shattered glass far away from me and ran down the hall. 'I will not cut again! I will not!' But what could I do!? Rage and panic clouding my mind, I raked my nails down my bare arms. I tore and ripped and scratched until my arms were covered with long, angry red lines. I had scratched so deep that some had even begun to bleed.
I collapsed on the floor and wrapped my arms around myself. What had I done? I held myself there. I was alone. I was damaged. I was forgotten.
AN: I'm sorry guys! Really, this was meant to be a happy chapter! It was also meant to be the last one, but I'll make the next one the last. I didn't mean for it to get so dark, it just happened. Jeez, what the hell have I been exposed to that makes me write this? I saw him doing this WAY too clearly. What? No, I've never done something like that before! I think… I really don't remember.
Oh, ahem, I, uh, I wrote a song for you guys… yeah:
Please write a revieeeew~
Please write a revieeeew~
Please write a revieeeew~
Because I. Am. You're. Friend!
Please write a revieeeew~
Please write a revieeeew~
Please write a revieeeew~
I. Hate. Spell. Check!
Oh, er, what an influential song. Later creatures!