Warning for this Chapter: Violence. That's all I'm going to say, because I don't want to spoil anything. I don't mean to offend anyone, but I just want to show the deep emotion America is feeling. If you have any concerns, please message me.
Day after day passed of England treating me like a child who was horribly sick, telling me I needed to see a doctor, and I needed to get 'help', when I knew I was the only one who could figure this out. No doctor could prescribe me with some medication to take these feelings away. No, this was all up to me and me alone. However, all hope seemed lost as we arrived at the world conference as promised they would resume last week. Every country was staring at me with bright eyes of faith, but England shook his head and shooed them away, telling them to 'give me some space'. "I'm not contagious.." I teased quietly, hoping to lighten the mood even just a little bit.
"Ah, so he did show up~?" I could distinguish the Frenchman's voice from a mile away - I think anyone could to be honest. I didn't reply, for both our sakes, but he kept pushing me further to breaking as I sat down uncomfortably in the large seats provided. He wasn't provoking me exactly, but we all knew who he was after. "Britain, why are you with America huh? Why won't you come and be with me~?" "Like I would ever want to." England retorted immediately, crossing his arms and sitting himself down in between me and France.
"But I was never so horrible to you as he was back then!" France pleaded in a whining voice, taking England's hand and attempting to seduce him with his sly words. Something within me began stirring - a mix between anger and regret. I tried to shut my mouth and bite my tongue, but my tolerance for him was quickly fading.
"I'm beggin you Arthur, I love you~.."
"Like hell you do!"
"More than he ever will.. Isn't he just a pain Arthur~?"
That was it. I completely snapped. Everything was a blur as I jumped up from my seat in a bitter rage, wrapping my hand around France's throat and backing him up towards the wall, pressing his head into the wallpaper roughly. He was caught off guard, but he still wore that handsome, mocking smirk across his lips. Breathing right into his face, I tightened my grip, staring right into his face with gritted teeth. "You shut your fucking mouth!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, causing my voice to break, "I have never hurt him!"
"Ohonhon… That's where you're wrong mon ami~.."
"What are you-"
"How could you forget the war?"
The...War..?
Don't you remember America?
And that's when the puzzle pieces were finally connected.
"T-The.."
Letting go of the other's neck, I staggered backwards, eyes widened in pure horror of everything coming together and finally making sense.
Everything was finally so clear; every horrible thing I had done.
"Oh my god..."
I remember those many years ago, promising myself to forget about the war, and move on. Telling myself to never remember what awful things I had done to the one I loved most.
Telling myself everything was okay, when in reality it wasn't. Nothing was.
Every breath was violently hitching in my chest, to the point where my lungs were burning, and everyone was trying to help me not to fall over right then and there. England reached out to touch my bandaged arm, but his fingers felt like fire to my flesh. It hurt to even catch a glance of his innocent face. The face which I had tried to kill those many years ago…
"N..No!"
"What did he say to you America?!"
"D-Don't touch me!"
Yanking myself away from the other country's grip I slipped slightly on the marble below and made a run for it, sprinting quickly towards the door without a second thought and leaving it wide open behind me.
Does it all make sense now? What a horrible person you are?
Running through the streets without regret, I instinctively came to the doorstep of England and I's shared home, turning the golden knob and creeping my way in to the inviting darkness that practically called my name.
The dreams and flashbacks now seemed perfectly normal, and the clues were in front of me all along! How could I have not known? The burning field, the bodies, the blood, the war. I had almost brutally destroyed England mercilessly, and he spared me my life when he could've taken it away. And what did I do in return? I treated him like trash, and spent most of my life showing him how superior I truly was.
I didn't even try to apologize. Instead, I continued living my life as one great big lie.
I was right when I told myself my whole life consisted of lies.
I lied when I told everyone how victorious I felt seeing his crying face, when it really broke my heart to see the one who took care of me look so broken.
I lied when I told myself I was happy, when in fact I had never been more empty without him.
And now, every time I see him, I'm filled with that guilt of stepping all over him without one word of apology. And I tell him that I love him? What kind of sick, horrible, disgusting person am I?
Slowly crawling up the stairs towards the bathroom where glass shards still littered the floor, I cautiously slid into the room and sat in the corner, reaching hesitantly towards a large chunk of glass and observing it… I could just barely make out my reflection in the darkness, but I quickly turned away from my hideous face. I couldn't live with the fact that I never lived up to what I had done in the past, and the cruel reality that I dare say that I'm in love with England when I have hurt him so deeply for so many years. For centuries he said he cried over me, missed me, wanted me to be the America I used to be… I wish I could go back. I wish he would have killed me right then and there.
Do you feel guilty America?
Yeah... I do.
What are you going to do about it? Don't you think you should be punished?
Yeah, I should be. In fact I'll punish myself right here…
Was I really willing to do this?
Just do it. You hurt him.
I swallowed the saliva building in my throat and felt my heart ache and pound behind my ribs.
Putting my fingertip at the sharp end of the inviting glass shard, I carefully removed the bandages along my hand and arm, letting them fall to the floor and swallowing the large lump in the back of my throat before pressing the sharp point to my skin. In one swift motion of my wrist, I felt my flesh open and rip apart, sending a burning sensation to fill my body. God, it hurt so bad, but I felt so… happy. I repeated the process multiple times, reopening old wounds and creating new ones until my tan skin was covered in thick crimson that slowly rolled down my arm and dripped onto the tile below. Slash after slash felt more amazing to the point that I wanted to smile, and laugh with an absolute joy that filled up my heart.
I deserve this. I deserve this!
I repeated to myself, a low chuckle filling the room as tears filled up my already swollen eyes.
Salty drops rolled down my face in a stream, and choked laughter continued to pass through my lips as each cut grew deeper… I just wanted to repay my debt.
As quickly as it had come, the laughter subsided and the pain began to seep in, looking down in horror at what I had truly just done. I had to process my racing thoughts before the image of my mutilated arm took its toll on me, and I ended up chucking the piece of bloodied glass as far away from me as possible - letting it hit the bedside table in the other room. Although my loud laughter was silenced, the crying continued more intensely. It was a strange feeling; guilt.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, my blurry eyes darted around the room in distress, trying to figure out what to do, and if this was just all a sick dream.
I wasn't the hero anymore.
I needed one.
