Italy's Point of View
"Italy…" I heard a soft voice behind me.
I panted heavily and my heart was burning.
From running or from Germany?
I didn't respond, only sitting on my knees rather than holding my weight up with my scrawny arms. Maybe Germany didn't like me because I was weak? He was always yelling at me to train harder… I only pretend I can't do the laps or push-ups because Germany always helped me up when I "fell."
I loved how his hand felt wrapped around my arm…
I felt Japan help me back to my feet, glancing at my face, probably checking if I was crying. I don't think I was…
He walked me back to my house. We didn't speak the entire time. The silence gripped my neck and wrung me dry. It killed me. If I thought I hated silence before I was such a child. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream.
Scream.
But I didn't want to attract attention. I didn't want to hurt Japan's ears. He'd only been kind to me. And I had evil thoughts. Of course Germany wouldn't like such an idiot like me. A nuisance like me.
We couldn't have gotten home soon enough. When I took the first step inside relief spread through me. I've never liked the public eye. Japan had asked if I wanted him to stay the night but I declined his offer. I couldn't help my eyes that glued themselves to him until he walked out of the door.
Finally.
I ran to my art room and quickly uncovered a canvas. I took out paints and messily dipped my fingertips in them. The temperature didn't register in my mind before I slammed my fist into the cloth.
Again and again and again. I couldn't stop myself from slamming the paint onto the fabric.
I painted in patterns and then in sloppy movements. Orderly then cracked. Insane.
I finally willed myself to scream and threw a plastic container of red acrylic paint at the innocent canvas. The liquid slithered down the side in three columns before it dripped onto the plastic cover on the ground. Drip.
I fell to my knees on the ground and gripped my hair, tainting it different colors.
Red. Blue. Black. Green. White.
My fingers walked down my cheeks and painted them as well as I looked up at my painting. I clenched my teeth as anger pulsed through every vein in my body. As disappointment slapped me in the face. Again and again. As weakness mocked me. As failure whispered in my right ear.
I hate it.
I hate it.
I hate it.
I freaking hate it.
To think the renaissance started with me. I've failed you once again. But then again, when don't I fail you?
I put my palm to my nose, to my cheek. I drenched my face in violet paint. Violent paint.
Does he really mean so much to me that I'm losing all of my sanity over him?
I hate it.
I hate you.
I hate me.
I hate everything.
Forget love, that doesn't exist. I've only mistaken it for the real emotion: Hatred.
I slammed my head into the wood flooring. Again again again again again again again again.
I threw my paints around the room. I hate painting.
I'm a terrible artist.
And it was at that time fatigue won over and drugged me. My eyes closed shut with unshed tears staining through the violet paint.
It took a lot of force to open my eyes the next day. Paint glued my eyelids down to my face.
I finally looked down at myself and saw what a mess I was. My hair was clumped together and messed up.
My curl was frayed and flattened.
My shirt was hard to take off and was completely destroyed by the time I peeled it from my frail body.
I walked to the mirror and flinched at the sight. Picking at the paint caked onto my face, I tried to get it off. The paint in my hair wasn't any better. My arms were nearly covered up to my elbows and splatters on my shoulders and upper arms. My legs weren't great either.
I didn't bother to clean myself, reasoning that I wasn't going to leave the house.
I decided to just grab some fruit for breakfast and after that I just laid on the floor of my dining room next to the scratches and gashes made from Germany's bowl of pasta. I ran my hand over the marks and hummed mindlessly to myself. I hate Germany.
I was surprised when I heard my doorbell ring.
I chose to ignore it. Whoever was at that dang door can just leave. I don't want to talk to people. I hate people.
It rang again.
It rang again.
It was really irritating me.
I sat up sloppily and glared at the door. It had been repaired since Germany's last visit. Another reason I hate Germany: he breaks my stuff.
I swung the door open and scowled at the person whom was there. I yelled: "What the heck do you want, Germany?!"
Germany's Point of View
I rang the doorbell. Italy should be back from Romano by now right? I even asked Japan. He acted a bit confused but admitted he saw Italy home.
I stood outside and waited. Hmm... That's strange. It doesn't normally take him this long to answer the door. I rang the doorbell again. Maybe he's just sleeping? He's not a grouchy riser so it'll be fine.
After a while of continuously ringing the infernal chime, someone answered the door. It… was Italy? I think…
"What the heck do you want, Germany?!" he yelled at me.
Nope. Definitely not Italy. Was it? He looked similar… And didn't call me "Potato Lover" so it wasn't Romano. He didn't call me Ludwig so it wasn't a human…
"Ah… Yes… Is Italy here?" I chose to use his country name
The colorful man didn't respond. Only giving me a look that I recognized as Are you stupid or something?
"Nope. Not here. You know, unless you wanted to call me Italy," he leaned forward and whispered to me: "Which by the way I am, idiot."
This was Italy? Being rude and sarcastic?
"Oh… Sorry…" I mumbled. "So, what happened with…" I trailed off, gesturing to his apparel.
"Oh nothing, I just decided to paint myself because I knew you were coming! Is it any of your business? No."
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his attitude. What had I done to him? I picked at the violet paint on his cheek before he slapped it away. Honestly, he could have been Romano. The two aren't as different as they seem.
"Bye," he said curtly and slammed the door before I caught it in my hand. He only looked that more irritated.
"Are you going to invite me in?" I asked.
"No," and he tried to close the door again, but I stopped it. Again.
"Why not? What did I do?"
I felt slightly disturbed when he laughed. It wasn't a giggle or a humorous laugh, but a dark chuckle.
"What didn't you do? I did tell you I'm not all," his voice changed and I winced at his new happy tone, "Ve~ Happy~!" his expression eerily darkened again. "I. Hate. You. Remember you're the one that told me not to fake anything around you anymore. You don't like Lies."
And this time he successfully slammed the door in my face, leaving me with my mind running wild like a child on a playground. Leaving me staring at my fingertips, smudged with violet paint.
ANOTHER chapter?! Aren't I feeling inspired lately? Anyways I really liked writing this chapter :3 Seemed like Italy snapped in half now right? I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! I write to be read~