Late. As always. I was going to post it on time, but decided that I hated the first version at the last minute and ended up rewriting the whole thing. I hope this one is better On top of that, migraines suck and school stress is starting back up and will only go downhill from here, but I have a clearer idea for this story now. It may be a little shorter than originally planned but there are definitely a few chapters left in this. Huge thanks to all of you lovely followers, and to Jenniferrocks07, Adina2938, and the ever loyal GarGoyl, Sora Resi, Killerkitty15, and Sode no Shirayuki1411. Your support means more than you know. I'm just going to apologize now if this isn't written as well as I intended.

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything about Hetalia

Trigger warnings still apply. Mentions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, dark/slightly suicidal thoughts, and abuse recovery.

Chapter 13

Help

"Arthur, please tell me it's not what I think it is."

Oh how I wanted to tell him that it wasn't nearly as bad as it was. His voice was growing stern and cold. I couldn't say anything; I didn't have the strength to. He was angry with me, I knew it. He was angry because I didn't tell him that I was disgusting and worthless and he had just wasted time on promising me things that would potentially make my life even a little better. I watched him out of my tear filled vision as he stood above me, taking several steps here and there, trying to make sense of what such a complicated situation. I took a soft breath and looked down at the ground, preparing for the worst. I was used to this, right?

"You could be seriously hurt. What aren't you telling me? Should I be calling someone for help? Please say something!"

He was probably just as overwhelmed as I was. How could anyone take in such information rationally? Nevertheless, as much as I understood why he was acting in such a way, it was still too much. I felt ready to crumble into ruins once and for all. I knew he wanted an answer, and he wanted one now. Would he hit me if I stayed quiet? He continued hounding me with question after question, and I couldn't tell if he was panicked or simply irate. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Yes, he raped me Francis!" I had all but screamed the words, feeling more shameful tears make their way down my cheeks. It was the first time I had ever said it out loud, "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The look on his face was enough to send me spiraling out of control much quicker. His eyes were wide and full of some strange mix of awful emotions. He stood completely still, eyes scrutinizing every inch of me in my pathetic heap on the floor. I wondered where he would hit me. He certainly looked like he wanted to hit something.

"Why didn't you tell me…?" His voice had dropped so low I barely caught what he said.

I looked down at the floor, pushing farther against the wall. "I'm sorry…"

Perhaps he wouldn't punish me as hard as he probably wanted to upon hearing such words. Maybe he would at least know that I knew how terrible I was and that I knew I didn't deserve his help or assistance. How much would it take to beg for his mercy?

"I could…I could have done something! If you would have told me, I could have done something. You could be seriously hurt and I didn't even know!"

His voice grew loud again and I wondered if any other Bonnefoys would be concerned. Maybe I would have to explain everything to all of them by the end of the night. Would I be on the street again by morning? I could hear my blood pounding in my ears and I wondered for a moment whether fainting would be a better way to handle the situation. I'm sure it would definitely be easier. I glanced up through my bangs to watch him pacing around rapidly in front of me. I saw his hands running through his hair as he often did when he was nervous, stressed, angry, or upset. He seemed to be wrapping his head around various thoughts that were building up, drawing closer towards when he would actually explode.

"Arthur do you understand how dangerous it is to go without telling anyone what happened? Have you even been properly checked by a doctor?!"

I thought it best to stay quiet, as I could barely breathe. It would only get worse if I gave him the truthful answers. But he took my silence as a 'no' to both questions, and he only grew more upset. I tried my best to tune him out as he started going on almost violently about so many things at once. He went rapidly from each phrase, ensuring that I knew how terrible it was that I didn't say anything. I couldn't bear to watch him any longer. Every time he turned on his heel to walk the few steps in another direction I grew even dizzier than I already was, tensing each time he faced me. I couldn't even fully analyze what he was saying. The only thing I knew for sure was that my chest felt painfully tight and that I had such a poor hold on my sanity that it reminded me of how I felt back there.

Things only got worse as he got lost in his anger and confusion. I pictured him standing there, a bottle in hand, ready to show me just how atrocious I was. Instead of a French accent that grew thicker with each sentence I heard slurred words and an accent far too similar to my own. I saw a stout figure instead of Francis' tall and lean one. I was back there with the screaming and kicking and violation. I wanted time to just stop. I had no control over anything and it was tearing the foundations I had so recently built back down to mere fragments. There was nothing I could do but cower against the wall and wait for what I expected was a beating that I knew I deserved. Would he hit me as hard as before? I felt prickly all over and before long I couldn't even hear his rant. Static was filled all of my senses, destroying any stability that was left.

He is infuriated with me.

He is upset because of me.

Everything that is happening now is my fault and there is nothing I can do to change it.

He is going to hit me and I deserve it because I am too wretched to receive anything kinder.

I deserve everything-

"Are you even listening, Arthur?"

Maybe he won't be as violent as the other was.

"Arthur?"

I shouldn't be here. I didn't deserve his help.

"Arthur… I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to trigger you,"

It would be easier if I just died now.

"Please let me help you. Just breathe, I shouldn't have gotten so angry," His voice was different now, quieter … "It's not your fault, we'll figure it out, but you have to calm down now,"

Was he talking to me?

"Can you breathe with me?"

I felt a hand and I instinctively flinched. It took me several moments to realize that it wasn't harsh or in the form of anything violent, really. Instead, there were soft fingers over my own, which had somehow come to cover my face. His breathing was slow, trying to get me to mimic it, and it was then that I realized how badly I was hyperventilating.

"I'm not going to hit you…I would never hit you…" His voice kept cracking. Why did his voice keep cracking? "You can open your eyes, now…"

Afraid there would be consequences if I refused to obey, I did what he said, finding it much more painful to do so. I was met face to face with the Frenchman himself, who had taken to kneeling down in front of me. I stared at him through my fingers, watching what looked to be tears stream steadily down his face. He had a hand outstretched, brushing my trembling fingers lighter than before, probably because I flinched. My chest hurt painfully and I still couldn't breathe as slowly as he was, but he had seemed to have a change of tone, and I tried to stay together long enough to find out what he would do next.

"I didn't mean to act so irrationally…I know you were probably too afraid to say anything…it's just…a lot…"

I tried to calm down. He wanted me to calm down. But the fact that I couldn't switch off my panic instantly just made it worse. Would he get irritated that I couldn't just stop being pathetic?

"You can trust me, Arthur, I promise, no one will ever hurt you again, not while I'm here."

How could he possibly know that? Was he just saying that so I'd let my guard down so he could hurt me like I was sure he wanted to? I tried to convince myself that he was definitely going to hurt me, that I needed to get away, but his hand stayed exactly where it was, and made no move to cause harm.

"You can move your hands, lapin; nothing will happen, I won't do anything,"

Why was he being so soft when he was so explosive before? No one had ever done that before. Was this a trick? I watched as he moved his hand to gently grasp my own and I couldn't stop him from prying my trembling fingers away from my face. I tried to breathe normally, but, as usual, it was so bloody hard.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way that I did…" Francis continued. He seemed to be scrambling to get back to his collected self. I had never seen him so explosive before, he was always so laid back. "It was a terrible, horrendous mistake, I scared you. I did the one thing I told myself never to do,"

He kept a soft grip on my hands, and I watched his thumbs rub circles in my rough skin. I couldn't help but listen to his breathing, wondering why my own was starting to even out simply because he was doing the same. I was slowly coming back from the dark chasms of my mind. Rational thought was returning to my mind, and I watched Francis closely, prepared to defend myself if he truly had poor intention after all.

"There you go…" He was still crying, which is something I had seen from him more often than I was comfortable with. Why would he be crying over me of all things?

I took the steadiest breath that I could and felt my own tears dripping down to my shirt. What I sight this must be. I wondered what would happen if anyone were to come see what was wrong if they had actually noticed.

"We have to tell ma tante…"

I felt the anxiety clutch at my chest once more and bit my lip as hard as I could, not wanting to be reduced to a sobbing mess once more. Would she react the same way? Would we have to go through this entire thing again? She would want to get rid of me.

"I'll be with you… it won't be like this, I shouldn't have been this irrational, especially when you're so fragile, I should have known better...but she has to know, lapin."

Fragile.

I hated the word. But I knew that he was right. I was so very fragile. I couldn't even handle this. Even if Francis had suddenly calmed down, that didn't mean that she would. She could be even worse than he was. I wanted to scream and cry but also hide and never speak again all at once. I could see the guilt that had settled into his eyes and suddenly remembered that he had his own problems too. Now, on top of his struggles, he had to deal with yet another one of mine. How could I have let this slip and trouble him so? It had to be too much for him. His hands squeezed lightly and everything finally stilled. I saw him in front of me, waiting to try and remedy his mistake of getting angry. I made out the outline of the furniture in the bedroom, and I once again heard the sounds of the other activities around the house. My mouth felt dry and I was zapped of all the little energy I had.

"Would you like to move to the bed? I'll help you…"

Help me. That's what he kept saying, wasn't it? Would he really? I felt numb as he pulled me up as gently as one could manage. My legs wobbled and I squeezed my eyes shut until I felt the soft mattress under me. There was a weight beside me, but Francis made no move to touch or hug like how I'd seen him comfort other people.

"You should rest now… I've worn you out enough. We can tell her tomorrow…"

I knew we should have said something sooner. Logically, I should be seen by a doctor tomorrow. But my irrational, anxiety filled, young mind convinced me that sleep was better and that we could say something after school tomorrow. But the thought of having to go through six more hours of being hopelessly behind almost made me want to continue the school work I had previously started. How I wished that for once my mind would just switch off long enough so that I could actually get a hold of things.

I finally looked back at Francis, trying to gage how truly upset he was. I wondered if he would break down sobbing like I had just minutes ago. I didn't know if I should open my mouth and say anything to try and reassure him that it wasn't as serious as he was making it out to be, or that it shouldn't be his concern that I was so filthy. But as I watched him sit with his head hung I figured that anything I tried to convince him of would be fruitless. I had quickly learned that when he was determined to fix something, he would, no matter how hopeless or impossible, and the fact that he had lost his resolve for a moment would haunt him.

"I'll wake you in the morning for school. I'm sorry, Arthur, we should have done this in a much more relaxing fashion. I understand if you won't forgive me for such behavior…"

I still hadn't the strength to answer him as I felt the weight beside me lift and the door close as he made his exit. I looked around the room once more, finding it far too dark to feel safe. I pushed myself up and moved slowly about, turning on a few of the lamps that were set up before returning to my now rumpled blankets. I wanted to sleep more than anything despite previously being haunted by the past. I could sense that I was too drained to worry about nightmares now. With such reassurance I allowed myself to settle back against the mattress and close my eyes, working my hardest to successfully doze off. I pretended that I didn't hear the cries coming from next door.

I barely remembered what happened at school the next day. All attempts I made at focusing were drowned out by the disappointed tone of Bella's voice as she learned how disgusting I was. I would pick up on teacher's voices periodically, maybe write a note or two, but I had already given up on learning before the bell rang to end first period. On top of this fact, the Frenchman who had been so angry last night had suddenly become overprotective. He hovered, following me closely to every class and always keeping his eyes on me. It wasn't like after he discovered everything the first time, it was more direct. I knew it was his method of controlling the situation, and was probably the only thing he knew to do, but try as he might it did the opposite of his intention and I felt more nervous than relaxed. By the end of the day, I was jumpier than I had been since before I collapsed and caused everything to go so wrong.

Francis didn't seem any better off than I was. He was continuously fidgety, and his nervousness was so apparent that I heard more than one student ask if he was alright. He didn't talk to me much, other than to ask how I was, and by the time we were both sitting in the car, a more than awkward silence had fallen between us. Even though I couldn't talk to him even if I wanted to, as I was too nervous about what would happen that I could barely speak, it would have been more relaxing if he was still acting in the same care free way he always had. But of course, I had done this to him. I watched his grip on the steering wheel tighten as he began driving, and his knee bounced uncontrollably at every stop light. It wasn't helping my nerves and I was soon getting overwhelmed so much that I had to call him out.

"Please, Francis, calm down, you're not the one with the dark secret here," I surprised myself at my forwardness; it wasn't exactly the way I wanted to bring up the issue.

He stopped fidgeting all at once and looked over, a frown spreading across his face. Without saying a word he moved over to the curb and put the car in park. I knew I was in trouble. He looked me up and down, his hands beginning to wring together whether he realized it or not, and I thought for a moment that he was going to yell at me or go into some sort of extreme emotional show.

"I'm just worried about you, Arthur. I don't know what I can do to help," he rushed, his voice tight and his brow creased with tension.

Help. He shouldn't want to help me. I had kept this from him and I knew it had hurt him deeper than he would let on. He should be livid with me. I didn't understand why he was so intent on helping.

"Please, I can't sit here and watch you suffer. I want to help, I have to. I can't be useless and watch this happen if I can at least try and make a difference. You're important to me."

Important. Why was I important to him? I shouldn't be important to anyone. My head spun with so many different thoughts and scenarios that I couldn't even begin to answer him. No one had gotten this worked up about my issues before. He looked as though he might cry.

"Just please tell me what to do…" He whispered, sounding almost defeated.

I tried to observe him closely through my muddled conscience. I took in the bags under his eyes that he attempted to hide and the way his shoulders had a slight slump. I had done this to him. I had caused such stress and troubles on his already hard life, and now he wanted me to tell him what to do. He at least deserved a somewhat proper answer.

"You…you just don't have to hover as much. I promise, I'm fine, I've lasted this long without anyone knowing, right?"

I hoped he would ignore how weak my voice sounded or how it kept cracking. I knew it was a shit explanation, and that he didn't want to accept that answer. But as much as he probably wanted to, he didn't press me. Instead, he just nodded and offered the smallest of smiles, a thank you, and began driving again. The rest of the ride was a bit more comfortable, though still silent, allowing the panic I had pushed away to comfort him to return in a more intense way. Images of yelling and hitting filled my head, and by the time we arrived in the driveway, I could already see myself running out on to the street while the two of them taunted me from the door way. Francis got out of the car and moved to open my door, and I could barely breathe. My entre body felt numb and I thought I might collapse as we headed towards the door. I knew he would do this right away, and no matter how much he assured me that everything would be fine, I was already prepared to make my escape outside.

Bella stood in the kitchen, cooking what I assume was to be dinner, and I vaguely heard Francis exchange greetings with her. He was going to call her attention to the problem at any second in a language I didn't understand. He could be telling her the entire problem in French before I even got a chance to. I all but dropped my bag to the floor and seated myself as far away as I could, waiting for Francis to bring her over as he said he would. My chest was tight and I faded out from the conversation they were having, drifting into my own thoughts, hearing nothing but disappointment, disgust, and rage. I wondered how long it would be until I was back on the street, if I would ever be comfortable again, or if I would end up being homeless for the rest of my life. A far too gentle hand touched my out, abruptly pulling me back to reality, faced with soft features and worried eyes. The woman looked at me with a curious expression, and I realized that it was time. Francis had moved beside me, and I decided that I was not prepared to do this at all. I didn't want her opinion of me to change; I wasn't ready to leave this place that I had grown too attached to and be alone. But I couldn't get out of it now.

"Francis says there's something wrong I need to know?" Her accented voice was calm but laced with worry. I was already seeing her expression crumble into one of shock and anger.

I felt myself freezing up despite the gentle squeeze to my shoulder from Francis. Was this his plan all along? To corner me here so they could unleash their anger all at once? I wanted to hide, to avoid all these problems forever and not worry about getting kicked out of such a warm and happy place for once.

"Is it something about your life before that you aren't telling me, cher?"

I wasn't sure how she guessed that so quickly, maybe Francis had told her in preparation to push me along. I looked up at her face and nodded slightly. When would the yelling start? I knew that I should actually say something, as this was important and the faster she knew the better, but when I opened my mouth to give the small speech and beg for her forgiveness, nothing came out except a rather pitiful whimper. I quickly looked back down at the floor, not wanting to show how pathetic this was turning out to be. How could one possibly be so weak so frequently in the span of just one day?

"It's okay, Arthur, whatever it is, you won't be in trouble…" Was this a tactic to get me to come clean?

I was growing more overwhelmed by the second, and I desperately wished that Francis had never found out. I didn't care about the possible health risks. But I knew I had done this to myself, being too weak to hide from him. I felt the next bout of unwanted tears prick at my eyes and hated myself for breaking all the careful rules I had set for myself in the past eighteen years so quickly.

"Did he do something else besides hit and yell at you?"

It was as if she already knew, but was waiting for me to come clean like a child guilty of insolence. I knew she wanted me to confess immediately, but I didn't want everything to change. I wanted to stay with them and try to get put back together into one piece. The need to cry became stronger and my vision blurred with the tears that inevitably would start flowing at any moment. I tried to sniff quietly, but as it was already silent in waiting for my response, both Bonnefoys frowned in response. Francis rubbed my shoulder so lightly I barely felt it, but I supposed he didn't want me falling apart in his kitchen and didn't know how much he could touch me without making it worse. I didn't even know the answer to that question. Bella squeezed the hand she had yet to let go of and whispered something in French that I supposed was meant to be comforting. I took deep breath that was shakier than I would have liked and felt myself nod just slightly. I wondered if she would figure it out just from that.

She offered me a small nod and squeezed my hand a bit tighter, rubbing circles in the rough skin. I didn't understand why she was being so gentle when I was sure she was about to hit me and call me unworthy to be in their household. It was silent for several moments and I could tell that she and Francis were exchanging glances. Was it to plot how to get rid of me? I figured she had her suspicions on the other thing he did and with my lack of communication and subtle hints and she was probably probing Francis for answers. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep myself from grossly sobbing and pleading to stay in their house even if that meant giving up the room I used and sleeping in the basement. I felt one tear after the other slide down my cheeks and noticed that I was trembling.

"I…I think I understand…" I heard her finally say. Understand what? That I was wretched? She took a deep breath and continued rubbing circles in my hand, "We'll help you, Arthur, you'll get through this…"

Why was she saying this? Why was she lying to me? Was this a trick to relax me so her punishment would hurt more? I didn't want to let her succeed. I couldn't bear the pain of believing her. In hopes that she would go easier if I was already openly hurt, I let myself cry harder, praying that she wouldn't want to waste time when I was already broken. She frowned deeply and when I looked up to gage her expression I saw tears in her eyes. I didn't understand why she would be crying when she could finally be rid of a pest.

"I'll call the doctor, we'll get you looked at, and then you'll recover. It's okay…" her accent was a bit thick for me to understand, probably from being so upset. But she didn't yell at me. Her voice was calm, too calm, and instead of screaming and hitting she seemed to want to comfort me instead.

I couldn't stop myself from crying. It was a pitiful display, now that it wouldn't work in my benefit. I tried to hide my face, not wanting them to see my misery. Bella was rubbing my arm gently, so unlike the way that I was used to being touched. I supposed it may have been because she was female and my captor was not that I felt more comfortable than I expected around her. I still hated too much contact, which I'd heard was supposedly normal for people like me, but I still thought it was pathetic. Everything about me was pathetic.

"I'm not angry with you, cher, we'll get through it all together, oui? Whatever you need, as long as it takes…"

I was too shocked and confused. All I knew was that she wasn't throwing me out and that she hadn't been as upset as Francis was. Had she suspected this all along? I heard her tell Francis to take care of me for the night, like he hadn't been doing that all along, and that she would bring dinner up to us, wanting me to at least try to recharge. I felt her wipe my eyes and offer me a few more words of comfort that I was too far gone to hear. My head hurt and I was still under the impression that I would be on the street at any moment. I cried until I had no more tears to shed, and Francis took me up the stairs to work on calming me down. Before I could ask, there was suddenly a warm cloth being gently pressed on my face that felt nicer than I had expected.

"I know that was hard, but it was important to get you healthy again. I'm proud of you, lapin," he said softly, watching me with a soft expression.

Proud of me? For what, being despicable? Crying like a child not once, but twice in the span of twenty four hours? I didn't think there was anything to be proud about. Francis just offered a soft smile and stroked my cheeks with the cloth. It was oddly calming and it was bringing me down from the panic I was experiencing before. Francis worked patiently until the cloth went cold and let me change into pajamas. I didn't really want to go to bed, as that's all I ever did when things got stressful, so I settled for sitting on the bed and watching Francis sketch something I couldn't see.

He was intent on staying with me, which I was sure was because of his aunt's request. I didn't mind his company, I never have in truth, but it was strange all the same. I didn't think I would ever get used to it. He seemed perfectly content to sit and make sure I wasn't going to have another fit. Maybe it was out of guilt? I observed him until he had gone through not one but three sketches, ignoring the fact that he had school work to do. The afternoon resulted in an oddly comfortable silence, with him lost in is drawings and eventually I with the notebook he bought me, writing random drabbles that were poor excuses at anything worthwhile. I knew I had to make use of that book, to gain his favor back or ensure that I would do anything to remain safe in their home. I didn't want to admit that I actually enjoyed it, when I shouldn't enjoy anything.

Bella checked on us after I had relaxed enough to think rationally, bringing dinner that I still couldn't eat. She said that I would go back to the same doctor I had in the hospital, and that she would be willing to pay for the recommended therapy. I instantly felt guilty. She already had to cover the costs for Francis' therapy that he had recently been neglecting because of me, and I felt even more unworthy. How could I impose on their family like this? This country didn't have the same health system as England or France, and everything was so complicated that I didn't fully understand it, but I was sure it had to be difficult on her. I didn't have the confidence to protest, but I knew she would hear none of it anyway, and Francis had already assured me that it was worth it. All I knew was that I was going to be indebted to her for life now. What scared me was what they would ask in return for trying to achieve the impossible task of putting me back together piece by piece.

Again, thank you all for the support. There will be more focus on therapy and the long hard road to recovery in the chapters to come. Happy reading.