Thanks so much for all the reviews, I really hope you enjoy this chapter. However, I must admit there is a trigger warning for the last part of the chapter. And also, anything written in this chapter (emotions and actions) are things I have done/felt so if you think I portrayed this inaccurately, I apologize, but I'm basing this off of my own experiences.

(I know, you're all upset that he hasn't met his soulmate yet. But it's coming soon, I swear.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers

Age Seventeen

Bleeding Art

It all just felt as if someone had torn his heart from his body and ripped it up like a failed test before shoving it back into his chest.

He had to do something to rid himself of this feeling, right? This feeling of hopelessness, despair and self-hatred. Those feelings were consuming his heart, his very being. Ludwig hated it, he hated everything.

But most of all, he hated himself.

Ludwig hated his blond hair, his dull blue eyes. He hated how tall and muscular he was, it made him seem like a large monster. He hated seeing the teenager in the mirror everyday and knowing that was him. He hated knowing that the person staring back at him in the mirror was himself, a boy who would always be alone.

He had to do something to rid himself of this feeling brewing in his heart.

The German boy didn't know why, but he had this uncontrollable urge to just destroy himself, in every way possible. He hadn't been eating much, but he worked out to the point where he was dizzy and ready to faint. He stopped studying for his tests, after all, what was the point anyway? It's not like he had a soulmate to impress. Ludwig stopped going to bed early and waking up even earlier and started staying up late and if he did sleep, not waking up until an almost obscene hour.

He just didn't want to do anything anymore.

It seemed as if nothing could make Ludwig smile anymore. No longer did he enjoy reading his favorite books or watching his favorite movies. Music didn't do a thing. He no longer smiled when he saw dogs on the street, or when he baked. It's not like he ate the things he created anyway. Ludwig just wanted to sleep for hours and hours.

When he was asleep, nothing could hurt him. When he was asleep, he didn't have to be reminded of the fact that he was worthless and going to be alone forever. He didn't have a soulmate, nor any friends, but Ludwig already knew that the worst he could do to himself is to depend so much on a certain person because then, what would he do if one day the decided they didn't need him anymore?

So Ludwig stopped contacting Gilbert.

Well, it wasn't like he and Gilbert never talked, because they did. Gilbert would've never stopped talking to his 'baby' brother forever. But there were less phone calls, fewer texts, and the visits were almost nonexistent. After all, although Gilbert still technically lived with him and paid the bills for their apartment, he spent most of his time at Matthew's dorm, which was understandable. It was more convenient and of course Gil wanted to be with his soulmate. So, Ludwig understood. Gilbert had a soulmate now, he had someone to love, and besides, he was twenty-three years old. Gil didn't need to hang around his wordless little brother anymore.

So no longer would Ludwig send a text to his big brother whenever he was sad. Instead, whenever Gilbert asked how he was, he would just say 'I'm fine'. Although that wasn't how he felt at all, it was better than Gilbert knowing just how much he wanted to stop existing.

Ludwig just wanted to feel important to someone, was that too much to ask?

He scoffed at his own question. Of course it was. Someone who was worthless and wordless like him would never be important to anyone. Leaning his head back on his pillow, Ludwig flipped the switch on the lamp on his bedside table so the light wouldn't shine through. He didn't need light when his complete world was full of darkness, right?

Whenever Gilbert and Matthew came over, Ludwig would act like a normal teenager. He'd act as if it didn't bother him that he had no words, he'd act like he was happy to see them. The blond acted like he didn't know that he didn't want to live anymore.

To be honest, Ludwig didn't know if he could do this anymore. Getting up, going to school and faking being placid. Pretending. He couldn't do this anymore, because just as he started to think 'hey, maybe it's really okay that I don't have words at all' his dark thoughts would come crawling back, and he used to try and try, but he was never able escape his unhappiness.

So Ludwig stopped trying to escape, and instead just dwelled in his unhappiness. Gilbert had tried telling him that maybe he should go to a doctor, get some antidepressants prescribed. Ludwig had told him that he wasn't depressed, that he didn't need any medication for this. In all honesty, he just didn't want pills to give him fake happiness.

If he slept long enough, would all the pain go away? Part of him wished that one day he'd go to sleep and just never wake up again. There was one time a few years ago where he tried explaining to Gilbert why he was so sad, but nothing would come out that was when he realized, he didn't know why either. Was it because he didn't have words? Was it because his father and mother left him? Was it because of the constant teasing, or the fear of being alone? Why was he so sad all the time?

Ludwig didn't know exactly the reason behind his sadness, but he did know that recently, he just felt really tired, like the world had drained him for everything he had.

It was a strange feeling. Empty. Hallow. But it also felt as if he were locked in a cramped room with hundreds of other people screaming his faults at the top of their lungs. It didn't make any sense, and it left him feeling hazy and blurry and with a constant headache that never left. It didn't make any sense, but that was exactly how he felt.

Would this still hurt as much if his heart stopped beating? Ludwig had wondered that many times. If his heart just stopped beating, he wouldn't be consumed by this miserable feeling, right? He was just so broken and nobody even cared to notice. Or maybe they did notice, but they just didn't care about him enough to say something or to try to help.

His phone started to ring. A cheery, happy tune that didn't fit the atmosphere of his unlit room at all. Knowing there was only one person who would ever call him, he answered the phone.

"West, it's me, your awesome bruder!" An excited voice yelled over the phone.

"Hello bruder." Ludwig greeted, trying not to let on just how broken he felt.

There was a small silence before Gilbert spoke again. "Hey, Lud, are you doing okay? I haven't heard from you much lately and you rarely answer my awesome texts."

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm just tired." Ludwig muttered, but even he knew it wasn't just a lack of sleep, but a lack of hope, and happiness that made him sound that way he did.

Another pause from Gilbert's end. "Are you sure, West?"

His heart murmured to him to tell the truth, to tell his older brother that he was in fact, not doing okay, that he wasn't happy, that he didn't want to live. But his mind whispered for him to just lie. One more lie wouldn't hurt, right? His mind continued to talk to him sweetly, as if his thoughts were friendly. Don't tell him what's wrong. You don't want to bother him. You're already a burden as it is, don't make it worse. He's happy. Don't drag him down with you. Stop being a burden.

"Yes, Gilbert, I am sure."

"Alright then, but you know I'm always here for you, right?"

Lies. "I know."

"Well, I have to go. Matty and the awesome me are going on an awesome date in a few minutes, text ya later!"

And then there was just the beep of the dial tone, and it took a few moments for Ludwig to realize his brother had already hung up. He let out a sigh of relief, dropping his phone back on the nightstand. Lately talking to Gilbert took a lot of energy. Lying took a lot of energy.

Turning over onto his side, Ludwig thought about how much it hurt to know he couldn't change who he was, he couldn't change the fact that he was wordless and all he could do was watch the hatred for himself grow everyday.

Gilbert wouldn't understand that, even if he did tell him.

Recently, Ludwig had found that you didn't need water to feel like you were drowning. Every time he took a breath, it was like water flooding his lungs, and the more he tried to cry out for help, the more water filled him, making it impossible to breathe. You didn't need water to feel like you were drowning, and you didn't need to be dead to feel like you were in Hell.

Groaning, the blue-eyed teenager turned over onto his side, staring at the pale blue curtains that were pulled across the window, shutting out the outside world.

There was one feeling Ludwig hated more than anything. More than the loneliness or the feeling of being unloved. It was the feeling when you're sad but have no idea why, and you just feel so empty. But nothing in particular even happened to make you feel that way. The feeling when Gilbert would ask what's wrong, but he can't even explain. Or when Gilbert didn't ask at all. Ludwig couldn't figure out which was worse.

To Ludwig, it felt like he was missing someone he never met. Like he needed someone who didn't need him. The loneliness hovers over him, it takes control of him and he didn't even care.

And so, Ludwig had started to isolate himself on purpose. Sadness had started to become his best and only friend. Maybe sadness was his soulmate? Long ago, Ludwig started to hate himself and wanted everybody to leave him alone. But at the same time, he wanted someone to rush over to him and gather him up in a hug and tell him that everything would be okay.

He hated the feeling of not even knowing what the hell he was feeling.

If he was honest, the blond wanted to be happy. But something inside him screamed that he did not deserve it. He didn't deserve the happiness that people with words got to feel.

It had been eleven long years since Gilbert had made that promise, and he had lost faith in that promise seven years ago. But a tiny fraction in his heart wanted to believe in his big brother's words, but he couldn't. Even back then, was he just waiting for something that would never happen?

It was dark outside when Ludwig finally gave up. He found himself standing over his desk, an x-acto blade in his right hand. He had bought this blade long ago from a craft sp store so he could complete a class assignment, and it had been hidden away in his desk drawer ever since. Ludwig never thought he'd find another use for it.

But he had.

He was almost afraid. What if this went wrong? Did this make him weak? He had never considered himself weak, but he was starting to reconsider. Did he really want to do this to himself? Ludwig already knew that the answer to that question was yes. This could dispel the terrible feeling in his heart, this would finally make his plain wrist look like a work of art.

Ludwig tightened his hold on the x-acto blade until his knuckles had turned white, before bringing it down and dragging it slowly across the delicate pale skin of his wrist. It stung like hellfire. But as he pulled the blade back, surprised by how much it hurt, he realized that the sting felt pleasant, like a hug from an old friend.

Now, you'd think him to be mad that he found this to be a pleasant sensation, but it was true. Deeply pressing the blade against his skin once again, he dragged it backwards, marveling at the tiny drops of red beading on the skin where the blade had just been. Ludwig lost count of how many times he continued that process, carving the blade back and forth onto his skin, relishing in the stinging feeling that it left behind.

The German teen had never thought blood was pretty, until he saw it dripping from his own skin. Most people would think that when or if Ludwig took a blade to his skin, he'd be in panic, crying, hyperventilating or sobbing uncontrollably like most people would be. But really, the moment he saw his skin split in two is when he felt calmer than he had in years.

The blond male couldn't help but admire just how beautiful his wrist had become with just a few simple cuts from a blade. Finally, his wrist wasn't empty or plain. It was no longer blank. The skin on his wrist had become a canvas, and in his right hand he held his sharp silver paintbrush coated in red paint.

Staring at it once again, the blood drying in small pools on the irritated flesh, Ludwig realized something.

Ludwig knew he never wanted his wrist to be empty again.

To be continued

Coming next: Age 18