I sincerely doubt that a kid could remember something so well from when he was three, but for the sake of the story, let's pretend Matthew can, alright? XD
OBAMA MUST GO (OMG) GUYS OVER ONE HUNDRED REVIEWS I LOVE YOU EACH AND EVERYONE BUNCHES AND BUNCHES- *breaks into a very embarrassing disco dance thing*
AAAAND WE FINALLY GOT OUR FIRST SNOW HERE IN LOSERVILLE, USA! There are THREE inches outside, right now! THREE PRUSSIAN INCHES! XD Imma go pray my butt off now that we don't have school.
Chapter 26-
She couldn't do this.
What was she thinking, coming back here? Arthur would be furious. By some strange and horrible twist of fate, Alfred wouldn't even be home, and all of Samantha's trouble would be in vain. With a frustrated, silent groan, she fell back against the wall beside the door to Arthur's apartment.
Samantha wasn't sure when the doubt had first wriggled its way into her mind, but it was slowly eating her away.
What if Alfred didn't want to see her? What if Arthur had been right, and Alfred hated her? Samantha would completely understand why- even she would hate herself- but she liked to think he was the least bit curious as to who is mother was.
Steeling her resolve once more, Samantha took a deep breath and faced the door once more. She didn't hear anything from within, save a child's cartoon show, albeit faintly. Samantha checked her phone- one p.m. Surely Arthur would be awake. He had never been one to sleep in- especially this late on Christmas Day.
Allowing herself no time for second guessing, Samantha knocked on the door. She heard a quiet yelp from within. "Quick, quick! Hide the wrapping paper, Peter!"
That voice that voice that voice-
"They're not supposed to be home yet!"
"Abel told on us, didn't he?"
"Pr'b'ly Alfr'd's been sn'ping ar'nd."
Those… voices?
A tall blonde man well into his twenties opened the door. A shorter blonde and an eight year old peeked under his mighty arm. "H'w c'n we help you?"
Samantha shrank back from the blonde's sour look and rumbling deep voice. The seventeen-year-old twittered from his side, "I'll take care of it, Berwald, you help Peter finish wrapping those presents."
Berwald and Peter, the former merely nodding and the latter whooping with joy, disappeared into the recesses of the apartment. "I'm Tino. Um, Arthur and Alfred aren't it right now, Ma'am."
"O-oh," she stuttered, visibly wilting. "Ah… sorry, then."
Tino cocked his head at her British accent. "If you don't mind me asking, are you related to Arthur?"
"No! No no no," Samantha said quickly. She let out a shaky laugh. "Not at all, Tino. I'm… an old acquaintance. It's been all too long since I've last seen Arthur and Alfred, and I wanted to wish them a Merry Christmas while I'm in town."
"Oh! That's nice. Do you want me to let you in? I don't think Arthur will mind if you're friends," Tino offered. When he moved away, Samantha finally got a good look at the interior of the home. Everything was spotless- the fruits of Arthur's boredom, no doubt- and she could smell his tea from a mile away. She particularly could smell Earl Grey well, as if he'd made himself a cup before leaving home. Arthur had always loved his Earl Grey. Past the spotless kitchen, she could see into the living room. The carpet was covered with bright, glittering wrapping paper and ribbons that had yet to be attached to said presents.
Samantha caught sight of Berwald, helping the little boy- Peter- cut his wrapping paper.
Her heart froze when she saw how much Peter looked like Arthur. They had the same blonde hair, same green eyes, and even the same bushy eyebrows, poor child. Samantha couldn't hear much of what he was twittering away happily to Berwald, but she heard the all too distinct English accent Arthur himself had.
No. Oh, no no no….
He'd found someone else, hadn't he? Arthur was married, and this Peter was his other son. Samantha found her world crashing down at this thought. She couldn't very well burst in now and tell Alfred who she was with his other mother in the room! Just who was she? Who, besides Samantha, would be crazy enough to put up with Arthur?
"Ma'am?" Tino worriedly asked.
His voice didn't compute in her overloading brain. Arthur had given up on her. She'd expected that, too, but….
But he'd told her he had still loved her.
That day- that horrible, horrible day fourteen years ago. When they were walking to the courthouse, Arthur had muttered, "I still love you, Sammy." Samantha hadn't turned around. He always said that. Always- when she was mad, after he got mad, when Samantha felt like breaking down and crying over something silly. Arthur had no doubt loved her. But that one day had been different. I still love you, Sammy had meant goodbye, Sammy.
She hadn't turned around, hadn't acted like she'd heard, because there had been tears running down her cheeks.
Samantha loved him too. She couldn't fathom why, but she had and still did, she hated to admit. But she had been so bloody selfish…. It would be too late, she had figured, to learn to love Alfred. After all the fire she'd been spitting and all the ranting she'd done, it would just be foolish to listen to that little voice in her head- Don't you just love his little smile? Don't you just love carrying him around? Don't you love him more than anything in the world?
No. Her pride and her selfishness wouldn't let her give in. Surely every time Arthur said I love you, Sammy it was through his teeth. Samantha had convinced herself that Arthur didn't even like her anymore- not after almost giving away his precious Alfred. He loved Alfred, now. Not her.
And not once did it occur in her mind that he could have loved them both.
Samantha found herself digging her fingers into her scarf- the lovely scarf Mrs. Dubose had knitted her. It had served her well, keeping her cozy and warm with thoughts of that lovely old woman all December. Surely Alfred was warm and happy too, with Peter and Arthur and the woman Samantha had been replaced with.
She tried to stop herself from taking the scarf off, but her arms were working on their own. Samantha presented the scarf to Tino. "Give… give this to Alfred, please. A-and tell him Samantha gave it to him."
Tino nodded, still confused. "Alright," he nodded.
Samantha took a step back, preparing to go.
"Tell him it's from his mother."
And then she bolted. Stupid! You stupid, stupid bloody moron! Samantha bitterly berated herself. Can't you keep your sodding mouth shut for once? Arthur is going to kill you! Hunt you down and eat your very soul!
But Samantha could feel a smile sneak its way on her face. Somehow, it just felt so right that Arthur would be mad at her. It would almost be like old times, where she and Francis would tag along after Arthur on the playground in elementary, teasing him relentlessly. They had been so cruel to him! Luckily, most of Arthur's anger was directed at Francis. Even when he was six-years-old, he was still too much of a gentleman to get cross with a lady- even if that lady happened to be his worst nightmare, Samantha Jones.
Now she was laughing. Samantha remembered that adorable pout Arthur would always wear, too! He would sulk for the rest of the day and fervently ignore them in class. Of course, Francis didn't tease him much in class. He was off with Gilbert and Elizabeta, terrorizing Roderich. Samantha had kept Arthur company when Francis abandoned him in favor of Gilbert's brand of insanity.
Every year in elementary had been spent the same way. Even though Arthur surely hated them, he would never tell them to leave him alone. He reveled in their company, even if he had to take the verbal abuse. Sometimes Samantha daresay thought he enjoyed it. Probably because her and Francis's teasing was nothing compared to the torture he received from his brothers, she figured.
Middle school, and they still made his life miserable. Except they didn't pester him to the same extent- Francis and Samantha both were humbled when they had to accept his tutoring to pass English. Leave it to the Frenchman and the child who absolutely hated grammar to fail English.
High school, and crazy teenage thoughts invaded their heads and invariably brought them together. Samantha had somehow over the years made the transition from teasing Arthur to defending him. Now Francis was the one who found her insufferable when Samantha joined Arthur in insulting him. But again, it didn't matter very much to anyone when Francis had Antonio to distract himself with. Antonio and Gilbert had completely stolen Francis away from them.
…And then there were tears in her eyes, cracking her laugh and stinging at her eyes.
She loved him so much.
It broke her heart in two to know there would be no more I love you, Sammy.
((((()))))
Matthew could just feel his brain imploding in on itself. With each stomp, he felt his mind jar him back to the past little by little. He could practically see that entire day play out in his head by the time Alfred caught up with him, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him back.
Alfred… Alfred had no idea!
"Mattie, I-I'm sorry!" he gasped, panting. "Geez, I had no idea you could run so fast! Hockey really must be a pretty harsh sport, then."
He smacked Alfred's hand off of his shoulder. "Don't give me that crap!" Matthew burst. "You yell at Arthur all the time for changing the subject on you, but you do it anyway?"
Alfred winced at the shout. Matthew realized they were still in the hospital. He spun on his heel and literally punched the elevator button going down.
Matthew's eyes snapped open. Blurred white swam above his head. The evening sun did funny things to the twisting and swirling shadows on the ceiling. Where was he? Where was Maman? Where was Papa? His heart slammed against his chest, constricting his throat. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe!
"Matthew, honey, calm down, you're all right, now. Your Papa will be here any minute."
He wasn't okay! There was something wrong- there was something so terribly wrong, Matthew just knew it, he could feel the heavy weight press in on his chest- he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe!
"Matthew! Mon petite, vous êtes bien. Merci notre Dieu gracieux, vous êtes bien."
"Papa, why are you crying?"
Matthew felt his chest twist even more. He was gasping for breath- underwater, trying to swim to the surface, but he couldn't break through the darkness soaking him to the bone and dragging him down to the light above. He couldn't do anything- he couldn't do anything to make his Papa stop crying! Why are you crying, Papa? Why are you crying? Where is Maman? Where is Alfred and Arthur? Papa, s'il vous plaît, why won't you speak to me? Papa, I'm right here! Look at me!
"Mattie, look at me!"
It was hard, especially with the burning tears in his eyes, to ignore Alfred. "HOLD THE DOOR!" Alice hollered, finally finding them. Alfred stuck his foot between the elevator doors to keep them open for her. Huffing, Alice ran in and all but collapsed against the back wall. "Geez, you two!" she burst. "Think you run fast enough?"
Neither boy apologized- neither spoke for that matter.
A calm silence fell over the elevator as it shut. The quiet rumble of it dropping five stories below was even more calming. Matthew gratefully felt the tears of fury in his eyes dry up.
"I-I'm sorry, Matthew."
"I'm sorry, too, Papa. I didn't mean to make you sad. But… what are you sorry about? Where is everyone? What is this on my arm?"
Francis quirked a shaky, hollow grin on his face. "It is a cast, mon petite. You hurt your arm and you have to wear this for a while. How is your head? Does anything else hurt?"
Matthew shook his head. Francis pulled him to his chest, murmuring something in French to him. It was broken and so quiet, so Matthew couldn't quite hear. But that didn't matter. He was finally able to breathe, just the tiniest bit. Papa was here. He wasn't alone anymore.
But where was Maman and Alfred and Arthur? Why were they not here, leaving him alone with too-nice nurses and a Papa who just couldn't stop crying? Francis wouldn't answer him when Matthew asked again why he was crying. He merely picked at his hair. "You look so much like Maman, non?"
What? Matthew tried to look up and see his Papa's face, but his own wavy blonde hair covered his face too well. "Are you still crying, Papa?"
Francis chuckled softly. "I was scared for you, mon petite. I was afraid you were badly hurt. But you're fine, now. I'm… I'm glad you're alright."
Matthew smiled then. "They're happy tears, then."
"…Yes. Yes. Happy tears. Je t'aime, Matthew. Je t'aime tellement." Suddenly, Francis's smile widened. "Speaking of which, Matthew, do you know when I first loved you?"
Matthew erupted into giggles and Francis tickled him. "It was three years ago-"
"It was ten years ago," Alfred sullenly muttered, breaking the silence. "I don't know why you're still upset about it."
And the pent-up feeling welled in Matthew's chest once more. "My mother died, Alfred. My mother."
"My mother left me, but you don't see me crying about it."
Alice slapped his arm. "Shut up, Alfred! Don't say things like that!"
"I don't!" Alfred burst in his defense. He threw his arms up and rolled his arms. "Oh, dear. My mother hated me and Dad and left. At least your mom loved you, Mattie."
Matthew's face flared red. "Are you honestly trying to turn this into something about you?"
"I'm trying," Alfred spat back, "to get you off of your pity parade! Jeanne died ten years ago, Mattie! You don't even remember her, do you? You're just sad because you want to be sad over something like everyone else!"
He could not stop his fist. Right as the elevator door opened, Matthew arm reared back on its own accord and shot out, hitting Alfred square in the jaw. He stumbled back in shock, only a tiny exclamation of surprise rather than hurt springing forth from his mouth. Matthew's entire body shook with shock. He slapped his hands over his mouth, sucking in a horrified breath. Alfred gaped at him just a moment before throwing out his fist. Alice shrieked as Matthew's glasses flew to the floor, shattered. "Stop it!" she burst. "Stop fighting!"
She broke between the two, making both boys rear back in shock. Alice shook her head, sending them both a venomous glare. "We are in a hospital. We just got back from visiting Lili. You know, small, frail Lili who's probably worried out of her mind right now? And to beat it all, it's Christmas. What are you two thinking?"
Alfred swallowed hard and looked away from Matthew's face. The top of his cheek and temple were cut from his glasses, which now lay shattered at his feet. There would be a nasty bruise on the side of his face for days now.
Matthew also looked away in shame for being the one to actually start the fight. He hadn't meant to… to hit him. Matthew absolutely hated violence. He felt sick to his stomach for lashing out at Alfred. Never mind his glasses or his cheek- Alfred's jaw was swollen and red. It would be easy for Matthew to say he slipped and fell in the snow, but what could Alfred say?
Silently, Matthew dropped to his knees and felt around for the pieces of his glasses. Everything was so blurry without them. He hissed when he cut his finger on the broken lens.
"Mattie, I'm so sorry," Alfred burst, gathering every piece of it up. He hoisted Matthew to his feet.
I'm not.
"Me too," Matthew tiredly lied. "Let's just go home. I want some pancakes."
"Sweet! Can I have some too?"
You just insulted me and my mother's memory, punched me in the face and broke my glasses, and you expect me to fix you pancakes?
Matthew frowned. "Maybe you should fix some for you and Peter when you get home. I think he'd like it better if you fixed it for him anyway."
He didn't care one bit when Alfred's face fell. "Oh. Y-yeah. He'd like that. I… I could make yours, too?"
"I'm fine."
Alice frowned and ushered them into the lobby. "It's a good walk to the coffee shop, boys. Maybe you'll both cool down on the way there."
"I'm already cooled down," Alfred snapped. "And I've gotta stay until Katyusha comes. I have to make sure it was really them."
Matthew gritted his teeth. "Fine. Stay here alone. We'll hang out with Tavian and Feliks until you come." Without waiting for an answer from either Alfred or Alice, Matthew turned in the direction with blurrily looked most like the entrance and set off. Alice rushed after him, stopping him and leading him in the right direction.
"Papa, where's Maman?"
"…She's gone, mon petite. She… she is in the home we have yet to visit. That Home is still to come."
Matthew was confused. Home? Home was just down the road. They lived in a quaint little place that had always seemed so big to Matthew, situated next to the school. It was easier on Papa, that way, to go to work and come home sooner so he could be with Matthew again. Maman also worked as a teacher at the preschool. They let Matthew hang around the other kids while she taught them colors and numbers. Although he was technically too young to actually be enrolled in the preschool, they let him in anyway because of Jeanne.
He was proud to have such a nice Maman who helped people all the time. He was proud to have such a nice Papa, too.
Francis smiled sadly, but it did not reach his eyes, spilling over with tears once more. "Are you happy-crying because Maman is in that other place?" Matthew asked worriedly. It certainly was not means to be happy if Maman was leaving!
"No, Matthew. I'm… sad-crying."
Just then, the door opened wide. Matthew's entire being lit up to see Alfred. The boys exchanged happy grins. "Al!" Matthew cried with glee. Finally, someone else was here! Now Matthew was double-un-alone!
The constricting feeling was almost completely gone now. Maman might have left, but Papa and Alfred were still here, still with him. Matthew was happy so long as his favorite people were with him.
Alice again chose not to comment when Matthew broke down into tears in the middle of the sidewalk. She merely pulled him into a hug, fervently ignoring the curious stares they were getting from the few people still out on the road. "He doesn't get it," Alice softly told him. "He doesn't know how it feels."
"He does," Matthew miserably said. He hiccupped and said, "He knows full well. He… he used to talk about her all the time. His mom. He… a-always wondered where she was. M-Maman told him it was okay that h-his mom was gone, because sh-she would take care of him. Alfred w-was always apologizing t-to me that we had to share a mom. But he's the one who doesn't remember. He only remembers missing his mom."
"Well… he still should have been nicer," Alice decided. "I've known Alfred a long time, and he blurts stuff out like that. You'd think he'd know when to shut up by now."
Her smile fell through when Matthew didn't chuckle as she had expected. "Let's hurry up, Matthew, before we freeze out here."
Matthew nodded, rubbing his eyes with his gloved hand.
What happened to make us fall apart like this, Alfred? What happened to the way you would walk in and make me so happy? Now… now it's like being with you is a chore. Who changed? You?
Or me?
((((()))))
"Lovi Lovi Lovi, wake up wake up wake up! È Natale!"
Lovino felt around at his side for an alarm clock to smash against the wall. Instead, he poked Feliciano, and wearily cracked his eyes open. Feliciano squealed happily, bouncing up and down so fast that the red, white, and green stripes on his pajamas all blended together. Lovino pulled out his pillow and smacked it in his face. "Stop being so darn happy!" he irritably burst. "Do you know how freaking early it is, you annoying brat? Get out of here and let me sleep!"
"But Fratello," he whined, completely undeterred from Lovino's lovely language, "Mamma and Papà are both already up! We let you sleep through breakfast, but Mamma's fixing a brunch snack, and Papà really really reaaaaaaally wants to see you!"
"Don't care about food. Tell the idiot to look in his wallet. He's got a crap-ton of stupid pictures with me in there."
With that said, Lovino retrieved this pillow with his good hand and smushed it over his face to unsuccessfully block out the midday light and Feliciano's ecstasy.
Feli was stubborn. "Come on, Lovi, it's Christmas."
"Uh dun care," he mumbled under the pillow.
Feliciano pulled it up, ripping it right out of his hands. "Please, Lovi! Mamma said we can't open presents unless you're up! And I think she got me a new paint set, so I really want to open presents. She got you something, too! We were going to mail it, but now you're here, so you can open it in person!"
With a mighty groan, Lovino threw his aching legs over the side of the bed and allowed Feli to help him sit up. Like a good little brother, Feliciano frowned and asked, "Does your chest still hurt? Your nose? Your wrist?"
"All fine," he muttered. "Don't be such a worry-wart."
Feli's smile was bright once more. "I was just checking. Let's go, Fratello! I wanna hurry and open my paint set!"
The sweet smell of cinnamon and brown sugar hit him full blast the instant Lovino walked outside Feliciano's room. He had been given rights to Feli's bed for the night. Feli was supposed to sleep on the couch, but when they had come home from the hospital, they found Antonio fast asleep on it. The three of them were too tired and sleep-deprived to bother with redirecting him to the guest room. So Feli got a queen bed to himself and Aria got her room.
Practically skipping down the hall, Feli led the way to the kitchen, twittering happy remarks about Christmas with each step. He proudly jumped into the kitchen with a wide grin. "I succeeded in waking Fratello! And he didn't even try strangle me, like you said he would, Papà! Oh, but he did hit me in the face with his pillow, but it didn't hurt, so it's okay!"
Lovino muttered another remark about his stupid cheerfulness and grouchily pulled out a chair and sat beside Antonio. For a moment, Lovino thought Antonio had somehow acquired a brain overnight, because he didn't immediately jump him and squeeze the life out of him. But in the next moment, Lovino knew he had been wrong. Antonio squeezed him as tight as he dared, Spanish admonitions and worries and everything in between flying out of his mouth.
"Get off!" Lovino roared, unsuccessfully trying to wriggle his way free. He only managed to hit his wrist against the dining table and make his chest hurt from angry huffing and puffing. So he gave in, snarling the entire time. Antonio finally let go, a relieve smile lightening up his face. Lovino flicked him in the forehead. "Stop acting like an idiot," he told him. "I ain't dead yet."
The room's happy air seemed to die down a considerable amount. However, the timer for Aria's cookies chimed and all was right in the world once more. Feli made a dash for the cookies, and Aria barely held it of his reach just it time. "They're still hot, Feli!" she burst. "How many times have I told you they need to cool first?"
Sighing in defeat, Feliciano solemnly joined them at the table. He was quickly chipper yet again, however, twittering away happily to Antonio about the wonderful aspects of Christmas, and why it was his favorite day of the year (after his birthday, of course). Antonio instantly burst into story time, detailing every one of their own Christmases spent singing weary Spanish Christmas songs next to the heater. Even Aria had quirked a smile at that one. Antonio was just finishing his epic tale of Francis's attempts to trick Lovino into eating escargot when Aria finally laid the cookies before them. Antonio and Feliciano attacked the poor, unsuspecting cookies.
Lovino sat back in disgust, watching them grab after the very best ones and stuff them in their mouths. They were soon snorting with laughter and choking, so Aria pulled out the milk to dunk the cookies in before anyone could keel over in her dining room.
"You two are pigs," Lovino decided, nibbling on his own cookie. It was actually very good and warm, but watching Feliciano and Antonio rip through them like a hurricane took away their heart-warming effect. "Like, Alfred's level type of pigs."
Antonio gulped down the rest of his milk. "Mm. That reminds me. Matthew called earlier and said they were going to visit Lili."
"What? Well, how is she?"
He shrugged, purposely avoiding his eyes. "I… they haven't called back yet. Alice went with them, though."
Lovino could feel the blush spread across his cheeks. He grabbed another cookie and focused on cramming it into his mouth. "Alright."
Antonio cocked an eyebrow at his behavior, but said nothing else. "Wipe that stupid smirk off your face, idiot!" Lovino burst, blush worsening as Antonio's smirk widened into a grin.
"Haha, Lovi likes Alice~."
"I knew it!" Feliciano shot it. "I told you, Mamma!"
"Shut up!"
"Lovi and Alice, sitting in a tree-"
"SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!" Lovino roared. He instantly sat back down with a wince. Antonio's grin faltered, but Lovino waved his concern away. "I'm fine, I told you guys. Sheesh. Just eat your dang cookies and let's get on with the presents."
Feliciano cheered.
((((()))))
Ivan had a terrible headache. He sat up with a moan, regretting having drunk that bottle of Heineken earlier. Morozko had declared that a case of beer would be their Christmas breakfast. Although he had been the one to finish most of it off, Ivan had just tried it. He instantly regretted it once the guilt and the haze piled its way all over him.
And shortly thereafter, they were fast asleep in their car, pulled off on the side of the road somewhere. Ivan didn't even know what direction they had driven in. He had been too tired after getting up so early to call Vash and leave Montgomery to really notice. Plus, the alcohol didn't exactly help either of them.
Really, Ivan was astounded Morozko hadn't drove them into a tree yet. He had practically been living off of alcohol alone ever since he took off from Heta, and didn't seem to be slowing down any time soon. He was always drunk, and always shouting nonsense at things that weren't even there. Occasionally he'd mutter something about Natalya and Katyusha, and Ivan would have to remind him they weren't here anymore. Morozko would fall silent for a while, then start up again on an entirely different subject.
He missed his friends. Toris, Eduard, Matthew and…. Well, they had pretty much been it, but Ivan missed them all the same. He hoped Matthew had made the hockey team. He also hoped they didn't miss him too bad.
They don't miss you at all.
Ivan frowned at the voice. The voice had popped up to say nasty things like this ever since he first took his first sip of vodka. Just to quench his thirst. It popped up every now and then when he mistakenly took a drink of something of Morozko's rather than his soda, too. Ivan didn't like it at all, or the awful things it told him. He was not a drunk. He had only drank out of necessity and on accident. The only reason he had drank on Christmas was because he hadn't wanted Morozko to feel bad. Yes, that was it. He didn't want Morozko to feel as alone as he felt.
But you've always been alone.
"I have not," Ivan quietly argued. "I have had Katyusha, Natalya, Toris, Eduard, and Matthew. I have not been alone, silly voice."
Doesn't mean they only put up with you because they had to.
His neutral face slipped into a frown for a moment. Ivan caught himself and cleared his face once more. "They like being my friends."
They thought you were weird. That you were creepy and strange, and they were afraid of you.
This time, he couldn't force the frown to leave his face. "That's not true," he mumbled, like a child put on the spot would mutter.
It is.
"What do you, anyway?" Ivan suddenly burst. Where had all this anger come from? It didn't matter. He didn't notice the slur of his voice and didn't seem to care that he was talking to himself while Morozko snored in the driver's seat. All Ivan cared about was getting that annoying voice out of his head. He was sick and tired of listening to its lies!
He snarled and kicked the car door. "You know nothing about me or my friends," he hissed, this time locking his narrowed eyes on the roof of the car. "You are lying," he accused, punching upwards, "and lying is not nice."
I'm merely telling you the truth. Like right now, you're just as drunk as your father.
"He's not my father!" Ivan slurred. "And I'm not like him at all!"
You didn't just drink one can, did you? And it wasn't just on accident that you drank those other cans. You're hooked; you just don't want to admit it.
"SHUT UP!"
It's five days until your birthday, Ivan. I guarantee you'll spend it wasted like you are now. Maybe you'll accidentally drink yourself to death. That's what happens when kids drink, you know. That's what you learned in school: drinking does bad things to kids.
Ivan furiously lashed out at anything in the car that vaguely resembled the voice. Who was it to call Ivan such things- to say he did such things? Ivan was not like Morozko at all. He refused to fall to his level. Katyusha and Natalya would be ashamed of him if he did. Ivan loved his sisters and wanted them to be happy. Thus, he would not drink.
Just stop saying that. You're lying through your teeth to yourself. It's not healthy.
"And I guess you'd know all about lying, wouldn't you?" Ivan yawned, suddenly tired. With a start, he suddenly realized it was nearly nighttime. He rubbed his eyes and settled down in his seat, using his arm as a pillow. "I hate you, voice."
I'm only here to set you straight, Ivan. You can't hate me for that.
Before he could respond, he found himself drifting back to sleep once more.
Translation-
French-
Maman- Mom
Mon petite, vous êtes bien. Merci notre Dieu gracieux, vous êtes bien.- My child, you're alright. Thank our gracious God, you're alright.
S'il vous plaît- please
Je t'aime tellement- I love you so much.
Italian-
È Natale- It's Christmas!