Where the Road ends – Chapter 2

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of suicide, depression, derogatory language and swearing

This chapter and the next are gonna be pretty upsetting, so please look after yourselves and don't read if you might find this too much! Also (spoilers) it will get better later on .

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Hetalia franchise! Also some of the details in here might be totally incorrect, so please excuse any inaccuracies in my descriptions.

Enjoy!

A loud knocking sound rouses me from my slumber. I blink a couple of times, thinking that perhaps there is something wrong with my vision, before I realise that it is dark in my living room. Night has fallen already. What a fucked-up sleep schedule I have now.

It takes me an eternity to sit up, the fabric of the sofa refusing to let me go, depressed under the weight of my palms as if trying to suck them back in.

My joints ache.

"It's open" I say. My voice sounds raspy and far away, muffled even to my own ears.

The knocking continues, and I wait to feel my brow twitch in annoyance. It doesn't. I know that this should scare me, but all it stirs is mild confusion.

"I said it's open!" I shout, though it's still croaky. Is it really my voice?

I hear the doorknob turn and I sigh, not bothering to look up as Antonio bursts in. I know he'll be all smiles and joy. I don't want to deal with him today.

"Lovi?..." The question in his voice is what makes me finally turn my gaze towards him, and I find myself frozen under the intensity of his green eyes. He looks so…. Worried.

God, I hate myself.

"What is it you tomato bastard?" I mutter, trying to seem like myself. I don't remember what that even means anymore.

Antonio sits down beside me, placing plastic bags of food onto the floor. He still has his eyes on me and it's starting to make me uncomfortable. I try not to squirm under his scrutiny, instead averting my eyes to the bags he's dropped at his feet. What a waste, he knows I won't eat any of it when he leaves again. I don't know why he bothers.

The silence stretches on uncomfortably, but I don't know what to say. What does he want me to say? What would I normally say? My brain feels like viscous syrup, my thoughts too incoherent to form a meaningful sentence.

I pull my jumper sleeves over my hands.

"Lovi… I can't do this anymore" Antonio croaks, and I don't have to look at him to know that he's crying. I turn my head towards him anyway, my neck twinging painfully as I do so, as if resisting even this simplest of movements.

Antonio looks so tired, the tears dripping down his face silently as he stares at me, his green eyes full of anguish. I know I upset him; I know he doesn't like coming to see me.

Still, it hurts all the same.

I don't want him to know that it hurts though. I've hurt him enough as it is. He doesn't deserve this. It'd be better if he left me alone forever, to stop this charade of love and just admit that what we had is gone. It wasn't real love anyway. How could it be?

I've only ever been a friend in his eyes, a memory of a childhood that is long gone.

It's fine. It'll be fine. I mean it won't, but it is better this way.

I nod my head solemnly and try to smile, though my skin feels like melamine, unwilling to bend under the pathetic pressure of my muscles. I look away.

"It's fine," I finally say, "I'm feeling better now so don't worry. It's better to end this now because I don't need you anymore anyway. I think—"

I feel Antonio's warm hands grasp my face so I am forced to look at him again.

Now he looks angry. Understandable I guess, he has to pretend that he wants this to carry on, it has to seem like he's trying.

"Lovi, you need help. Professional help. I should have done this much sooner but I thought I could make you better myself… I'm such a fool, my Lovi, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…."

He trails off into incoherent mumbles and his body heaves with sobs as he pulls my forehead to his shoulder and weeps. I'm trying to process his words, but everything is so frustratingly fuzzy.

Professional help?

What a stupid idea. As if some councillor or psychologist could possibly change anything now. As if I'd fucking let them anyway. I don't need to put my trust in more people who don't actually give a shit about me, I've already wasted enough of my life doing that.

But I don't have the strength to respond, so I just let him cry, listening to the soothing sound of his heartbeat as he hugs me and feeling the shaking of his hands on the back of my head.

Antonio cooks dinner after that. I don't know what he's making, but it all tastes the same anyway, so it doesn't really matter. He doesn't try to get me to come sit at the kitchen table to eat anymore, he gave up on that a long time ago. Instead, he brings the food and places it on the coffee table in front of me.

"Thank you" I croak, feeling my stomach clench nauseatingly at the sight of the food. I know it looks good, I know it should taste amazing, but the idea of having to put it into my mouth and swallow it makes me want to retch.

Besides, if I eat now it'll only mean that I'll have to stay in this place a little longer.

I realise that Antonio is talking again, though it takes me some effort to focus on what he's rambling about.

"—and they could really help you Lovino, I'm sure of it, if you just tried it out and gave them a call, they would give you help. I'll pay for it, I don't mind! I'll ring them up if you—"

He's holding a pamphlet in his quivering hand, one with pictures of nature and pale writing.

Shit, he really is serious about this.

"I don't—" my tongue is so heavy it sticks to the top of my mouth. I try again, the effort making my head spin.

"I don't need it, really. I'll be fine. I have lots of things to do today so if you—"

"LOVINO."

I stop at the force in his voice, the anger startling me. He never gets angry with me, even when I push him. I never thought it would make me feel this awful. This guilty. Why didn't I just keep my stupid mouth shut?

"Lovino", he carries on more gently, his warm hands seeking one of mine, "I know this is selfish of me, but I need you to try. I need you to call these people and go and see them. They will help you, I promise".

The warmth from his hands spread to mine just a little, making my fingers tingle.

He shouldn't do this.

Doesn't he know that I've been in love with him since we met? That he was my world, my everything?

No, because I could never tell him. How could I? The look in his eyes is almost of a parental care, and it makes me feel ill to see it. I'm still the useless, pathetic child I ever was to him, and now he wants to put me somewhere out of his sight, so that I can be off his mind forever.

I know a much simpler way to do that.

Still, I nod my stiff neck and aching head, taking the pamphlet slowly from his grasp. Even this simple piece of paper feels heavy for me and it's an effort to keep a grip on it. I read the gently curved writing on the front, "Sunflower fields Centre". Everything about the pamphlet is pale, gentle, light. It screams imprisonment to me. Being watched and prodded, treated like a child. Alone with a bunch of other weirdoes.

Fear.

I hold it loosely in my fingers, the stupid writing and the pretend happy faces of the people on the cover making me feel even more nauseous than the food.

Why does Antonio want to get rid of me? I can't believe I let myself become such a burden to him that he would willingly pay to ship me off to a – a mental asylum. I pull my head up to look at him, and he takes this as a positive sign because his lips twitch into a small smile, despite the tear tracks fresh on his cheeks.

"I'm so proud of you Lovi –"I cringe at the words, " – this will be so good for you, give you a chance to recover! There's the number on the back, if you just –"

His voice drifts out, and I study his face, my heavy lips pulling into a tiny smile as I look at him, that beautiful tan skin and those wonderful emerald eyes. Does he know how beautiful he is? My heart aches at how much I want him to be happy, to be free of this, of me, so that he can live the happy, easy life he was always supposed to. I was never supposed to be here.

Suddenly, clarity seems to break through in my mind, the chaotic fuzz moving just a little, and I know it now, what I have to do. The relief of this feeling, of feeling something, finally makes me tear up a little, and Antonio chuckles, thinking he has somehow gotten through to me. I don't even know what he was talking about, but the way he ruffles my hair like he always used to sends my heart catapulting against my chest, both in desperate pain and joy.

Eventually, he stands up to go, looking down at me. He's so tall. When did he get so tall? I'm sure he's so popular. I hope he will be.