Chapter 3
England sat alone at his tea table in thought. He had so little to worry about but could also name hundreds of things that could happen when he was by himself. Choking was one of them. It sounded silly when he thought hard about it, but it lately had grown into a problem for him and his recent weakness that now corrupted him: anxiety and depression.
It had been the sort of issue for as long as he could remember though it never was an extreme problem. He had simply ignored that thought in his brain and had carried on with whatever he had been doing previously. Though, the day came when he became incredibly sick with chills and diarrhea, forcing him to stay home for an entire week. After this occurrence, he became aware of his fears that seemed to strike at him from all directions. There were many days he felt he couldn't even leave his house out of the fear of the unknown. But the biggest factor was that he had no one to turn to. No friends who had his back, no close family members willing to rush to his aid, and the crushing guilt of scarcely leaving the house and not attending meetings that were set in advance.
The whole problem was nearly uncontrollable, or so it seemed to England. Constantly fighting against himself and sometimes loosing was petrifying. It didn't take long until Parliament got involved with the happenings and soot it best that he looked into counseling.
Now not that therapy was exactly new to him, England was almost hesitant as to whether this would be helpful or not. What he had was nearly unexplainable. It was like something, a disease or demon, was taking over him and making him feel anything but normal. He went ahead anyways with it.
The first place he visited was far off in the country and took place in a small, cottage. He met a Professor who stated his past experiences with his patients and gave a quite clear statement that he was not a hospital doctor, but one that helped with the mind and body. England sat for a few sessions before the man stated that he would be out for the winter. Knowing he would be in further need of help, England then kept an eye out for other doctors of similar professions. Luckily, he came in contact with another, older man who was an experienced therapist that believed that he could help with England's problem.
After his first few sessions, it seemed as though he wasn't very much better and was always left with a stack of homework to try on his own. It was trying hard to drive him mad with anger and envy, but after trying again and harder his state had improved considerably.
From pills to therapy to more pills and new things his body that was undergoing it felt very chaotic to which he wasn't used to at all. Between the pain and the madness that would slowly start to settle in, he almost wondered what had kept him going. America was no longer a very close relative of his and France seemed so nearby, but seemed to be always occupied with his suspiciously busy schedule.
In the end it had become lonely. He was home a lot with the animals that lived with him in his rather large home. He had recalled in the past enjoying the peace and luxury of being away from other citizens after a busy day, though now it was fear that striked unexpectedly. The fear of immediate death and being alone with no one to come to his aid was gruesome to think about. He had a lot of time with his thoughts which might have been helpful but in his case shattered all of his confidence of ever getting better and standing tall for the people of the community.
For now it has gone from two horrible months to four months to a total of eight months with his problem. He had made progress with the therapy and medicines prescribed to him with exercises to try to calm his mind and improve his well-being. In his own mind, he thought that perhaps this would be better if he actually tried harder at his studies. It was difficult for him to hold his concentration to listen to boring cd recordings, read all of the articles given and practice them daily. If good results were promising, then it made it easier, but never the less he still had problems holding interest when he felt nearly normal.
For England, the clock had been ticking more quickly and it seemed to be running short. He knew he needed to focus and overcome this disease of his, though it seemed to be slow and confusing. He wanted some human support but other times he felt that in his natural state he was always better off by himself and not surrounded by faces. He thought more about himself and then realized how clueless he was.
Though time soon paid off; his interest in painting and drawing were gradually returning to him along with his love of the outdoors. The fear of being outside alone had begun to subside and grow smaller. Though when it seemed that a problem was starting to be fixed, another would arise. Allergies, colds, even old habits were now popping up now and again. This made things more annoying…
An alternative was always distracting himself but lately he had found himself becoming more aware of the fact that he was now less mobile than the others who were out more frequently now. It hadn't bothered him much before, for he too was among all of the commotion and fast pace. Now he was more slow and hesitant towards his actions and the results that were most likely to happen and play them out in his head. This may have not been the best way of seeing things for England, but being half normal (or at least what he would call normal) was difficult to obtain sometimes and took a decent amount of effort until he felt relaxed and confident.
With a great amount of effort, he would once in a while contact America, though with also great difficulty. To England it seemed useless, or more tiresome after a while for he was always the one trying to continue the one-sided conversation. He felt that perhaps it was time to let go and maybe move on, but something inside of him reminded him of all the times they had spent together. Wasn't this suppost to be a lifelong friendship? They may have been family once, and he had accepted that, though why now was he feeling tossed out and helpless?
As for France, well, it had started with a surge of feelings. He had been uncomfortable with him for some time though dealt with him all the same. France had allowed himself to be very concealing lately and well also quite open with what whatever was on his mind whether it was spearing or pointing out England's sense of style.
Other than that their relationship was good. England felt that they both suffered as though equally and somehow had the ability to understand each other through all the fighting and occasional nonsense. England was just as preservative as France and they both had strong wills towards their own opinions though could be kind towards one another verses the 17th Century.
England poured the rest of the cold tea down the drain and rubbed his eyes. He had rarely ever cried but sometimes he had crying spells and depressing spells as well. He often ignored the therapy that was given to him now feeling that it was not telling him enough-and rather because he simply did not want to hear it. He now spent his days trying to work but lately had been feeling down and unable to move around with high spirits. Then he would lie away upstairs and watch the telly for some hours to cheer him up. Sometimes he would dose off and then wake to listen to the missed calls on his answering machine.
Today he heard an interesting voice leave a message for him.
"England-you forgot to sign last month's bill for Parliament. Please either call me back or come to my office. I'll be here til five."
England checked the clock-he had barely half an hour. He quickly washed his face and grabbed his bike. He happened to be nearby after renting the apartment for another previous appointment. The tight roads of traffic where occupied by small taxis that honked as England sped by, his bike already at high speed. He was making good time as his cell phone rang.
He quickly grabbed it from his pocket and checked the number. He made a small gasp and chuckled under his breath.
"Of all times America-"
He made a sharp turn down another street and skidded to a stop for the light and to catch his breath. He took the call.
"Hello?"
"Hey bro, what's up?"
"Uh-" (the light turned green) trying to race against time here. Maybe another time, later? Is it important?" said England as he tried to balance between biking and holding the phone to his ear.
"I just had a chance to talk. Kinda busy-
A long bus honked loudly, cutting America off.
"Sorry, in town. I'll call you back then. K?"
"Sure," replied America plainly.
"K, later then" as England made a sharp movement to end the call and put it in his pocket without falling.
In less than 30 seconds he was there. With a few more minutes to go, he bravely stepped into the office where a lady at the front desk was waiting.
"Hello, I'm Kirkland. I'm here to sign something?"
She looked up from her computer. England's breathing was becoming more relaxed and steady, he smiled lightly at her.
"Let's see.. Kirkland. . . " she checked on her computer, "Arthur Kirkland, yes I have the document right over here if you would just follow me."
"Thank you," said England, and then followed her.
The signing took longer than England had expected. He was imagining signing just a slip of paper, but there were several and with plenty of very small print that would need to be read over for safety reasons. He stayed past their closing time with permission from the front desk and then finally was done by eight-o-clock.
He rubbed his eyes again, his stomach now very hungry and was thinking of the nearest pub and if he had any money with him. There were always leftovers. He went out a lot usually but couldn't recall when he last made a grand public appearance.
He exited the building and grabbed his bike. No-it couldn't possibly-
His tire was flat and he still had three more blocks to go before he could reach a restaurant. Sighing, he pushed his bike along, yawning and tried to think.
His phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket multiple times. He took it out: 3 new messages, all texts. Two from his agents and another from America…
He opened it: Hey, if you could call me back before eight that would be great.
"What a rhymer.." England mumbled as he pushed call. It slowly began to ring before he finally hear a voice.
"Yellow?"
"Hey-sorry I didn't call sooner. I had to fill out some paperwork-
The line suddenly made a huge crack.
"Yellow? Hey. Iggy? Ya there?"
The phone remained silent for a moment before the fuzz went away.
"This your friend?" said another voice, "He aint' callin' no more today" as the deep voice made a loud growl and the line went completely dead.
America paused. What the hell?
He quickly redialed.
Sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected-
America hung up and then put his glasses on and went to the fridge where other numbers were taped. He quickly dialed.
"Hello?"
"Hello~?"
"Yo-France. Matty. It's England. He's in trouble."