Chapter 2: Not my Fault

16844 days. That's how long I've been clean. That's hardly anything compared to our lifespan, but it is still an accomplishment. I have to remember that. That's 56 years, a month, and eleven days. It's 2015 now, and time for the September meeting. It's the first of every month, so there is no way to forget. I'm required to be there, even on days like today when I really just can't make myself care enough to want to go.

England slowly got out of bed. It was just one of those days. Everything hurt and felt heavy, but there was nothing to be done to fix it. The only good thing about the day is that the meeting was to be held in Europe. As welcome or not as he is, as a European country. It's not his fault that he's different. Once upon a time, he did try to fit in and be normal.

Since when does trying to be normal actually work? No one is normal, just less different from others. It's not his fault that no one else likes his beer-batter fish or his scones. He can actually make a half decent curry if given the chance. His magical friends are also real, and it isn't his fault if no one else can see them. Clearly they just don't possess the same magical talents. Romania believes him, although that might just be his fanaticism for anything supernatural. He always did have a weird fascination with vampires...

Even still, it was not his fault that his attempts fit in never seemed to bear fruit. He went through several phases over his lifespan, and even went as far as to try to imitate other, more accepted countries. Sadly, for all of his efforts, it only got him more mocking than before. At least he knew that it was not his fault.

If he repeated that enough, he might one day believe it.

Sometimes, England would think to himself about what it would be like to do it just one more time. Once more couldn't hurt anything, could it? It's not as though he'd become addicted again after only one more.

But there was his promise to himself. He swore to never put himself through that again. Well, not that he minded doing it all that much. In fact, he kind of enjoyed the sensation. Giving it up, and the withdrawl too, that was the worst.

There was so much longing and need that he felt physical pain because he would not cave to the temptation. It didn't help either that the entire world was still living in fear from the cold war and that his own country still remembered the horrors of the second world war all too clearly. There were many points during that time that he felt it was too much. He had considered going even further and was tearing his hair out with the frustration he felt while he was torn between what he wanted and what was good for him. He had almost desperately given in to the desires, but he didn't.

He supposed that he was lucky. After all, there was a reason that he didn't give in. That reason, just so happened to not come from himself. Why today, of all mornings, was he thinking about the one man who had saved his life and the circumstances around it?

That's right. He wanted to do it again. It was just so tempting, but they had made a pact. Neither would be the first to give in to their demons. Whose were more dangerous would be left up to an outsider's judgement, but neither of them were particularly... healthy. With England, it was a combination effort of several actions that he had to struggle with. For his friend, there was only one battle to be won, but it was much more severe. His friend, being so much older, also had to learn on his own how to find a balance between the demons and his life. There was no one to help him get started.

England's heart went out to the man that had given him so much, and at the same time, never asked for anything in return. He still couldn't figure out if it was simply a cultural quirk, a kindness, a politeness, or extremely low self esteem and self-worth. Maybe it was a combination. England couldn't help but feel sorry for the man.

Checking the clock, he still had time to lie around for a little longer. The meeting wouldn't start until 11o'clock in the host country, which was Lithuania. Lithuania is two hours ahead of England, so the clock that reads 3:00 here would be 5:00 there. The flight is only 3 hours long, and doesn't leave until 5:30, English time. He would arrive in Lithuania at about 10:30 their time, and have just enough time to get to the building hosting the meeting. Including travel time, and the time needed to go through customs, He wouldn't have to leave his house until 4 o'clock, so there was still most of an hour to lie around and try to stop thinking about everything he shouldn't want to do, and how much he just didn't want to move.

Maybe it was considered cheating, slightly, but if he skipped breakfast, he could wait in bed for an extra ten minutes. This wouldn't be breaking his promise. Skipping one meal here and there never hurt anyone. It was too early to even consider breakfast anyways. No one could blame him for not being hungry when no one (except perhaps America) would be hungry four hours before a normal breakfast time, regardless of who they were.

It was a small blessing that his paperwork was finished, at least. He tended to try to finish it one or two days before he needed it when it came to the world meetings. Every month, without fail, he would become lethargic and apathetic to everything, just as the meeting approached. Knowing that it is not a mood in which he should do important work, he tried to avoid having anything to do during that time. Once he could leave and get away from the other countries, back to his isolation on his island, he could go back to feeling like himself.

But for the two days around the world meeting, he had to put up his defences and seal himself off. If he let someone get in, or get a glimpse of himself, he surely would not survive. Emotionally, of course. No need to start thinking so dramatically. Sticks and stones, right?

But sticks and stones will heal. Words will stay forever.

England pulled his head under his pillow in an attempt to block the depressing thoughts from his mind. Every country was teased about some stereotype. His just happened to be everything that he cared about. Brits have bad teeth. Unattractive. Brits can't cook. No useful skills. Brits have no fashion sense. Unappealing. Imaginary friends. Crazy. Mental. Can't take me seriously. The United States and all of his faults must have come from his older brother Britain. Technically true, in a sense, but America is his own country. Black sheep of Europe. I'll never fit in. I'll never be one of them. Always different, and always alone. What's wrong with me? Why can't I ever seem to fix it?

He pressed the pillow over his head with as much force as he could, but it wasn't helping. The thoughts just kept going around and around and around, over and over and over again. They wouldn't stop. Just trying to block them out wouldn't work. He needed to do something. He needed to take action against it. He needed to-

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

-turn off the damn alarm clock! Had it really been an hour already? England sighed with defeat, and with no small amount of effort, pushed the covers off of his body. Standing up was the real challenge. Once he was up, he could go, but he first had to actually stand.

Slowly and steadily, England sat up, then moved his legs one at a time over the edge of the bed. After slipping his feet into his slippers, he pushed himself up onto shaky legs. It took less than ten minutes. Maybe things were looking up for the day? He set off to complete his morning routine. He had to make sure that he looked presentable, like a regular gentleman for the meeting. It wouldn't do to have people start thinking him a slob on top of everything else.

Shower, suit, comb, toothbrush. Check the mirror, step on the scale, smile, looking spiffy!

I'm doing fine. I look fine. I am clean. I am groomed. I am smiling. I am convincing. I can do this. Four hours until the meeting, a couple hours during the meeting, and then it's all over for another month. Definitely nothing that I can't handle. What's a few hours anyways? I've done it loads of times, and I'll do it again loads more. Every month until I die. There could be a worse fate. I'm pretty well off as I am. At least I am a civilized person. That is one thing that they can't ever take away from me.

England left his house to make his way to the airport. He would be right on time for the meeting, as any gentleman should be. Too early meant too eager. Too late, and he'd be considered rude like America. Just on time is exactly what he wanted. Punctuality is a trait of a civilized gentleman.

As he drove himself to Heathrow, he began to solidify the walls in his mind that kept the negative comments out. The others would not get to him this time. He could handle it. It was only words after all.

Whatever they say to me, about me, I can take it. I didn't cave. I can handle it. No matter what, it's not my fault.

A/N: Comments? Questions? Check out the poll on my profile if you feel inclined.

Also, disclaimed! I do not own Hetalia or anything related to it. This is just a fan story.