Week of the Broken
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
Summary: After living for so long and enduring so much it seems almost comical that it would be something so small that broke them in the end. England, Norway, Canada, Greece
Warning: passing mentions of abuse and drinking, implied suicide, and the occasional swear word. Sex (Will probably be the only chapter this applies to.)
Chapter Four: Hidden Wednesday
Pain rips through my body and I've had enough. How many decades had it been and yet all I receive is violence and denial from my supposed "Lover". At one point in my life I would have, and did, believe him that this was my fault. That if I was quieter, if I was more attractive, if my physical appearance was older, if I was female, if I respected him more, if I did more chores...
... If I was more like her...
He wouldn't have to do this. He would actually love me. Would take me out in public, kiss me at some point in this long useless relationship that had obviously never mattered to him, be gentle with me, unashamed, and maybe even let me take off that damn mask of his.
It was Wednesday.
The hands gripping my hips so hard bruises are forming tighten even further and I force my mind to go elsewhere. The task made easy by centuries worth of practice. After all as much as I want to blame this on her the bastard had been like this even back when it wasn't me but my mother in his bed.
And yet I loved him. Pathetic right? The whole world thought it but most refused to say it to my face. And they didn't even know about this. I wonder how they would react if they did. How she would react to the monster she left us defenseless against.
It was Wednesday.
Words, sharp hateful words, are growled into my ear but instead of attempting to understand them I purposefully ignore them. Biting off a moan as he finally, finally, hits that spot inside me that makes this whole thing even slightly bearable anymore. That spot that reminds me why I still stay by his side despite all of this... And it sickens me.
It was Wednesday.
When had I allowed myself to first be degraded to this?
When had I first stopped fighting him?
When had I first started to allow myself to be hidden?
From the world, from my friends, from myself... even from him?
It was Wednesday.
A harsh grunt from above me as he empties himself into me before pulling out roughly and I force myself not to vomit at the feel of it sliding down my legs. Knowing that will lower my chances of him finishing me off even more then they already are. He wont. Not today.
He hasn't in the last half a decade.
Just as I suspect he rolls off of me and goes to take a shower without a single word, or even a glance, aimed in my direction. Leaving me aroused and bleeding on the bed.
It was Wednesday.
The shower runs and I curl up in a ball trying to calm myself as any action on my part to undo my predicament would not be well received. It never had been.
Tears start streaming down my face as I think of everything that has happened over the past centuries. The denial, the abuse, the painful intercourse that turned me on less and less with each passing time, her... And I have to wonder, was it worth it?
I hate the answer I come up with.
It was Wednesday.
While the violence had always been there in some form or another the denial hadn't. And for all that others surrounding me at this meeting may say it was not the violence in this relationship that tore at me. No, the punches, threats, and power struggles were simply our twisted way of flirting with each other. One that had been perfected into an art over the centuries. It wasn't a big deal really, no one ever questioned France and England who were in a similar dance with each other.
It was the secrecy.
Gone were the days that the Turk would suddenly sling me over he shoulder after a meeting and "remind me of my place". Gone were the few precious days that he would get back from being the Ottoman Empire and immediately seek me out. No longer did he occasionally brush our hands together in public or smile slightly at my resistance to whatever he had planned. No more was the quiet sigh as he was forced to except that my people would always remain "insane savages" as he liked to put it in the days my country was under his control.
They had all started packing with her arrival and left the same day she did.
It was Wednesday.
The meeting ends and immediately the bastard approaches her, attempting to convince her to leave Austria and come back. I go to roll my eyes, secure in knowing that Hungary won't give him the time of day. And in a way she doesn't.
What she does do is far worse.
It was Wednesday.
The annoyed Hungarian women whips around to face the bastard. Anger and hatred clear on her face as she reaches for her frying pan. "What do you want? Shouldn't you be with Greece right now? You two are datingafter all." She hisses out through clenched teeth and the whole room seems to still and go as silent as if Germany had just called order. All eyes pinned on the three of us.
It was Wednesday.
I should be used to it by now. After all he never allowed anyone to even perceive the notion we were together. Of course he would deny such a thing. But to know that and to personally witness it are two extremely different things. A look of disgust on his face that is a bit to convincing and eyes filled with a little to much hatred to be forced, his words stab me in the gut and I feel tears start streaming down my face. "Why would I EVER date that THING?" He spits out, as if the very idea of us being together is vile. I don't think, only respond. One minute I'm standing next to Japan a fair bit away from him...
... The next my fist is connecting to his face before I turn and run out of there.
It was Wednesday.
Reaching the cliff outside my house I look over the water we had once played in together. Memories of secret dates playing out in my mind's eye everywhere I looked. Remembering how Turkey had freaked out the first time he saw me jump into the ocean from here I gracefully dive into the one constant in my existence over the centuries. Wishing I could simply disappear into the sea and leave everything behind. All this pain, all this betrayal, all this secrecy washed away by the very water that welcomes me like the old friend it is.
It was Wednesday.
What did I have to live for anymore anyway? The world? They only saw me as a weak pathetic shell and the bastard drove off any friends I might have as soon as he notices they are becoming close to me. Turkey? The bastard was the one who planted the idea in my head in the first place. Myself?
I barely remember who that was anymore.
It was Wednesday.
Further and further down I swim, the water calling me under and I don't want to turn back. Feelings of freedom wrapping around me and pulling me deeper under the water. My chest starts to hurt from lack of oxygen but I push on.
It was Wednesday.
The lack of oxygen must be getting to my brain faster than I thought it would. Above me the water moves to allow the bastard passage through my sanctuary. Traitor, though I can't blame it too much since the Turk always thought himself above getting into the water with me. Our "water play" being him trying to get me back onto dry land when I was still his province. It probably didn't know he wasn't allowed in my part of the sea. However, his urgency and the fact he was even following me is confusing.
It was Wednesday
My lungs burn for oxygen and my limbs feel heavy. My eyelids becoming harder to keep open. Though I am more experienced in the area of swimming he is taller, stronger, and has more of a reason to move faster. A strong arm encircles my waist and despite my struggles to do the opposite we start to rise to the surface.
It was Wednesday.
The world blurs and my mouth opens but instead of air my lungs fill with the salty water that surrounds us. Turkey moves faster but something in the back of my mind tells me he was too late and I know he knows it. He should be happy about this. He wanted this. So why does he look so frightened?
It was Wednesday.
Someone seems to be coughing and the world is black. I feel as if I should be crying, should be helping Turkey get to the surface instead of fighting him to stay down here, but I'm not. On the contrary, a smile lights up my face as he may make it but I won't. I won't be returning to that damn world. I won't be returning to being something so dirty he had to make sure no one knew we were together. I won't be returning, and he would be free.
We both would be.
It was Wednesday...
...And I, Heracles Karpusi, personification of Greece, am done hiding.
Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating like usual but I really wanted to move on in this series next despite the writer's block I was having in it. In my attempt to overcome the writer's block though I wrote a chapter I'm not very proud of. In fact if you have any ideas on rewriting this they would be greatly appreciated. This will probably be the only chapter with sex in it by the way. I might do something in different stories but I am a firm believer that I suck at writing such scenes. I promise that the Thursday installment will be fast in delivery and more like the previous chapters to this one. For anyone interested in knowing I'm doing Romano next. Reviews, comments, and suggestions welcome as always. Until next time...
... Bye!