Ack, okay, this one's really short, too. The next chapter will be a flashback, and hopefully, longer.
(Also, you're completely free to tell me I suck.)
No. America felt his legs give way, felt himself crumple to the ground. His cell phone skittered across the tile, but he made no move to retrieve it. He could hear Lithuania on the other end, yelling at him, but he didn't care.
No! The dirty, spiteful son of a bitch! How could Russia have done this? What had ripped him apart so badly that he could have- America couldn't even say it in his mind. Hadn't Russia known what it would do to America? No. He didn't. you never told him, you fucking bastard! America ripped Texas off his face and flung it across the room and covered his face with his hands. Lithuania had hung up a long time ago, but the phone started ringing again. America's national anthem beat itself into his brain as he cried.
Hours later, everyone had stopped calling. America's face was pale and drawn; his eyes were red and sunken. His chest hurt like someone had crushed it and pulled out his heart. He lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, hair disheveled and chest heaving, by turns screwing his eyes shut and staring at the ceiling. He imagined Russia with a gun in his black-gloved hand. He imagined never seeing that childish smile again. Tears leaked from his eyes. Why?
He knew why. And maybe he could have saved him. Could have at least made more of an effort to be his friend. But America hadn't said a word. He had been too afraid of rejection.
Why? Finally, finally, America had fallen in love, and he'd waited to long to speak up, and now- And now he's gone. Forever.