America hadn't slept much since his attempt to end his life, but rather he had been very busy with preparations so to be ready by next month's World Meeting. He had all the tools his mind could come up with and soon they were all stuffed into a sleek suitcase lined with led and large enough to hide what he needed to hide. He tried to think back to everything in his life that had occurred, but it all seemed so hazy up to where he was now. It didn't matter to him though as his mind was only truly focused on only one thing. David.
The day he finally left his house was dark and foggy, the roads covered in a sheet thick enough to hide in. He drove his car to the airport, his suit case by his side, and walked to his personal gate where he was to depart for the next meeting in Italy. He forced his smiles and his laughs and choked down the meals handed to him. He felt sickly, but not to the point where he was going to give up his venture. He knew what he was; a lost cause stuck on this Earth, and as a lost cause he knew he had nothing to lose.
The plane ride, though physically silent, was the loudest ride he had ever dealt with. His mind was so full of whirling thoughts and emotions of what was to come. No, it wasn't guilt but it wasn't pride either that plagued his mind and body. It was something that he knew only too well; he felt uncertain. He pulled out a cigarette to calm his nerves but stopped right before it touched his lips. He held it there for a moment, lighter in one hand and cigarette in the other, and then slowly dropped it back down and placed it back into the cartridge and then placing the cartridge into his pocket.
The plane landed in a rainy Florence, Italy. He got out of his plane and was driven to an old boarding home where he was to spend his time. His boss didn't know he was here, nor did the other nations. They all thought he was back in the USA, preparing for the meeting he was to host.
He walked into his room with his single suitcase, locked the door, and unloaded it to check his supplies.
"Weapons check" he spoke to himself as the suitcase turned into a tri-shelved encasing that held three different tiers of supplies.
He checked his pistols, his knives, his explosives, etc, all compacted on the first two tiers tightly. He then checked the third tier for his clothing.
"Beautiful." He remarked to himself, feeling the clothes that would accompany him to David.
He shut the case and went to the bathroom to wash up one final time. He undressed and turned on the shower, but before he jumped in he saw a glimpse of himself in the faded mirror. He didn't see himself but rather the shell of someone he used to so ignorantly respect. He felt his breath quicken and soon his mind was once more flushed with anger and confusion.
"FUCK!" he screamed as he punched the mirror, the glass shattering all around, impaling his hand in different spots.
He didn't scream. He simply pulled out the glass and went into the shower, paying no attention to the blood dripping down into the drain since, as a country, he knew this was no big deal. He turned the water off and walked to his bed right in time to catch his phone ringing. He wasn't sure if he was to answer it but he did anyways.
"Yo."
"America? Is that you?" It was England.
"Yeah, what's up?" America was dying to just turn the phone off, regretting answering it.
"You don't sound normal, but that's not the point. Everyone's worried about you America. Is there something wrong?"
"I'm fine. I've just been…busy with my thoughts I suppose." America sat on his bed, looking at his jacket which held his smokes.
Faintly America heard a French accent in the background and realized England was with France. He zoned out to England's nagging voice which was just trying to reassure itself that everything really was okay.
America started to think about all the things in his past that went on between France and England low key, like the blushing or the strained eye contact during meetings, and suddenly something clicked. He stopped England's improvised speaking.
"Hey England…thanks for calling me. It means a lot. Look, I'm sorry if I've hurt you in the past."
"What are you blubbering on about?" There's concern in his voice.
"You might find out some stuff about me in the next few days that you won't be proud of, but that's okay. I've come to terms with what's going to happen to me."
"Wait what? Are you in some kind of trouble you berk?" The concern has turned to panic.
"Just, give France my regards. I hope you two are happy together."
"Wha—."
America turned off his phone and set it at his side.
"I really hope the best for you two." He went for his cigarettes, thinking he'd enjoy them one more time.