"You're going to have to speak English at some point," England said, trying to reason with me. I responded the same I did for the past thirty minutes.

"No."

"Come, now. I have candy."

"No."

"Toys?"

"No."

"…Opium?"

"No."

"You don't even understand me, do you?" England's patience was clearly at its end.

"No." I had a pout on my face. Even though China had betrayed my trust, and had so easily given me up to England, I still missed him, and wanted terribly to go back and run into his arms. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted so much. But not this.

I was in new clothes. Itchy. Westernized. I pulled at the collar, which was choking me. Why were these clothes so close to the body? What I wore back…back home…They were free-flowing. It wasn't my home anymore, apparently.

"Look," England growled, "You're under British rule, now. I expect you to act it. What you're doing now is childish. How old are you, again? Certainly not a toddler."

"No."

England threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine! Fine, have it your way. Fine by me. Don't eat. Don't sleep. Don't do anything. You can do whatever you want. But you're still a British territory. You'll come to love your new home, just you wait."

"No."

Truth be told, I had absolutely no idea what he was saying to me. I only could pick out a few things. I was just repeating 'no' over and over because he could not tame me. He would not tame me; I wouldn't allow it.

England left me in my new bedroom. It had very little in it, just a bed, a dresser for my clothes, and a closet. It was so sterile.

I felt so small and unimportant, then. It was the opium talking. England had been trying to wean me off it, not giving me anything. He said something like, 'cold turkey' whatever that meant.

Whatever it was, I wanted to just die right there.

I stayed in my new room for a while, lying motionless on the bed. It must have been hours.

But my stomach growled out in protest. I hadn't eaten for a few days, and the effects were finally catching up. I was famished.

I did the most logical thing to do—I crawled out of my room and went to look for England.

He was sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper and paying no attention to me. I slunk over to him and tugged at his sleeve.

He hummed questioningly, not knowing who it was. "India? No…No, Hong Kong. What is it?" he asked. Wasn't India another one of his territories?

"I'm hungry." I frowned. He frowned back at me.

"In English."

My stomach replied for me. It roared and gurgled. England chuckled. "Hungry, are you?"

I nodded, understanding his question was about my food pangs.

"If you ask me in English, I'll make you something to eat," he said, setting his paper down on his lap.

"What?" I knew what he said. He wanted me to ask him for food in English. How selfish. I wasn't about to lose this fight, though.

"Stop using that filthy language around me, Hong Kong." England's tone was sharp and commanding. "You can speak gobbledygook for all I care, but not around me. Speak English."

I would have protested to this unfair treatment, but rather then disrespect my elders (China had taught me better then that. I faltered occasionally, but I tried my best not to), I stormed out of the room and away from England, back to my blank, uncultured room.

I broke down in a day.

"England, I am hungry." Those words weren't even mine. They were foreign. I was speaking them, but it was like a virus attacked my body, a virus that ate away my will to fight.

"There's a good lad. I knew you would snap out of this rebellious phase soon enough. What would you like?" England had a pleasant expression on his face, smiling down at me. I stayed sour.

"Anything."

It was, to say the least, horrible.

But I ate it, anyway. I don't even know what it was. I just knew I wanted more.

England pet my hair sympathetically, but I swatted his hand away and made a low, guttural sound of disapproval.

"Alright, boy. No need to get hostile." He walked over to the burner in the kitchen and pulled a teapot away from the heat source.

I watched him through wet eyes because of what he was doing. It was so similar to what I used to watch every day. I felt sick. I felt disgusted. That was China's teapot.

And I had smuggled it for England.