A/N: Well hello dear readers! For those of you in the USA, did you have a nice Thanksgiving? And for those that aren't in the States, did you have a nice Thursday?
This chapter was hard to write for some strange reason. I've re-written it too many times to count and I'm still not very happy with it O.e It's mainly a filler chapter too.
And you see Ancient Egypt~
Disclaimer: Nope. Nada. Nichts. Non. Nyet. Do not own Hetalia.
"You got detention, you ditched school, and you lied to Francis. Bloody hell, what am I going to do with you, Alfred?" Arthur asked, running a hand through his hair.
"Well," Alfred began only to be rudely interrupted by an angry Brit.
"Can't there be just one day – one day, Alfred, that's all I ask – where you behave? Where you don't screw something up? Where I actually feel good and proud about adopting you? Not ashamed of it? Is that too much to ask for?"
"N-"
"Apparently it is!" Arthur exclaimed, his voice nearly at a yelling pitch. Face now red, he turned away from his son and crossed his arms. Staring out the window, he lowered his voice into a deadly whisper. "Go," he demanded. "Just get out of my sight, Alfred. And pray to God I don't see your fat, disgusting face until I've fully calmed down."
Alfred nodded and got up to go to his bedroom. Tears pricked his eyes, but he wouldn't cry. His throat felt tight, and it was hard to swallow. His dad's words hurt horribly, no matter how many times he said them, but they were true. Why did he have to be such a screw up? Couldn't he do anything right?
His mind replayed the day's events since lunch. Someone had seen him in the bathroom. That someone had turned out to be Ivan Braginsky.
*FLASHBACK*
"What are you doing, Jones?"
Alfred jumped and turned around. And there he saw the last person he had wanted to see: Ivan Braginsky, world's most feared teenager to all but Alfred, Yao, and Natalya. He was Russian, and had this child-like sadistic side to him. Although there were rumors that he had a sweet side of him - courtesy of Yao, who had dated him two years ago – but Alfred didn't believe them. That's all they were. Rumors. All he'd ever encountered with Ivan was cold hostility or challenges.
"What's it to you, Braginsky?" Alfred sneered, trying to cover up his shock and embarrassment.
Ivan shrugged. "Nothing," he replied honestly.
"Then why ask?"
"Why not?"
Cue the infuriating smile the Russian constantly wore. Behind that smile, the American could never tell what the other was thinking. Sometimes it drove him nuts, other times he preferred to not know. This was one of those times where it drove him nuts. Already Natalya had seen how fat Alfred was; and since she hung out with Ivan (worshipped him, more like it), what was to say if she hadn't already told the Russian of her findings? Or – Heaven forbid – what if Ivan had already noticed? Alfred didn't know why, but the thought bothered him.
All of a sudden the bathroom seemed to close in on him. He started to hyperventilate and sweat. Oh my god, he thought; if he sees how fat I am…
"Are you alright?" Ivan asked, tilting his head and dropping the smile. Judging by his tone, it sounded as if he was genuinely worried.
Alfred clenched his fists and shook his head, laughing at himself in his mind. Why would Ivan be worried? He mused bitterly. He's been nothing but a dick to me since we've known each other.
"Alfred?" Ivan repeated, taking a step closer. "Are you okay? You seem upset."
So your biggest rival is trying to reach out to you now? Oh boy, are you pathetic, A voice rang in the American's mind cruelly. That's exactly what you are. Fat, pathetic, selfish, the list could go on. You're anything but a hero, Alfred. Why, you're stupid enough to get caught. Tisk tisk Mr. Jones, I thought you were better than that. Clearly not, it seems. Oh what's this? Shutting your eyes and trying not to cry? Ha! LOSER! You big, fat, good-for-nothing loser.
"Alfred?"
Alfred opened his eyes abruptly and met Ivan's own violet ones. Quickly, he broke eye contact and blinked away the forming tears. Taking a deep breath, he lied again, "I-I'm fine. Stop worrying about me, jerk."
Then he walked past the taller teenager with his head down towards the door. Even after he closed it behind him, he could still feel Ivan watching him.
*END FLASHBACK*
Collapsing onto his bed, Alfred stared up at the white ceiling. He felt hungry, and he wanted to eat something. He hadn't eaten anything all day, opting to drink water to fill himself up, but now the hunger pangs started to come again. And they came fast and furious, each one striking fiercely in his stomach.
Alfred turned onto his side and curled into himself. He would not – could not – go down to the kitchen and grab some food. His pissed off dad was there; and besides, wasn't this what starving was all about? Riding out the hunger pains in order to be slim?
The teenager closed his eyes and forced himself to replay the rest of the day as a distraction.
*FLASHBACK*
Alfred looked back at the building and allowed a bittersweet smile to show. He was doing it; he was ditching school. And boy did he feel relieved. Now he wouldn't have to face Ivan again when they had History together. That'll save him a bunch of teasing, of that he was quite sure. And he didn't need to worry about Matthew; his brother had Gilbert to drive him home.
Pressing the crosswalk button, Alfred allowed himself to relax. He had three and a half hours to do whatever he wanted to do, and boy was he going to use it. Maybe he could take the bus downtown by the harbor and run for a bit? He'd be back in time for his parents not to ask where he'd been and he'd get some good exercise too. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. But first he needed some water to hydrate.
The crosswalk sign switched from red to white and Alfred jogged across the intersection. He didn't stop jogging until he reached the nearest 7-11.
Opening up the door, he made a straight beeline for the drink section. Sodas, Power Drinks, Energy Drinks, and water were all held in the refrigerated rows. The blonde skimmed over the Gatorades and grabbed a large water bottle before taking it back to the cash register and getting out his wallet. As he pulled out a five dollar bill, the employee asked, "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"
Alfred looked up and made eye contact with a black-haired woman that had light brown eyes. "Um," he started. "Yeah, I guess."
The woman narrowed her eyes. "Then what are you doing here?"
"Are you from somewhere? 'Cause you have an accent," the American remarked, switching the topic.
"I am from Egypt," the employee said, waving a hand off-handedly. "Now tell me, why are you ditching school?"
"You're not gonna let me go on this one, are you?"
"No."
"If I told you, would you let me buy my drink and go?"
"Perhaps."
Alfred sighed and said, "Usually nobody but cops and parents care."
"Oh so you've done this before?" The Egyptian quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms.
"No," Alfred quickly read her name tag, "Akila, I haven't. Just generalizing things, ya know? Now may I please just pay?"
"I am a parent too; my own son is in high school," Akila told him. "If I found out that he missed, I'd make sure to teach him a lesson! Education is important, it helps you in life."
The American was starting to get annoyed and slightly uncomfortable. Why couldn't he just leave with his stupid water bottle? Now the cashier was rambling on to him school and life and work and dear god he just wanted to leave! He just wanted to run! This pointless conversation was wasting time!
"Look, Miss," Alfred interrupted a minute later, setting his water bottle on the counter. "It was nice talking to you and all that, but I'm gonna go now. See you."
As he walked out, he heard a frantic; "Wait!" come from the counter. Turning back around, he asked, "Yes?"
Akila huffed and dusted imaginary dirt off her uniform before saying haughtily, "Buy your water bottle. Business is slow here today, and I don't want you to dehydrate yourself."
Smirking, Alfred did just that and bid the Egyptian good-bye as he walked out the door with some water.
As soon as he was outside again, he ran to the bus stop and jogged in place until the vehicle showed up fifteen minutes later. The bus driver gave him a strange look as he paid but didn't say anything, and the American went and sat down on an empty seat towards the back. It was a twenty minute ride to downtown, give or take a few moments, so Alfred busied himself by looking out the window and thinking of ways to lose calories.
Twenty minutes later, the bus dropped him off and right away he started to run. Alfred jogged until he reached the harbor, then he started to run faster. He ran and ran till his legs couldn't take anymore and he had to stop. Sitting on a bench, he realized that it felt…good. It felt good to know that he was accomplishing something other than eating. He felt as though he was winning a competition.
"Ha ha!" Alfred laughed, throwing his hands up in the sky. People gave him weird looks as they passed, but for once the blonde didn't care. So what if they thought he was diving off the deep end? They didn't know shit about him. "Look Dad, are you proud?" He asked loud enough for only himself to hear. "I'm doing it. I'm losing weight. I won't be fat anymore. Maybe now you won't be ashamed of me.
"You know what? Fuck you. I'm not doing this for you," Alfred said, visualizing his father's face in front of him. "I'm doing this for me. I'm doing this so I won't be ashamed of me anymore. How does that feel, you stupid Brit? How does it feel to know that you can't completely control me and my pathetic life?"
For the rest of the time he had left, Alfred just ran. He stopped only when he really needed to, or when he got back on the bus and sat down. But by the time he made it home (roughly the usual time he came home from school) he was drenched in sweat.
This did not go unnoticed by Arthur, who glared and ordered him to go take a shower. When Alfred was done, the British man called him into the kitchen and began a Spanish Inquisition on his day; much to the younger's displeasure. That soon led to harsh words and getting grounded, which then led to Alfred being confined in his room.
All in all, it had been a crappy day despite the runs.
*END FLASHBACK*
A gurgling sound erupted from his stomach, and Alfred quietly moaned while opening his eyes. He could tough this out. It was only temporary pain anyway. Food sounded nice, but that's all it did. Sound nice. It wasn't nice, and Alfred knew it. If there was an enemy, it would be food.
He smiled to himself, picturing the comic it would make.
THE AMAZING HERO ALFRED VERSUS THE EVIL VILLAIN FOOD! That would be title. And inside would be this awesome, super hot superhero that had abs and wasn't fat named Alfred F. Jones. Cowlick, glasses, and everything else. Heck, maybe even his bomber jacket would be included too.
Humming to himself, the American continued to draw it in his mind's eye.
The superhero would save lives, and everybody – and Alfred meant everybody, boys and girls – would fall for him. They would want to dance with him at parties, and try to kiss him under the mistletoe, and purposely get into desperate trouble just to be rescued. He would be popular. He would be respected.
He would be perfect.
Of course, the back-story between Alfred and Food would be tragic like all back-stories. Food would be best friends with Al one day, and then betray him the next. Then there would be these epic duels where Alfred would so win and that would have everyone cheer for him with renewed fervor. And the mayor would give him the key to the city for the millionth time. But Alfred didn't care because, hey, he was just doing his job.
But you have to get skinny first~ the cruel voice sang.
Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could just fall asleep. True, it was only five in the afternoon, but it felt so much later than that. And the blonde was tired, so very tired. His body was hungry and exhausted from all the running too. All he wanted to do now was sleep…
Matthew knocked quietly on his brother's door. When there wasn't an answer, he opened it up and looked inside. "Hey Alfred," he said softly, going into the room. "Dinner's rea – oh." He stopped talking when he saw Alfred curled up in his bed, fast asleep. The Canadian checked the clock; it was only 7.
Smiling softly, Matthew watched his younger brother sleep for a minute or two, observing how peaceful he looked. Then he quietly left and shut the door behind him. It seemed as though he would have to set the table for three now.