Another Warning: I forgot to mention this before, but suicide is a topic in this story. Just thought I'd warn you guys, since this is a touchy subject.

Also, the attention this story has been getting certainly makes me feel elated. Not that I wasn't a happy person before. All of your reviews really encourage me to write more. When I was at school, I was just itching to write the next chapter of this story. :)

A week had passed since the last world meeting, and in that time, much had changed in America's schedule. For one, instead of exercising three times a day, he had increased the number to four. Sometimes even five. At least, he would exercise five times on a 'good' day. Of course, there was a catch. Just because he would exercise more often on a 'good' day, did not necessarily mean that the exercise would be lighter. If anything, it would become more intense, and it was all just for the sake increasing his faltering metabolism.

Another thing that had changed was his meals. Before he had allowed himself at least one to two diminutive meals a day. Now however, he had limited himself to only eating an undersized snack every two days. The snack would never be something more than an apple, in fact, America was beginning to consider an apple much too large. Not that he had ever actually eaten one of the red fruits whole. That would've been a taboo according to his new policy.

The lack of food had only made exercise much more challenging for the deprived nation. Whether America was aware of this or not didn't seem to matter, after all, he was trying to teach himself to become more 'disciplined'. If that meant to only eat forty calories every two days and wake up every morning to do what was now four hundred sit ups, two hundred push ups, three hundred lunges,and two hundred pull ups, and to run on the treadmill at five and a half miles per hour for one and half hours non stop, then so be it. It was truly a wonder that the now delicate nation was even able to walk in a straight line in the during the day. Then again, how much longer can his body hold out?

It was now ten seventeen in the morning, and America had finally finished his first round of exercises. Now it was time to see how much he weighed after a week of progress. When he stepped on the scale, the numbers faded from one hundred thirty eight and a half, to one hundred twenty five. Thirteen and a half pounds. In just one week. However, the accomplishment was not enough to satisfy America's exaggerated yearning for slimming up, and all he wanted to lose more weight. He wanted the pounds to continue to fall off until he was at least one hundred pounds. It had never mattered to America if he were to die in the process, oh no, his health was now nothing to him. He no longer cared about dying, in a way, he was beginning to welcome death. Nothing seemed more peaceful to him than to float in a black void of nothingness. Never to hear another insult, never to see his 'ugly' body in the mirror, and most importantly, never to think about any of his troubles. There were no thoughts in death, there was no inner critic. At least, that was what America believed. Sometimes he wondered whether he would find out if his beliefs on death were true.

His despondent thoughts were interrupted when he heard a knock on the front door. America thought with vexation who could possibly want to come to my house? There's literally no reason to! Before carelessly answering the front door, America was sure to find a jacket in order to conceal the scars on his arms. He was wearing a t-shirt, after all. The house was beginning to feel chilly to America, so really, the jacket served more of a purpose than it intentionally would have in the first place. It certainly allowed America to come up with a simple excuse without having to lie. He abhorred the intense feeling lying gave him.

For some odd reason to America, dashing to the front door had become more of a chore. By the time he had made the short distance he had already felt winded. His heart fluttered painfully in his chest, but he ignored all of the pain he was feeling. He had to quickly make an act for whoever had knocked on his door, he had to seem healthy and perky. There was more knocking on the door when America had finally caught his breath. It seemed to have become more persistent. Quickly, America opened the door to see England.

Shifting uneasily, America asked with confusion, "What are you still doing in my country? The world meeting was a week ago. Don't you have things to do in your own land?"

England replied, "It is your birthday today. I just thought it would be nice to drop by and wish you a happy birthday."

Oh right, it's my birthday. I had completely forgotten about that. Usually America would've been excited to know that it was his birthday, at least in the past, but the days of carelessness were over for him. Unless this day can cure all of my imperfections, it's just a normal day with a pointless title to me.

America still had the decency to be polite, despite the fact that he couldn't care less about his birthday, "Well thank you for your consideration, it's much appreciated. You really didn't have to waste your time on me like this, today really isn't that special."

Once again, the island nation was able to seek a glimpse past the fake mask a happiness that America had yet again, plastered on his face. Maybe England wasn't able to read America's direct thoughts, but he knew that something was on his former colony's mind. England shook his head a little and stated, "I know something's wrong. Can you please tell me what's bothering you?"

America narrowed his eyes in annoyance, Oh no! He's trying get in the way of my lifestyle isn't he? Trying to give me false advice that will only make me worse off in the long run. He needs to go! Then, he came up with the perfect comeback, "By the way, aren't you suppose to be overly depressed or something during this time? I mean after all, this is the anniversary of when I gained my independence from you."

Immediately, America felt guilty when he saw England tense up. The fact that it looked as if England was trying to hold back tears didn't help at all. Soon however, it seemed that the island nation was able to control himself once again as he explained, "I've been trying to get over that. I just want to mend our relationship, that's all. Is there something wrong with doing so?"

"Sorry," America replied, culpability flashed in his voice. Quickly, he came up with something in hopes to lighten the mood, "If you want, we could watch the fireworks tonight."

England nodded his head at the offer.

America and England had just finished watching the fireworks. Even though America was wearing three layers, he still had felt a quite chilly throughout the entire event, and his face certainly didn't receive a break from the harsh cold. Therefore, America did not enjoy the fireworks. To make matters worse, America had reluctantly allowed England to stay at his house for a few nights, why in the world did I agree to that? It's not like the Brit's company is necessary at the moment. I have more important things to do than tend to a guest.

Just when America had opened the door to his house, one of his sleeves decided to be rebellious and slide down. America did not notice the sleeve go down, however, England noticed more than just his arm. The street light allowed the island nation to see the beginnings of a few scars and scabs. America flinched and whipped his head towards England as he felt his former mentor roll up his sleeve. Quickly, America forced his arm out of England's grasp, and he immediately rolled his sleeves down to cover up his scars.

Unfortunately, it was too late, for England had enough time and evidence to know that America's arms were littered with scars. America scowled at the worried look England gave him. England ignored the hostility and asked, "Alfred, where did you get all of those scars?"

"I had to fight off some feral dogs." It was a lousy excuse, but it was the only thing that America could come up with in the short-lived time he had to reply. He thought it had been worth the shot. Casually, America changed the topic, his voice still contained a slight glower, "Anyways, I'm getting tired, so I'm going to bed now."

As America began to dash off, England quickly remembered something, and tried to call out after him, "Wait! You haven't eaten anything during the afternoon or evening!"

There was no response from America, he was already gone up the stairs, and it didn't seem likely that he would respond. England glanced down at the floor and muttered to himself, "I should really investigate what's going on with Alfred."

Then England flinched as a dark thought hit him, his voice was still low, "Bloody hell! What if he ends up killing himself!"