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Ten: Man's Best Friend.

They always say a dog is man's best friend. I suppose that could be considered true. Dogs are great. They're always there, they're loyal, and they will never run away. They will never leave you.

It's exactly for that reason that I don't have a dog. Because just when you think that it will stay with you forever, it will turn around. It will turn around and run away.

It will turn around, run away and leave you.

Ok so you've probably guessed by now that what or who I'm talking about isn't exactly a dog. But more like a human. But then again, not just any human. This human is a nation. Most would probably say the biggest nation in the world. But I, being blinded by rage and jealously, disagree with that statement. That nation grew from only the heartache and pain that another nation had to endure.

Me.

Yeah, yeah. "Wow, it's England!" Calm the hell down. I'm in no mood for squeals or smiles of adoration. If you were in my shoes and walked even a centimetre in them, you would know what it's like to be me. You would know.

So here I am, sitting in a small bar on the outskirts of London on a late Friday night so that no one can find me. The reason for this ladies and gents is because today is not a very…nice day if I'm going to be blunt.

Because today is the 3rd of July.

And the time is currently 11.56pm.

I know! Gasp! Let's all feel sorry for the English bloke who lost something special to him this time two hundred and something years ago. Yeah, well you can sod off. I don't want or need your pity.

I don't need anyone.

I laugh out loud at myself but nobody turns around to stare at me as if I'm crazy. Nobody cares.

However, the reason I laugh is because I'm can't even lie to myself. I did used to need somebody. You can guess who that person is. And they used to need me. They used to love me.

Now don't get me wrong, this person was like a little brother to me and when I say he used to love me, I mean like a little brother loves his big brother.

Unfortunately, as time went on, there were certain things that disturbed me about my 'little brother'.

By the way, the reason I'm not calling him by his name is because I don't want to. I don't like to. Because I don't like him.

Anyway, some things that he did…they just weren't childlike. So you can imagine my surprise and utter amazement, one day when I return home and find that this little brother of mine is so very, very big. And I mean he's taller than me.

He's all grown-up.

Immediately, a seed of worry plants in my mind and the alarm bells start ringing but naively, I ignore them. I feel almost relieved that he's grown up and that thought in itself is not normal.

So nowadays I pretend to hate him and not talk to him at the world conferences. I sit opposite him and even though he doesn't notice, I stare at him. Longingly. So, I try not to talk to him as much as possible because I hate what I feel. It makes me sick. I think I may be-

Thoughts interrupted.

The clock chimes.

I freeze.

Every bone in my body in frozen on impact of those bells chiming and I squeeze my eyes shut and just wish that I was curled up in my bed, not having to worry about what day it is and what happened all those years ago because it doesn't matter how long it's been. It just hurts. It just hurts, way too much.

But I resist the urge to get up and walk home because on my little table at my side of my door are all those damn letters. All those damn invitations. Knowing that I would ignore the first invite, he decided to send twenty. Twenty. It's like every invite is a punch in my stomach. It's like he doesn't even know. And every year when this happens, I never go. Doesn't he understand?

Thoughts interrupted again. This time is the bar phone. I glance up to watch the barman answer it and when he does, even I can hear the screeching on the other end of the line and I'm sitting near the door.

The barman turns his head in my direction and I hear him say yes.

There they are again. Those alarm bells. Get out of here, Kirkland. Get out now.

I see the barman, who is still staring at me, say a few more words and then puts the phone down. He hurriedly walks up to me.

"Mr Kirkland, I'd leave if I were you. Now."

His voice is low and demanding. He seems worried.

The alarm bells ring louder. I hesitant from moving.

"Who was that on the phone? Is someone looking for me?"

The barman glares at the floor.

"It was that American. He's been searching all of bloody London for you. He's got his whole godforsaken CIA out on the streets, tracking you down."

He's been looking for me? This. Is. Not. Good. I gulp and manage to push the next few words out.

"He knows I'm here doesn't he? He's coming." It wasn't so much of a question rather than a statement. I rise to my feet and pull on my coat. The barman looks ashamed.

"I'm sorry Mr Kirkland. It was like he already knew. I've never heard him so angry before. He was furious."

I scoff. I ignore his invitations to his stupid birthday and he gets pissed off? While he expects me to come to the only thing that I dread every year because it brings back too many memories? None of which are good?

Just as I bid the barman goodnight and head home (he won't even attempt to get into my house. Not unless he wants a severe beating from the British Army.), the small front door suddenly bursts open and dozens of men in suits barge their way through the bar, all eyes on me. One comes up to me and eyes me carefully. Meanwhile I'm looking for ways to get out of here.

The man nods and whips out his walkie-talkie.

"He's here."

Merely seconds later, a screech of tyres can be heard from outside and also the sound of a car door being opened and closed loudly.

I often wondered what would happen if he came to see me on his birthday. I often told myself that I would be fine. Cold. Indifferent. Because I don't need anybody.

No.

Stop lying Arthur.

You do need somebody.

You need him.

Which is exactly why I can't do this. This is exactly why if he even speaks, I'll crack. This is exactly why, right now, I glance frantically around the bar for an exit.

I see the barman jerking his head anxiously at the bar. I look up and see a door which leads to the alleyways and even though I'm in a desperate state of despair, I can't help but feel quite smug because no one knows the alleyways of London like I do. I did create them after all. No damn way would those yanks be able to keep up with me.

I start edging away from the CIA men when the door suddenly bursts open and I crumble. Like that.

He's standing there. He's standing right there and he's completely perfect. The dirty-fair coloured hair, sticking out all over the place, his glasses crooked, his face, puffed out and red from running around the city and his eyes. His deep blue, cerulean eyes which are fixed on me.

And they are furious looking.

"Arthur!" he roars at me, striding up to me and I wince, "where the fuck have you been?! I've had half of London, not to mention all of my CIA, out looking for you!"

I immediately snap. This is complete bullshit. Since when am I not allowed to go about my own country, wherever I want? I growl at him and repeat everything I had just thought.

He glares at me.

"You haven't talked to anyone all week! No one has spoken to you! We were all worried! We thought something had happened to you!"

I frown and stare at my feet.

"Like you care." I instantly regret saying it because I know how bloody childish that must of sounded.

I look up at him and he is glowering at me as he says extremely abruptly,

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I don't say anything so he continues.

"Why wouldn't I care? I've been looking for you for the past 48 hours! And don't you realise that tomorrow- well technically it's today- that it's my birth-"

I crack.

"YES I DO!" I screech at the top of my lungs and the whole bar falls silent immediately. 200 years of pent rage and resentfully coming out now.

"You absolute idiot! Don't you get it? 200 odd years it's been and you still don't understand why I never want to go to your damn birthday! It's because I can't stand it! It's like this time every year I can't eat, I can't sleep because when I do, I have nightmares. About being left anyone in the rain! By you!"

I can faintly hear my voice getting raspy but I don't care. The only thing I'm looking or even thinking about are the two eyes in front of me which emotion in them has changed from anger to a sort of pleading look. I feel my heart is about to physically break.

"You don't even know what you did to me that day. How you crushed me. How you hurt me. How you left me."

I feel moister springing into the corners of my eyes and I command myself not to cry. Not in front of him. I will never let him truly no how he has hurt me.

The only noise that can be heard is my heavy breathing. The clock's ticking sounds ten times as loud and it echoes around the room loudly. The next noise that I heard comes from him and I can't stand it. Just one simple word on his lips that send me over the edge.

"England, I-"

I bolt. I fling myself over the bar and bound through the back door and into the alleyways. I don't even have to look round to know that about thirty men and he are chasing after me. I run faster.

I can hear him screaming my name and the tears fall fluently but I keep running.

Home.

That's all I think about it and it makes me keep going.

I see my gates and yell at the security to open it for me but not to let anyone else in. I sprint towards the gates like an athletic runner to the finish line and as I cross over the line quickly, I hear the gates closing loudly with a bang immediately after.

I don't waste any time getting into my house because I can hear him outside, shouting my name over and over again. I slump against the front door and I cry.

Don't get me wrong, I don't usually cry. I don't usually get emotional; period. But it's just this day and him that always make me like this.

I take a few minutes and the slowly get up, walk into my living room and switch on the light. I yell out in surprise.

Sitting down in my red armchair beside the fire is my little sister. And standing up behind her, are my two brothers.

Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

I know I'm still crying and seeing them here, now, make me cry more.

They rush up to me and console me by hugging me tightly and Northern Ireland just constantly wipes away my tears. I hear her whisper,

"Shh, now, now, that's enough; no one's ever going to sleep with you if you keep acting like such a wimp."

I laugh for the first time in a week and as I look at her, she winks and smiles. I see her poised to articulate something but she frowns slightly and then hugs me again.

I know what she was about to say. He's not worth it. But she doesn't because she and I both know that it's not true.

After spending the few hours with my family, it's nearly four o'clock before they say their goodbyes and Northern Ireland is the last to go.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay tonight? Just in case you wanted to talk?" Her soothing motherly voice makes me want to scream 'Yes! Please do! I need you!' but I refrain because I tell myself I need to be alone and so I shake my head, smiling slightly.

"Don't worry about me, Emily. I'm a big boy now. I tie my own shoelaces and everything." I grin at her and she tilts her head to the side, analysing me, if only for a second before she smiles and kisses me on the cheek and bids me goodbye.

I hurry upstairs to my bedroom and crawl into bed.

Alone and scared about what this morning will bring, I drift off into a restless sleep, thinking one last think before I head before darkness surrounds me;

Happy Birthday America.

Aw! Tell me what you think! Very angsty and sad I kinda wanted America and England to make up but I was trying, for once, the realistic approach. I don't like it, ha-ha! Hope you liked, LucyMoon1992 x