We're Enemies

Chapter 15

England PoV:

I've always hated loud places. Especially dance bars. But it's easier to go unnoticed in such places.

I sit by myself with a bottle of single malt whiskey half finished, and the glass full.
I can't get his words out of my head. How much ever I try.

I know he's trying to manipulate me... but what he said wasn't a lie.

No one tried to stop him.

No one tried to help me.

They're all on his side.

I might as well be dead.

A sudden sting on my arm brings me back to reality.

I've unconsciously scratched the drying scabs on my left arm and blood has seeped through my white shirt...

...another good one ruined.

I quickly put on my discarded blazer and empty my glass in one gulp.
The strong burning inside my throat makes breathing uncomfortable. I should probably stop... but I pour myself another glass.

My eyes drift to the bar, and that's where I spot you. You've changed out of your business suit into a shirt with a frilled trim and your signature tight pants.

I want to get up and approach you, but you're with your other friends. I spot Spain and Prussia close by, accompanied by the Italy brothers, Germany and ... my brother.

The rest of them move to the back to get themselves a table, while Spain stays at the bar with you to order your drinks.

It's worth a shot, I convince myself as I get up. Maybe there's that one thing that hasn't changed between us.

Maybe you'll still help me set my head straight.

I walk up behind you in the increasingly loud music.

"France!" I call out.

You don't hear me, but Spain does. His looks back at me in surprise.

"France?" I call out louder. Spain taps you on the shoulder and you finally turn.

Your face turns sour at the sight of me.
"Yes?" You ask.

But I don't know what to say. What am I supposed to even say?

'France, I want to kill myself, save me?' ...

"The fuck is taking you so long?" I hear my brother's approaching shout.

"Francis..." I almost plead.
You just stare back at me with no reaction.

"Did you just say something?" you ask.

You're drunk. You're bloody drunk. Great!

I don't know how much longer I can hold back my tears. 

"Francis..." I plead one more time.

"The fuck do you want you idiot?!" comes my brother's voice.

I watch as he snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close. You simply lean in with a kiss.

It feels as if my heart missed a beat. I can feel dread rising in the pit of my stomach. I don't need to look up to see Alistair's smug grin.

"Is there anything you want to say, England, or are you here to spoil our mood?"
Your comment makes your surrounding friends laugh.

Why... why... why are you doing this to me!? Why does this have to be me? What is it that I've done? Why do you do this to me Francis, why??!

I pick up the nearest glass and splash its contents on you.