We're Enemies

chapter 16

France PoV:

"No, no, no, NO ARTHUR !!"
I wake up with a jolt. Where am I? ... My own bed, in my own house.

It's the middle of the night. I scan my surroundings in the darkness. I tried to look for him him in the dark room. He's usually always there when I wake up from a night- Ohhh....

A sharp pain rises in the back of my head. I try to reach for the bedside lamp and instead topple over an empty bottle.

I'll have to be careful about that next morning when I get out of bed.

To hell with that! I won't get out of bed...

I wipe away the tears and sweat from my face and try to bring my mind back to order. But no matter how much I try, it just won't go away... that image just won't leave my mind... and it's all my fault.

I'd rushed into the room just as the door fell open... I don't want to think about what I saw next, but that's all that my mind can focus on... that and old memories...

I try to picture his smile again, but all that comes back are flashes of that night, six days ago...

How I'd rushed up the flights of stairs as soon as we heard the shot ring out. The looked door being broken open...

only to find blood slowly flowing towards the door to greet us...

and in front of the mirror, his body lying motionless in a pool of his own blood...

the entry and exit wounds of the bullet in stark contrast to his blond hair...

the bloodied bullet lying near his head...

his own gun loosely gripped in his hand...

a gun that used to be empty...

and in his other hand...

a picture...

...of me.

I had been too stunned to do anything at all. My legs gave away and I fell to the floor crying. Soon enough, his body was taken away in an ambulance, and I grabbed the fallen bullet and put it into my coat. I don't know why, but I had felt compelled to at that moment.

America approached me after he finished speaking to the hotel staff. The young boy was equally shook with the sudden occurrence...

He had a piece of paper in his hand and showed it to me. It was the picture... my picture.

I could tell England had drawn it himself, but I don't know when. It seemed pretty old.

"France, dude, you knew him from childhood right?"

"...Yes."

"Ya'know this girl? I've never seen her before. Is she some old country or what? Maybe his girlfriend or something?"

"Girlfriend?"

"I mean, why else do you think he'd keep her photo when he's about to..."

I don't have the courage to tell the boy the truth.

"I've never seen her, nor have I ever known England to have a girlfriend... America, I'm tired, please may I go back?"

"Uh, yeah sure! I'll arrange it for ya!"

The boy was kind enough to arrange a flight back to France for me. I entered that morning, and haven't left my house since...

I fall back on my bed again and try to go back to sleep. After some time I manage...

It's a little too late.