We're Enemies

Chapter 17

France PoV:

I woke up to the annoying ring of the doorbell. Whoever was at the door was one impatient scoundrel.

I managed to make my my out of bed and through the rest of the flat and opened the door to a ruffled Alfred standing there.

"Dude! What the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell did it take you this long?"

"... Good morning to you too America. What brings you here?"

"Good morning... Wait... What's that smell?"

I couldn't figure what he was talking about.

"Dude... You are reeking of alcohol! How much did you drink last night?"

Shit... "I don't know what you are talking about America. What do you want this early in the morning?"

"...Morning? Oh shoot! Sorry. I kinda keep forgetting the whole different time zone thing. What's the time now?"

I look up at the wall clock in the living room to check. 11:45 A.M. ...

"Thought so." came his voice. I turned back to him to see a smug half grin on his face as he pushes his phone screen into my face. His expression... It reminds me of Him...

"I am sorry Alfred. I've just been a bit... preoccupied... please come in."

He frowned, the childish annoyance on his face replaced by a look of concern as he stepped inside. "France, I think there is something we have to talk about. You've got some explaining to do, man."

I know... I have so much explaining to do... so much...

But  I don't want to... 

I don't want to talk about any of this...

"What do you mean? Please take a seat, we can talk after that."

"No, can do. Let's just get to the point, shall we?"

No... I know what's coming... 

"...OK"

"What was England to you? ... Actually, what were you to him?"

To me?... I don't know...

"That is a very strange question to ask America... What are you trying to get at?"

A hard push on my shoulder forces me to fall back on the sofa. I look up at the boy... In his eyes a strange mix of rage and grief...

"There is nothing strange about it. If there is anything strange, that's you!"

"You are being very rude America. You know you still are a guest at my place, right?"

He reaches for the cushion right next to me and throws it across the room in frustration. I spot the tears in the corners of his eyes.

"DAMN YOU and your politeness! My brother just killed himself and you have been missing since; and you think I care about manners now!?" he screams at me.

I can't help but flinch. He's terrifying when angered.

But I won't let this boy goad me.

"...Your brother, America? You haven't called him that since the 1700's, have you?"

He throws off his own glasses and glares at me. I shrink back even further. I don't have the strength to meet his gaze.

He's openly crying now.

"You! Fuck you! You know what I mean. Fuck you! ... You are the last person he tried to talk to. What did he want to say? And why to you? Do you remember anything?! Answer me DAMN IT!!!"