Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

My Vote is Vetoed, Again

Hooray for acne! How I love when those disgusting pimples just congregate and spring up like mushrooms all over my chest, upper back and temples. Just brilliant, nature! The best part was that the rest of me, including my hands, cheeks, and elbows were horribly, as father dubbed it 'surgically dry'. During this time, usually father would gather his vodka supply from the cellar and scrub me down with the vile heating liquid each night. He would know if I picked at any of the infections if I elicited a hiss of pain. The antiseptic properties were perfect for expelling oil secretion, bacteria, and burning your stomach lining creating your standard ulcer. It would dry my skin badly, the oily parts would turn tight, and the dry would peel. 

About three years ago, after a huge fight, broken car door, and ripped shirt, I went to see a doctor with father, whom prescribed a cream for it. Of course, the stupid stuff had to be applied nightly and every morning. Like I'd do that. Sometimes I would forget, others I would feel too lazy. And even others where I didn't feel like going though the whole routine of washing my face, first with water then vodka, then waiting for it to dry, then applying micellar water, then waiting again, then the cream, then the useless moisturizer, then the sunscreen, because the cream would make the skin sensitive to burns. How nice. The best part was that it didn't even help me. Granted, it worked perfectly while I was on treatment. As soon as I stopped, they would come back. 

Only during the spring, from late February to early July, I would suffer the constant nagging of my father, the giggling of my brother, the pity from my sister, and baby Kazakhstan with his knowing eyes, understanding but not voicing. Now that I was newly freed, I had the choice to continue or to see what would happen if I tried to quit the treatment. Not feeling brave enough today, I quickly went through the whole routine, only to be bothered twice by Iceland who apparently was dying to use the restroom. I let him in and finished my business with my phone camera. After he finished, he came out with a harassed look on his face.

"What?" I asked.

"The stupid faucet doesn't work." He growled and tossed his damp towel on his bed.

"Both?"

"No, just mine," he put on his grey long sleeve and a pair of khaki dress pants. "Lucky yours didn't break,"

"Haven't you realised that if you push just a tad more, you might just break the thing," I said, lathering on the sunscreen.

"Uh, I'm careful," he rolled his eyes, the snickered at what I was doing. "You look like those girls at high school, applying their facial toner and mascara."

"Believe me this is a pain," I sighed, putting the bottle back in the small refrigerator we had. Not only was it useless, but it had to refrigerated like food. "But if I see whiteheads, I start to pick at them, they get infected, and then I'll never get over the cycle."

"Aren't you old enough to stop having acne problems?" He asked, opening the balcony door.

"I don't know," I shrugged, straightening up. "All I know is that it only happens in the spring. And this has been going on since I hit thirteen, every year it's gotten worse and worse. But for a while now, ever since...about seventeen I think....it's getting better." I stowed my phone away in my pocket. "Slower than the acceleration of it though,"

"Allergies?" He cocked his head to the side. "Maybe?"

"It might be, but what?" I was ready to start the day. As routine, Iceland and I have been getting up at the same time every day, no matter class or weekend, to make it easier on ourselves. "Okay, we can go now."

Iceland stepped out first opening the door in front of me and bowed. "After you, Madame," I cuffed him on the neck for that. He ruefully looked back at me and I stuck my tongue out in response.