Hetalia Oneshots (Book One)

France X Reader: 'Till It Happens To You {Sonfic}

Because Lady Gaga struck my heart with this one... I mean, I like her old music, but this one had me sobbing. I hope you enjoy, I was crying while writing this. Not because my writing is good (cus it isn't), it was just the song that got me.

Song: 'Till It Happens To You by Lady Gaga

***

You tell me it gets better,
It gets better, in time.
You say to pull myself together,
Pull it together, you'll be fine.
Tell me what the hell do you know,
What do you know?

Your whole body shake with fear, your silent sobs going unnoticed by the world.

No one cares. You're abandoned by the world now, alone in the metal cage that is your mind, your depression, your sickness. For years, the doors have been unlocked, letting you come and go through life. Now, they're locked shut, the key melted down and thrown away.

You can't move to protect yourself, you can't cry for help... and even if you could, no one would, or even could, help.

All you can do is lie there in your pain, your blood dampening the gravel, bare back being torn apart.

You're forced down, pinned, turned into an object of amusement.

All your dreams, ambitions, hopes, being thrown away with one, two, maybe even three careless sips.

The large man pinning you to the ground suddenly seizes up, and warmth floods your lower region, seed stinging your ripped walls and making you sob.

You know he's done... this stranger, this rapist, will walk away, forgetting the whole experience. But you...

No, you'll never forget... it'll never be done, just over. For you, you'll end up scarred, both mentally and physically.

One drink, completely ruined your life, your beliefs, everything.

One drink changed your whole future.

Tell me how the hell could you know,
How could you know?
'Till it happens to you,
You don't know, how it feels!
How it, feels.
'Till it happens to you, you won't know,
It won't be real.

As the man walks away, you mange to shake yourself out of your daze enough to stand up.

Tears streaming down your face, blood dripping down your legsand back, you stumble your way onto the sidewalk.

People cuss at you, insulting you for bustling them, but it doesn't matter at the moment. All that matters is getting home.

Your shoes are long gone, probably still in the now wretched alleyway, forgotten forever.

Sore feet are the least of your problems.

A woman in her late fifties tries to grab your arm, to help you, but you shrink away, responding with a scream.

The blood curdling sound tearing from your throat, you break into a run, shoving past anybody in your way.

Was this all your fault? Did he rape you for a reason? Was it the skirt, your hair color, did you say something? Why you? There were so many beautiful women, were you just approachable, could he sense that you were weak?

Feet numbing from cold and the constant pounding on the concrete roads, you start fumbling over yourself.

You slam violently into the ground, bits of rock embedding themselves into your now scraped raw hands and knees.