Just Over NY - [Hetalia] Uncle!2p!Canada x Bratty!Reader

Chapter 1: Life is a Metaphor

"Gees, [Name]... Have a rough night?"

You grimace at your classmate. You didn't call anyone your friend anymore, not here. You never had a night that wasn't 'rough' anymore anyways, not with your uncle Allen having hovered over you for the past six months.

You don't reply to your classmate, staring tiredly ahead at the whiteboard hanging ahead of you.

Just to your luck, the school year had come around while you were under the disturbingly watchful eyes of Allen. You'd tried escaping New York a few times, but had always failed one way or another. It only ever resulted in punishment from Allen anyways.

It irritated him when you called him Allen instead of Al, so you kept it up.

"So who in here could tell me something about personification and metaphors?"

You hadn't heard a peep since you woke up in Allen's old apartment. Months ago, you'd decidedly assumed the worst.

Matt must be dead. And if he wasn't, why the hell had he not come to save you yet?

Matt... dead. It still somehow tugged at your brain that that was impossible. That somehow, the man you'd come to know as virtually inhuman really was just that and couldn't be killed simply by loosing too much blood.

You'd wondered if Kuma was okay too, but tried not to dwell on it.

Maybe after classes you could try hijacking a car parked around the apartment building-

"[Name]? Could you please answer the question?"

You sighed angrily, looking away from the overly-preppy English teacher's face. "I'd rather not," you explain plainly, your expression showing little.

You'd had to learn to show no sign of any strong emotion when Allen was around. Just by a look in your eye, he seemed to be able to tell exactly what you were thinking.

With a defeated sigh, the teacher moves on to ask the same question to a student who actually knew the answer.

"A personification is when a non-human subject is given human qualities."

"That is correct. Now metaphors; who knows what they are?"

You blank out again, finding a newspaper blowing past the window to be far more interesting than metaphors.

"They are when one thing is used to represent something entirely different."

"Correct. Now that brings us to our lesson..."

Metaphor. Something that represents something else...

Home didn't represent a house to you anymore. Metaphorically, home was simply a state of mind to you now. Home wasn't that apartment, or thoughts about your past. Home was... empty.

God, if you keep thinking like that this day may never end... You think to yourself.

*****

Walking back alone to your prison was the worst. Not only did Allen bring you to New York, which after being in Nunavut you'd come to despise, but he lived in a part of the city where you could swear that ever guy that walked past you was planning to rape you in mid daylight. The only upside to having Allen as your uncle here was they were all too scared to mess with you, knowing they'd get his nailed-bat up their asses if they so much as touched you.

The apartment was old and dank, the paint on some of the walls peeling. And yet it was still one of the apartments in better shape than others on the same block. But it lacked an elevator, which Allen claimed not to mind since climbing to the 30th-something floor was good exercise. Figures the bat-crazy weirdo finds a lame excuse for living as high as possible over New York.

Going inside you make your way to the stairs, a few creaking sadly beneath your feet. You grip the cold metal rail, only to pull away from it caused by the chill that it caused to run up your arm. It was always too cold in this place, you swear. Although, you know what being truly cold is now that you'd lived just outside the Arctic Circle.

Matt...

As your heart aches over the loss of your uncle for the umpteenth time, you pause on the stairwell and tell yourself to get over it. Moments like that haunted you so much, about Matt and your parents. And one time, when you saw a kid playing with a large white dog you had to pause for Kuma.

You continue up the stairs, finally reaching the 12th floor. There's always awkward noises coming from one of the rooms there and you never stop to find out what your many-floors-down neighbor is doing with basically ever afternoon of his life... with random women. You shudder and continue on up.

There is only one other neighbor in this building you can stand, and that's Regina's. Regina is much older than you, maybe around 35, but you never ask. She's the type that doesn't take shit from anyone, and so you quickly came to respect her when you saw her chewing out your uncle one time on your way from school. As you reached the 22nd floor, now tired, you can hear her on the phone in her apartment.

Sounds like she's chewing someone out for something again. Luckily she liked you and you never seemed to tick her off. No one but you dared mess with her, and that included your uncle.

A thought clicked in your mind, a realization. "Maybe she'd help me get out of here," you wonder softly, mumbling to yourself. You assumed she wanted out of this building and maybe even this city as much as you wanted to. You decided to come back later and continued up the last few flights of steps to Allen's apartment.

You take your key out of your bag, unlocking it and going inside. Allen seems to be out, as he usually is around this time of day anyways. You knew what he was doing, and you were just glad that you had no part of it.

Just as Matt had warned you, Allen was just as much of a killer as Matt had been if not more so. he went out daily. Matt had been patient, waited for the right moment.

Secretly you hoped the police or someone would just catch the psychopath already. You didn't dare tell Allen that though or call the police yourself. He'd just kill you too and make sure you couldn't say anything more about him.

You give a sigh, throwing your schoolbag at the foot of the couch and plopped down on it, pulling out The Help. "Screw homework..." you said aloud. In your head as you read, you kept telling yourself you were going to skip tomorrow and start planning another escape. Maybe you'd do some of it so Allen wouldn't get suspicious...

 The problem was, whenever you did manage to get out, you could never figure out where you planned to go. Just keep going through the city? But then Allen knows every street and back road. He'd easily find you. Try and find your way back to Canada where you are a legal citizen now? But once you made it over the border, you have no home unless you trek into Manitoba and somehow manage to find Matt's cabin again...

Stupid place was probably already crawling with bugs again, dust clinging to everything while Matt rotted with the poacher in a shed...

You wanted to cry all over again for Matt. You had treated him like dirt up until the moment he died when he actually had been taking care of you. He sure as hell was doing better than Allen was. Allen hardly saw you, and the only good he was to you was making a good barrier between you and the creeps on the block around the building.

"I'm still sorry Matt... mom and dad... e-everyone..." you said, sobbing softly and setting The Help on the small table at the end of the couch.

And as you sat there and cried, not for the first time in these past six months, you realized not only was home a metaphor anymore to you.

Life might as well be a metaphor too.

~~~~~~~~~~

Well... Reader, haven't you just gotten all dark and mysterious in the last 6 months. 9u9' Sorry-Not-Sorry for all the crap I put you through~ XD

And if you haven't read The Help you need to. It was the first book that came to my mind so there it is. All credit and copyrights to it belong to the author, Tate Taylor.

What do you think of book 2 so far everyone? Ya'll excited? :D I know I am! Woohoo! *throws confetti*

Stick around! Chapter 2 is on the way!

~AAMU