Rus's P.O.V (hehe gay stairs go burr-)
"Почему вы его отменяете?!" (Why are you canceling it?!)
Rage, resentment, and repulsion flowed through my blood.
It had been a full month since we had come here, and I told him not to waste our time, yet he did just that. He had given the both of us a false sense of hope that everything would truly work out.
I grunted, why did life have to be so utterly horrid?
"Потому что он обманывает вас! Разве вы не видете? Кажется, сегодня он в порядке, но на следующий день его уничтожают. Перестаньте влюбляться в его замаскированную личность." (Because he is deceiving you! Don't you see? He seems to be fine today, but the next day he is destroyed. Stop falling in love with his disguised identity.)
I slammed my palms on the desk, "Как он может замаскировать болезнь?!" (How can he disguise the disease?!)
I was mad...no. More than mad was what I was. I was downright furious, he was supposed to give America a chance, yet he was going back on his words.
"Легко видеть, что правительство США должно сыграть в этом свою роль." (It is easy to see that the US government has a role to play in this.) Mr.Ludvig accused.
"Ты шутишь, что ли? Зачем они даже послали его соблазнять меня, если они ненавидят меня и то, что я защищаю?" (Are you kidding me? Why would they even send him to seduce me if they hate me and what I defend?) I shot back.
Even if they did do that, they had no way of guaranteeing that it would work. Plus, they have their own problems in their homeland, so they wouldn't even consider sending their figurehead off to a totally remote area in a country that they didn't even get along with.
There was absolutely no chance that this was staged.
"Даже если это неправда, я не буду помогать этой свинье, и люди здесь тоже." (Even if it's not true, I will not help this pig, and neither will the people here.) He snarled. "И даже не пытайся убедить меня в обратном." (And don't even try to convince me otherwise.)
I scoffed and turned around, as I grabbed my partner's hand, "Come on, Amerirrca. He is not listening."
I nearly dragged America out of his seat, but he scuttled to his feet before that happened. We exited the door to Mr.Ludvig's office and stomped down the hallway. The man behind me was using his open hand to hold his cranium, an obvious sign that he had a headache.
Ever since that date with him and I passed, he had suffered more than he ever did in the past weeks.
My mind travelled back to the day of our romantic outing.
After America fell asleep, I had to carry him over to my car. Luckily it wasn't too far away, but there were some people near where I had parked. I tried my best to avoid their eyes, but when you were carrying another person in your arms, you were kinda hard to miss.
So, some of them spotted me loading America into my back seat. I was pretty sure that my actions sent off the wrong message.
The people that I found there were unmistakably young, so I knew that they probably gossiped about the event to their friends, and it spiralled out from there.
Then I drove off, and did the opposite action when we got to our hotel.
The next couple of days were somewhat normal, and America only experienced mild symptoms.
However, that changed when the fourth day rolled around.
He started to cough up the powder again, and he was basically confined to our bed. Vomit was commonplace, so I placed a bowl next to his bed, as well as some pain relievers for whenever some cramps or other symptoms traversed into his cells.
I stayed with him for the entire day while he was like that, and I did the best I could to help him feel better, though my attempts were short-lived.
I sighed, as I helped him into my car so that we could return home. Like before, it was hard to stay with him on those days, but I knew that I needed to.
I only left him alone around lunch, but that was due to the fact that I still needed to convince Mr.Ludvig to lend this town, or heck, the whole oblast over to America.
A grimace stained my face, as I started the gas to go back to get our stuff. It looked like I didn't try hard enough. Or maybe I wasn't as convincing as I thought I was.
It was probably both.
The days following the fourth weren't all that much better, in fact, they might have been worse. He could move, but that came with intense fainting risk. Gratefully, whenever that did happen, they only lasted for seconds. However, it scared the living daylights out of me, since he could fall and hit his head on anything.
The two of us walked into our hotel room. I did the majority of the packing, since most of America's strength was swallowed up by his immune system. I really didn't mind, it helped me put my anger into something productive.
The clothes went into two bags, the pots and pans went into another, and everything that wasn't related to those took up the last bag.
As I stepped over to America to tell him that we could go now, but the only person I found was an empty husk of the man who used to be there.
I reached my hands out to his shoulders, "Hey..." I stated as gently as I could. "Arrre you okay? Do you need to talk about it?"
His head lifted up and soulless eyes attached onto mine, while he shook his head slightly, "Why even ask that question if the answer is obvious?"
"Because I vant to know vhy." I responded after a bit of a pause.
I took a seat next to him, and looped one of my arms around his shoulders, "Well, it isn't that hard to figure out. Since this place doesn't accept my leadership, and my states along with my people are doubting me back in my homeland, is there really any way to prevent the inevitable?"
"No no no. You vill not, you cannot, I vill not allow it." I squeezed him closer to me. "I vill not let you die."
America wheezed out a dry chuckle that was shortly accompanied by several coughs, "Russia, deep down you knew that this was coming. I knew that it was coming. And I'm certain that the bitch across the sea knew it too."
My other arm wrapped around him as he spoke, and they drew him closer to me, "But zherrre has to be a vay to fix zhis, rrright? Ve could terry anotherrr one of my oblasts, orrr even a rrrepublic. Heck, ve could ask someone else to help, like yourrr brrrotherrr-"
America reached up one of his hands and covered my mouth, "Shh, I know I stand for free speech and all, but I can't stand when somebody is spitting out bullshit. I've already come to terms with it."
"Vhat do you mean zhat you have come to terrrms vith it?" I reached up to America's hand and removed it. "You arrre going to die if ve do nothing!"
"Exactly." My eyes widened, as the word left his lips.
Did he want to die?
No, he wouldn't have agreed to come here.
"I mean, maybe it's for the best anyways. My states know how to handle themselves, and most of them seem to like Cabi as a mother figure-"
"Do not say such zhings." I demanded, as I pulled his head to face mine completely.
"Why not? They're true. I'm a manipulative, abusing killer, wouldn't the word be better without people like me?" I took a shaky breath in, as his face looked at me dead-on. "Well, wouldn't it?"
I shook my head, but I had no words to express how I truly felt. I only tightened my hold on him more, as my arms fell back around him. My head tucked itself in the crook of his neck.
Slowly, his hands crept behind my back, and they loosely held me close, "I'm sorry...I don't know what came over me..." He whispered.
I blinked away the wetness in my eyes, "It is okay, just do not scarrre me like zhat..."
We stayed intertwined within each other for the next few minutes. I couldn't even imagine what it would be like to not have him in the world with me, the only thing that I knew about it was that it would be horrible.
My senses kicked into my thoughts. I wouldn't have his arms to wrap around me, nor somewhere for my arms to wrap around him. His jokes, kisses, and personality would all be gone. Death would be the one that he loved, the one that he kissed, and the one that he let lay with him.
Death; the cruel man would be my replacement.
"Let's head home, to your house." He mumbled, as his decayed away from my back.
I lifted my head out from the crook in his neck and kissed his forehead, "...alrrright."
Now, it has been a little shorter than a month since we left Murmansk.
Nothing was better.
I had to help him do everything, including bathe. I could no longer focus on anything other than him. I was obsessive over his health, while my mental and emotional health drained themselves every second.
At the moment, I was preparing dinner. We always had soup, or something else that was easy to eat, since America's stomach couldn't handle anything else.
Because I wanted to get back to him quickly, I went over to the grocery store a few times and bought some canned soups. They were nearly ready anyways, all that I had to do was heat them up.
I placed a can-opener on the lid, twisted it, and opened the lid of the chicken noodle soup. I repeated my actions for another one, since I was planning to have it too.
I poured one of them into a bowl, placed it into the microwave near my fridge, and set the time to a few minutes.
An exasperated sigh escaped my lips; I was so tired. My sleep schedule had been thrown into chaos the past few days, because America's choking had increased significantly. It was now happening at least once a night, maybe even twice if we got unlucky.
I had moved him upstairs to my bedroom, due to the bathroom's inconvenience. I slept with him too, for various reasons, the biggest of which being said choking.
Well, that and it felt nice to know that he wasn't gone yet.
The timer went off for the soup, so I popped the microwave open and grabbed a spoon. With it, I stirred the heated bowl of food to make sure that it was all one temperature throughout. After I did that, I stuck the other soup into a bowl and put it in the warmed compartment.
Since his bowl was already done, I placed the steaming soup onto an oven mitt and decided to take it to him.
I made my way out of my smallish kitchen and started to climb the stairs, when a sense that something was wrong etched its way into the back of my brain.
I frowned at the familiar feeling, for I had experienced it every single time that I left America unattended.
Step by step, the feeling got worse.
When I had finally made it to my second story It was so bad, that I had to stop myself from rushing over to the room.
I hovered my hand over the knob, and took a deep breath.
I grabbed the knob and swung the door open.
"Amerrrica?"
My eyes widened, my breathing stopped, and the soup bowl in my hands clattered to the floor.
"Amerrrica!"
It had started.
Word count 2025
:D
Wasn't that just spectacular?
Just a warning for next week's chapter, get ready for an emotional roller coaster.
Count-down: 5
Anyways, questions!
What the spork happened in this chapter?! It's all over the place...
I think y'all know what's about to happen, but how is it gonna get solved?
And, last but not least, should I make a picture of Cabi getting punched by the readers, or nah?
Have an emotionally troubled day/night/morning/evening/noon/midnight/any time!
-Amaura-Chan