The Ploy~ RusAme Fanfic

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

~Russia~

RING!

The school bell shattered through the air and my thoughts, instantly giving me a splitting headache.

Couldn't they turn that blasted thing down? Pretty soon we'll all go deaf if they keep blaring it at that volume. I can even hear it through the thick wool of my ushanka.

I wore the ushanka both for the purpose of blocking out loud noises and for the look of it. I didn't really need it for warmth, because I'm used to living in the cold. During winter and summer breaks I would go back to our old house in Russia.

Rolling my eyes, I rubbed my temples and stretched before rising to my full height and exited the classroom as fast as I could. My shoes clicked against the hard tile floor, sounding louder to my extra sensitive ears than others. I reached my locker and grabbed my books, having to lower my head a bit so I could actually see inside.

On my way out, I realized that I hadn't encountered a loud and obnoxious American racing past me through the hallways, which was very unusual.

Looking around, I realized that Canada was nowhere to be seen. Australia maneuvered around me, phone in his hand. He looked deep in thought, as if he was paying deep attention to whoever he was talking to.

He must have felt me staring and looked up, green eyes catching mine. Unlike his other brothers and everyone in the school, Australia didn't seem to have anything against me. He nodded in my direction, curly brown hair bobbing before turning back to his phone conversation, and I continued my path out of the door.

***

I strode into our house onto the patterned wooden flooring, Belarus, Ukraine, and Kazakhstan trailing behind. Inside the house, it was mostly black interior that was dark and sophisticated, like my personality.

Sighing, I slipped off my ushanka and ran a hand through my ashy blond hair. I would like nothing better than to collapse into my room devoid of color and so I did, heading down the cold hallway to my room.

Passing the kitchen, white marble counter tops stretched over black cabinets, setting off a modern vibe. Bright crystal chandeliers that Father had picked hung down over a modern table made of red oak.

I turned my head away from the chandeliers, dark thoughts and memories seeping into my mind despite the chandeliers fluorescent light and headed up the spiral staircase. Shadows hid around the house, infiltrating my mood and washing over me like a cool breeze. Felt like home.

Reaching my door, I grabbed the silver handle and stepped inside, throwing myself onto my tawny bedspread and nearly hitting my head on my black headboard. Grey light filtered in through the large windows that were framed by drawn back by grey curtains. The room had a very somber and serene feeling. No blabbering, no relentless talking, and no one bothering me. Just how I liked it.

On the small end table next to my bed was a golden bendable lamp and a few pens. A tissue box and Father's copy of the Communist Manifesto lay discarded on the desk, its red color bold in my colorless room.

Stashed underneath my bed were hidden vodka bottles and plastic water bottles. Not that I really needed the water bottles to stop the hangover. More vodka usually fixed that problem.

I'm basically nocturnal, staying up late drinking and trying to forget. But no matter how much I drink, the memories always come back no matter how drunk I was when the event took place. It seems I am eternally cursed with hyperthymesia. 

Sighing, I rolled over to stare blankly at my ceiling, today's events replaying themselves in my head. America's hostile voice flooded my mind, and the terrified expressions of China and North Korea were also there to prove it. America's grin flashed through my mind as I recalled when he turned around and proudly stuck his tongue out at me.

I frown at the thought of him. Stupid, egotistical, stuck up capitalist. It's crazy how he's gotten this far with that childish attitude of his. He really needs to grow up.

I imagine slamming my fist into his smug face to calm myself and grin satisfactorily. да, that would be amazing.

I close my eyes and recline back on my bed, thinking of possible ways to find out what he's hiding. Back there in the hallway, he almost seemed smart. Like he knew what he was doing. His electric blue eyes clash with mine all over again in my memory, revealing both mischief and intelligence within that I'd never seen before.

I frown again, my thoughts becoming more muddled by the second. I never forget anything, so why was America throwing me so off guard? I didn't imagine it, but the thought of America actually being cunning enough to dupe everyone around him? It didn't seem possible, but maybe that was his game.

Wearing a mask. He has gotten rather good at it. There's no way that others' words don't get to him, but he does an amazing job of hiding it. He's a complete coward and a fake without the happy front he puts up. I bet if he'd show his true colors, he'd be just as friendless as me.

But if there's more behind what I saw today, America could be a lot more dangerous than I thought. Than anyone thought. The only thing that confuses me was how he was gaining anything by pretending to be dumb. The thought of putting on a such a ploy was dumb itself.

Why let others talk back to him? If I were in his shoes, I'd beat them into a pulp so they'd be too scared to even show their face around me. Instead he lets bully and criticize him, all the while feigning weakness. If he'd just stand up to others, he'd be left alone and not have to worry about others uneducated comments.

I pause. Wait. He's doing it so he can keep his friends. If he showed them how strong he truly was, they'd leave him out of fear! And everyone knows America is nothing without his friends. That poor bastard is too dependent on others to function on his own. Without constant support from friends, he'd probably fall apart from loneliness.

I shake my head. So he still is weak. All I have to do is get his friends to doubt him, and he'll fall apart. What a sight that would be.

'Shouldn't I feel bad for wanting to ruin America? ' some shred of my humanity whispers to me. The answer is no. He killed my father, and he's going to pay. The mention of Father darkens my mood even further, vengeful voices echoing around in my head. He deserves everything he has coming to him.

I peer out the window, the corners of my mouth tucking up evilly. Perfect. Starting tomorrow, I'm going to destroy America.