It's Not Over (RusAme Story)

Chapter 19- Lonely

CHAPTER NINETEEN

~Russia's POV~

After a long while of convincing, I finally figured out how to get America more comfortable skating on the ice. I skated backwards slowly and she gripped onto my palms for dear life.

"Oh my god, oh my god."

"America," I say, my voice coming out deeper and more serious than usual.

She gripped my palms tighter, not looking at me but staring worriedly at her feet as if they would give out at any moment. Which was very likely considering how incredibly bad she was at skating. "Yes?"

She needs to stop looking at her feet. If she keeps looking at her feet, she's going to slip. "Focus on me."

Her eyebrows contract. "Why?"

"I'm trying to help you, not hurt you," I say, struggling not to snap at her. If it wasn't for this project, I would have left her out on the ice a long time ago.

"That's debatable," she scoffs.

I move to let go of her hands, frustration filling me. "Fine, figure it out on your own, like yesterday."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she pleads, teetering dangerously and I adjust my hold on her.

"Okay, just bend your knees a bit and hold onto my hands. I'm going to move backwards now."

She scrunches her face as if all she really wants to do is go and sit down, but she definitely wouldn't admit it. "Okay," she bites her lip and lifts her gaze to meet mine, expression determined.

I pause as her gaze pierces mine, determined and astonishingly eager. The color is so clear, so authentic that I'm drawn to just stare into her eyes, but I break the gaze to focus on her hands clasped in mine.

I shake my head. No, I'm teaching her how to skate, not trying to stare into her vibrant eyes like a creep. If Father even knew that I was doing a project with her-- all hell would break loose. Yeah, I'm not here to be her friend, I'm doing this so my father doesn't find out.

Which brings me back to why I'm here, helping America learn how to skate when I obviously don't need to. Seriously, why am I helping her? She doesn't deserve my help and we should be doing the project instead.

"Russia?" She asks, and I suddenly realized that I had zoned out while staring at our interlocked hands.

I move to respond, but pause at the concern I find in her eyes.

Does she know that I'm numb to feeling anything? Does she know that no one expects anything of me because they're so used to me failing? No, she couldn't have known that I used to be okay before I became numb from the pain and pressure. I hate everyone because I'm afraid that they won't like me first. No one trusts me, no one loves me, no one likes me. I'm alone, cold, and numb, but that's how I live now. I don't know anything else.

But even with all my fucked up issues, I saw a hint of understanding in her eyes and I can't help but wondering if she's secretly messed up too. Does she have as much hate for herself as I have self-loathing for myself? Something behind her childishly vibrant blue eyes reveals that something hurts her too, but I can't understand what it would be.

I look deeper into her eyes, intrigued, searching for the answer and she almost shivers, seeming like she wants to pull back from me. Is she scared? Suddenly, the thought of her truly hating me stabs into my heart. I should have known. Why did I think that this was going to be different, especially after I had already attacked her twice?