It's Not Over (RusAme Story)

Chapter 24- Grounded

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

~America's POV~

I sat in my room, dejectedly eating one of the strawberry pop-tarts that I had bought from our failed twenty-four hour challenge at Target. Wet tears stuck on my face as I peered lazily out the window, the events of today and yesterday, replaying in my head.

Earlier today, while learning how to roll illegally throughout Target, I had crashed into a shelf and the situation had just spiraled like dominos. Shelves had fallen and collapsed upon each other, crashing loudly through the store and setting off every alarm possible.

The cops had showed up, and the presence of our incredibly strict parents had only worsened the situation. The only upside was that the whole situation had been covered up by my father, since he was a very important diplomat in our society.

After the whole mess with the police, Britain had yelled at me for a good half an hour before taking my phone and sending me room for the remainder of the weekend. No riding, no social life, no freedom. That wasn't even the worst part though. Imperial Japan and Britain had agreed to keep Japan and I separate for a full week, and if they found us in contact with each other, our punishments would be even worse.

I grabbed a pillow and hugged it, continuing to peer blankly through the window. I felt awful. It was all my fault. I had gotten us caught. I felt awful.

Another salty tear slipped down my cheek as I stared, emotionless, out at the grey sky that reflected my mood. I always screwed everything up. I was a disappointment to my father, I forced people to bend to my will, and now I had probably destroyed my friendship with Japan.

Why would anyone want to be friends with me? Maybe it was because everyone was fake. Like me. Only Russia had told the truth, and the harsh truth was that I was worthless. I didn't deserve such great friends like Japan and Ireland. I deserved to be alone.

Nobody had ever loved me in the first place.

***

The rest of the weekend dragged by painfully slow. Most of the weekend I had stayed buried in my room, drowning my sorrows in poptarts and goldfish. I had written in journals, drawn, sang, played my guitar, but it was pointless. I was trapped, and no matter what I did, the feeling of being a prisoner in my own home didn't fade.

I wanted to be outside. I wanted to see people. I needed my freedom.

I burrowed further into my favorite hoodie, eyes focused on the ground. And then I remembered where that had gotten me last time and looked up so that I wouldn't run into anyone.

I trudged into English class before plopping down unceremoniously next to Russia.

He eyed me, a question in his eyes, but I ignored it and started doodling on a random sheet of paper. The usual tenseness I got from sitting next to him remained evident in my shoulders the whole time.

At lunch, I saw Japan already sitting with the crew. I huffed, knowing that I wouldn't be able to sit with them. Canada knew about the whole situation and he had promised Britain to keep an eye on me so I didn't talk with Japan.

So much for being a great brother.

Instead, I headed for the staircase up to the roof again. As soon as I opened the door to the rooftop, I was immediately reminded that Russia was eating his lunch here now. We eyed each other, apprehension shooting along in sparks down my spine.

I thought about heading back down the stairs, but it wasn't like I had anyone else to sit next to. So, to my own surprise, I walked over and silently sat across from him.