Feel Better || SovAme

Chapter Two

⚠️Slight Angst: Self harm, mention of alcohol⚠️

It had been quite a while since America had passed out on his floor. The blood had dried over, leaving his arms covered in the dried dripps. He let out a groan, his face was directly facing the floor. As America moves his arm he winces in pain, feeling the crusted floor under his hands he remembers what he did just a few hours ago.

"Fucking hell man..." He sits up looking at his arms and hands. "That was bad." He grabs the still open box cutter and stumbles to stand up. Putting the box cutter back, he walks out and over to his bathroom. Searching through the cabinets for the first aid kit. He placed the gauze and bandage tape on the counter. Grabbing a washcloth from under the sink he collected lukewarm water in the cloth.

"This is going to hurt like a bitch." He placed the wash cloth on one of his bloodied arms and winced. The water stung, the wounds felt as if they were on fire, but he pushed through. The pain is what he deserved for fucking up last night anyways. He lightly scrubbed as much dried blood off as he could from both arms. Finally he wrapped the cuts in gauze, taping the ends to keep it together. Getting the second hand was hard so it ended up being a loser.

America looked up into the mirror and thought, "why did i do it? I promised I'd stay clean once I move out, guess I really am a lying bastard after all."

Grabbing hydrogen Peroxide, he attempted to clean the carpet from the blood. It worked pretty well. Leaving only a slight red stain around the edge.

Looking at his clothes he realised he was still in his clothes from yesterday. I stripped himself down to his boxers and through a comfortable hoodie over his chest. He washed the blood out of his jeans just as he did the floor and threw them in the wash.

Going to put back the hydrogen peroxide America realizes something.
"I need more gauze." He whispered to himself, knowing he needed more than just gauze he made a small grocery list which consisted of his favorite snacks, some soda and a little medical supplies. Putting on jeans and shoes he drove to the closest grocery store.

He pulled up his hood trying to hide his face a little bit. Grabbing a basket he started with the soda and snacks, knowing exactly where they were and grabbing them quickly. He passed the alcoholic drinks getting to the medical aisle.

A familiar face stands out from the five people in the section, a tall man who was obviously none other than the Ussr himself.

"Why does he have to be here too?" America grumbles himself hoping the soviet won't see him. He didn't wish hard enough. The soviet grabbed a bottle of alcohol and turned around a few seconds too quickly for America's taste. The tall man walked closer to America, making the shorter man almost start running. He quickly tried to avoid this confrontation by walking into the bandage aisle quickly. However Ussr followed quickly,
"America, stop running away." Ussr shouted.   He did just that, stopping grabbing a few things of gauze and turning to the taller male.
"What!" America said back, he was clearly annoyed by this situation
"You weren't at the country meeting yesterday. I was sadly put in charge of telling you what happened." Ussr hated this conversation almost as much as America did.
"Ok well I don't have time today, really bust with country stuff so. Tell me another time." AMerica turned away but the soviet quickly grabbed the wrist of the american.

"Fuck." America winced in pain pulling his hand back.

"What was that?" the soviet asked

"None of your business, commie." America said sarcastically, still clearly in pain. Ussr yanks the arm towards him and rolls up the sleeve showing slightly blood stained bandages.

"America...?" He paused looking at the bandages again. Before he could say another word America pulled his arm back and practically ran to self checkout. He had never thrusted his credit card in so quickly. While on his way home he almost ran a red light. Slamming his apartment door shut he hoped that the soviet didn't know where he lived. Locking his door he threw the bag  of groceries to the floor and ran back to his room.

It still faintly smelled of hydrogen peroxide. He ripped the bandages off, falling back into that out of body experience. The pit in his stomach grew and he grabbed the box cutter once again. Lifting it to his already ripped apart arms he pressed the blade into his wrists once more. The pain consumed him, he couldn't tell if he hated or loved it. It was an addicting trance he was in. As he continued the pain subsided and it became mindless movement, second nature.

                     Buzz
                                  Buzz
                                             Buzz