Feel Better || SovAme

Chapter Three

⚠️Half Angst: Self harm⚠️

                    Buzz
                                  Buzz
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America's phone lit up, breaking him from his trance. Small tears filling his eyes from the stinging on his arms. Looking over at the phone that laid on the floor just feet away, America didn't know who would be texting him. He crawled over to it. His face reflecting on the dark screen

                                Buzz
                                             Buzz

The phone lit up. 5 text messages from the same person, Ussr.

"Open your door America."

"America, open your door."

Two other texts of similar tone and wording, and finally

"Please, open your door."

This one made America surprised, he had never seen or heard the commie seem to care about someone before. Unknown to America his read receipts were on. Once he shut his phone off ignoring Ussr he immediately got another text message.

It read,

"I know you've read my messages, don't ignore them. Please open your door."

America wiped the tears falling from his eyes. He didn't have time to bandage himself. Blood was already trailing down his hand. Pulling his sweatshirt sleeves down once more he wiped the blood on it, hoping he could convince the soviet to leave quickly. Hiding his hand in his pocket he walked out to his living room. He shook his head in an attempt to rid his face from the pain. He opened the door.

Ussr pov:

I waited outside the Americans door. I don't know why I should care, not my problem what he does to himself. My phone was in my hand, he had read my last message. Why won't he open the door?

                                  Click

The door slowly opens slowly. I was looming over him. I don't know if I should speak or act first.

"What do you want Ussr?" America snapped. I could tell he didn't want me here.

'What should I say?' I don't respond.

Without thinking I push the door open, grabbing the americans hand, pulling up the sleeve and...

I was horrified, it's just as I thought. I half expected the bandages to still be there. But in their place were rows upon rows of cuts. Blood still trailing down his arms.

"America..."

America pushes my hand away,
"So that's what you wanted! What are you going to do, use it as leverage against me?!"

"No, america.."  I sigh. A grab his hand once again and quickly walk to the bathroom. Searching through the cabinets I'm interrupted by his voice.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you take care of yourself." I quickly responded grabbing the first aid kit and some rubbing alcohol. "Sit down." I pat the counter.

He's hesitant but does it quickly.

"Do you have anything under that sweatshirt?" I ask, he shakes his head no.

"Where is your closet? I'll grab you a shirt." I ask,

"Down the hallway and just in my room..." He seemed surprised that I was doing this for him. I mean I was surprised too.

Opening his bedroom door I see his phone splattered with blood and the floor stained with blood as well.

"This was worse than I thought..." I sigh, going into his closet and grabbing the first shirt I see and walking back to the bathroom.

"You can dress yourself, correct?" I question, America nods his head. I toss the shirt at him and shut the door.

I lean on the wall as I wait, 'Why am I doing this? I don't care about people like him... or is it just him...' My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening once more.

I nod my head and walk back in, America gets back up on the counter, and I pull a towel from a shelf and wet it with rubbing alcohol.

"This is going to sting," I give a warning before lightly cleaning the wounds. The pain must have been horrendous for him, America kept squealing and trying to pull away. I rub the cloth over what seems to be the deepest wound, earning a small cry from America and a tug at his arm.

"Sorry." I stop for a moment to let him rest before finishing. I grab a roll of bandages from the first aid kit. I wrap it tightly around his arms. I'm careful to not have any wrinkles or folds in the bandages. It trails up around his wrists, his arms and then around his hand.

As I pull the bandages tight and tape them down with bandage tape I can see America wince in pain.
"You'll need to change the bandages at least once a day, I also recommend cleaning them while the bandages are off with rubbing alcohol." I inform the American as I pack up the mess I made.

"Why are you doing this?" America asks. I don't know how to answer that. I just froze up. I avoid eye contact and quickly leave the bathroom. But this time America grabs my arm.

"Don't run away, why are you helping me?" He asks again.