Darling

III.

The words repeated in his mind, a raging hurricane of disastrous thoughts following after. 'Stop looking.' What does that even mean? Ukraine, for once in his life, doesn't have the slightest clue what is going on.

Stop looking.

God, he can't get it out of his fucking mind! What does it fucking mean?! Does it want him to stop looking for it? Stop looking at it? Just stop looking in general?

"Do you want me to gouge out my fucking eyes out, huh? Is that what you fucking want, bitch? I'll fucking do it." He hissed into the quiet air, standing by the dead phone. He threateningly held the same pen from earlier close to his left eye, waiting for any sign. "I'll stab my eye full of ink right now, fucker!"

His eyes widened when he flung away the pen, quickly bringing his hand to his heart. It was involuntary, almost like something willed him to loose control of his body.

"I know you're there, just fucking show yourself already you ghostly bitch." He growled eyeing all the shadows in the comfort of his own home.

He feels threatened. The shadows, they're threatening him. They're cornering him.

Cyka, get in that fucking room before I bash your fucking head in!

The shadows. They're yelling at him. They're telling him to leave. They're wailing, 'stop looking.' Why now?

You fucking bastard. If she wasn't here I would've slit your throat a long time ago. Now, shut up and go get me another drink.

He glances to the pen thrown on the floor, hesitating to pick it up. The second he does it falls back onto the floor, as if a magnetic force was drawing it out of his hands. In the corner of his eye he looks to the hallway of all the doors, glaring at them all.

He shouldn't be here.

Mistake! Nothing but a mistake! You were raised a mistake, you lived a mistake, you are a mistake. Without me, you'd die a mistake. Thank the Lord I'm here to help you.

He groans and closes his eyes, sliding down the kitchen island so he was sitting on the cold tiles. His arm feels achy. Maybe he shouldn't have used the pen earlier. Speaking of, he kicks away the object so it clatters against the wall. He waits for a second, listening if his sister heard. She fell asleep a while ago as he waited for the phone.

Oh Ukraine, you know that as a man you're supposed to be tough as nails, right boy? You're supposed to be hunting, fighting, helping the family name! So why are you sitting here crying like a girl? Up now, before he catches us.

He scrambles up hearing the phone ring, quickly putting it to his ear and covering his mouth to curse into it. "Bastard! What did you do to me? What kind of fucking spell did you put on me?"

"Hello Ukraine." Italy's voice quietly acknowledged over the line. He spoke so softly the other could hardly hear him. "What ever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, bitch. What the the fuck is going on?" He demanded.

"It has picked you. It has picked you to look after. It cares for you. It's just looking after you to care for you, it doesn't mean any harm."

"...Italy?" He asked hesitantly, his voice straining. "It's you, right? You were so mad earlier, is... is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, friend. Perfectly fine. 'Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who inherit salvation?' Hebrews, 1:14."

Ukraine paused to decipher the verse. "You said angel. When you came over earlier you said it was a demon, now it's an angel. Make up your fucking mind, Italy."