From Nothing (Hetalia fanfic, FrUK)

 Secretly tearing at the walls, screaming, clawing. Ripping at my hair, drawing blood from my skin, cutting deep, not to bleed, just to feel something. Anything. If pain is the only thing I can feel, well, then, I'll take it.

I'm just so sick of not feeling.

Can't you understand?

ALL I WANT IS TO FEEL AGAIN. Even if it hurts, burns, I want to feel it. If it suffocates and blinds, I want it all, because I'm sick of the endless nothing. It's been so long since I've felt anything, so long since I shut down my mind, soul, and body. So long since I've known something other than nothing.

What's the point of crying? How do you smile? Why do you hit things when you get mad? I used to know all these things, but now I just can't understand.

I just want to feel. I want to feel everything. A sliver of SOMETHING. I'll take anything.

I miss the pain and I miss the pleasure. I miss the heartache and the dizzying joy. I miss the envy, the contentment, the love, the hate, the anger, the joy, the sadness, the delight. There's not one thing I don't miss because now I don't have anything.

There's one person who stirs something of what I left to die inside. Just one, and just a stirring. I can't stand the teases; there's a tiny glimmer of some sort of warmth but by the time I've almost remembered what it is, he's gone, bouncing his soft blonde curls and laughing with that French accent. That stirs something too, but it's very different from the initial smidge of emotion. It's burning hot, and not in a good way, but I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT IT IS.

When he calls me “Angleterre” it invokes that same negative, burning hot stirring. When he claims himself to be so much more perfect and better than I, that inkling of feeling returns.

But when he smiles, the much more comfortable warmth comes back. When he speaks his native language. When he flounces about like a ridiculous rooster.

I like the warm one and I don't like the heated one. But I can't, I just can't remember what they ARE. Nor why the warm one hurts sometimes...but I still like it...a lot....

But I have a suspicion that, if the inkling could return, all of it could.

All I need is him. Francis.

Hello, author here. Thanks for reading :)

I'm all for somewhat inconclusive endings (like this), but if you want me to continue this, do tell!

This was actually rather personal for me, as I used to be a sociopath that couldn't feel any sort of emotion and did that kind of stuff to just feel...anything. It's hard to explain/describe how that is. But I tried.

Thanks again for reading <3