Paint it Another Colour

Chapter 58

An update... on time???????? Apocalypse!!

After the building blew up, everything went in a blur for Vladimir. He remembered someone screaming, someone else crying, but apart from that, it all went deadly silent, all eyes fixed on the scorched grass and rubble. Leon, standing a little to the side from everyone else, had shook his head rapidly as though he didn't want to think of it and had sunk to his knees, staring. There was a mess about fighting to get back, away from the area as though leaving it would help them forget everything that had just happened. He briefly recalled a boat, or maybe a plane, or maybe both, and landing in a country where it was raining, but where there wasn't any overhanging thought of death, or any scorched ground. 

After that, he was left by himself to get another plane, by himself back to his own country. It was after everyone left that he started to panic a bit like he never had done before. Every person that passed him in the plane aisle, he jumped and stared at. He didn't know them. They could be anyone. Everytime he stared at them, they'd stare back, and that freaked him out even more, because they could suddenly recognise him, and then, who knows what could happen. Wasn't it that, when they didn't know who's counterpart was who's, they simply recognised them vaugely before finally figuring out who they were.

If they weren't found out first that is.

Every person that passed him looked familiar. They all had a familiar skin colour; familiar hair colour, and he was sure he'd seen someone wearing exactly the same thing before. What if it wasn't just nations that had counterparts? What if the humans had them too, and then what if the human counterparts knew of the nations and were out to get them like their own were.

His journey home was plauged with thoughts like this to the point where he moved into the empty seat next to him, his bag occupying the one next to the aisle to prevent anyone from sitting down in it. The people on the seats opposite him were giving him strange looks, and by the time the three hours of flight were up, he was curled up into a corner against the window, covering his face with his jacket and trying desperately to control his breathing: deep breath in, out, in, out...

"Sir? Are you alright?" Vladimir found himself shrieking, covering his mouth hurridely to try and muffle it a little. "Sir?"

"Um..." Vladimir stuttered, looking around as though trying to find a way out of the situation. "I'm fine, yes, yes, yes. Just fine me, fine."

The flight attendent nodded slowly. "We're coming into landing now, so could you please put your seat belt on?"

Vladimir nodded quickly in an attempt to get her away from him, then fumbled around with the buckle on the belt with shaking hands. All the while, the attendent watched him, her eyes boring into him.

The second the plane landed, he ran, straight out of the doors and into the toilet just next to their gate, pulling his feet up onto one of the seats and gently rocking himself back and forth, waiting until he knew that everyone from outside had left. It took at least half an hour before he could finally coax himself out of the stall and towards baggage collection, his being the only one left at that time - mournfully swinging its way around the carousel. Then, towing his case behind him, he found himself heading outside to find a taxi. He stopped halfway to the terminal, freezing. Who knew who the driver could be. They could be anyone. They could be, one of them. Then what would he do? He'd just disappear into the blue, and no one would know what had happened to him. 

He gulped, turned around and started walking. He could get the bus... but there would be too many untrustworthy people on it, and he wasn't taking and chances now. Of course, it would only take him ten minutes and approximately six euros to get home in a taxi, twenty minutes and three euros on a bus.

The thought of getting home quickly very nearly made him turn around, and he would have done, if the images of the building; of the blood; of the bodies hadn't flooded back into his mind, making him drop his case and clutch at his head like a mad man.

He felt like a mad man. 

People were staring again, whispering, watching, laughing, smirking at him as he took his hands off his head and stared back at them.

They knew.

They knew everything.

Keeping a scream lodged in his throat, Vladimir dived for his case and started running as far out of the airport as he could before he felt his lungs would burst and his limbs fall off. He couldn't let that happen. If it did, people would come, and how could he know who they were?

They could be anyone.

He glanced around himself a bit, not moving his head, but swivelling his eyes around in every direction possible, trying to get a glimpse of his surroundings. He'd come out onto the main road, traffic hurling by, lorries groaning with weight, lights flashing, horns blaring, tyres screeching.

Noise.

He very nearly screamed again and started walking, head down, teeth firmly planted into the inside of his cheek to keep himself together, even if it wasn't quite working how he might want it to. He knew the streets of Bucharest like the back of his hand, and as he walked, he went over the map in his head, searching for an alternate route, that might mean less people, less traffic. 

It would have taken him possibly forty minutes to get home, maximum, if he'd kept to the main road, but taking detours through alleyways and backstreets meant that he finally reached his road nearly an hour and a half later. The road wasn't a long one - just enough for nine blocks to settle in a round cul-de-sac of large, detached homes - but it was long enough for him to stumble along, and still see everyone in every window, watching. 

"Buna seara." Vladimir jumped and turned on his heel to stare, eyes wide, at where the voice had come from. The woman putting bottles in a bin, whom he recognised as a neighbour, chuckled. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you there." Vladimir nodded slowly and swallowed. "You've been away for a while now, haven't you. Anywhere nice?"

"Uh..." Vladimir trailed off to stuttering again. "Just... work" he choked , breath catching in a lump in his throat.

The neighbour nodded and went back inside her house. Vladimir didn't wait for her to close the door, just fled straight away, dragging his keys out of his pocket as he went and cramming them into the door the second he got there. The door was slammed behind him, locked, and he slowly backed away from it, dropping his case against the wall, falling to the ground next to it shortly after. After a moment of attempting to get his breath back, he pulled his knees into his chest, burying his head in them and taking huge, deep, shaky gulps of air. He was, not exactly happy, but fine, curled up on the floor, shaking, by himself, and would've probably stayed like that for the rest of the day, if a hand hadn't tapped his shoulder.

This time, he did scream, leaping to his feet and jumping away from whatever was behind him. 

"Vlad?"

For the first time that day, Vladimir relaxed, sinking to the floor, slowly, again. Aurel gave him a worried look but didn't say anything, just came and sat down next to him before wrapping his arms around him.

"You okay?"

Vladimir shrugged and gave him a weak, shaky smile. "I suppose." His smile became more genuine, creasing up his face as he started to relax. "Anyway, enough about me." He leapt to his feet, bringing Aurel with him and lifting him up off the ground into a hug. "How've you been? Left all by yourself! Did you eat enough?"

Aurel giggled. "I was fine. Mr Himaruya next door brought me round some apples yesterday, and I haven't eaten just cozonac either!"

Vladimir grinned. "I'm glad."