Hetalia & Other Reader Inserts

Germany x Abused!Reader x Prussia (Pt. 1)

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
Mild verbal & physical abuse
Creative curse word replacements

Update notes:

Fixed formatting and spelling errors

    I did it again. I broke a cup because I was shaking so bad. It's my own fault I got beat. I wasn't being careful.

    I sat on the bathroom counter, sniffling and trying to keep quiet as I carefully removed the glass from my cuts. A bruise was already forming on my arm, where my step father punched me before shoving the broken glass onto my arm as punishment for not being careful. I had already cleaned up the mess in the other room, trying to be careful to not get any blood on the floor, as that would make him angrier. I let out a shrill cry as a piece if glass slipped from my fingers and went deeper into my arm.

    "SHUT THE FUDGE UP BEFORE I GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!" my stepfather shouted, just outside the bathroom door.

    Jumping and nearly falling off the counter, I quickly replied in a shaky voice, "I-I'm s-so s-s-sorry! I won't make any more noise!"

    "Good!"

    I stayed completely still on the counter as my father's heavy footsteps traveled towards his room, and didn't move an inch until I heard his loud snoring. He sounded like a pig.

    Maybe I should leave tonight, I thought. He's asleep, and sleeps pretty soundly. He won't even know I'm gone until it's too late.

    Sighing, I slowly slipped off the counter silently. I knew I couldn't leave; it would be freezing outside, and there wouldn't be anywhere that was open I would hide in. Plus, I was too scared of the consequences of running away I'd receive  upon being found. But, I was beginning to feel bolder...

    I quietly made my way to my room, and curled up on my blood-stained bed to sleep, shivering violently. I wasn't good enough to have such luxuries as a blanket or pillow.

    I used to have them, when Mom was alive. Mom was always nice to me. Dad, however, was always mean; except when other people were around.

    But I learned the reason my father hated me so much. I wasn't even his kid. It was an accident, my finding out; it had slipped out in an argument I had accidentally walked into between my parents, when I was seven. I found out I was the product of rape about a six months before my parents married, and since then my father has hated my guts simply because I wasn't his, and that the rapist took his wife's virginity before him.

    I never really fully understand why those reasons him hate me so much.

    But then one night Dad got drunk. He never really drank often, but on his birthday when I was twelve, he decided he wanted to have alcohol. After a few drinks, he began to sexually harass my mom. She stood up for herself, even going so far as to punch him in the face to get him off her and threaten to call the police when he began to get too violent.

    That was the last time I saw Mom. I don't know what happened to her; I was too scared to leave my room. I stayed locked up my closet all night, not sleeping a wink.

    In the morning my father had me clean up the blood and told me that if I told anyone, I'd wish I was dead.

    To this day I've never told anyone. Everyone at school thinks I'm a clumsy waste of space who was an accident, and I often get shoved around. I once got shut into a locker. I was stuck there for an hour before a janitor passing by heard my crying and let me out.