Week of the Broken

Hidden Wednesday

Week of the Broken

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Summary: After living for so long and enduring so much it seems almost comical that it would be something so small that broke them in the end. England, Norway, Canada, Greece

Warning: passing mentions of abuse and drinking, implied suicide, and the occasional swear word. Sex (Will probably be the only chapter this applies to.)

Chapter Four: Hidden Wednesday

Pain rips through my body and I've had enough. How many decades had it been and yet all I receive is violence and denial from my supposed "Lover". At one point in my life I would have, and did, believe him that this was my fault. That if I was quieter, if I was more attractive, if my physical appearance was older, if I was female, if I respected him more, if I did more chores....

.... If I was more like her...

He wouldn't have to do this. He would actually love me. Would take me out in public, kiss me at some point in this long useless relationship that had obviously never mattered to him, be gentle with me, unashamed, maybe even let me take off that damn mask of his.

It was Wednesday.

The hands gripping my hips so hard bruises are forming tighten even further and I force my mind to go elsewhere. The task made easy by centuries worth of practice. After all as much as I want to blame this on her the bastard had been like this even back when it wasn't me but my mother in his bed. 

And yet I loved him. Pathetic right? The whole world thought it but most refused to say it to my face. And they didn't even know about this. I wounder how they would react if they did. How she would react to the monster she left us defenseless against.

It was Wednesday.

Words, sharp hateful words, are growled into my ear but instead of attempting to understand them I purposefully ignore them. Biting off a moan as he finally, finally, hits that spot inside me that makes this whole thing even slightly bearable anymore. That spot that reminds me why I still stay by his side despite all of this... And it sickens me.

It was Wednesday.

When had I allowed myself to first be degraded to this?

When had I first stopped fighting him? 

When had I first started to allow myself to be hidden?

From the world, from my friends, from myself... even from him?

It was Wednesday.

A harsh grunt from above me as he empties himself into me before pulling out roughly and I force myself not to vomit at the feel of it sliding down my legs. Knowing that will lower my chances of him finishing me off even more then they already are. He wont. Not today.

He hasn't in the last half a decade.

Just as I suspect he rolls off of me and goes to take a shower without a single word, or even a glance, aimed in my direction. Leaving me aroused and bleeding on the bed. 

It was Wednesday.

The shower runs and I curl up in a ball trying to calm myself as any action on my part to undo my predicament would not be well received. It never had been. 

Tears start streaming down my face as I think of everything that has happened over the past centuries. The denial, the abuse, the painful intercourse that turned me on less and less with each passing time, her... And I have to wonder, was it worth it?