Reading Nation's Diaries

The Gentleman, Again

It's a new chapter. Yay! This one is a bit fluffier than the previous one, I hope you like it!

England's hands shook as he hooked his fingers underneath the hem of his jumper. Slowly, he lifted up his jumper, his t-shirt pulling up with it by a couple of inches, and dragged the baggy garment up over his head. After tossing the jumper behind him, he slipped his t-shirt over his head.

Removing the cloth covering the man's small frame revealed the youngest brother's too pale skin, bony arms and far to prominent ribs. The man's white skin was marred by dozens of old, white scars, including the large, twisted mess of burn scars over the man's heart with small stitches of self inflicted crescents formed by the man's own fingernails where he had tried clawing at the damaged area.

Possibly the most tragic thing about the man's body was the mess of countless marks on his wrists. There was a hatching of overlapping scars on both of his forearms, spreading from his delicate wrists to his elbows. The scars' appearance varied from old, fading and ghostly to fresh, red, irritated marks. The lines varied in length, depth and newness but it was clear that the injuries had been accumulating regularly for at least several decades, if not centuries. Some scars stood out distinctly from the rest; on each arm there was a very deep, very long scar tracing the vein from not all that long ago.

Scotland and Wales carefully, as if their youngest brother were made of glass, took one of England's arms each, Ireland and Northern Ireland watching from behind Wales. England found the carpet to be rather interesting as his brother's stared at his arms in horror. England tried to blink back the fat, salty tears as he was pulled into a group hug.

No words were said; they were unnecessary. The only thing that was needed was a comforting shoulder to cry on: an older brother- or four- to hold him close and assure him that everything would be okay; they all knew that life wasn't like that and all promises of an easy life were empty of all substance but the gesture was simple, needed and more caring than the man had felt in a long time. The brothers held each other tightly, as if they were afraid that loosening their hold may cause one of their number to disappear to an abyss that he could never escape from.

The hug didn't separate fully, even after everyone had calmed down, and Wales dared to ask the question that everyone wanted the answer to, "Why?"

England's voice quivered as he replied, "I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out. It's not your fault. I'm useless and ugly and weak and sarcastic and I cry too much and I'm insecure and I can't do anything right and I'm so, so sorry. Everyone hates me and I know that I'm just in the way. No one wants me. If I were to die, no one would care," England paused to see his brothers' reaction but they were all stone-faced, gesturing for him to continue, "The first time was an accident. I slipped with the knife when I was cooking. After that, I tried cutting myself again, and again, and again. It made me feel so much better. It takes my mind off of the emotional pain. It probably doesn't make sense but it helps. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

When England had finished his rambling and his voice had completely trailed off, his body was shaking with silent sobs. The tears that he had attempted to keep caged behind his eyelids escaped, slid down his cheeks and landed on the floor, immediately stolen by the carpet with no hope of return.

Scotland ran his fingers through England's hair, whispering comforting words in his ear, "Dinnae be sorry, tis nae yer fault."

The siblings tightened the hug once more and they stayed there as France opened the door, setting down a tray of food, and retreated immediately.

The brothers enjoyed the peace of the quiet bedroom. Idle conversation ebbed and flowed in the small room without ever getting too awkward.

France interrupted the quiet with a knock on the door and said, "Everyone is ready to begin reading the book. If you don't want to read again today, I can tell them that you wont be coming."