-Nothing Matters-

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|(Before we start, this chapter is quite short and a big ole trigger warning. If you are sensitive to violence, ptsd, vomit, thoughts of death, or anything of the sort, you do not need to read this chapter. Don't damage yourself for the sake of reading the chapter, just skip to the next one. If there isn't a next one yet, then just don't read it. Thanks, and for those who think they'll be fine, enjoy this short, depressing chapter.)|

Property of Russia

I lay in my room for a long time. I don't know how long it was. I didn't check my phone much. I tried watching something to get my mind off of what happened, but I couldn't focus on it. I kept blanking out and ignoring it, so I just turned it off. In the end, I just drifted to sleep. Of course, I was plagued with nightmares since bad thoughts are the only thoughts in my otherwise empty mind. It had Sevko and America in it, obviously. It also had my father. It had all those events perfectly relived, even if I could never remember anything from that day. That dreadful day.

I was honestly just trying to help, not get in the way. I didn't want to see my father fighting that awful man. I was just in fifth grade, I didn't know what was happening. I ran to my father and used all my power to attempt pulling the other man off of him. But then the smaller, a boy who was hiding behind the one against my father, he jumped on me. As I was beaten and bruised and cut, the boy would change. His insults and yells were suddenly in English, at least I think they were, and it was a striped boy I knew well hitting me.

I tried to fight from his grip, screaming the exact screams I did the night that all happened. He let me go, maybe he was done with all the kicks I threw at his stomach. But he could stand fine, and ran just as he used to. The striped boy has now on my father. My father slowly changed as well, with blue stripes now framing his face and the pattern around his eye was now a star. I could see it so clearly now that his eye was screwed shut with blood gushing out.

I yelled, I screamed, I wanted this to be over. I didn't want to see this again but I couldn't look away, nor could I wake up. Tears streamed down my face as the two fought viciously before me. Their hands and legs were flying with weapons. Many noises of contact and yelling and screaming drowned my ears until they felt like they would explode. I ran to the two, forgetting now who I was supposed to be helping, but I tore them apart nonetheless. I was considerably smaller than them, but I made enough of a move it be noticed. Noticed just enough to have the weapon already stained with my father's blood to have mine added on.

I screamed for the last time in my life.

Then suddenly I was back in my room. I was sitting up, still trying to scream but all I could hear was ringing in my ears. My eyes were crowded with static, black and thick. I couldn't see through it, but I staggered blindly to the bathroom anyways. I felt lightheaded and dizzy and nauseous. I couldn't decide between passing out or throwing up, and there was an intense pain still searing through my neck. There was pain and aching in everything else too, but it was worse in my neck.

It turned out I chose to throw up, the acidic taste torturing my tastebuds. I collapsed by the toilet, and sat there for I don't know how long. Every moment blended together in pain and confusion. Pain in my chest, my neck, my mouth, and my legs. My arms stung, too. Everything hurt as I sat there, curled up and retching violently. My vision hadn't cleared, but I was thankful now. I didn't want to see what awful concoction of tears and vomit I had made in the toilet bowl.

Even after I was done emptying the contents of my stomach, I stayed crumpled on the cold tile floor, sobbing endlessly. My throat hurt from the screaming and vomiting, and I was just dehydrating myself further. Everything still hurt awfully and I couldn't seem to remember how to breathe properly. I don't know if the static is gone from my eyes, I closed them tight a long time ago. Maybe all of the static in my eyes went to my head. My mind was screaming at me in pain and images of that night. I told it to stop, I would scream the words if I still could, but it kept replaying the noises and sights, I couldn't take it. I could only smell what recently entered the toilet next to me and I began to taste something metallic rather than the stinging burn of puke.

One thought stood out beyond that chaotic crowd of my thoughts, about what was happening now, in the bathroom. It was that this is where my pathetic life ended. This is where I die, my throat cut out, my ribs broken, and my arms aching on this cold tile floor.

I began to black out again, and I welcomed it instead of fighting. I was too tired to fight, I had done too much of that already and I had enough. I was approaching death, and I was okay with that. Anything was better than what was happening now. My thoughts began to become fuzzy and muted. They became distant, as if they were drifting away from me. Or maybe me it me drifting away from them. Maybe I am the one leaving from this cold bathroom floor and this weak, tired, and damaged body. I was drifting away to somewhere I didn't know.

But that doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing has ever mattered.

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