A slightly longer chapter! I had quite a bit of inspo for this, though it took time to get it down on here.
Enjoy!
"Allen? Listen to me for a moment." His eyes snapped to the woman. She leaned forward on old elbows, her glasses reflecting the white light from led bulbs. "Have you ever considered that, maybe these personas you have created don't have a mind of their own? Perhaps they are just an extension of yourself that you use to absorb the emotions you feel you no longer can." Her voice was clear, obnoxiously so. Like the sound of a broken faucet. Drip, drip, drip. "No. They are just as much their own people as I am myself." His voice was stern, jaw clenched into a snarl. "Then let me speak with Alfred for a moment." She spoke as if she were giving him an option, but there were no options. "No, I won't let him speak to you if your going to double back on the diagnosis we agreed on 3 months ago." "You know that's not what I'm trying to do Allen, I simply want to hear Alfred's side of the story. He's his own person and can speak for himself, like you said, now I'd like to speak with Alfred please."
Allen was silent for a moment, closing his eyes slowly. The lengthy dark room appeared once more, Alfred waiting amongst the shadows. Allen said nothing as he watched Alfred be engulfed in light, while he himself was drowned in the darkness once more. "Am I speaking to Alfred?" The therapist had flipped to a new page in her notebook. "Yes ma'am." "So tell me," she paused to make brief eye contact with Alfred, "How do you feel about these friends-" "Colleagues." Alfred corrected her. She cleared her throat. "How do you feel about these colleagues of yours coming into your home?" Alfred shrugged, it wasn't really his problem since America always took over when the others were around. "Al deals with them, so you should be asking him how he feels." "Of course, but answer the question I'm asking right now. How do you feel about them coming into your home?"
God this woman is annoying. "I'm fine. Peachy. Hunky dory. Now drop it please I don't want to talk about this." "Alfred your paying me not to drop it. You know that right? Now tell me how you feel, if not about them, then about right now." "I feel like I'm being followed." The woman touched her chin thoughtfully. "By whom?" "It's not a person, so much as it is a feeling. It holds onto my and clings to me everywhere I go. Repugnant and pulsating with hatred for myself. I guess you could say the feeling comes in waves. Some are soft and calm, only causing me to feel tired and angry. While others are so massive, they crash into me and knock the wind straight from my chest and I'll be unable to breath. Still and petrified in the middle of my bed, standing over the sink with a bloody razor in hand, or laughing at the others and their hateful remarks."
The therapist just said what she always had, "Get rid of all your razors, go to sleep at a regular time, eat your meals properly, and explain the way you've been feeling all this time. Explain it to the others." What was there to explain? They didn't care. None of them gave a shit about him so why was HE the one who had to explain himself. Why did America and Allen have to explain the reasons behind their pain? It was so unfair.
Alfred sniffled, tears beginning to fall, slow and hot down his flushed cheeks. "So stupid,," he muttered as he rubbed his face with his sleeves. He was in the car, crying silently with a sour look on his face. "I don't need to explain shit,," he grumbled, starting the car once he could see properly again. He could practically feel the discomfort coming from America and Allen. And a clear picture of them tossing frustratedly in bed, seeming even more upset than he was. Therapy. What a joke.
He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he pulled into the driveway. He was greeted by two unfriendly faces sitting on the porch swing. "Welcome back, America-san." Japan didn't bother to ask where he'd gone or how he felt, which was actually rather nice. "Welcome back." China mumbled half heartedly, seeming to be angry just by looking at the blond. Alfred had only interacted with them once before, but right now he wasn't in the mood to make friends or play nice, so he went inside without acknowledging their greetings. He spotted Italy and Ukraine watching the bachelor in the living room, and Russia in the kitchen trying to make something without breaking down under his sisters possessive gaze. France had gone to a hair dresser earlier in the day, and England was probably busy pestering Germany about something. Alfred ignored them all and went upstairs. He knocked on the door at the end of the lengthy hallway, pressing his forehead against the cold wood. "Hey Cameron, it's Alfred,,," The door opened a few moments later. A young man with curly black hair opened the door. Perfect dimples and bright yellow eyes stared down at him. Alfred was average in height, but Cameron was over 6 feet tall. "Alfred, come in." He smiled warmly, stepping aside for Alfred to enter.
He hated bothering the states like this, but Cameron was so mature for his physical age, it was hard not to rely on him. "How was therapy?" The Boy asked after shutting the door, staring at Alfred with clear eyes, lacking both hatred and malice, the things Alfred often saw in the gazes of others. "Awful,," Alfred grimaced as he walked across the room and flopped face first onto Cameron's bed. He watched the blond silently for a moment, approaching the bed slowly and sitting on the edge. "What happened?" Alfred rolled over at that, his eyes puffy and his eyebrows scrunched together angrily. "That Woman! It's always the same thing! There are no solutions, I don't even know why we go,,," Cameron listened patiently, nodding his head in understanding. "But have you tried to do the things she says? You never know if it'll work until you do it, right?" He smiled. Alfred was quiet for a moment, feeling awfully immature each time Cameron spoke. But he was right. He never had tried to explain his feelings to the others. But he didn't want to explain. He didn't want to tell them because he didn't want them to know. They didn't want him to know. America by far was the most passionate about keeping their secrets. Allen was rather aloof each time it was brought up, but it seemed he felt the same. But what about Alfred? He had always been a spectator of their sufferings, watching helpless as the others beat them down. Maybe... deep down he wanted the others to know? In hopes that maybe they'd change their ways, in hopes that for once he could be the one to save America and Allen. Just once. "You're right..." his eyes lit up with a new determination, "I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna tell them right now!" He shoved himself off the bed, standing triumphantly with his hands on his hips, though he had yet to do anything to be triumphant about. Cameron merely chuckled. "That's good! You can do this Alfred!" He stood as well, gently patting Alfreds shoulder and leading him to the door. He opened it quickly, pushing Alfred out. He wanted to get Alfred down there before this sudden courage was lost. Alfred didn't even notice the boys insistence on him going, too elated by the thought of being a hero to his companions. Too joyous to notice the commotion going on downstairs. Too happy (for the first time in years, it seemed) to see the rustling discomfort of America and Allen at his decision.
