Addicted (America x Germany) DISCONTINUED

Ch. 3 Going Home

(America's POV)

 I walked along the dark street, my shoes slick on the wet pavement. I took a taxi back to the street I lived on with Russia, and now was walking towards our house. I no longer felt scared, just numb. The rain had stopped and traffic had died down significantly. Checking the time on my phone, it was past 1 in the morning. Street lamps and traffic lights lit up my path and shone the light onto my doorstep. 

 I stopped and stared at the door. Almost waiting for Russia to come out of it and shove me back again. There weren't any lights on in the house, so I assumed he was asleep. Carefully, I took the key and unlocked the door, slowly opening it, wincing every time it creaked and groaned. The entryway was dark and I could only see from the light that shone inside from the street. I stepped in carefully, unsure if Russia was asleep on the couch. Nothing made a sound. 

 Tip-toeing inside, I closed the door behind me with a long creak, holding my breath and praying it didn't wake Russia. I turned around to be faced with total darkness. The shades on the windows were closed, not letting in any light. I couldn't see anything at all. I put my arms out and walked toward what I thought was the staircase. Bingo. I felt the railing and carpet of the stairs and trudged up them. The carpet softened the sound of my footsteps, and when I reached the top of the stairs my eyes had adjusted more to the darkness, allowing me to see silhouettes of shapes and door frames. 

 Damn, I hope he's not awake. 

 I crept up to the door of our room, hearing the faint sound of Russia's breathing. The door was open and I could see his form lying on the bed, covers wrapped around him. I walked toward him, careful not to knock anything over. Looking at him, his face so peaceful, I felt calm. I loved him but didn't think this was doing either of us any good. I felt my thoughts linger on every fight and every insult thrown like daggers between us. 

 We both were broken. 

 I changed out of my wet clothes and put on a normal t-shirt and crawled into bed, almost instantly falling asleep. 

(Russia's POV, time skip to morning.)

 I woke feeling cold. The blanket wasn't covering me but was being hogged by a sleeping American. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up straight, not remembering anything from last night. 

 I looked over at Ame, wrapped in the blanket. He was sleeping soundly. He had cuts and a few bruises on his face. I reached my hand out and lightly touched his forehead, instantly pulling my hand back. He was burning up. He was definitely sick. I pushed the pillows over to his side and got up, stretching. 

 Man, what the hell happened last night? How much did I drink? 

 Looking around, the room seemed the same as I remembered it. I walked out of the room only in a long sleeve and boxers and I made my way downstairs.

There was glass shards on the floor next to the door. It looked like a smashed vodka bottle. Oh god, how bad did I fuck up this time? I found myself rubbing my neck and running my hands through my hair, a massive headache starting to take over. I stumbled towards the counter and opened a drawer, and popping out a piece of the side wood I found Ame's stash of pain killers. These come in real handy for a hangover. He has no idea that I know he has them.

 Popping two in my mouth I put the bottle back and closed the drawer, getting out a glass and drinking some water. I wanted to ask America what happened last night, but I think I could figure it out on my own. I sighed and chugged the water, feeling the effects of the pills rather quickly. 

 America has no idea how worried I am about him. He smokes every day and once I caught him with a srynge. He refuses my help and just brushes me off anytime I try to talk to him about it. 

 I heard faint footsteps on the stairs, and saw America come around the corner, wrapped in a blanket. He was so pale, and had bags under eyes. 

 "Morning." I mumbled to him as he walked past me and to the fridge. He opened it up and grabbed the milk, and set it on the counter. He didn't even look at me. I watched as he made himself a bowl of cereal, putting the milk back and sombered off toward the couch. He sat down and pulled the blanket tighter around himself and started eating, ignoring the fact that I had followed him and was standing over him. 

 "What the fuck do want?" His voice was weak and hoarse, but filled with spite. I didn't answer him, just sat down next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. He continued to eat, and once he was finished he put the bowl on the coffee table and snuggled up to me.

 He started crying. Silently. I just hugged him and gently wiped the tears from his face, making sure not to hurt his cuts or bruises. 

 How could I do this to him? If I love him why do I do this? 

 He shoved me away. He turned his head so I couldn't see his face and started mumbling things under his breath. I was so worried. I wanted to help him but didn't know how, and knowing this was all my fault.

I got up and left him on the couch, walking towards the closet. I got out a broom and swept up the glass, throwing it out. I could hear Ame's quiet sobs and hitched breaths, but I ignored them, knowing he didn't want me anywhere near him. I didn't blame him either.

 Going back upstairs I heard him become quieter and quieter. I had to work today, but I didn't want to leave him all alone. I feared I would come home and he'd be on the floor with an empty bottle of pills. None of this was any good, and I'm sure he realized that long ago. But he stayed. For some unknown reason. 

 After changing into a suit I grabbed my brief case and came back down stairs, America still on the couch, this time on the phone with someone. 

I let him be, and didn't say goodbye as I walked out the door.

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1143 words.

Thank you for reading!

Sorry this chapter is shorter, stuff came up and I couldn't finish it in time.