Sinful Nostalgia | Hetalia

7 || Unbearable Scars

"You are the CUTEST little Gilbird, yes you are, yes you ARE!" Julchen coos, holding her brand new yellow canary bird. He already seems to have taken a liking to his new owner, who had somehow convinced me to allow this new adoption. I'm really not sure myself as to why I had said yes. I watch my older sister happily cooing at her bird from behind, walking with Feliciano.

The wind blew slightly, blowing the early cherry blossoms from the trees with it. Spring was a nice time of year, especially after just barely going through such a harsh winter. It was beautiful, and full of life.

"So, Monica, what were you doing at the pet shop?" Feliciano's Italian-accented voice brings me out of my reflections. I turn to look at him, the leaves accenting his warm brown eyes.

"Oh, uhm, Julchen wanted to take a peek," I mumble. Of course, by now, he'd know that I also wanted to go see the dogs for my benefits. At least he was forgiving enough to not bring up the whole matter, which I was grateful for. "What were you doing there?"

"Oh, veh," Feliciano giggles a bit. "I was just there because of the adorable animals. It's kinda fun to look around, but Lovino won't ever let me..." He sighs a bit. Lovino Vargas. For whatever reason, he always seemed so hostile when he saw me.

For instance, just a couple hours ago I was checking the mail, and Lovino was out there as well. I glanced his way, and he gave me a dirty look, with a dirty hand gesture to go along with it. Later on in the evening, I was at a convenience store on the corner for a few extra groceries. I see him there, and he sticks out his tongue. It was strange behavior, and I didn't like it. It wasn't very pleasant.

"Feliciano... is there a reason why you moved from Italy?" I wasn't sure what brought up that question. Maybe I was just curiously asking an innocent question. Maybe it was something else. I wasn't quite sure.

"Oh, well, it's complicated." Feliciano suddenly seems quite melancholy. "It..." For the first time, he seemed to be at a loss for words. "I mean..." I hush him quietly, taking notice of how difficult it was. I wasn't stupid. I knew how it was to have a past that I'd rather not relive.

"Don't strain yourself to answer if you do not want to," I mutter, breaking eye contact as soon as the warm feeling returns to my face. "Some things are better left unsaid, anyways." Feliciano sounds so uncharacteristically sad at this point.

"Right," he utters softly, just a breath escaping his lips. "And there are much more than just that, too."

***

Julchen stood before the hall mirror, staring at her pale face. She didn't know I was watching; she thought I was still cooking in the kitchen. Although I was still in the kitchen, I had a perfect view of what she was doing. Her crimson eyes were a bit sad. Her locks of snowy hair fell down to her waist. She wasn't smiling. Not like normal. The corners of her mouth don't even twitch.

She touches the barely-visible scar beneath her eye; the one that not even she could talk about herself. Her thin fingers run across it, and she draws them away, almost as if she were hurt by the contact. She looks down at her feet, just standing there, not moving. I know my sister well enough. But I would never, nor would I ever, expect to see such quiet grace projected from her thin form.

"Just smile for her..." she whispers harshly under her breath. She curses herself out, clenches her fist, then regains her natural happy-go-lucky composure. With a smile that would seem so real had I not known better, she makes her way into the kitchen, clearing her throat with a loud, obnoxious sound. "So so so! What's the eats tonight, sis?"

"O-oh, uhm, potatoes," I reply awkwardly, setting the steaming food on the table. Julchen sits down eagerly before her plate. As if nothing happened. As if she wasn't aching inside as we sat. Who knew how long she felt so sad?

"Ah, this is good!" Her voice was muffled by her food, which she shovels in her mouth at ten miles per hour. I just nod, picking at the potatoes with my fork.

Did I cause her that pain? I knew that most everything in the past was most likely my fault, whether it was clear to me or not. Was it I who hurt her so bad? Was it I who made her have to pretend to smile every day this way? Do I do that to everyone else I meet, too? Julchen eases her fork down to her plate, the smile still permanently on her face (although perhaps a bit more concerned).

"Monica, what's wrong? Did you want bratwurst, too? You coulda just cooked some!"

"No no," I brush her off lightly, pushing myself away from the table and standing up. "I just feel... sick, is all. I think I'm going to go to bed. That alright?"

Julchen's face changes. She looks as if she knew exactly why I was leaving. But she manages to keep that smiling. That one, single smile that she put on every day. "Oh yeah, just try not to snore the whole place down." She laughs obnoxiously. It was the same laugh, which made me feel only a bit better. But not much. I made my way to my room, and shut the door tight.

Get a hold of yourself, Monica. You fool. You can't wallow around this way. You can't control how they all feel. That's the truth. You... can't... control... others... feelings... You can't even control your own.

I set my head in my hands, trying to catch my breath. I often had panic attacks like these, but it hasn't happened since I left Germany. I guess I haven't had the time. The tears wouldn't come this time, though. They were pushed way too far back for that to happen. Sitting up, I wearily made my way to the bathroom. Calm, Monica. Calm.

I brushed my teeth, splashed my face with water, and even went so far as to comb my severely short hair back. Then, I made my way back to my room and put on pajamas. Climbing up in my bed, I tucked myself in like a child. A parentless child who sometimes forgets that she must grow up.