Pessimistic Coodies (RusAme)

Unexpected Verity

After the long day, I now lie peacefully in my bed. As I find myself drifting to sleep, I reflect on the great day I had with America. I know we've only been friends for about a little over a month but I felt like I had known him my entire life. I was happy anytime I was in his presence. Just being with him made me feel alive- I felt that us feeling the adrenaline together was a bonus.

It slightly upsets me that I've lacked a friendship my entire life, I truly did miss out. Well, not really I guess because no one I've ever observed was like America. He was surely unique.

Actually, I quite honestly was beginning to feel like we had more than a friendship. The thought scared me. I couldn't possibly be ready to pursue a relationship, I just got the hang of having a regular friendship...

But I saw this coming. As someone who was been neglected and ignored their entire life, it makes sense as to why I would start seeing him that way. Plus I would have to factor in that he is the only person I can tolerate and want to be around... and all the flirting... and maybe us experiencing that adrenaline together everyday bonded us closer.

I can't blame myself for liking him. I knew the possible risk when I befriended him. And yet, I accepted it with open arms.

It wasn't that I was afraid to date him... I didn't give a fuck about anyone's opinion. They all disappointed me so why should I care if I disappointed them? Who were they to me?

It was the commitment that put me on edge. Right now we would be completely fine, but when school starts back up again, how would I know that he would still be committed to me? He's popular and has "friends", and I don't... I feel like I would just set myself up to be heartbroken.

Yet again, that was only a possibility. Anything could happen, and I mean anything...

I allow my thoughts to put me to sleep. It was supposed to feel peaceful. It almost was a perfect day. That was until he showed up.

My father kicks open my door and starts yelling at me in the middle of the night. I can't make out anything he is saying because he slurs all his words. Was he speaking in Russian or English? I didn't fucking know!

But I did know one thing; he has been drinking. I see him holding a bottle in his hand.

When I do not reply, he tosses the bottle to the floor and angrily storms over to my bed to hit me across the face. He then picks me up by my shirt collar and shakes me violently.

"Get outta my fucking house!" he screams.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why did I have to be his punching bag? It isn't fair. This is the only attention I get from him, pain!

He throws me onto the floor and starts kicking me everywhere. I cover my head to protect myself while I weep. I wish for this all to stop. What could I do to make it stop?

Every time I accepted the beatings he would just come back harder the next time. I tried convincing myself that the hits hurt less and less every time but I wasn't so sure I could deem that to be true. It's never going to get any better is it?

Not like I had much of a choice anyways right? It's not like I could kick his ass... I wasn't that brave.

My mind feeds me flashbacks of everything I have done within the past month to prove that last sentence wrong. This was nothing compared to all those deadly situations... so what the hell was I doing? Why was I holding back? America would want me to fight.

"Go away! Stop coming back here!" my father screams as he sends me another kick. Only this time I grab his foot and pull him to the ground. I roll over to his face and I start punching him until my hand hurts. He tries holding my fist but I power through his force. He then sends his knee to my stomach which was finally enough to get me to stop. I hold my stomach as he rises back up. I stare at his now swollen face... I think he looks worse than me... did I really do that?