What Remains Unspoken

Chapter 8: The Mangled Tides

     France sit there, trembling under Vietnam as he slowly held the knife to his throat.

"You will tell me. Or else."  

     Vietnam threatened, pressing the knife closer to France's neck. France looked askance, his eyes darting around rapidly. As if he were looking for something to save him, someway out. Vietnam remembered when he was like that. Timid, anxiety-filled, seeking an escape. Vietnam now knew that this is the real world; cruel, unrelenting. He hadn't grown to like it, he had just grown into what the world molded him to be in now. Maybe one day, he hoped, he'd be regular. Though sometimes he considered that wish childish, he still held it close because he felt it was possible. 

"Don't get any ideas, you prick."

     Vietnam seethed, pressing it harder unto the other's neck. He heard noises of pain from Northern, then he began panting as his neck started to bleed.

"Okay, okay! I'll tell you!"

     He gave in, his voice whiny and desperate. Once again, a shadow of what Vietnam used to be. When he was threatened, hurt, used, he remembered that tone. Those big, wide, fear-filled eyes, the slight quivering of the lower lip. It was all too familiar, and that only made him madder. Vietnam loosened his grip on the knife, and as he did France acted, grabbing Vietnam's wrist and  twisting his arm behind his back. Vietnam kept hold of the knife, trying to fight him back. France kneed him in between the crotch. That was enough to make Vietnam falter. Falter for long enough for Northern France to get the knife.

     Vietnam cursed under his breath as he held his hands up. His stomach churned in disdain and an arising fear. He closed his eyes, swallowing, preparing for his next orders as the knife came to his throat. He knew what was coming.

"Walk with me."

     Northern instructed, roughly nudging Vietnam to move. Hesitantly, Vietnam eventually did. His thoughts ran amuck as he walked towards the door and opened it. He looked at Northern's car. It was elegant, clean, sleek, and drew no outward attention despite its perfection. Northern unlocked it and opened a door, momentarily removing the knife from Vietnam's throat. Vietnam took his chance, but as he ran, he thought to himself. He, for once, thought rationally, despite the pain and aching in his heart urging him to go.

Its either Northern France or that big bulky man. 

     Vietnam paused once he was about three paces away from Northern. He sighed deeply, and sat in the car. For once, he was able to seal his own fate. As Northern France got in the car and started it, Vietnam began thinking of what was to come next. Thoughts of perhaps seeing France melted away in his mind as he faced reality; he was being kidnapped, again. And as the car began to pull out of the driveway and onto the road, all Vietnam could do was read and memorize the streets he passed, entering into a new habitat as they pulled into Northern's driveway.