Red Patches White Robes (RussiaXPrussia)

Back around

"I never knew." I hid my face Despite the fact he wasn't even looking at me. He just sat quietly, not even crying. Just hunched and still. We just sat still, giving me even more time to think, like I needed more of that. My last words just wont leave em be now. I lied dammit. I knew something was wrong. That there was a reason Ivan was so screwed in the head. I even spent all my time looking for the answer to my own question, but now that I have it, I can't even take it like a man. I just kneel here, sobbing like a sissy girl.

I need to let it pass, so I can do what I need to, But I don't even know what that is anymore. I cant even help feeling sorry for that man, a deep pity that just hurts to hold. Why should I care, I should worry about myself. Like how Im going to survive in this crazy hellhole. But Then I remember that I still have un answered questions. Why am I still here? And why did Ivan help me do it, Why am I alive?

I grabbed my heart, my fingertips brushed the stitches, They sting again. I felt an urge to feel over every bruise and gash. I was compelled to. The ridges on the teeth intents in my back, I felt even through the bandage. I felt the searing pain of the cross on my back, The bruises on my wrists and knees. They all hurt like hell, like the familiar feel of tears on my chest.

I found myself holding toris in my arms as he cried and hollered out pleads to god. Prayers to Russia's tainted soul.

"Save him please, Have mercy on him please!" He screamed. I held his head to my chest. He was so weak. His arms where thin and frail, like the rest of him. I sat and consoled him until he calmed himself to a whimper. The whole time, I was still thinking about the story.

"You ok." I asked, as he pulled away. He looked at me, his eyes are swollen and red.

"No." He replied.

I stood up, offering my hand to him. He declined it and stood up alone.

"Staying here the night?" He asked me, walking to his bed. I looked up, avoiding his glares.

"You going to make me?" I asked sarcastically.

He smiled. "Nope."

I smiled back.

"Here." He beckoned me to the bed. I walked over to it and sat on the side of it, adjusting the pillows to my liking.

"You staying?" I asked.

"No, Ill go to the guest room upstairs."

"Oh, Alright." This place has a guest room? Odd, I thought.

He left quietly as I settled into the covers. As he reached the last light I stopped him briefly, just one last question I had to ask.

"Hey toris."

He stopped at the door and looked back. "Hm?"

I looked up at him from the bed. "Who in this house has the most scars?" Was that a bad thing to ask. Probably. Now I regret it, shit.

"Oh." He turns his back to me, looking out into the light of the hallway. "That would be the one who gives them to everyone else." And with that, he left.

There it goes again. It always comes back to russia.