Canada's Secret

V

Shoot. I just swallowed some wood.

I check the clock, six a.m. I sigh and pull myself up from the fetal poster in the corner. I stretch and walk over to my desk. Looking in a mirror, I Catullus apply concealer until the dark purple under my eyes is mostly concealed. I walk to the kitchen after getting dressed in a hoodie and jeans to start making breakfast. When I'm halfway through, I hear someone call out to me.

"America! Why are you up so early?"

I turn to look at them and sigh. "Britain. I've told you. I'm Canada."

Britain looks simply baffled. "Who?"

I just shake my head and turned around to finish making the pancakes.

France POV

I wake up at six thirty a.m. I sigh and get my fabulous self dressed. I walk down the hall and knock on Canada's door. When there's no answer, I gently open it. He's not there. My heart starts racing and I head to the washroom. He's not there either. Wait. There's voices down the hall.

I peek into the kitchen and am relived to see Canada there. He's making breakfast while Britain is sitting at the the table drinking tea.

I head back to Canada's room to try and Canada proof it. After finding no more razors or knives, I sigh. He must have the only ones. I sit on his bed and my foot bumps something.

Qu'est-ce qu'est-ce? I think as I pick up a small book.

The front page reads,

Canada's Diary

Do not read.

Well of course I must read it! It might help me find a way tho help poor little Matthieu.

*time skip brought to you by suicide and depression awareness. It's a real thing guys. You don't just 'get over it as I've heard some people be told.*

Mon dieu. I have tears in my eyes. Little Canada...