Red Patches White Robes (RussiaXPrussia)

The wall

I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling, thinking intently about everything that has happened, all while prodding and rubbing my sore chest. I could not resist the temptation to fidget with it, but the consequence of constant thought of Russia loomed close by whenever I did. I had a little clue and idea that Ivan was a traumatized man, but hardly to that extreme. And It seemed that Toris really does have a genuine care for him, perhaps in hope that Russia will recover, though the chance is slim. It was impossible to deny that I felt regrets of calling him a monster and such, If only I had known.

I could here Ivan shuffling restlessly in the next room, The steady foots steps of his pacing, the on and off mummers to himself. I couldn't rest, so I got out of bed and wandered over to the dresser mirror. Looking at my sad reflection, tiered red and black eyes staring back at me as if to tell me I'm losing. I was losing. I pulled back the collar of my blouse to inspect my stitches. I sighed, when a loud bang shook the walls. 

One after another I the walls quivered and the pounding progressed faster and faster. What the hell was going on in Ivans room, I thought. Angrily approached the door that joined our rooms and the banging stopped. I put my hand the the knob, but hesitated and jolted. Quietly I put my head to the door to hear his muffled cries and heavy breathing. I was caught in the decision of entering the room, or staying here. But something about that sound made me feel so dark inside, knowing him like I do now. It was impossible to stay put. So I opened the door slowly.

Ivan was leaning on the wall, his knees being pulled down by the gravity of his own weight. His hands where drenched and lacquered with the crimson of his blood, his knuckles where destroyed, and the wall was demolished. I stood there in the doorway, stunned and staring at him. 

His knees gave out and he fell hard onto his side, I dove quickly to try and catch him. Stumbling and panicked I felt for a heartbeat and breathing, relieved to find he was alive and just unconscious. I mustered what strength I could to lift him to his bed witch was fortunately not far. I had no idea what I was going to do, but Id id what I could. My expertise in medical and aid was not very extensive but in this case I had to try. His hands where gushing and full of slivers. There was a sudden urgency to find anything to do what I could to help him. 

I clutched the sheets from under him shred it apart. Strips rapidly bulked up in my tight fists, I had more than I needed, but that was not important at the time. My heart was beating and my hands where shaking  from anxiety. Carefully I lifted his broken hands. They where far to dirty to bandage and it was dire they be disinfected, to my luck I found a bottle of vodka on the bedside table. with no hesitation I drenched his hands in it, I only imagine if he was awake, it would have stung like hell. 

As I began to bandage his hands I started to slow down. My heart began to grow as heavy as my shoulders. I was kneeling at the bedside of the man I called a monster. The more I thought about it the more I realized his pain and suffering. This man, laying unconscious before me is no monster. He a broken and abused soul crying for help with no one to take a second glance at his eyes for innocence or to put into words the simplest of words with the most monumental of meanings that he had been waiting all his life for.

I care. 

And here I am, calling him a monster, when in all aspects of life, I am more of a monster then he ever was or will be. 

There was so much I could be doing to help him at this point, I should be running to find Lithuania, or getting medical help but I just could not stand on my feet. The gravity pulling my head to the floor was a phenomenal power. The emotional reaper loomed close behind me just waiting for me to hand him my heart, a sacrifice I kept pondering in my mind. A suicide of any feeling.But all It did was make me feel more guilty and more selfish. I was here to help Russia not take the easy way out of this rough patch in situation.

Before I could do anything, I needed to let go. I felt a lump in my thought and the cloudy waves in my vision. My head making me hold back but my heart fighting full throttle, me soul in the center of it all. A collision of hell fire and pain, a n explosion of all of my repression. I choked and screamed out a prayer for Russia. I begged to god with my hands in braced. 

"Mercy! MERCY ON HIS SOUL!" I cried out and collapsed into a heap, distraught, exhausted. I hugged my knees and whimpered like a ragged bitch in the cold. "Please.." I repeated, like a record stuck in lapse. It had to do some good. 

I was throwing everything out at him, I was giving all I had. And nothing could describe why I was compelled to do this, To drain myself of everything despite what difference It made. What is the description of this feeling I have boiling in me, searing my insides. Then I came to me.

Of course.

I love Ivan.