Time skip by one week, just so you all know. ⚠️ this chapter gets kinda dark and depressing ⚠️ it's also longer than normal
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3rd Person (this is easier)
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It had been a week since America and Canada had slept over at Russia's house, so now it was Friday of the next week. The group had finished their project and they would have to present them on Monday, but it was the weekend, so they had some time beforehand.
America was at home doing his homework and Russia was at the park, under the tree like usual. America was happy like usual, and Russia had slipped his mind the past few days because they hadn't been talking as much.
Russia on the other hand felt stress building up on his shoulders and it was taking hold of him quickly. He couldn't stifle the urge to grab the razor the past few days, and his wrists were burning under his sweater. He'd nearly given up on treating them after he cut, because he didn't have the energy, and didn't care if they got infected or not anyways. One of them that he'd made only a little while ago had been pretty deep, and he didn't bother to stop the bleeding. He knew he was in a bad place, but at that point he just didn't care anymore. (Poor Rus) He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket with an incoming call, so he pulled it out. He almost immediately recognized the number as the owner of the cafe he'd been working at.
Ever since he turned 13, she'd been the one who was kind enough to give him a job to help pay for the house and his family. Once he had to get back into school, she'd given him slack on working for school but still paid him. Russia was extremely thankful to her, and he'd proved himself to be a hard worker. He'd show up on time and get everything done, and she admired him for his ethic. But if she was calling, she obviously needed to talk about something.
"Hello?" Russia answered, curious what she needed.
"Hi. Russia." She said. Her tone sounded off, which caused a little panic to stir up in Russia's chest. She didn't normally sound so... disappointed?
"What's going on?" He asked, already suspecting something to be off. She sighed into the phone, not speaking for a moment.
"Russia, you know I love you. I try to do my best to help you, and I really understand that you're busy with school, but my business is starting to fall behind. If I lose any more money I could have some serious financial problems, and I need baristas who can work a tight schedule for me and bring in the profits... and I know you can't do that right now." She explained. She sounded sad, and russia felt the blood drain from his face.
"What are you saying?" Russia asked. He already knew, but he wanted her confirmation.
"I have to cut you off. I'm letting you go. I am so, so sorry." Her tone was sincere. "I pray you can find another job soon. I really do. Bye, Russia." She ended the call, leaving Russia to sit there, frozen, the phone still up to his (nonexistent) ear, staring off into the distance. His expression was straight, but inside his stomach was churning. If he couldn't get another job soon, he couldn't pay for his groceries or the house. If he couldn't pay for those, he couldn't support his sisters like his dad wanted him to do. He was already tight of money as it was, and this was like lighting the fuse to the barrel of explosives. His mind raced with all the negative possibilities of what would happen when that fuse burned all the way down.
The feeling of panic forced its way up his throat and he started to feel hot. The pressure was too much, and the stress was just too heavy a burden. Suddenly, he just cracked.
I can't do this.
He dug through his backpack with his hands trembling and fished out his flask. He'd been carrying around a whole bottle of vodka in his bag to refill the flask, and thanked god he had it with him. He unscrewed the flask, and without hesitation chugged all the alcohol from inside it. His adrenaline blocked the burning feeling from his throat, not that it mattered, because he was already used to the sensation. He threw the empty flask back into his bag and pulled the bottle out. The minute he popped the lid off, the strong aroma flooded his senses.
