COUNTRYHUMANS ONESHOTS (COMPLETED)

america explain

638 words

8/26/2019

I didn't know how to end this AAAAAAAAAAAA. Sorry to whoever requested this, it's not very good.

WARNINGS: SELF HARM

America looked in the mirror and sighed.

He was trying on all the shirts that no longer fit him. He had gained a lot of weight this past year due to a lot of shit happening. The man he was sure he would spend the rest of his life with broke up with him, his parents got divorced, and on top of that, his best friends moved away. America normally turned to eating to make him feel better.

But that wasn't helping much.

Everyone treated him differently after he started to gain weight. Many older countries started to get worried, people began calling him a capitalist pig, and his family treated him like he was glass. Fragile and about to break any moment now.

He stared harder in the mirror, looking at everything that made him ugly. Other than unwanted body fat, he had dark circles under his mismatched eyes. America flopped down on his bed in defeat, still wearing the crop top that showed off his flabby stomach. His hand reached out to his bedside table where he kept his glasses.

It curled around a box cutter instead.

America brought the object closer to his face, inspecting it. How the hell did it get up there? He switched it on and touched the tip of the blade. He immediately recoiled, a small crimson bead formed on his pointer finger.

America had an idea. He was going to regret it, but it might make him feel better. He got off his bed and went to his bathroom. Leaning his wrists over the bathtub, America slowly brought the sharp edge to rest on his left wrist.

He pushed in into his skin.

He felt pain, but for some reason, he stopped hurting. The pain in his wrists distracted him from everything that was happening. It seemed like he was being liberated from everything he did wrong.

Messing up shit with Russia? Cut.

Letting Nekomi and Japan go? Cut.

Being weak? C-

"America?"

America turned to look at Mexico. The short country was standing in the doorway, eyes wide in shock.

"Don't do that," Mexico walked over to Ame, grabbing the box cutter from him. America felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. "It's ok. Just let it all out." That was all Ame needed. He wrapped his arms around Mexico sobbing into his shoulder, muttering incoherent phrases into his ear. The box cutter fell to the ground, forgotten. Mexico traced circles on the American's back, trying to comfort him.

After a while of this, Ame pulled away from Mexico. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No, don't be sorry. It isn't your fault," Mexico said with a heart-melting smile.

America blushed and quickly stood up. "Why are you here anyway?" America asked. Mexico chuckled.

"I told Canada I would make him Pozole and bring it over. I did, and then he told me to ask you if you wanted anything. So here we are."

"Oh," America muttered.

"So, want any Pozole?" Mexico asked, leading America out of the bathroom by his uncut wrist.

"What's that?"

"A soup made from hominy, with meat, and is seasoned and garnished with shredded lettuce, chile peppers, onion, garlic, radishes, avocado, salsa, and limes. It's really good," Mexico grinned at America again, making the American blush. He never knew how charming Mexico really was.

"I should probably grab a hoodie to cover up... this," America said, motioning to his crop top. He didn't care as much about the cuts, more about his stomach.

"Are you sure? It really suits you," Mexico said. America nearly died right there.

"Yesyesyes mhm absolutely yes," America said quickly, grabbing a random hoodie from his pile and throwing it on. He was about to leave his room when Mexico grabbed his hand.

"Hey, Ameri?" Mexico said.

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"You're so strong. It might be hard to get up in the morning, but it will be worth it. I want you to promise me something."

"Yeah?"

"Don't give up."