Three years past, Alcohol burned the fresh air, bandages covered the wounds of pain, and tears spilled from sorrow eyes. The cigarette blew against the windy night, leaving a powerful stench behind. Little flames burned the small bits of grass, leaving a dim orange-red light. Pain and fear puffed away a heavy smoke, crying slighty as remembering a loved one.
Russia sat on the cold and damp bench, it has been over three years and he still couldn't forget the American. He puffed out a heavy smoke, coughing at the end. He lost hope and joy, lost his friends, disowned from family, and broke with a crappy home. He had a low payed job as a cashier, barely making it out alive through the days. He sighed, watching the stars dance across the sky. The navy blue above gave a beautiful feeling he would never forget, he thought about the american everyday, all day. Not once did he leave his mind. If the American knew or not, he carried Russia through the tough times. After his vanish, Russia stayed silent. Not telling a single soul where he had went or did. Russia flicked the cigarette of his fingertips, standing up slowly.
He pushed up the gray leather jacket, rubbing against the fluff. He stuck his hands in his pockets playing with the lung ravage, also known as the cigarette pack. The once bright burn cigarette was now ash crumbled litter, He walked silently through the empty streets, his heart was vacant leaving no place for anyone to be in, yet he made room for one person. He had grown taller and muscular, making him become more attractive and noticed. Which he didnt like at all. His over grown size made him very intimating, but his cold and aggressive behavior made it worse.
After Americas runaway, he changed deeply. He grown cold and angry, aggressive and hostile to anyone. Including family. He grew distant to others, hiding away from everything, isolating himself. The silent blue night shined in his eyes, a gently breeze brushing against his jacket. His light footsteps echoed through the empty streets, with a dim yellow light from houses. He made his way to a a two story building that looked to be crumbling apart, the velvet red was cracked with brown shades covering, the roof had a dirty white with a few cracks. The apartment buliding had to tall bulidngs covering the sun and moon. He stared at the broken building before opening the doors to which they left a high pitch screech, he walked through the dark and empty hallways, he turned a left to a staircase grabbing the side railing. He walked through the steps at a quick pace before the stairs ended, he pulled out a key from his jacket pocket holding while he walk to a old wood door, he stuck the key in the lock and twisted it. The door opened to a honey-Carmel smell, he slowly walked in closing the door behind him.
He walked towards the pure white fridge with a grocery list and a picture hanging off the front. The small picture was the teenage American he adored so much, he opened the fridge to reveal almost nothing. There was a half full carton of milk, about two eggs in a case, orange juice that you could practically call empty, a half stick of butter, and a block of cheese. He sighed, after highschool he completely shut down. Didnt try for college, got kicked out, became an alcoholic, and so on. He noticed an unopened bottle of a very strong and clear liquor, also known as vodka. He stretched out his arm and reached for it, he grabbed the bottle and retreated his hand. He lift his head up only to hit the top of the fridge. "Blyad!" Russia yelled as he felt on his bottom, he rubbed his head with his extra hands and stood up still rubbing. He looked at the bottle for a split second before twisting the cap off.
He let the cap hit the floor not bothering to pick it up, he walked over to the couch that was set in front of a flat screen tv beside the door. He sat down and chugged down the vodka. By this point he let his mind run free. One thing he need to do the next day is get food. Soon his eyes filled with tears, he was alone, depressed, and broken. No one to go to, no one to love, he was now truly alone. The tears slid down his cheek while he closed his eyes, his breathing grew heavy at every thought. The bottle was about half way done when he set it down. He shakily sighed, he layed down on the couch and curled into a ball. After while of Shaky breaths and negative thoughts, he drifted off into a deep sleep.
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Russia's eyes fluttered open to a bright ray of sunshine, he squinted his eyes and groaned. He turned over with his eyes slightly opened, he stared at the half empty bottle for a great while. He stretched against the couch, pushing the cushions with his legs and arms. He yawned as he stood up now sitting on the couch, he stood up and fluffed up the jacket he never took off. He dusted it off before heading to the kitchen, the little bowl on the table held his keys and wallet. He reached out for them and grabbed them, he checked the time that was on the clock against the wall. 9:12. He sighed, his shift at the gas station was in eighteen minutes. He rubbed his eyes and yawned once more, Russia walked to the door and gently opened it, after walking out he locked the door and walked across the hall. He headed to the stairs, he put his hand on the cold railing and walked down the steps.
He made his way to the store, zipping his jacket and adjusting his ushanka. He opened one of the glass doors triggering a little bell, his boss walk out of a little room he called his office with a irritated look. "Russia, late again" He said, putting his hands to his hips. "Sorry Jacob" Russia basically whisperd. Jacob shook his head before returning to the small room. Russia sighed, he holded back small tears before hearing a familiar voice.
"R-Russia"
YOU ARE READING
you understand me RusAme story
RomanceRussia and America familys despise each other including them, but what happens when you finally see that your not different between each other.
