Ignorance, My Bliss [14-17/?]
The scenery blurred around them, swirling, melting, dissolving into barely comprehensible colors and shapes; his forehead was pressed against the window glass, the cool pane absorbing the heat that radiated from his skull. Azure eyes were veiled, hidden by lids shadowed by sleepless nights and licking fever; he breathed, deep from the diaphragm, the vapor instantaneously condensing into a murky cloud. Matthew seemed content with his own view, silent as the cab made its way through downtown New York City. Traffic was surprisingly light, though it would still be at least twenty minutes to their destination, his brother had informed him.
Alfred didn’t know where they were going, and he almost didn’t care.
He wanted his explanation.
But where could he even begin-
There was the barest brush of mouth against skin, scarlet dribbling in morbid beads from slightly parted lips, and the back of his mind he was screaming, because something was wrong, someone, anyone, what was going on-
“Matthew-I-”
“Isn’t the sky beautiful today, Alfred?”
The American was shocked into silence, thoughts lost as he tried to process his brother’s question; the other didn’t turn.
“It looks endless; like a depthless sea of blue,” Matthew mused further, unperturbed, “I haven’t seen sky like this in a long while.” He paused, as if in thought, before chuckling softly, “Or perhaps I just haven’t noticed it since then.”
“Then?”
“Since that day on the river.”
And Alfred knew exactly which day he meant, a day that, to anyone else, would have been meaningless, a breath in a boundless sky. True, the river had been beautiful that day; he and Matthew had sat and watched the horizon fade from azure to flaming oranges and pinks, a lush red licking around the fading outline of the sun. Reflecting off the water’s surface, the light had danced upon their clothes, playful; they had sat silent, enjoying the peace of the moment. Yes, Alfred remembered this, but this wasn’t what marked that day.
It was what followed in that inky night.
“Matthew,” Alfred ventured, becoming increasingly frustrated, “What does this have to do-”
“You asked me for an explanation, and I’m giving you one,” his brother replied, tone uncharacteristically serious and drawn, “You must trust me.”
“I-I trust you, Matthew,” Alfred finally said, softly, “You know that; it’s just-well, y’know.” He could see a vague reflection of his brother’s smile in the window, the details smeared over with vapor and dirtied handprints.
“Tell me what happened that night.”
Alfred leaned back into the headrest, allowing his eyes to slip close in order to better remember; the background came together in fat splatters of paint, dark and heavy, dripping along his consciousness.
“It started to storm.”
He honestly wasn’t sure where it had come from, the darkness descending upon them too quickly; he had sprinted back to the house, his brother trailing pitifully behind, as the rain ran in rivulets down his back, soaking his hair. He had yelled at the sky, challenging the thunder with childish arrogance as he raced down the muddy path; he was invincible.
“We went back to the house; he-Arthur was waiting for us.”
He wasn’t happy, that much was obvious; even after Alfred had laughed off their appearances, giving an excuse for their lateness, Arthur still hadn’t smiled.
Hadn’t laughed.
Hadn’t said a goddamn word.
“‘Matthew, my boy,’ he finally said, ‘why don’t you-’”
“-go upstairs. Your brother and I need to talk; alone.” Alfred’s smile had fallen then, and he had felt himself barely shiver from a chill; this wasn’t good. Frame tremulous, Matthew had hesitated before nodding in grudging assent, lightly ascending the steps while looking back at his brother, worry obvious in his blue-violet eyes. As soon as Matthew had vanished around the corner, Arthur had leveled his gaze at the young blonde, eyes incandescent with licking anger. Alfred had swallowed thickly, only standing straighter in response.
“What is it, Arthur? Is something--?”
“-and he backhanded me; didn’t even have the decency to slap me with his open palm. And goddamn, did it hurt; it hurt so much.”
“Think you’re pretty clever do you?” Arthur had hissed, words slipping from his lips like venom, “Thought you could hide it, did you?” He violently tossed a fold of papers in front of Alfred, who had been holding his smarting cheek in astonishment. With shaking fingers, he had read the documents, realizing in quickly mounting horror that they were the records detailing the arms munitions at Concord, letters from the revolutionaries there, dated only days previous. He had looked up, eyes wide, papers slipping from his slackened grip and scattering across the floor.
“Wh-where did you find these?” he had somehow managed, voice barely above a breath. Arthur’s lip had curled, expression sneering and cruel.
“That is none of your concern.”
“-and suddenly, I felt angry- no, I was furious. I knew where he had gotten those letters.”
“You went through my things again!” Alfred had near yelled, stumbling back to his feet, hands clenched into fists; there was a note of frustrated desperation in his tone, someone too close to the breaking point, “You said you trusted me!” The elder country’s eyes narrowed, cold, impassive.
“And I was wrong; I couldn’t.”
It was getting hard to breathe.
“Until you get all these foolish ideas out of your head, I won’t be able to; a rebellion,” Arthur had snorted, “Don’t make me laugh. You’re my colony and you’d better damn well act like it!”
“-it was like I cracked then; like I was vomiting up all my anger and hate from all those tax acts, the constant surveillance, the tension-and I said it. God, why did I say it?”
“I HATE YOU!”
Cheeks flushed, countenance streaked with hot tears, face twisted with a splintered rage. Wide-eyed, Arthur had parted his lips to speak, but no sound came out, struck dumb by the outburst. But not even the silence had stopped Alfred; there was no stopping it now.
“I won’t take this any more!” the blonde had screamed, body rigid with adrenaline, “I am not your subordinate! I’m your brother, your son, your equal!” Alfred had hoped Matthew could hear him, could hear all things he had been to afraid to say before.
“I’m my own country!”
“It was then I realized just exactly what I had said.”
Trembling from the quickly fading feelings, Alfred had pressed fingers against his lips, as if it would take the words back. Tears were still slipping down his cheeks, shameful and weak, and he had wanted to run, far away from this moment, this house, from Arthur-
“Is that so?”
Alfred had felt his stomach plummet at the words, heart lodged in his throat; he had crossed the line. He had felt it in that too soft tone, plush with acid and laced with unspoken threats. Arthur’s gaze had finally caught his own.
The other had been smiling.
“He yanked me down by my hair, until I was prostrate before him; the floor was cold, but I was sweating. I was terrified.”
“So you think you can be a country, do you?” Arthur had whispered low into his ear, giving another hard yank on the younger’s skull, “Well then, I’m sure you know what that means, don’t you, poppet?”
Dragging him by the hair, Arthur had thrown Alfred against the wall, fingers digging into the other’s fleshy throat.
“I’m sure you already know how your mind is torn to pieces by your people, how every piece of you belongs to them. I’ve been bearing the brunt of the opinions of those filthy brutes you call your ‘people,’ and your pain has been limited, at best.” And, in his young arrogance, Alfred had spat at him, unable to believe that his people would do that to him, for he was invincible.
“No; I don’t believe you.”
“I was so young-so very, very young.”
“The floods will fill your lungs with water,” Arthur had continued, voice deep, mesmerizing, “and the fires will char your insides black-”
“Please; please, stop,” Alfred had whimpered, head pounding painfully, but he had only brought it upon himself, and it would not be stopped.
“And they’ll tear you down, build you up, and throw you away, because you are nothing to them.”
“I’m my own person, I am!” Alfred had gasped, darkness slinking into his vision as his consciousness began to spin.
“I begged; I begged, pleaded, ‘Stop, stop-’”
“S-stop-”the blonde had near slurred, barely conscious, but his master only laughed, and it echoed into Alfred’s very being.
“You belong to me, love.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!”
With a sudden burst of strength, Alfred pushed the other away, swaying wildly as he wrenched the front door open and rain into the driving storm, lighting outlining his form as he sprinted towards the forest, the tears ever-flowing from frightened azure eyes.
“That’s the last night I ever spent in Arthur’s house.”
Alfred opened his eyes, back to the dirty cab and the bustling city. Matthew was looking at him now, hands folded into his lap, gaze discerning.
“There’s more,” the Canadian said, a statement of fact rather than a question. Alfred’s brows knitted, confused.
“More? What are you talking about? That’s how it happened-”
And suddenly, Alfred felt himself doubting; there was a nagging thought, buried deep within his mind, layered over with years to heal the broken cracks. He held his head, trying to shake the feeling away.
“I know there’s more because I was watching.”
The American looked up at his brother in shock, mouth dry with the realization; what had really happened, then? Matthew took in Alfred’s appearance, the disbelief etched into his features.
“‘I don’t believe you!’ you screamed at Arthur,” Matthew supplied softly, watching the past unravel in the other’s mind, “But as you reached the door, Arthur, he, he said-”
“You’ll be sorry,” Arthur had whispered, incensed, eyes glowing with a sickening glint as he grinned, “When you’re bound to me, you’ll be sorry.”
Alfred remembered that now; he had pushed it aside in the beginning, too confused and angry to contemplate its meaning, but now-
“Bound?” Alfred managed, tongue feeling numb and useless in his mouth.
“He never actually was able to do it,” his brother said, quietly, resigned, “Because you won the war. No one else did either, because they thought you had already been taken for the first time, and after the first time, the power diminishes significantly.” Alfred couldn’t even begin to comprehend this.
“Bound with what?”
And Matthew sighed, brushing his hair aside to reveal a long scar along the side of his neck, white and jagged; his eyes had stoned, pebbled into void orbs as he turned back to the other.
“Blood.”
OTL
I'm really sorry guys; I know I'm really late on the update this time, but its been rough at my house for the past week or so, so I hope you'll understand. :) But please don't worry; I don't abandon a story once I've started it, so rest assured, this will be finished. :3
Anyway, I know this isn't a full explanation, but it felt like a good stopping place (and was almost 6 pages in Word). Please feel free to read, review, and comment~ <3 I love all of the comments that I get. I'll do my best to update next weekend.
~Till next time. :3
Alfred didn’t know where they were going, and he almost didn’t care.
He wanted his explanation.
But where could he even begin-
There was the barest brush of mouth against skin, scarlet dribbling in morbid beads from slightly parted lips, and the back of his mind he was screaming, because something was wrong, someone, anyone, what was going on-
“Matthew-I-”
“Isn’t the sky beautiful today, Alfred?”
The American was shocked into silence, thoughts lost as he tried to process his brother’s question; the other didn’t turn.
“It looks endless; like a depthless sea of blue,” Matthew mused further, unperturbed, “I haven’t seen sky like this in a long while.” He paused, as if in thought, before chuckling softly, “Or perhaps I just haven’t noticed it since then.”
“Then?”
“Since that day on the river.”
And Alfred knew exactly which day he meant, a day that, to anyone else, would have been meaningless, a breath in a boundless sky. True, the river had been beautiful that day; he and Matthew had sat and watched the horizon fade from azure to flaming oranges and pinks, a lush red licking around the fading outline of the sun. Reflecting off the water’s surface, the light had danced upon their clothes, playful; they had sat silent, enjoying the peace of the moment. Yes, Alfred remembered this, but this wasn’t what marked that day.
It was what followed in that inky night.
“Matthew,” Alfred ventured, becoming increasingly frustrated, “What does this have to do-”
“You asked me for an explanation, and I’m giving you one,” his brother replied, tone uncharacteristically serious and drawn, “You must trust me.”
“I-I trust you, Matthew,” Alfred finally said, softly, “You know that; it’s just-well, y’know.” He could see a vague reflection of his brother’s smile in the window, the details smeared over with vapor and dirtied handprints.
“Tell me what happened that night.”
Alfred leaned back into the headrest, allowing his eyes to slip close in order to better remember; the background came together in fat splatters of paint, dark and heavy, dripping along his consciousness.
“It started to storm.”
He honestly wasn’t sure where it had come from, the darkness descending upon them too quickly; he had sprinted back to the house, his brother trailing pitifully behind, as the rain ran in rivulets down his back, soaking his hair. He had yelled at the sky, challenging the thunder with childish arrogance as he raced down the muddy path; he was invincible.
“We went back to the house; he-Arthur was waiting for us.”
He wasn’t happy, that much was obvious; even after Alfred had laughed off their appearances, giving an excuse for their lateness, Arthur still hadn’t smiled.
Hadn’t laughed.
Hadn’t said a goddamn word.
“‘Matthew, my boy,’ he finally said, ‘why don’t you-’”
“-go upstairs. Your brother and I need to talk; alone.” Alfred’s smile had fallen then, and he had felt himself barely shiver from a chill; this wasn’t good. Frame tremulous, Matthew had hesitated before nodding in grudging assent, lightly ascending the steps while looking back at his brother, worry obvious in his blue-violet eyes. As soon as Matthew had vanished around the corner, Arthur had leveled his gaze at the young blonde, eyes incandescent with licking anger. Alfred had swallowed thickly, only standing straighter in response.
“What is it, Arthur? Is something--?”
“-and he backhanded me; didn’t even have the decency to slap me with his open palm. And goddamn, did it hurt; it hurt so much.”
“Think you’re pretty clever do you?” Arthur had hissed, words slipping from his lips like venom, “Thought you could hide it, did you?” He violently tossed a fold of papers in front of Alfred, who had been holding his smarting cheek in astonishment. With shaking fingers, he had read the documents, realizing in quickly mounting horror that they were the records detailing the arms munitions at Concord, letters from the revolutionaries there, dated only days previous. He had looked up, eyes wide, papers slipping from his slackened grip and scattering across the floor.
“Wh-where did you find these?” he had somehow managed, voice barely above a breath. Arthur’s lip had curled, expression sneering and cruel.
“That is none of your concern.”
“-and suddenly, I felt angry- no, I was furious. I knew where he had gotten those letters.”
“You went through my things again!” Alfred had near yelled, stumbling back to his feet, hands clenched into fists; there was a note of frustrated desperation in his tone, someone too close to the breaking point, “You said you trusted me!” The elder country’s eyes narrowed, cold, impassive.
“And I was wrong; I couldn’t.”
It was getting hard to breathe.
“Until you get all these foolish ideas out of your head, I won’t be able to; a rebellion,” Arthur had snorted, “Don’t make me laugh. You’re my colony and you’d better damn well act like it!”
“-it was like I cracked then; like I was vomiting up all my anger and hate from all those tax acts, the constant surveillance, the tension-and I said it. God, why did I say it?”
“I HATE YOU!”
Cheeks flushed, countenance streaked with hot tears, face twisted with a splintered rage. Wide-eyed, Arthur had parted his lips to speak, but no sound came out, struck dumb by the outburst. But not even the silence had stopped Alfred; there was no stopping it now.
“I won’t take this any more!” the blonde had screamed, body rigid with adrenaline, “I am not your subordinate! I’m your brother, your son, your equal!” Alfred had hoped Matthew could hear him, could hear all things he had been to afraid to say before.
“I’m my own country!”
“It was then I realized just exactly what I had said.”
Trembling from the quickly fading feelings, Alfred had pressed fingers against his lips, as if it would take the words back. Tears were still slipping down his cheeks, shameful and weak, and he had wanted to run, far away from this moment, this house, from Arthur-
“Is that so?”
Alfred had felt his stomach plummet at the words, heart lodged in his throat; he had crossed the line. He had felt it in that too soft tone, plush with acid and laced with unspoken threats. Arthur’s gaze had finally caught his own.
The other had been smiling.
“He yanked me down by my hair, until I was prostrate before him; the floor was cold, but I was sweating. I was terrified.”
“So you think you can be a country, do you?” Arthur had whispered low into his ear, giving another hard yank on the younger’s skull, “Well then, I’m sure you know what that means, don’t you, poppet?”
Dragging him by the hair, Arthur had thrown Alfred against the wall, fingers digging into the other’s fleshy throat.
“I’m sure you already know how your mind is torn to pieces by your people, how every piece of you belongs to them. I’ve been bearing the brunt of the opinions of those filthy brutes you call your ‘people,’ and your pain has been limited, at best.” And, in his young arrogance, Alfred had spat at him, unable to believe that his people would do that to him, for he was invincible.
“No; I don’t believe you.”
“I was so young-so very, very young.”
“The floods will fill your lungs with water,” Arthur had continued, voice deep, mesmerizing, “and the fires will char your insides black-”
“Please; please, stop,” Alfred had whimpered, head pounding painfully, but he had only brought it upon himself, and it would not be stopped.
“And they’ll tear you down, build you up, and throw you away, because you are nothing to them.”
“I’m my own person, I am!” Alfred had gasped, darkness slinking into his vision as his consciousness began to spin.
“I begged; I begged, pleaded, ‘Stop, stop-’”
“S-stop-”the blonde had near slurred, barely conscious, but his master only laughed, and it echoed into Alfred’s very being.
“You belong to me, love.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!”
With a sudden burst of strength, Alfred pushed the other away, swaying wildly as he wrenched the front door open and rain into the driving storm, lighting outlining his form as he sprinted towards the forest, the tears ever-flowing from frightened azure eyes.
“That’s the last night I ever spent in Arthur’s house.”
Alfred opened his eyes, back to the dirty cab and the bustling city. Matthew was looking at him now, hands folded into his lap, gaze discerning.
“There’s more,” the Canadian said, a statement of fact rather than a question. Alfred’s brows knitted, confused.
“More? What are you talking about? That’s how it happened-”
And suddenly, Alfred felt himself doubting; there was a nagging thought, buried deep within his mind, layered over with years to heal the broken cracks. He held his head, trying to shake the feeling away.
“I know there’s more because I was watching.”
The American looked up at his brother in shock, mouth dry with the realization; what had really happened, then? Matthew took in Alfred’s appearance, the disbelief etched into his features.
“‘I don’t believe you!’ you screamed at Arthur,” Matthew supplied softly, watching the past unravel in the other’s mind, “But as you reached the door, Arthur, he, he said-”
“You’ll be sorry,” Arthur had whispered, incensed, eyes glowing with a sickening glint as he grinned, “When you’re bound to me, you’ll be sorry.”
Alfred remembered that now; he had pushed it aside in the beginning, too confused and angry to contemplate its meaning, but now-
“Bound?” Alfred managed, tongue feeling numb and useless in his mouth.
“He never actually was able to do it,” his brother said, quietly, resigned, “Because you won the war. No one else did either, because they thought you had already been taken for the first time, and after the first time, the power diminishes significantly.” Alfred couldn’t even begin to comprehend this.
“Bound with what?”
And Matthew sighed, brushing his hair aside to reveal a long scar along the side of his neck, white and jagged; his eyes had stoned, pebbled into void orbs as he turned back to the other.
“Blood.”
OTL
I'm really sorry guys; I know I'm really late on the update this time, but its been rough at my house for the past week or so, so I hope you'll understand. :) But please don't worry; I don't abandon a story once I've started it, so rest assured, this will be finished. :3
Anyway, I know this isn't a full explanation, but it felt like a good stopping place (and was almost 6 pages in Word). Please feel free to read, review, and comment~ <3 I love all of the comments that I get. I'll do my best to update next weekend.
~Till next time. :3