For Each Ecstatic Instant (7/10)
anonymous
January 13 2010, 03:01:56 UTC
Seventeen days. You’ve been away from Russia for seventeen days.
Lithuania kept repeating the figure in an attempt to impress himself. He couldn’t get that excited though.
The Soviet Union still stood, weakened, moribund, but not dead. At least, his brothers and most of his friends were free. Or, as free as they could be, so near to Russia.
He broke out of his reverie to make the last snip of the scissors. In the mirror, he watched the small lock of hair fall onto the white towel on the sink.
Lithuania took the second towel from around his neck and shook out his hair, smiling at the simple pleasure of being able to take care of himself again. Once he was feeling healthy enough, he had showered and shaved, washing the last trace of captivity from his body. Now, he had the chance to cut his hair back to its normal length, something he had been too busy for in weeks.
He cut it in his usual way, long enough to hold most of it in a ponytail while he worked, but enough to fall in front his face in the front. That way, he could always have a curtain between himself and the world when he wanted.
Lithuania sighed and turned to his old pile of clothes. As he was picking up his shirt, he happened to catch sight of his back in the mirror. His smile disappeared, eyes fixed on the mirror. After a few moments, he realized that he had forgotten to blink.
Nations were full of scars. No country survived for centuries, decades even, without their flesh becoming a roadmap of war. Lithuania wasn’t unfamiliar with injuries, others or his own. Blood didn’t make his stomach turn.
But, his back…
He had been intimately aware of the bite of Russia’s whip as it sliced its way into his skin, but now to see the whole story written out was a different feeling, a lingering one.
He could feel Russia’s hand pressing against his flesh, could feel the cold, metallic breath in his ear.
Let me see your pretty face, Toris…
Lithuania shut his eyes. Go away, Russia. Go lord over your dying Union. Leave me alone.
But, Russia was still there, in the mangled red and purple welts stretching from his shoulders to his hips. Russia would always be there.
“Hey, Toris!”
Lithuania started, dropping his shirt and turning to face the door. “Y-yes, Alfred?”
“Oh, nothing,” America said from the other side of the door. “It’s just… you’ve been in there a while, and… I was just… I’m not checking in on you. I mean, you don’t need… but… yeah.” He finished with an awkward laugh.
“I'm fine, Alfred,” Lithuania said calmly. “I’ll only be a second.”
“That’s cool. Take as long as you need. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t… I dunno. Jump out a window or something.”
Lithuania laughed. “I’ll just clean up and get dressed.”
“Okay. Once you’re out, maybe we can watch a movie, or listen to some records or something.”
“That sounds nice. Thank you, Alfred.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
Lithuania smiled to himself, as he turned back to the mirror and gently pulled on his undershirt. It stung slightly against the aggravated wounds, but Lithuania forced himself not to think about it.
He was staying with America now. America was his friend. Not controlling him, just helping him in an hour of need. He and America were going to listen to old records and reminisce and laugh and America would look beautiful as the sun hit his blond hair.
Lithuania kept repeating the figure in an attempt to impress himself. He couldn’t get that excited though.
The Soviet Union still stood, weakened, moribund, but not dead. At least, his brothers and most of his friends were free. Or, as free as they could be, so near to Russia.
He broke out of his reverie to make the last snip of the scissors. In the mirror, he watched the small lock of hair fall onto the white towel on the sink.
Lithuania took the second towel from around his neck and shook out his hair, smiling at the simple pleasure of being able to take care of himself again. Once he was feeling healthy enough, he had showered and shaved, washing the last trace of captivity from his body. Now, he had the chance to cut his hair back to its normal length, something he had been too busy for in weeks.
He cut it in his usual way, long enough to hold most of it in a ponytail while he worked, but enough to fall in front his face in the front. That way, he could always have a curtain between himself and the world when he wanted.
Lithuania sighed and turned to his old pile of clothes. As he was picking up his shirt, he happened to catch sight of his back in the mirror. His smile disappeared, eyes fixed on the mirror. After a few moments, he realized that he had forgotten to blink.
Nations were full of scars. No country survived for centuries, decades even, without their flesh becoming a roadmap of war. Lithuania wasn’t unfamiliar with injuries, others or his own. Blood didn’t make his stomach turn.
But, his back…
He had been intimately aware of the bite of Russia’s whip as it sliced its way into his skin, but now to see the whole story written out was a different feeling, a lingering one.
He could feel Russia’s hand pressing against his flesh, could feel the cold, metallic breath in his ear.
Let me see your pretty face, Toris…
Lithuania shut his eyes. Go away, Russia. Go lord over your dying Union. Leave me alone.
But, Russia was still there, in the mangled red and purple welts stretching from his shoulders to his hips. Russia would always be there.
“Hey, Toris!”
Lithuania started, dropping his shirt and turning to face the door. “Y-yes, Alfred?”
“Oh, nothing,” America said from the other side of the door. “It’s just… you’ve been in there a while, and… I was just… I’m not checking in on you. I mean, you don’t need… but… yeah.” He finished with an awkward laugh.
“I'm fine, Alfred,” Lithuania said calmly. “I’ll only be a second.”
“That’s cool. Take as long as you need. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t… I dunno. Jump out a window or something.”
Lithuania laughed. “I’ll just clean up and get dressed.”
“Okay. Once you’re out, maybe we can watch a movie, or listen to some records or something.”
“That sounds nice. Thank you, Alfred.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
Lithuania smiled to himself, as he turned back to the mirror and gently pulled on his undershirt. It stung slightly against the aggravated wounds, but Lithuania forced himself not to think about it.
He was staying with America now. America was his friend. Not controlling him, just helping him in an hour of need. He and America were going to listen to old records and reminisce and laugh and America would look beautiful as the sun hit his blond hair.
And Russia would leave him alone.
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