Author's Note: This story is about the emotion turmoil and self brain washing involved in dealing with abuse. It is not a laughing matter, but is, in fact interesting to read about, and easier to read about in the form of fiction. If you like this fanfiction, I highly recommend the book When Jeff Comes Home. It is an enthralling tale about a young man trying to overcome the aftermath of his abuse.

Warning: This is EnglandXAmerica (mostly). This is extremely dark. This chapter contains pedophilia, and a rape scene from America's point of view. Again. This contains rape, abuse, Stockholm syndrome, and things of that nature. I DO NOT condone or encourage the behavior depicted, nor do I expect anyone else to. It is written graphically only to enhance the realistically of the situation.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

England had always told me he loved me; and i my naivety, I believed him. I believed him when he forced a cigarette into my mouth, I believed him when he pushed the alcohol down my throat, and I believed him when he forced me.

I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. I twitched involuntarily and my scars suddenly ached as I laid my head back. It was times like these when the memories flooded my mind and the flashbacks consumed me.

I remember the first time it happened. I was just a little kid, I didn't know what was happening... he moved so fast. I was curled up in the covers of my bed, sleeping soundly. I remember thrashing, trying to push Arthur off of me, the wounds he inflicted earlier that day beginning to burn... he never treated my wounds properly, so they all scared. I cried and pushed and begged to the imaginary Arthur on top of me, thinking it was another nightmare.

I swung and hit something. I froze, horrified, my eyes flying open as I realized it wasn't a dream. Arthur was really on top of me, and I had hit him. I knew I was in for it, in for another beating. I started bawling as he raised his hand, my tiny body trembling in fear. But he didn't hit me, instead raising his hand to his face where I had hit him.

He ran a hand through my hair in a gentle manner so unfamiliar to me. In my innocence I melted into the touch, loving every second of it. He smiled at me gently and told me he was sorry. Told me he didn't mean it, told me he wanted to make it up to me by bringing me pleasure. The first thing I felt was his lips. They were against my neck and I whimpered, it hurt. He pulled my nightshirt over my head and his lips moved to my chest. I bit my lip so I wouldn't whine, lest I get another beating. I tried not to struggle, but it was uncomfortable, and when a firm hand grasped my manhood, I couldn't help it. A harsh hit was landed across my face and cruel words were growled at me.

"I'm trying to be kind to you, so stay the fuck still."

I stopped struggling- not because I was afraid of being hit, but because Arthur cursed, he cursed; even when he was beating me, he rarely cursed, it was beneath him. So I stayed still and let him do as he pleased. I felt his hand wrap around me again and I choked back tears when it escalated to lips. I felt something warm and soft being pressed against it. I don't remember if I got hard or not- I don't think I was old enough to cum either, but even if I could remember, I don't think I would want to anyway. He pulled back smiling, looking at it, amused. He ran a finger up it gently and I shuddered. I kept my mouth shut because, although uncomfortable, it hurt much less than a beating.

I felt my knees hit my torso and I tried to protest, but I couldn't form any words, my speaking incoherent as I felt something foreign pressing into my backside. It was his tongue again, and I thrashed my head. I felt that sensation in my stomach again...the kind I get when Iggy cooks for me. I knew this was wrong, oh god, so wrong, but Arthur didn't seem to care, and tried to stretch me anyway.

I felt my face become damp as a lone tear slid down it, but Arthur still didn't care. He spit on my entrance and the cold wetness caused a chill to run up my spine. He pressed a finger into me and more tears joined the first. He let me put my feet back down, so I dug them into the sheets, trying to back away as it pushed in farther. He grabbed my ankle in what I knew was a warning and I stopped moving immediately, not wanting to be hit again. I closed my eyes, taking deep breathes to try to stop my impulse to kick. He could barely reach his knuckle, and when he added a second, even that was impossible.

I sobbed, my tiny body shaking almost violently. A hand was placed on my stomach to settle me, and by the time I was reduced to a sobbing, shuddering mess, I was being lifted into the older man's lap. I opened my eyes in time to watch him plant a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Now relax my boy." He cooed to me in that beautiful, silky, loving voice that made everything better. I relaxed almost instantly, wanting to cuddle close to him so bad. I was slowly lowered, and I felt something against me, pushing into me.

"A-Arfur...wha-what awe you..." My eyes widened as I realized he was trying to push his into me. "p-p-p-pwease don't...i-it won't f-fit." I cried and begged and pushed at him weakly, but his nails dug into my hips and he pressed himself into me slowly. I felt the head penetrating me and shrieked. The sound resonated, echoing through the room as I cried and begged him to stop.

He lied to me, this didn't feel good at all. "Huwts." I looked at him horrified as he moaned, saying I was too tight, too good. He pushed farther and I felt bile rise in my throat. I was full and he still wanted more, more I couldn't give.

He finally stopped moving, panting. I cried harder, the pain overwhelming me. I couldn't even take in half of him and wiggled in pain. He moaned at this, a pleasured expression gracing his face. His nails dug deeper into my hips and I felt the soft skin start to bleed.I whimpered in pain and he started to pull out.

"Oh..th-thank you, I knew you wouldn't huwt me..." I felt it moving back in and I shrieked. "A-Arfur...what awe you...Pwease!" I cried harder, thrashing, only to find it hurt more that way. I stopped struggling, getting that sick feeling again. I let him do as he pleased once more, feeling something rip and warm blood that I knew was mine. "Huwts." I repeated, crying harder, feeling my body start to go numb. I twitched for a reason I didn't know and stared at a small spot of blood on the wall. I recognized it as my own, a spot too high on the wall for me to clean after a beating.

My eyes glazed over and my body became limp. I knew he was still moving because I could hear his grunts and groans, but I couldn't feel it anymore. All I could feel was a dull ache running through my body, and the need to throw up, that sick feeling in my stomach. I whimpered in pain, the world becoming hazy.

I woke up the next morning, my body was clean, but I still felt dirty. I was laying on a fluffy pillow, my small body curled unconsciously in a fetal position. I wasn't sure how I got there, I figured I must have passed out, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the pain was gone...but I still felt dirty, I could still feel his hands on me. I shifted to get up, to wash and scrub myself raw. I screamed as pain ricocheted up my spine, and my body fell limp. I wasn't going to be washing myself... or walking. I went back to sleep, unable to do anything else...

but that was okay, because Arthur loved me.

Again, this story is about the emotion turmoil and self brain washing involved in dealing with abuse. I hope you did enjoy it, and will continue reading.