AN: First off, I warn/advise you that in this story Canada is "emo" and does cut himself. I apologize if you find this offensive and I suggest that you do not read this if it will bother you. Please try to understand the message behind all this, and don't go off on an "This is so OOC" rant. This is an anti-bullying story and it shows that sometimes simple teasing can go too far.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ITS CHARACTERS

Torment

"I've had it with them!" Mathieu shouted, slamming closed the front door to his house, his eyes furious chips of blue-violet ice. He clenched his fists and held them trembling at his sides, holding his head low so his dark blonde hair flopped over his eyes the way he liked it to. "Just calm down," he whispered to himself to stop his body from shuddering from rage and hurt. Mathieu took a deep breath. And another. Slowly, he relaxed his hands and lifted his head. At least he was home in the familiar kitchen where he was ignored, completely invisible to his busy, always working, always on one phone call or another, single father. Much better than the hell he had just come from. With a sound that was a mix between a groan, shout, and sigh, Mathieu threw off his black, ripped-up backpack and sat in the chair at the head of the kitchen table. He sighed, closing his eyes and holding his head in his hands. Oh how he wished he was just as invisible at school as he was here. He could still hear the usual taunts and jeers as he walked down the hall, unmasked insults ringing in his ears. But today was different. Today a new label was given to him because of a secret he had that no one should have been able to discover. But when it was Alfred F. Jones who was against you, bringing the entire school along with him, nothing was impossible.

"Freak."

Girls would whisper to each other, glancing at him as he walked past with his head ducked low so he wouldn't find Mathieu on his way to sixth period, the normal time Alfred came to be a complete asshole and ruin Mathieu's life.

"Emo." "Goth." "Poser." "Loser." "Wannabe." "Pussy." "Creep." "Coward." "Psycho."

The usual names, he could handle that. It was nothing new. So instead of reacting, which he never did, Mathieu just kept on walking, his old black Converse squeaking on the linoleum floor. Just don't worry about them, he told himself. They don't know you, don't now (nor care) why you are who you are and why you do the things you do. Keep walking.

"Hey Mattie!" an overly friendly and equally as obnoxious voice rang throughout the hallway. Shit, was Mathieu's only thought as the bomber jacket wearing figure sauntered over to him, followed by his usual posse. Alfred stopped right in front of his path, leaning against the lockers and gesturing to his "friends" to surround Mathieu, boxing him in, leaving him with no escape. "Looks like you decided to change up your outfit today, huh? You added a little red," he smirked, yanking on the collar of Mathieu's T-shirt. "Honestly I can't believe you didn't think about it sooner emo, you wear red under these long sleeves every day!" With that remark, Alfred's group roared in laughter and Mathieu wanted to kill them all right there. They were just sheep, aimlessly following their leader, picked only because Alfred thought they would be beneficial to have around. Ivan was Alfred's muscle and could easily take out the entire football team single-handedly. Yao was the brains who was stuck doing Alfred's homework every night while the bastard was out getting drunk and banging chicks. Francis was the player who got all the girls Alfred wanted for those nights he went out to party. Arthur was the rich one who could afford whatever the hell Alfred asked him to buy, whether it is drugs or booze. And Alfred, he was the asshole leader of the bunch.

"Leave me alone Alfred," Mathieu shot back, his voice as cold as ice. He raised his head to glare at the cocky, grinning figure in front of him.

And in response to his retort, the sheep starting bleating a chorus of "ooh"s. "Them's fightin' words," Alfred sneered, leaning his face close to Mathieu's, his breath reeking of weed and alcohol. "I never knew you had it in you, cuddly emo." He laughed, a cruel, sick laugh laced with malice.

Mathieu tried to hide his shock. No. They can't know. They couldn't know. Scarlet red rage bled into his vision. He swung his books into his left hand, curling his right into a tight fist. "What did you just call me?" he growled.

Already, a large crowd had gathered around them and some idiots tried to start a chant of "Fight!" which failed. Alfred stood up straight again and glanced around to make sure everyone was watching him. That damn show-off. That was the only reason he attacked Mathieu, for attention, and because Alfred knew no one would ever stand up to help him. "I called you a cuddly emo," he shrugged, casually running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "I mean obviously you're a dumbass emo. I mean look at you! All in tight black with long sleeves!" Alfred gestured to Mathieu's clothes and the crowd's eyes followed, even though they knew Mathieu's familiar dress of beat-up black Converse, tight black ripped jeans, and a long sleeved black shirt, this one actually having some color with a maple leaf in the left corner, the dark color of blood red. Murmurs of ascension rippled through the onlookers, all agreeing with Alfred's claim. They don't understand, he reminded himself, fury surging through his heart. "And for the cuddly part," Alfred continued loudly, recapturing everyone's attention. "Look what we found in his locker! Ivan, show them!" he demanded. And Mathieu's heart felt like it stopped. No way. NO WAY. How the hell could they get into my locker? Ivan dug something out of his overly thick tan jacket and held it up so the crowd could see. "A high school junior who makes sure to keep his teddy bear with him at all times!" Alfred shouted over the roars of laughter. Mathieu's face flushed bright red and he tried to run away, but the wall of bodies barricaded him in.

Then a familiar voice rang in his head, one that he had been trying to fight away for three years, since his mom died, "Cut. You need to cut. To escape this," it told him through the impenetrable sound of laughter. Mathieu, who had spent most of high school trying to convince himself not to cut by talking out his problems with Kumajirou, his stuffed polar bear that his mom made for him, finally succumbed to the will of the voice. He dropped his books, pushed past an unsuspecting Arthur and Francis, and ran; bolted away from the group.

"Look at the poor emo run! Probably going back so he can cry to his other stuffed animals! They're the only friends he's got!" Alfred's shouts could be heard over he sound of kids laughing, his taunts ringing in Mathieu's ears.

Mathieu had been stopped during his desperate dash to escape the school by the vice principal, a sweet young woman who knew instantly that something was wrong. Once classes started, she let him return to his locker to pick up his things and walk home, the laughter and jeers at his expense still stuck in his head along with the icy calm voice telling him that cutting was the only way out.

Mathieu raised his head slowly. The voice had remained silent since he had returned home. He got out of his chair and rolled up his sleeves, looking over the familiar pinkish scars that stood out, raised above his skin in intricate lines. He ran his fingers over the lines remembering each time he had cut. Dad's new job. Cut. His cat dying. Slash. A day or two or seventy of Alfred's attacks going too far. Slice. Mom's death. Mathieu slid his thumb over the long scar, his first and most dangerous cut. Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered her smiling face. He blinked a couple of times and rolled down his sleeves.

Cut. Just do it Mathieu, it's simple. You've done it plenty of times before. It will make you feel better.

The voice was back, whispering to him, egging him on. Taking a deep breath, Mathieu walked over to his bag to fish out his cell phone that had recently vibrated. He flipped it open to discover that he had five new text messages and one voice message. I've dealt with worse, he reminded himself as Mathieu started to flip through the texts he received. Three were picture messages, two being of Kumajirou, one of him running. He deleted them without bothering to read the captions. The other two texts were from unfamiliar numbers. He clicked on one, "Heard u ditchd schl. Way 2 run pssy." Delete. He clicked the other, "Not only r u emo, u tlk 2 animals u frky psycho." Delete. "They're just stupid," Mathieu said aloud, his voice shaking slightly. "They can't even spell properly." Now he listened to the voice message. He held the phone to his ear and was greeted with a torrent of laughter followed by Alfred's voice above the crowd, "Look at the poor emo run! Probably going back so he can cry to his other stuffed animals! They're the only friends he's got!"

Mathieu shut the phone and threw it against the wall, relishing in the cracking sound it made as it broke. God he hated Alfred. He wanted Alfred to die.

"No," the voice murmured to him softly, "you want to die. Killing Alfred wouldn't be enough. Someone else would take his place. There's only one way to get out Mathieu, one way to escape all this. And you know where it is."

He nodded. He was sick of ignoring the voice when it was right, sick of his dad never being around to give a shit about his son's life, sick of Alfred making his life a living hell, sick of his mom being gone. He was so damn sick of it all.

Mathieu made his way into his room and walked into the connecting bathroom. This was where his escape was hiding. He dug under some random items that he had shoved into the drawer in case someone accidentally looked in it, until at last he found his razor blade, the edge coated in a dark rusty color. It was dried blood. It was his dried blood. With his prize in hand, Mathieu returned to his room, not bothering to grab a towel to clean up the blood. He wouldn't be around to have to clean up his mess. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his shaking hand. "We've done this before," he told himself aloud. "This time is no different." Mathieu rolled up his left sleeve, his forearm covered in old scars. He began to slice down when the voice stopped him.

"Write his name. Let the world know it was him that drove you to this Mathieu. Write his name and then finish it."

"Write his name," Mathieu echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. He swung down to make the first line of the A.

Sticky, dark red blood pooled on the floor as Mathieu gasped in effort and from blood loss. "ALFRED" was cut across his forearm in eerily jagged lettering. Normally cutting helped him feel calm, released his negative emotions, but this time he felt nothing, completely empty.

"Do it Mathieu. Right across the wrist."

Across the wrist. Where the radial artery was. If he cut that he would die quickly from extreme loss of blood. Mathieu clenched the razor blade tighter in his hand.

"Don't be scared. Remember what they did to you."

Remember… Mathieu remembered. Being laughed at by a crowd of people. Being whispered about and joked about maliciously. Being shoved into lockers. Being tripped during gym class. Being left by himself for hours while his dad was at work. Being totally friendless. Being completely and utterly alone in a car after the crash with his mom dead beside him. He would never forget, could never forget all the things that made his life hell.

In an easy and fluid motion, Mathieu sliced the razor blade across his wrist, breaking his radial artery, and watched his life flood out.

Mathieu Williams was found dead in his room hours later by his father who had briefly stopped home to pick up some papers for work. He found his son lying facedown in a puddle of blood in his room, a bloody razor blade in his right hand. When asked why he thought his son would commit suicide, Mathieu's father could not give an answer. The only clue he left was the name Alfred spelt out along his left forearm, but the real reason for his death will be forever unknown because no one had worried enough about him in life.

AN: Although I personally did not base this on a true story, I'm sure that there is someone out there whose story is exactly like Mathieu's. Bullying is wrong, no matter who the person is or how they act. And please remember that if you are being bullied, cutting is not the answer. Talking to somone, finding someone who cares is the most important thing. Suicide, though it may seem like an escape at the moment, is NOT the answer.
On a less serious note, I really have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this. I blame the fact that I had just finished reading Rage by Jackie Morse Kessler (an excellent book) and had just listened to I'm Only Happy When it Rains by Garbage (an excellent song). Depending on how this is recieved, I may make a second chapter from Alfred's point of view about his take on the situation (such as what led him to bully Mathieu and his reaction to his suicide). Reviews are greatly appreciated, every one I get will make me smile no matter how good or bad you say it was because at least you took the time to say something about my story. And in conclusion to this incredibly long Author's Note, I say thank you so very very much for reading, I really appreciate it, and please review!