Hetalia Human Conspiracy Theory

Feliciano Vargas: Depression

"You've gotten over it pretty fast, Feli." Mark said, as he shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. The crowded café that we sat in was extremely busy this day. Laughter surrounded us, as did the sounds of loud talking and silver hitting porcelain. Yet, I slightly jolted at the sound of him speaking. "Hm~? Gotten over what?" I replied, poking at the scrambled eggs I had in front of me. They didn't look the best, but I guess I can't judge them. It is very busy today. The silver fork clinked against the plate as I tapped it against the filled plate. The blond man looked up, his face twisted in shame as he gulped roughly.
He knew that he brought up a subject that shouldn't be mentioned. We both knew it. The silver fork clattered on his nearly empty plate, he then started to pick at his fingernails. Which was something he's only ever done when he was truly upset. He's done so many times before. I've only noticed that he does that just a few weeks ago. "Mark, gotten over what?" I hummed, tilting my head. My auburn hair getting in the way of my honey gaze. Mark's eyes were filled with guilt as he looked at me in the eyes. The aura of sadness and shame filled the air around out table. Not that it affected me.
"Your...grandfather..." He spoke in soft, quiet words. As if he didn't even want me to hear them. But I did, and my heart clenched at the sound of the very word. I knew that he was going to bring up the subject, but it still set pain throughout my body. I felt my smile start to falter, but I quickly forced it. He can't know. "Things...happen that you can't stop." I finally said after a long silence. His shoulders slightly relaxed and he slightly smiled in an apology. My gaze averted from him, and to my plate. I wasn't hungry anymore. My appetite was ruined. Not that it bothered me. As I almost placed the fork on the unused napkin resting next to the almost full plate, Mark made a small, whimper sound. I glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow, then giggled as I slid over the plate to him. His puppy eyes turned right and cheerful as he grabbed his fork off his empty plate, and dug into mine.
"I'm sorry for bringing that up..you know, back in the café." Mark said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. We were walking down the side of one of the canals. The sun was still bright enough that it was warm, even if it was growing later. My head was still tilted upward, allowing the sun to bathe over my face for the last time today before it was to hide, as I grinned at him. "It's fine...." I replied, and brought Mark to a gondola waiting at the edge of the Rio della Sensa canal. "Ciao, AI Mori D'Oriente Hotel si prega." Mark said to the red haired gondolier. Who smiled, and nodded as he stood up. After he helped him into the gondola, I waved goodbye to him. "Addio, Feli! Ci vediamo domani!" He shouted, then sat down and began to talk to the gondolier. I stopped waving and watched him slowly gliding away, until he was out of sight. My usual grin then dropped, as did my arm. I allowed my expression changed from upbeat and cheerful, to dull and emotionless in just seconds. I shoved my frail hands in my coat pockets, and ducked my head as I spun on my heels and began walking. It was a long way back to my hotel.
Once I finally got to the hotel, a place called Al Canal Regio, I silently opened the door, the terrible smell of rat and dirt filled my nose. But I've gotten so used to it, that it didn't faze me as much as it used too. I looked up at the empty desk, and made my way to my small, cramp room. I didn't run into anyone, for no one usually went to this hotel. It was called "The Worst in All of Vince." and for a reason. Once I finally made it to my room, I opened the door, but ended up slamming it into the restroom door. I groaned, the door wasn't even half way open. Luckily, I easily slid into the opening, and slammed the door shut. The burning heat of the room no longer fazed me, as didn't the small rodents that scampered in the walls.
I turned around and faced my room, though it was small, I at least tried to keep it clean. I rubbed my fingers against my sore cheeks. It never bothered me to smile back then, why does it hurt so much now? Why does everything hurt? A soft sigh escaped my lips as I squeezed my way through my room, and eventually collapsed on the rough couch bed. My dull gaze stared at the ceiling, not caring about the stains of God knows what. My thoughts soon came back to me. The terrible reality of my horrid life. As my eyes closed, the voice returned.
"An Italian man, around the age of forty or older, has died in a tragic murder. At around five p.m last night, he was walking home one night down this walkway when two armed assailants robbed, and stabbed the man thirteen times in the chest. As you can see here, the only evidence left behind was a single bloody shoe print. He was found dead at six a.m today when a lady, who asked to remain anonymous, who decided to take a short cut to her job. The killers have not been found, and are still at large."
I shot open my now wet eyes and chocked out a sob. To this day those bastards are still out there. It's been four months since he had died. My grandfather...the only man who took me in when my parents left me to die. The only man who stood up for me when others were beating me down. The only man who actually cared about me. The hot tears fell from my eyes, dripping down my cheeks and in my hair. My mouth was gaping like a fish. Opening and closing, as if I were trying to speak, but no words nor sound came out. My hands covered my face as a sob finally escaped from my lips.
I have no one. No one who loves me. No one who cares about me. My grandfather is gone. My parents are gone. My friends are gone. I know for a fact that Mark only hangs around me because I pay for his breakfast every morning, and make him food. Everyone left me. I never even had friends before Grandfather died. He was the only one who kept me sane, and happy. But...now he's gone. He's gone and never returning. Never again will I see him, or hear him comfort me. Before I knew it, a headache soon throbbed in my head. My body sat up, and I uncovered my red face, and sniffled. My skull throbbed as I stumbled over to the cupboard. I flung open the old, pine wood cabinet and drug through the pills.
They were all empty anti-depressants. That's not what I want I want my painkillers. The orange bottles clattered against the already cracked marble counter as I grew more frantic. The throbbing, aching pain was growing worse by the second. I cried out when I finally found a full bottle of both anti-depressants and painkillers. My once dull eyes then lit up as I placed my palm on the white cap, and popped it off. I spilled the white pills and pushed one to the side as I reached up to the one wine glass I owned. My shaking hand finally grasped it, and I brought it down to my face. I looked into the shaking glass and looked back at my cabinet. So many empty bottles...I looked back at the white pills on the counter, then to the glass.
The feeling was back.
But this time, I didn't ignore it. My heart clenched as I opened the other cupboard, and stared at my last bottle of wine. It was the bottle Grandfather gave me it for my tenth birthday as a "Secret Gift." I've been keeping it for years and years....maybe now it was time to pop it open? I tilted my head as my hand reached forward, but it twitched back. What was I going to drink it for? What was the special occasion? My head pounded the more I thought, but I finally decided on what the wine was to be used for. I wrapped my fingers around the thick, black bottle, and brought it down to the counter. It landed on the marble with a loud clatter, shaking the bottles and glass.
I opened a drawer, and dug through the trash drawer until I finally found the bottle opener. I shoved the metal screw into the cork, and twisted it quickly. It hurt my palms, but I ignored it. My desperation was growing by the second. I wanted to see my grandfather. I need to see him. I miss him so much. I felt my throat tighten as my eyes watered. My head hurts so much. The bottle finally opened, but spilled. I ignored the sticky, red wine on my hands and threw the cork and screw in the corner of the apartment, which wasn't very far. I lifted the bottle and, with a shaking hand, poured the liquid into the glass. Some splashed on the counter, but I stopped caring. Once the wine bottle was set down, I grabbed one of the pills and placed it in my mouth. I lifted the almost full glass to my lips.
Then stopped.
Should I have done this?...Too late to go back now. My plans are set. I took a mouthful of the wine, and gulped down the pill with it. The wine was sweet, and strong. I almost immediately snatched a handful of the pills on the counter and shoved them in my mouth. I took another mouthful of the wine. The process repeated over and over until both the painkillers and the anti-depressants were gone. My headache was forgotten, and I giggled. "Oh~ The world is so fun~" I sang as I spun around, and tripped. I landed roughly on the bed, and hiccuped. "The world is a ci~rcle~" I slurred as I stood myself up, and looked back at the counter, the trash drawer was open. I stumbled over to it. "If..if you draw a circle." I muttered as I hiccuped once more, my blurred vision spotted something metal. "Ah...it's the Earth! Aren't I ri~ght?" I spoke to no one as I grabbed the metal thing, and pulled it out.
It was a knife.
A smile tugged at my lips. "The Earth is so fun~" I hummed as I wiped the sweat from my head. "World is so lonely." I sang softly, my voice cracked, and was interrupted by a hiccup. My drunken gaze moved from the knife, to the sink. The pills weren't working fast enough, so. I glanced at my covered wrist. I slumped over the counter, and turned on the sink. I then hopped on top of the cold, wet marble, and laid down. I curled up slightly, and rolled up my sleeve. "Go to sleep and close your eyes....and dream of broken butterflies." I softly sang, it was a song...from America I believe? I don't know...The knife pressed against my skin.
"That tore their wings against a thorn...you know the pain that they've endured..." I slowly blinked as it dragged down my sensitive skin. "Silver metal shine so bright scarlet blood that feels so right." The crimson liquid dripped from the cuts. The pills were starting to kick in. I could feel myself growing more tired by the second. "Dream of that blood trickling down.....and wake up...just before you...drown." My eyelids grew heavy as the blade dug deeper into my flesh, causing a small wince. "The moonlight..sh-shining off your tears...as you...b-bleed out your worst fears." My voice grew more quiet, I could even hear myself being lost over the water. "So tonight when....you...start to cry....whisper the cutters lullaby..." The blade was twisting now. Was I doing that? I couldn't tell. My gaze was set on the pooling blood. "Hushabye....baby, you're almost...dead....You don't have a pulse and your pillows red...ha..I'm..on the counter.." I slightly smiled as my hand holding the knife went limp...it was time.
I slowly reached forward, allowing my hand to be covered with the cold water. I slowly pushed my arm up, letting the water cover my wrist. "Your f-family hates you....your friends l-let you bleed...sleep ti-tight with a knife, cause that's all you need...." The water made the blood slip from my wrist faster. Small dots started to cover my vision. "Rockabye ba-baby, b-broken and...scarred...You didn't know... life w-would be th-this hard..." My eyelids soon closed over my eyes. I allowed the last few words slip from my mouth, before everything went quiet and black.
"Time to e-end...the pain you h-hid so well...and d-down...you go baby....stra-straight...back to...hell."
Maybe the next life will be better.