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It had been precisely 13 years ever since that accident had occurred. You knew it was far more then a superficial accident, yet you disregarded it whenever your mind tried to recall the vivid imagery people's heads dangling under the noose. Tightening until their body showed no trace of life anymore. The fingers of your hand strokes towards the lining of the dress that itches against your nakedness, making it at odds with your shorts that go over your knees for loose protection in some sort of way. You'd wish you could tell Britain how much you wanted to be you, not an artificial version that lives off of his fantasies that are too vague for you to imagine at times. At every tile that your formal shoes clack on, you could feel someone's presence awaiting you at the door, his body lying against the entrance to support himself—his eyes glare at your posture up and down. He stares with a intricate grin. You don't smile, you never did anyways—there wasn't anything to smile about when you were around him. Everything he did bothered you, from the smallest gesture, the tone of his voice—along the way how he makes you feel uncomfortable— the constant way that his eyes stare consolingly the fore of your hazel eyes that shine when the yellow-ish sunlight lies on them.
"I can do more for you then you ever could think of, Egypt". Britain's voice cracks through your ears—blocking out everything else in the scenery from the supposedly calm soothing sound of the water strumming down onto the mediocre-sized fountain. You wish he didn't though— Britain would always assist you in things that you no longer needed to depend on him for— he knew it & he didn't care.
You nod to the side, not taking interest in whatsoever he has to say—anything that came out of his mouth seemed to be disgustingly too good to be true in a way that'd you'd think he would know to stop by then.
"I don't think I'd want anything". You express yourself calmly disturbed, it was getting harder to breath right after you said that, you wish you hadn't spoke overall— constantly being humiliated in what kind of position you were in didn't do any aid to your situation as whole.
"Still, stay". He insists, his hands intermingling with the fingers that you cover with the fabric of your glove, each point of your bone that lies under the weakness of your flesh trembling. You don't say anything more—frankly there wasn't whatsoever to say to his response that totals you to feel the need to cry vulnerably at every point. He seemed to hold so much discontent in you, affirming you failed him whilst being his subject in addition to outside those boundaries overall. It gauged unarmed to even want to have a bond with such a individual in your mind.
This phenomenon feels wrong, everything feels like it genuinely best not be there. Mentally, you formerly contemplated this thought as your eyes path its way over the gestures & mannerisms of the Englishman that sits fronting your face, the claws of your hands seemed to tug at the dress harder then before, nearly shaking ever so slightly under the table. You struggle to keep yourself intact that everything will be ok—everything will be ok but it will cost you dearly. Too dear for this matter overall.
He invites you, his hand symbolling for you to come in the taint, suffocating room that never seems to have held any singular good memory of your life for aslong as you could remember. You don't argue when he asks—you never argued with him, it felt inappropriate to argue with someone who seemed to hold such high never ending praise of you—a praise that seemed to be contemporary to his liking. His palm covers the cork opening of the bottle, twisting it rapidly as he does so—not moving a single bit as he finally opens the bottle that holds such a substance.
"Come on, drink it". Britain's voice commands in a way—he knows what he wants & he'll get it if he's persistent enough, unfortunately for you—you'd do anything he would tell you do to. Things haven't changed ever since then.
The blistering sensation of your throat felt so rousing, potentially that this wasn't the first time you'd feel this feeling again. You can feel your throat sting as it almost begs for you to stop drinking. Swallowing the bitterness & sharpness of the fluid that flowed down, the bitterness remains in your mouth after you had ingested it. You proceed lick the last drops that are left on your lips—the blood thrumming through your veins louder whilst you can feel the numbness strike through your vessels by the second as you breathe in and out — to keep yourself in check despite the fact that was not an option in the vicinity of contentment anymore.
"Don't have second thoughts" Britain's hand brushes against your back, his breath polishing off against your flesh coldly—you nod lightly, quite choleric with all the firmness your frail build can possess, if it even had any capacity left to enable you to stand on your feet anymore.
"I wasn't planning on anything" . You can feel Britain's posture get less & less formal & more informal as he picks up on the statement, his eyes once again observing at your physique.
"A girl like you really shouldn't be thinking of that, besides I know you have your eye on other matters". He remarks at your semi-serious tone, on that occasion, his face drops. Presumably you were assuming that beforehand he maybe finally would take you seriously.
The 2 fingers of each of your hands subconsciously fidget with itself, the bone of your finger lying up against another— you knew he meant it in a way that doesn't seem to prick at anyone but it was too extreme to play off his constant femininization of you— even with the constant rehearsals of wanting to be a man.
Day to day you'll find yourself to have been wanting to pull out of this abstraction that Britain situated you in, as you try to concentrate, his lips lie on yours as you close your eyes—you can't help it but let it happen, perhaps if you coveted be a man you had to sustain the hardships that come forth in your way & so on just as Britain proposed. His lips part from yours as his eyes move a few seconds back & forth. Wanting to look for anything more in your eyes— anything more to fend in his fantasy that never seemed to be fulfilled from one gesture overall. He craved for more & how you were the only thing that was apart of his craving, a sole wonder of his world—usually how you dubbed it.
You were not made to bide , only to abide for some when the time is right.
Praying silently on your cross that things get better—that something will change someday and you wouldn't have to be stuck in such a body that goes against you at every move that Britain provokes in you. You breathe in & out, constantly gazing down at the parts of your flesh that is naked—reasonably this is the thing that you deserve ultimately, you soberly couldn't play into the Englishman's game without there being a catch. There customarily had to be one no matter how little the game went on for. Constantly ongoing for years now, you wanted this game to end but this game doesn't end without a winner. That winner wasn't going to be you for the rest of the time if you were to keep on playing on the same team. Something had to change for once. Something great to happen, something that happens where you can feel like yourself. But for now, you keep on playing into the lies that the other man has fabricated into your mind—making sure that everything he says sticks into your head—embedding it in your mind like a footprint in cement.
“Dance”. The Englishman spoke whilst clapping for you. It made a loud distinct noise that could fill up the emptiness that resides hollowing the room. You could feel the cushions' plush exterior push against your naked feet, constantly reminding you of where you were— not anywhere near your usual place of comfort. The gold & the line of fabric wrapping around your stomach made a dangling sound everywhere you trotted, the circular pieces that glare when the dimmed light of the room reflects off of it— moving & scratching against your waist.
“I never wanted to do this’. You curtly speak with your full honesty as your eyes seethe at him, narrowing lightly as you say the sentence slowly. Trying your hardest to not stare down at the constant movements of your hip uncomfortably moving from side to side. You swallow your spit deeply as you close your eyes— trembling under the weight of the Englishman's eyes that seem to stab your flesh as you does so. His eyes concentrate on the movements that you make, maybe this is what you deserved for playing into his game. The kohl that once sharpened on your face was smudged by the tears that rolled down your cheek— lightly sniffing as you move your hands slowly against your waist, the bones of your body quivering out of fear & the eerie coldness of the room that bit at your flesh. You can’t help but inwardly glean over his backhanded compliment. It wasn’t anything new that'd he tell you—or force you into doing—moreso something that became too common for you to do factually, playing to the music that he tunes, sheepishly not doing anything against it until you could feel yourself splintering— wondering how long it'd take for you to shatter against this feeling that keeps on tugging at the corner of your head . Plainly you just couldn't keep on lying to yourself that everything would be fine—when it most certainly wasn't yet you'd rather not talk against him, it wasn't manly to do so. Maybe you need to endure, just as he told you.
It assuredly does not matter to you anymore when he says how much he loves everything about you—how much he loves your body & not the identity that holds beneath your flesh—not the personality that you craft for him—not anything else asides the flesh that surrounds your frailness of your bones & blood. Something that you weren't, someone that you weren't—dwelling in your current appearance that you shatter in your mind. For all you could think of was how you could do anything at all anymore. Anything that doesn't make you feel such revulsion each time you preform so. A game in your mind that only you could be destined to win if you broke from him.
For all you know that the future is scary, it isn't something that has ever adjusted with you.