Russian Roulette
Pushing the door open quietly, I felt my heart racing. I hated getting up in the middle of the night, never knowing who was awake and if I'd wake anyone with my walking around. I hated not being able to just swim in the bliss that was unconsciousness, being able to escape reality for just a little while ... Because reality meant I had to face him.
Stepping lightly along the floorboards, I froze when I heard the faint clink of ice in a glass. Was Ivan still up? Knowing the nation would be aware that I was up and about already, I placed a hand over my chest and rested for a moment before continuing down the hall. Maybe if I pretended I hadn't heard anything, maybe if I pretended I didn't know Ivan was awake, I could make it to the bathroom without--
"Toris?"
Oh no. Knowing I wouldn't get away with ignoring him, I followed the sound of his voice towards the drawing room. I could hear a click and I felt my blood run cold. Was he playing with a revolver? While he was drunk?
"Toris ... Want to play with me?"
Peering around the corner, I swallowed hard. I wanted to turn around and run away, but my feet were rooted to the spot. Staring straight down the barrel of the gun, I saw out of the corner of my eye that there were three empty bottles of vodka, and one was smashed to bits. My bare feet were the least of my concern, though, as Ivan squeezed the trigger. For one moment, I expected that to be the last thing I experienced. But there was just a click, and Russia hiccuped as he stepped forward.
Pressing the cool metal against the skin of my neck, he backed me into the hallway and against the wall, spinning the cylinder before pulling back the hammer and squeezing the trigger again. My throat seized up as I shrunk against the wall, unable to even make myself plead for him to stop.
"It's a game called 'Russian Roulette', Toris."
I knew what this game was. Ivan had played it with Raivis and Eduard and I once before. Thank God Ivan had forgotten to load the gun that time ... Or so he said. I still held the suspicion that Ivan hadn't loaded the gun so he could mess with our heads. My thoughts were drawn back to the larger nation when he spun the cylinder again. Blood drained away and I felt dizzy, managing to choke out, “No ... Please, God, no.”
“Is Toris not having fun?” The smile on his face looked out of place, a contrast to the glazed and angry look in his eyes. He trailed the barrel of the gun along my jaw, stroking my face with it gently as his thumb hovered over the hammer once more, toying with it but not fully pulling it back.
“I-Ivan,” I begged, my voice hardly more than a hoarse whisper, “Don't do this.”
Pain erupted along the side of my face when Ivan suddenly hit me. My knees gave out then and I crumpled to the floor on my side, tasting blood where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. Stunned, I stayed where I was on the floor for a moment, hearing Ivan moving around but too disoriented to know what was happening. The world felt a little bit fuzzy.
When I tried to push myself back to my feet, a booted foot pushed me back down, stomping on the small of my back, no doubt leaving a bruise. To my embarrassment, I felt tears wetting my cheeks as I started to tremble.
There was more rustling of fabric and then fingers were combing through my sleep-tousled hair. “Shh, It's alright,” he crooned, sounding thoughtful, “But Toris needs to have fun too, da?” Another spin of the cylinder, another click of the hammer, another empty chamber. Another moment of fear that made it feel like my heart was being squeezed out of my ribcage.
Ivan's fingers left my hair only to grip the back of my nightshirt, hauling me to my feet with a short giggle. He shoved and prodded me into the drawing room, towards the couch. “I-Ivan, please, stop,” I gasped, finding it hard to breathe properly. A shard of glass dug into my heel on the way, but I ignored it when Ivan pushed me to my knees instead of onto the couch.
Keeping his hand on my head, he sat in front of me, tangling his fingers in my hair to yank back my head so I was looking at his face. That smile was still there, but there was a new look to his eyes. Sadness, weariness, and the ever-present madness. It wasn't the look of a drunk man, but at the same time I knew he'd had too much to drink already, if the bottles of vodka were anything to go by.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered softly, pressing the weapon against my lips.
With wide eyes, I shook my head, pushing the gun away from my face fruitlessly. It returned immediately, pressing harder as that smile turned into a sneer.
“Lithuania, I said to open your mouth.” When I shook my head again, any pretence of happiness was dropped and I knew that I was going to get at least one bone broken tonight. Or he'd stop spinning the cylinder and actually shoot me. “You trust me, da?”
Still, I didn't answer. I didn't want the barrel of that revolver in my mouth, but I was terrified of what was going to happen to me. If I ran away ... I didn't even want to think about what he'd do to me. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I wanted to shake my head, tell him that, No, I didn't trust him while he was drunk. While he was angry. When he had a gun. When my life depended on it. When he leaned forward and gave a sharp jerk of my hair, I nodded.
“Then open your mouth.”
This time I did what he asked, lips trembling as I closed my eyes tight. I didn't want to see it coming. The longer muzzle of his revolver pushed past my lips, the crosshair scraping the top of my mouth.
A spin. The c**k of the hammer. The clinking as the trigger was squeezed ...
And a hollow click.
Swallowing dryly, I felt tears start to roll down my cheeks. My tongue touched the cool metal in my mouth and I just about gagged. The taste was strong, somehow wrong, and I could detect the faint, bitter taste of gunpowder – the gun had been fired semi-recently, that much I could tell. Ivan's hand left my hair to stroke the side of my face as the gun left my mouth, crooning softly as I wrapped my arms around my own shaking shoulders.
“You're turn,” he whispered, unnervingly close. He pressed a kiss to each of my eyelids before prying one of my hands away from my shoulders.
“M-my turn?” I asked, finally opening my eyes, not surprised to see Ivan hovering over me. What was he talking about? Why would it be-- Oh. My fingers gripped the metal placed in my hand, my eyes widening and my breath quickening. Was Ivan asking me to shoot him? “N-no,” I whimpered, trying to push it back into the larger nation's hand. “I-I don't ... I can't, please, M-Mr. Russia ...”
When his hand tightened over mine, I felt the panic starting to set in. “Here, it's not so hard.” He positioned my fingers over the gun even while I was trying to pull away. I couldn't do this, no matter how much I hated Ivan, no matter how much I fantasized about the day he died and I could just escape this hell, I couldn't shoot him. Even though his thumb spun the bullet chambers for me, I still tried to pull my hand away. I even put my free hand against his chest and pushed, but he just drew me closer, pressing the barrel of the gun against his temple.
“No,” I groaned softly, feeling him force my thumb to pull the hammer back. I repeated that one word over and over again as his finger pressed my own against the trigger. If he pulled it for me and it fired ... I would be free. But I knew the guilt would eat at me for the rest of my long life as a nation. Sure I'd killed before ... But I couldn't do this to Ivan ... To Russia.
“Shh,” he hissed, closing his eyes with a demented smile. Pushing my finger down swiftly, there was nothing but another empty click.
It felt like an eternity before he opened his eyes again, the smile fading as he did so. My hand trembled underneath Ivan's, but I stayed where I was, terrified by the new look he was giving me. Ivan was not pleased with me, for whatever reason. When the grip over my hand slackened, I pulled my hand out from under his and shrunk away, scooting backwards.
He stayed where he was, not spinning the cylinder before cocking the hammer, pointing the gun at me, and pulling the trigger. I wasn't sure if I screamed or not, but the sound of the little mini explosion in the gun had me paralyzed, unable to move, afraid that if I did I'd find out that if I'd been shot or not, that I'd find out if he'd killed me.
When I finally drew in a breath, I felt dizzy. I was still staring at the barrel of the revolver, but ... It wasn't pointed at me exactly. A little off to the side. I followed the line of sight and just about fainted. Only a few inches from my hand was clearly where the bullet had gone. If I'd kept moving ... If Ivan's hand wasn't trembling like mine ... I would have been shot.
“Two left,” he said, sounding distressed, letting out a childish giggle. “You're one lucky man, Lithuania. Come here.”
The news shocked me. He was playing with three bullets ...? “You're crazy ...” The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them. I clapped a hand over my mouth with wide eyes, watching as Ivan's expression darkened further. He stood and took the two steps of space between us, but he didn't grab my hair like I expected.
Crouching down and running a single finger along my jaw, pushing my hand away from my mouth, he asked, waving the revolver in my face, “Toris, you know what kind of gun this is, da?” When I shook my head mutely, afraid to open my mouth to answer in case I said something stupid again, he frowned, loosening his scarf a little bit. “Do you know nothing about guns, Toris? Nothing at all?”
“N-no, sir,” I said softly, knowing instantly that Ivan could tell otherwise. Of course Ivan knew. I was the one who dealt with other countries to get him his weapons, I had to know something about guns.
He hummed and sat back on his heels, rocking back and forth a bit as he thought. Several moments passed as a vacant look settled over his face, one I was pretty sure meant that he was far enough gone he wouldn't notice if I slipped away to warn Estonia and Latvia to get out of the house. When I moved, however, his gaze settled on me and I froze. It didn't take long for that vacant look to fade away.
Standing up once more, he held out a hand, giving me a hard, expectant look. So I took the hand offered silently, letting him pull me to me feet fast enough to snap my head back. If I didn't get whiplash from it, I would be lucky. Well, if Ivan didn't kill me first.
Before I could get my balance, Ivan spun me around and pinned one arm against my back, wrapping something around my wrist quickly before yanking back my other one and tying my arms together. It took only a few seconds, and by the time I realized what was happening, it was done. When he stepped back and moved around in front of me, I realized he'd used his scarf, one end trailing from his hand. Without it, he looked almost ... Naked. I was afraid to look at him. Never once had I ever seen him without the scarf his sister had given to him. Not once.
Staring down at the ground, I trembled, feeling heat in my face. I was scared and mostly defenceless now. I almost wished he'd get out his whip and give me lashes for lying to him, get it over with, distract him from playing his game of roulette.
Yanking on the end of the scarf in his hands, Ivan made me fall forwards, my knees too shaky to support me. He caught me, though, holding me crushingly close to his chest, hissing between clenched teeth, “Liar!”
I felt the barrel of the gun against the back of my head, but I wasn't sure if Ivan was aware he was still holding it or not. After a few painful moments, his grip loosened around my shoulders. I could feel where the bruises would be, where his fingers had dug cruelly into my upper arms. Then he let go and I sunk to my knees, shaking and feeling sick to my stomach as the bullet chambers spun again. Two bullets were still in that gun. Two.
WIP - To be continued T_______T
