Breathe.

(Pre Sino-Soviet Split)

I cannot breathe.

There is no physical vice around my throat. No, this vice is much more deadly. It's the suffocation in this room. In my own home.

You must understand.

Much like the feeling in the air when there is someone in a confined space with you, this feeling alters my perception. The slight muffle of the air multiplied by thousands, suffocation, because this man's presence is all encompassing. When he is here, he is everywhere. He is everything. He is felt in every room of my house and even the sight of him makes the oxygen entering my throat thick and unappetizing, hard to swallow. Breathing, which should come naturally to every human being, the function that is restorative, refreshing, completely and utterly necessary becomes difficult.

I'm not sure how he gets into my home, but I always know. Some may think he's stealthily slipping into my domain but his presence is much too strong. I know every time. I feel the change and I freeze in my tracks. What comes next is a sick game of hide and seek.

There. There he is. Where he always is when he's not waiting for me in my kitchen- he's waiting in my bedroom. Sitting on the bed, that scarf draped over the footboard. I find myself swallowing bile in my throat, praying he doesn't put that long scarf to ill use again today. His coat is unbuttoned and I note for the umpteenth time that he didn't even bother to wear a shirt underneath. Why put on layers that are unnecessary, that will just be removed in short time?

And his eyes make me sick. He's smiling as he typically does when he plays these fucked up games, and his violet eyes are... well, violent. There's an obscene amount of brutality in them, of knowing, of reading and observation, I swear he can peer right through my skin and to my rapidly beating heart. I steel myself but it's no use. In the end my hands will be like silk on steel against him- useless, pathetic, futile.

I stand firm against his analyzing eyes and he just touches the spot on the bed next to him. In that split second I must decide- would it be better to resist and be forced into the inevitable humiliation or give in and come to him, hoping for some leniency? Which would hurt my body less? Which would hurt my pride more?

I don't get time to decide before he's choosing for me. He never gives me time to choose on my own. Perhaps it's because he's impatient waiting for an answer. Or maybe he's afraid of what it might be. He's lording over me, looking down at me before his hand is taking my ponytail in its fist and using it to throw me to the bed. He's taking the medium route. He's going straight on the forked path.

He says he does this because he loves me. He says he holds me the way he does, bruises me, abuses me, violates and degrades me because it's only passion. I'm not sure what to believe anymore. I pray even more once he's ripping away the belt around my waist and tearing open my uniform.

The hands he lays on me are large. Hands accustomed to manual labor, to hardship, to being coated with blood. Calloused hands that are warm despite the elements in his native land. Hands that, if used differently, might feel safe.

Right now they hurt me.

He's pressing against my ribs, my waist, his hips, holding me too tight as he drags me toward the edge of the bed where he may reach me better. There is no use in kicking him, in lashing out. He catches all of my feeble attempts and only responds by removing my clothing, piece by piece until I'm a shivering form of flesh, wishing I had my shell to hide inside. I try all the same for the sake of what pride I have left.

/No./ It remains only a mantra in my head that I hold on to like a crutch because in this stage my voice won't come to me. My breath is far too haggard from attempting to fight him off. But it's essentially the same as trying to physically fight a storm from coming. A tornado. An earthquake. It's like standing on a mountain with a baseball bat, attempting to knock a meteor back into orbit.

Those work-savvy hands do not belong on me. I want to tell him but alas, my voice still won't come. My voice is useless until he's beginning to disrobe, and even then it's embarrassing how transparent my combative, strong tone is.

"/Leave/, Russia, this is not your home, aru!" I can tell he sees right through me. He does every time. He only chuckles and shakes his head as his heavy coat falls to the ground, his pants soon following suit. I am afraid and it's painfully obvious to the both of us, yet it is left unspoken. Dare I say sensual? There's a certain level of intimacy in the way he humiliates me. He doesn't just bruise my ego. He slices slowly straight into the marrow.

It's the most effective way, I presume, when trying to completely unravel a human being.

I keep up the charade of strength until he advances on me and one of those large hands are moving toward me. My breath stops completely in my throat and I try not to scare myself too badly trying to anticipate where it will land. Reaching toward my throat would be useless- he's already stopped my lungs. He wouldn't cover my mouth. I found that he likes to hear me yell, curse, spit, cry out. Instead it moves lower.

Tonight he is blunt. He is to the point. He is already inside of me by the time I can open my mouth to protest, and even when I do it falls on deaf ears.

"/No/, no, my body is already ruined from your last invasion, not today--" He doesn't care. He tells me it's because he loves me. I find my resentment towards him growing, boiling, yet unable to go anywhere. I cannot make myself exhale as I feel his girth attempt to fit inside me, my lungs are stretched to capacity and my eyes are screwed shut as I completely shut up. The sensation always makes me sick, makes me feel like I want to claw through my stomach and remove him manually. I want to bar out the pain and in the tears but somehow they both seep through. In what I assume Russia thinks is a nurturing action he forces his fingers between my clenched teeth, prying my mouth open with his large thumb between my molars with a soft sounding but firm, dangerous command: Breathe. My breath comes to me all at once in a rush out and a painful gasp in as he begins to move, a mighty force, a machine that can't be stopped.

The center of my body is a meeting point in ways. My center, my life, my very self, but in the physical and spiritual senses... In one side this brutish man thrusts, in the other I suck in air. Both actions desperate but in very different ways. Russia's thrusts are the fire which the necessary act of breathing tries to soothe. The pain that's planted in every inch of me pays testament. He is chasing that end. He is aiming toward that center- he's invaded my borders and constantly works toward assimilating me to him, laying his claim. No amount of gasping and heaving makes the process go any faster. I attempt to heal the burning, destructive force with the most basic line of animalistic action- breathe in, breath out, fill my lungs and maybe in the exhale a little more of this sickness will leave me.

As much as he chases that end, Russia delights in forcing me to this next stage. It's where my pride drips from me and my once useless hands begin to claw at his shoulders, his back, anything that might tether me to this world because by now, underneath his disgustingly incredible force, I feel as if I'll fly off the Earth completely. He withdraws his fingers from my mouth once he realizes I've slipped into the point of helplessness and my voice comes forth from like a demon unable to be restrained.

"AI-- NO, NO, NO, NO... I CAN'T, I /CAN'T/..."

He revels in my cries and pleadings as I would expect the most sadistic man in the universe might. By this time the resentment I feel has turned into a childish sort of begging for mercy. I only want this torture to end, I only want to be able to go back to my life and try to forget this until the next time he comes for me. I want to be rid of this suffocating presence in my house, I want to be able to breathe easily.

It's not enough to force himself into my body. He must continue the unravelling by laying his hands on me in ways I wish weren't so effective. Somehow he forces my body to betray me by humiliating me. The unadulterated horror that tears through me as he forces me to come makes me feel sick almost to my stomach.

"Say my name," he demands. I can only comply- what else is there to possibly do now?

"Russia--" My voice is embarrassingly broken. He does not approve.

"I said, 'say my name'." His tone doesn't change. It stays soft and demanding. It stays dangerous.

"/Russia/, aru...!" I want it to be over. He still doesn't accept. I know precisely why, but I can't bring myself to obey.

His hands tighten on me painfully, domineeringly. "I said, /'say my name'/."

"/IVAN!/" He rips a sick orgasm from me, and only when he's humiliated me in that way does he finally finish. Always inside me. As if he's planting some sort of god forsaken seed. The air I suck in is shuddering.

After what feels like forever the ordeal is over. He removes himself from me and wipes his hand on the sheets next to my head. The marks I left on his back are not a victory in any way. They are signs of my weakness, much like the way my body is shaking too much to try and slide away from him to the other side of the bed. He quietly replaces his gloves, his pants, his coat, his scarf, and with a wordless smile he exits the house. I know what that silent smile is saying.

It's saying /'I'll see you soon.'/

I'm left laying on my bed long after the feeling of him has left my house. I can still feel his remnants inside me and I want nothing more than to sink through the bed and into the floor and disappear. I'm beginning to realize that bit by bit he is chipping away my reserve. He is taking away my pride and I don't even have the strength to push myself up. I stay there for the longest time, paying a sort of silence to the mourning of another shred of my pride leaving my body. He is the wedge driving himself into my life. I am breaking and coming undone. I am tearing at the seams. My trust in him is almost nonexistant and I'm fraying, burning to ash that will fly away in the wind if this all keeps up. I know what I must do but for now I am powerless. He is suffocating and snuffing the very life from me, stealing my strength, my life. He aims to leave me completely unable to function without him.

And all I can do is lay there and try to breathe.