Immolation: Scars

Two pairs of green eyes stared at each other, each of their owners were frozen. Hungary couldn't move the moment she saw the horrendous marks on Poland's back. The scars were obviously from a whip and the color of them showed that they hadn't healed well.

She couldn't help the gasp from escaping her lips at the gruesome sight but when Poland spun around, exposing his front, Hungary felt sick.

The scar that went down his chest to his ribcage made Elizabeta suspect that Feliks had been attacked with a sharp weapon and there were other scars littered across his figure that looked deeper than the ones on his chest and back.

Then she noticed the tattoo. And she was unable to look anywhere else. A-2172 was branded onto his arm.

"G-Get out! Do cholery!" Feliks snapped, finally regaining his composure. Flushing in embarassment, Elizabeta said a quick apology and closed the door. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest as she hurried downstairs, not noticing Feliks's cat, Ignacy, as she passed by him. Once she was in the sitting room, Elizabeta collapsed onto the couch. Her mind was running a thousand miles per minute, images of her dearest friend's scars flashed before her eyes. But the tattoo...that mark on his arm...

Realization struck her like a slap to the face. Elizabeta didn't want to believe it but Feliks's behavior, the drinking, the sadness that she always sensed...it all made sense now. During the war, Feliks had been in a concentration camp.

How long has Feliks been suffering in silence like this? Elizabeta dreaded to know the answer. She also dreaded the answer to where those scars came from.

Those scars. Various emotions were swirling inside of her. Anger at the creature who hurt Feliks, sadness that he had undoubtedly suffered so much, and guilt for having been on the side of the nation responsible for what happened.

"Ela...Ela!"

Elizabeta flinched and turned to see Feliks standing next to the couch. He wore another long-sleeved shirt and a guilty expression on his face. There was an awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Until Elizabeta said the only thing she knew was true at that moment.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered, her voice shaky with the overwhelming emotions coursing through her. Feliks's eyes flashed and grabbed Elizabeta's hands, pulling her to her feet and held her in a firm embrace. His warmth instantly enveloped her and the smell of his body wash was soothing.

"Don't apologize." Feliks said, reaching a hand up to run through Elizabeta's hair. "If anyone should be apologizing, it's me. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry."

He pulled away and cupped her cheek, wiping something wet from under her eye. "Don't worry about me..."

A girl with dark hair looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. He reached up and wiped one from her cheek.

"Don't worry about me." He said, smiling gently at the girl in an effort to comfort her. "I'll be fine, Liora."

Feliks's eyes widened and hastily pulled away from the Hungarian woman. He quickly shook his head to prevent anymore unwanted memories to resurface. He cleared his throat.

"I'm going to make breakfast." He said, turning to the kitchen. "What do you want?"

Elizabeta stood there, a blush on her face from how close their faces had been and never noticing that she had been crying. "Anything is fine."

As Feliks left for the kitchen, Elizabeta wiped at her eyes, only to feel more traitorous tears to escape. The shock had seemed to fade away and the situation had finally sunk in. A soft sob escaped her throat and she clasped a hand over her mouth to prevent anymore unwanted noises as she sank back onto the couch. Her body trembled with the devastating revelation about the most important person in her life.

…...

In the kitchen, Feliks had gathered salami, cheese, bread, and pepper paste to make them into small open-faced sandwiches. He wasn't really a fan of spicy things but these were Elizabeta's favorite. He had been beaten, starved, shot, stabbed, and tortured years ago but the look on Elizabeta's face when he found her in the sitting room with tears streaming down her face had been more painful than any other agony he had experienced in his long existence.

As he cut the sausage, a low rumble in his stomach reminded him that he barely ate anything the day before. But the hunger he felt now was incomparable to having a crust of bread and small bowl of watery soup once a day for a long period of time. It could be best described as a dull, hollow ache that was agonizing enough to drive a person mad from hunger which had happened quite often back then.

He gritted his tenth, forcing the thoughts out of his head, and focused on his task. Once the sandwiches were done, he started brewing a kettle of tea. Feliks called for Elizabeta once he put their plates on the table. He was getting two cups out of one of the cabinets when his friend entered. Neither of them said anything, except for Elizabeta to thank him when he poured her a cup of tea. As they ate, Elizabeta noticed that Feliks had not added any pepper paste to his food, in its place was sour cream.

"I see you still don't like peppers." She commented before taking a sip of her tea. Feliks scoffed.

"I do like them." He replied. "I just don't like yours. I still remember that time I tried your goulash. It felt like the Devil's wrath in my mouth."

Hungary couldn't help laughing as Poland brought up that memory. They had been comparing their goulash recipes and the look on Feliks's face when he tasted her dish had been priceless. He had immediately dashed to the sink, not even bothering to use a cup to rinse his mouth. Whether done intentionally or not, no one could ever make her laugh like Poland could.

When she laughed, Feliks's annoyance seemed to fade at the sound and a ghost of a smile briefly appeared upon his lips. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. Like a candle, the life in his eyes flickered out.

"Are you alright?" He suddenly asked. Elizabeta blinked, embarrassment coating her cheeks for staring.

"Igen...I just...have so many questions." She said, holding her temple. "But I am not sure if I can handle the answers."

Feliks finished the last bite of his food and reached for his cup. He took a long sip before finally speaking. "Alright, what are a few things that you want to know?"

Elizabeta was a bit surprised that he was willing to open up, if only a little without the influence of alcohol. It was a start, at least.

"That scar, the one on your chest..." Elizabeta made a gesture signaling a diagonal line on her upper body. "Where did that come from?"

"Bayonet." Feliks said, blankly.

"And your back?" She felt that she knew the answer but it felt necessary to ask.

"Whip." He replied, confirming her suspicions.

Elizabeta swallowed before asking her final question. "What about...those other scars. The ones on your chest and stomach."

The silence that followed was nearly deafening and Feliks went still. After what felt like an eternity, he stood up and picked up his plate before walking over to where Elizabeta was seated and picked up her plate as well.

"I have to take Róża out, she's been restless all morning." Feliks said with no emotion before taking the plates to the kitchen but stopped mid-way without turning around. "I'll be back in about an hour so just...do whatever you want while I'm gone."

"...alright." Elizabeta said, softly. She couldn't help feeling a little hurt that Feliks shut her out again but knew from his reaction that the scars on his front were a particularly sensitive topic. Six scars that looked like stab wounds, some looking deeper than the others. When she heard Feliks leave the house, Elizabeta squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling and buried her face in her hands.

What am I supposed to do? She wondered, desperately.

AN: I apologize for the long wait. College took up the majority of my time but at least it's over now. I'll try to update faster from now on. Please don't forget to review, it gives me inspiration!

Polish:

Do Cholery: Damn it!