2p! FrUK- Begin Again, Part 1

Begin Again
2p!England x Nyo!2p!France
PART 1: Separation




The dark grey clouds hung low and dense in the London sky, blocking out any hope of warmth and sunlight. The river Thames flowed on lazily, reflecting the stark, gloomy atmosphere above it. The cold, hard concrete was dotted with stray drops of rain. It seemed like another ordinary day in London, but something was amiss. And that something was a certain member of the family who was no longer in the Kirkland household.

“It’s your fault he’s gone!”

Oliver Kirkland was in shock that his son had moved out and gone to start a new life. But it was even more appalling that Francine Bonnefoy, his girlfriend, the woman he loved and trusted the most— had helped him get his independence.

“How could you do this to me, Francine? Don’t you know how much I loved Allen!?” The pink-haired Brit was on the verge of tears.

“Couldn’t YOU see how unhappy he was here?” Francine retorted in her thick accent. “I love Allen just as much as you do!”

“But that’s no excuse! Allen was my sunshine!”

“Listen to me, Oliver!” Francine couldn’t believe how unreasonable Oliver was being. “When you truly love somebody, when they truly have a special place in your heart, you would want to make them happy, oui? If you truly love Allen, you would have no objection to letting him go. He wants to be free, Oliver. He’s an adult now.”

If you truly loved Allen, you would let him go. These words made Oliver snap within. He felt different— not hurt or depressed like he did before. It was something else now— something called betrayal. Strangely enough, it made him smile.

“So, that’s it, then…”

“What is it?”

The British man let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle. “You don’t love me anymore, is that it?”

“N-non, that’s not what I’m saying! What I’m saying is—“

“It’s okay, darling. No one’s ever loved me in my life.” The smile grew slightly wider on his freckled face. “And you’re no different.”

“Oliver, mon cher, can we please talk this out later? Now is not a good time.” Francine tried her best to hide her breaking voice. “I think… I think we should separate for awhile.”

“Hmm… good idea. And since I still love you, I’ll let you go.” Oliver was now grinning. His warm blue eyes now had an uneasy glow to them. Francine’s violet eyes, however, were filling with tears. She turned her back to Oliver to leave the kitchen.

Je regrette, mon cher…But this is the best option for the both of us.

She was so wrapped up in her angst that she didn’t notice Oliver, who was carefully concealing a kitchen knife behind his back.

“Oh, and one last thing, Francine.”

“What now, Oliver?” Francine asked with a sigh.

The Brit’s eyes glowed brightly as he pushed the knife into Francine’s back.

“Don’t… ever… call me Oliver.”
**************************

Oliver laughed in excitement as he watched the rich red blood splatter all over her dress and the tiled floor. Francine fell, her face frozen in shock. A small pool of blood spread on the floor from where his knife had struck.

“Ah, yes. You would make such a delicious batch of cupcakes, my dear,” Oliver sang as he pulled the bloody knife out of the body. He was just about to lick it clean, when he heard a voice that made him freeze.

“Papa?”

“Matt!? H-hello, son!” Oliver saw his younger son, Mathieu, standing at the kitchen entrance. He looked appalled at what he just saw. “D-don’t come into the kitchen, everything’s—“

“Papa! What have you done!?” The Canadian rushed over to his mother and examined her carefully. “She hasn’t lost much blood. I can still save her!” He pulled off  the hoodie he was wearing and wrapped it around the gash.

“Save her?” Oliver repeated.

Mathieu looked up at Oliver, disgusted. “There’s nothing YOU can do, Papa. So get out.”

“Matt, darling, it’s not what it looks like! Your mother was being—“

“Papa.” Mathieu’s tone made Oliver’s blood go cold. “Gunshots are dangerous. Poisoning is dangerous. Knife wounds are dangerous. All of that is dangerous. But you know what’s worse, Papa?” He didn’t wait for a response.

“Getting hurt by someone you love. You don’t even suspect it coming. That’s why it’s worse.” The Canadian placed his hand over the makeshift bandage. “If Maman doesn’t make it, it’s your entire fault,” he said bitterly.

Oliver looked down at Francine’s surprise-ridden face, then at his son crouching over her body. Silently, he left the room. He usually had so many thoughts running around in his head, but for once, his mind was blank.
***************************************

“Ugh…” Francine awoke after what seemed like ages. She was in an unfamiliar place— this definitely wasn’t her old bedroom. No, it was a small, white room, completely void of any sort of decoration. The only furniture was the twin-size bed she was lying on, and a tiny nightstand. A rather small window let in a little light from the stormy day outside.

“Thank goodness you’re awake. I was getting a little worried.” The French woman turned her head to the monotonous, rather familiar voice.

“Mathieu? How long have I been asleep? Where am I? And where is Oliver?”

“Three days, Maman. And we are in Paris,” Mathieu responded.

And Oliver has no idea where we are, he thought with a smirk.

Francine tried to sit up in her bed, but a throbbing pain in her lower back stopped her. “Ow…”

“Don’t try to get up.” Mathieu gently pushed the injured woman back down. “You are badly hurt. Oliver did this to you.”

“Oliver…?” Francine wondered. “But Oliver could never hurt me…”

“But he did hurt you, Maman! He stabbed you in the back! He was going to make cupcakes out of you! Cupcakes!”

“Mathieu, please… Please don’t raise your voice…” Francine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t want to believe it. But she knew her son was telling the truth.

“He doesn’t love you, and he never did! You have to get over it!” Mathieu was about to keep going when he noticed Francine. His face softened when he realized what he had done.

“Non… Please don’t cry, Maman…” The Canadian knelt down and placed his hand over Francine’s.

“It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you until you are better. You don’t have to worry about him hurting you again. Not on my watch.”

He gently kissed her cold, pale forehead.

“Please get some rest now, Maman.”
***********************************

Meanwhile in London, a normally cheerful, peppy Brit was solemnly wiping a large bloodstain off of his tiled kitchen floor. The events of the past week were still a lot for him to take in. Was it really Francine’s blood he was cleaning up? Was it really his knife that had stabbed her? Was it really his doing?

A loud voice rang in Oliver’s head.

Of course it’s your doing, you blockhead, said the voice. Why don’t you just face the facts already?

Oliver collapsed to his knees, staring intently at the floor. His head hung low, almost touching the ground.

“I’m so sorry, my love…”

Hot tears rolled down his freckled cheeks and splashed onto the reddish-brown spot below him.