EnglandxReader - Great, I'm Stuck With You Ch1

Chapter I

Your mother always told you to take good care of yourself because you'll never know what your year of graduation would do to you.

And you know what, your mother was right? You should've listened. You always believed that her statement was a complete joke since you kind of proved her wrong in your eighth grade. 'Kind of' because you only got out alive with a broken finger. It pained, of course and it was unbearable, agonizing and excruciating. You swore to always turn around and watch as you close the door instead of mindlessly closing it behind you.

But hey, it was only a finger.

But this... this was different. Far different.

You swore that you thought you were going to die; that some time now, a beautiful blonde angel with beady blue eyes would come down at you and tell you to come with her to heaven or see a really bright white light with a large and deep voice calling out to you, or whatever it is that near-death experiences let you see or hear.

But you waited... and didn't see or hear anything.

Instead, you woke up to a rather peculiar and strong accent telling you that you're not dead. You couldn't tell what kind of accent the person sported, your brain was still processing almost everything: from the dim and waving surroundings you saw to the odd smell that danced around your noise and pinched your insides. You weren't sure of everything else, as that was what you processed so far.

But one thing you were sure of was the searing and throbbing pain in your head. It felt like a million bricks had just been dropped on your head. It was the most painful of all, comparably to your other body parts.

"A-Am... I... dead...?" you muttered because you couldn't really tell your thoughts and words, which one to say or not say.

"For the last time ________, you are not dead," the person said with that funny accent.

Well, at least, that's what you had heard. Was your brain finally working with you? You pray so.

You blinked, several times, just to see if you could get everything into focus. It was helping a bit as the wavy and undeterminable lines that danced and played around your eyes was starting to shape itself then color itself. But everything was still a blur. You could recognize the objects with a little brain power but that brain of yours wasn't cooperating just yet. Luckily though, you could smell the familiar stench of dirt.

'Dirt...? Wait! Where... am... I?!' you thought, finally recognizing what to say and what to keep in your thoughts.

You finally had gathered enough strength to pull yourself together and get up at least on your behind if not your feet, much to the dismay of the person you're currently with. From the sound of things, the person was telling you to stop getting up and continue lying down. The person continued on at how hard you had hit your head and how much blood you had shed. You were slowly processing these things as you closed your eyes shut and heaved a heavy sigh that you seemed to bag on for a while now. You pinched your nose, hoping to ease all pain. It did, thank god.

You raised a tentative hand to stop the person who was talking. You were trying really hard to take it all in, all the sounds you were hearing, the smell of the dirt you were inhaling and probably telling the situation you're currently in. The person stopped, thankfully, as you meditated for a while.

After a moment of silence, you breathed in once more, the cold air filling your lungs and dancing around it. Then you exhaled, heavily and sharply. You opened your eyes, hoping that it would blur less. You were in a bit of a relief when you saw that you could see well finally and that your brain was cooperating with you... well, keeping up would be more of a term.

However, your relief ebbed away when you saw walls of dirt enclosing around you. You couldn't really believe it at first but the evidence that you can touch it added insult to your current injury. "What... the... hell..." you muttered slowly as you looked down on your uniform, dirt-stained and all. The hem of your checkered red skirt was a little bit tattered and torn, with a few dusts of dirt covering it and same was of your cappuccino sweater. A few bruises adorned your legs and more dirt covered them.

At this moment, your mind began to race with all the possibilities in the world. From rapists to murderers to perverted drunken bastards. And at this moment, you started to get dizzy as you were practically overexercising your poor (and possibly damaged) brain. "Oh my god... oh my god, ohmygodohmygod..." you started mumbling, panicking as you were starting to hyperventilate.

"Damn it, woman! Relax!" the person finally said. You had just noticed now that the person was a male, since his voice was deep and wholesome, and was possibly an Englishman.

An... Englishman?, your mind muttered. You looked around, blinking once just to get everything in view, just to be sure. But you knew that even before seeing him, hearing him would be enough evidence as you know it since you only knew one person who had sported an English accent. But again, to be sure, you still looked around, much to your distress and vexation.

Your hunch was right, it was him who was talking from the moment you woke up. "A-Arthur?! Wh... What the hell are you doing here?!" you hollered, giving off the message that you didn't want him to be near you at all. You could see that Arthur winced at your words and covered one ear. "Oh my god, I don't like this at all!" you panicked.

As if waking up in a dirt hole wasn't enough, fate just had to fool around with you and put you in a dirt hole with Arthur Kirkland, that snotty Englishman who always bested you in almost anything. It wasn't that you really hated him. You actually loathed him and everything about him. You could name a lot if you can.

You loathed the way he always corrected the teacher. You thought that he wouldn't get any humbler than that.

You loathed the way he always read out the texts in your English class, using his priceless English accent. Why does he have to be English, anyway?

You loathed the way he always finished first in board works during your Math class.

But most of all, you loathed the way his student number was always before yours during presentation of grades. It was always like that since your sophomore year. Every end of the semester, a sheet of bond paper was posted at the bulletin board at the back of your classroom. That stupid piece of paper always showed the grades of each student in that class, but instead of names, your school used your student numbers as identification. Yours always ended up below Arthur's, seeing as how the students were ranked according to their overall performance.

You loathed his student number in general: 24865.

Whenever you saw Arthur's reaction though, every time he looked at the grades, he only scowled and brushed off the greetings of congratulations from your classmates (mostly his fan girls. How you also loathed them). But you, no one even congratulated you, maybe Elizavetta once or twice. At least she knew yours. No one else did.

"If it helps, I don't like that this is happening too," you heard Arthur say back, obviously with vexation in his part.

"I don't need your pity, Kirkland," you said, no, spat back, no matter how unlady-like it was. "I don't need anybody's pity!" you said, grumbling as you proceeded to shake your left fist at him, only to feel a painful electric-like shock go from your hand through your back. It was too sudden, making you yelp back. "Darn it... ow," you grumbled lower, only realizing now that you had broken your wrist.

Arthur, on the other hand, had a sudden change of look. From his usually bleak and annoyed aura, he suddenly looked at you in worry, of course, you didn't notice it as you were too engrossed with the pain in your wrist. "...Are you okay?" he asked lightly this time but not making any more motive. He stayed in his spot, resting his back on the dirt wall, a bit far from you.

"It's just a wrist..." you grumbled, trying to dismiss him. "...Nothing to go frantic about," you continued as you were still engrossed in your broken wrist. You only spared a glance at him. "...What happened to you?" you asked several seconds later, but still with an uninterested and unenthusiastic tone.

Arthur was taken aback when you asked. To be honest, he actually didn't expect you to ask him what had happened. He was always so used to being by himself a lot and only caring at what he thought. You actually also loathed that aspect of his. But Arthur only breathed out and mumbled. "...I fell in this ditch with you," he stated point blank.

He didn't say anything else after that. He didn't say that he had tried to stop you earlier from treading down the small forest and actually took most of the fall when both of you fell into the ditch. He didn't want anybody to worry about him, so long as they were actually more fine than him. He was just like that, he wanted to put most others before himself. He wasn't being selfless, and no, he wasn't being a masochist. But he just wanted others to be fine enough to not care about him.

You looked at him in a bit of surprise. Your face was bathed in surprise for a while as you looked at him from head to foot. You had now noticed that his uniform was just as dirty and torn as yours would be and how his usually unkempt blond hair was more untidy and dirt-stained as ever (you also wondered at this point if yours was the same). But one thing you had noticed more was that his blue school blazer only had one arm, as if the other was torn on purpose. It was lying on the dirt next to him.

Arthur, uneasy of the silence between you, momentarily followed your (e/c) gaze on his school blazer. He looked at it for a while, thinking twice if he should explain or not. He cleared his throat and looked back at you, whose face was etched with curiosity. "...I-I... tore one arm off," he muttered uncomfortably. "...Your forehead was bleeding."

As you heard his words, your face shaped into a million expressions before your good hand had unconciously touched your forehead. You were in more of a shock when you had felt some sort of fabric tying around your head as you swallowed in a gulp. You didn't know how to feel about it as a million more feelings fluttered inside you, weighing your heart down as you blinked maybe once or twice. You didn't know if you had to feel guilt, appreciation or anything else more.

Meanwhile, Arthur just looked at you curiously and yet patiently, as if he was waiting for you to say something. Deep inside, he was a bit anxious, impatient and maybe a little bit in pain from his own injuries but he decided to just brush it off for a while. He was half expecting you to thank him but half-expecting you to not. However, his expectations were beat to a pulp when you decided on:

"Hmph... whatever." Arthur had a produced a grumble from his throat then a sigh after.

You leaned back on the dirt wall nearest you, much to your own distaste. You looked up, seeing only a portion of the baby blue sky, cloudless at that time of the day, through an irregularly shaped hole just above you. You took much of your liberty to figure out of the shape of the hole; if it was circle... or maybe a really bad square... a triangle maybe. Then you just had figured out that maybe the jerk who dug up the hole possibly lacked a brain... or maybe a sense in art.

"...Gilbert said he'd get help... just thirty minutes ago," you heard Arthur mumble as you closed your eyes just to rest them for a bit. It took you a moment for Arthur's words to sink in. And as it sunk in, your gut suddenly did a somersault as you suddenly propped yourself up and opened your eyes with a jolt. You blinked once or twice at Arthur, incredulously, as your mouth dried up.

"Th-Thirty... minutes... ago?!" you gasped, then looked at the dirt, as if you were looking for something. Arthur had found you odd at this point, seeing that there wasn't much to find inside the pit but you were just at too loss of words at the moment. Arthur just watched your face express a lot, making twists and turns into some feeling that would be comprehensible. Alas, you couldn't find one as what you were feeling was too... indescribable, to say at the least.

You finally just leaned back again on the dirt wall, bumping your head once or twice. However, you stopped just as you felt searing pain resonate around your head.

"...Great... I'm stuck with you..." you only mumbled in disgust.