Preview for Angsty-ish PolLiet...

*Technically, if I ever attempt to actually work on this, it will be PolxLiet or LietxPol or whatever.  Don't like, don't read. Thanks<3*

"You remember where the bathroom is, right, Liet?" Poland asked.  Lithuania nodded as he passed Poland, taking the soft white towel from his friend's outstretched hand.  After turning a corner or two and opening a door, he found himself in a steamy room with a tub full of hot water and bed clothes laid out for him on the counter.  Even if Poland was a jerk basically their whole lives, he sure did seem to be making it up to Lithuania in the mere hours he had been at his place.  It was literally the day of Lithuania's escape from Russia's house, and it was taking him a while to process the fact that he had finally been permitted to leave, and was now reunited with the country he had once been a commonwealth with.  

        Lithuania slowly slipped into the tub, wincing at the scalding heat.  He wasn't used to a hot bath.  Not at Russia's house.  He wasn't used to a full, well cooked meal either.  Nor the clothes being laid out for him.  …Nor kindness of any sort, and that wasn't just for when he was at Russia's house.  No, that was his whole life, from being pelted with acorns to…
Lithuania dragged his mind out of the dark pit it was descending into and closed his eyes, relaxing.  He didn't remember if or when he had ever been able to unwind in peaceful serenity without a constant fear on his shoulders.  He could be calm and be alone with his thoughts.

        Crack.
"Now, Lithuania, what happens when we try to escape?"
Crack.
Tears streamed down Lithuania's face as he shook, keeping his eyes sealed shut and teeth clenched, biting at the inside of his cheek so ferociously it tore open and filled his mouth with the sour taste of iron.  He really couldn't afford to lose more blood.
Crack.
"Lithuania~" Russia said, grinning in that childish manner of his.  "You did not answer me.  What,"
Crack.
"happens,"
Crack.  Crack.
"when,"
Crack.
"we try,"
Russia leaned in close, whispering in Lithuania's ear. "Escape?"
Lithuania let out a few choked sobs before saying in a quavering voice, "w-we always c-come back."
Russia smiled, let out a slight hum of content before stepping back.
Crack. Crack. Crack.

Lithuania's hand slowly trailed over his shoulder and touched the scars covering his back.  Some were white and many, many years old.  Some were no more than a week new, and hurt to the touch of the water and his fingertips.  
He found himself shaking violently as he gripped the edges of the tub and pushed himself out, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around himself.  He stumbled over to the sink and looked up at his reflection.  He was weaker-looking than he recalled.  His eyes were those of some abused animal; full of fear and submissiveness.  Permanent bruises covered his arms and dark lines rung around his neck from the many times drunken hands had gripped at his throat.  As a country, he shouldn't have gotten the marks and scars, but as a human, he was lucky to be alive.  
"Does Poland know…?" Lithuania wondered, watching his quivering face in the large mirror.  "Does he know the things I…?"
A wave of nausea rolled over Lithuania like a tidal wave and he slammed his hand to his mouth, shaking his head violently, trying to block traumatizing memories from overtaking him.  He leaned over the sink, breathing heavily and closing his eyes, beads of sweat trickling down his nose.  He couldn't go on like this, keeping the things Russia had done to him pent up.  Even the other Baltics didn't know some of things he had done—they thought an occasional whipping was bad?  Oh, how lucky they were…