No More Cuts (Yuri X Male Reader) #2

Never Come Back

*Yuri's POV*

"Please explain what happened for me one more time, dear." The elderly interrogator says, smiling like a grandmother would, in a comforting way. I clear my throat, and recount the story for what feels like the millionth time. I tell her about the scene on What Would You Do, the showing of the cuts, which had been examined and were determined to have nothing wrong, save for the fact they exist. I tell her about Bill storming up the stairs and starts to throw my books down the stairs, and about The Cycle that he almost threw before I threw my knife on instinct.

"So," The interrogator asks very slowly, making all her words quite clear, "You, in essence, stabbed him, for two books?" I nod, and explain the significance of the books, and the fact that they do not belong to me, but to (Y/N).

"Right after it all happened, (Y/N) called 9-1-1, and the ambulance arrived." The old woman nods, and asks for the millionth time.

"It all just happened? None of this was premeditated?"

"No." I say strongly, yet still polite. "It all just happened. We had been counting on their love for me to not freak out, but I guess that's out the window now, huh?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. Instead, the interrogator pulls a slip of paper from her pocket, and slides it across the table to me.

"From Sharon. It's not pretty." I disregard this, and unfold the paper to see the words in my godmother's hand, written as though the pen had been scratched over the same spots over and over, the letters jagged.

NEVER COME BACK ! ! !

I fall back into my chair, unbelieving. The old woman speaks again.

"They are electing not to press charges, the reason being that your care was entrusted to them. They wish me to tell you that ends today. You have one week to move out. Anything left behind will burn, or so they say." She puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "I really am sorry, dear." She leaves, nodding to someone, and (Y/N) rushes inside, and hesitates, seemingly not knowing what to do, so I take the need for choice away, standing up and burying my face into his shoulder, the sobs that have been welling up inside releasing in a torrent of tears, and he holds me tight, rocking side to side, holding me close as he reads the note on the table, the energies that always lead to cutting seeming to fade into nothingness.

"Come on," He says after a few minutes, "Let's go home so we can get you settled in." I look into his eyes, and he lightly bops my nose with his, making me go cross eyed. "I can't leave you to fend for yourself, can I?" I kiss his cheek, and we walk out of the station, hand in hand, note fluttering to the gutters.