Meant To Be Yours - Heathers

You chucked me out like I was trash

Yuuri was in shock.

He barely registered Mari calling for him, asking him if he was okay. He didn't know how to deal with it. His Vicchan was dead. After standing there uselessly for a couple of minutes, Yuuri picked up his phone off the ground.

It wasn't cracked, thankfully, but Yuuri saw that he was still on call with Mari. He put the phone up to his ear, "I'll call you back later, Mari." Yuuri's voice was void of emotion.

Despite Mari's protests, Yuuri hung up the call. He also turned off his phone completely, knowing that his sister was just going to call him back again soon.

Yuuri walked over to his bed and sat down on it, letting out a small cry as he did so. Yuuri didn't know what he did to deserve this, all of this, but it must have been something terrible.

Why was everything going so wrong? Yuuri doubted someone like Viktor Nikiforov had to deal with this much shit all at once.

Viktor probably flew above everything. He probably never had to deal with anxiety from a huge competition, a stalker, and his dog dying all at once. If he did, Yuuri wanted to know. He just needed someone to hurt like he was.

Anger welled up inside Yuuri. Why him ?

Yuuri pondered on this for several more moments, letting his anger fester up more and more, ready for it to break. Yuuri looked down at his phone, he should turn it back on. What if there was a mistake? What if Vicchan wasn't really dead?

Yuuri knew how unlikely it would be for that to have happened, but he wasn't taking any chances. Turning on his phone, Yuuri saw he had over twenty notifications from Mari. Checking his texts, Yuuri saw no inclination that Vicchan's fate wasn't how Mari said it was on the phone call.

Yuuri's heart broke all over again.

Mari had texted and called him multiple times, asking him if he was okay and begging him to respond, but Yuuri couldn't. No, he didn't want to lash out at her, Mari didn't deserve that.

Out of everyone in the world, Yuuri was most mad at himself. He was the one who hadn't visited his dog for five years. He was the one who wasn't at home to protect his precious Vicchan from running into traffic.

Yuuri picked up the pillow from his bed, the soft but unfamiliar feeling of the hotel pillow did nothing to help him calm down. It only showed him, once again, that he wasn't at home.

With the Grand Prix Final, he wouldn't be able to go home for a couple of days, which–in his opinion–was a couple of days too long. Infuriated at himself, the world, and everything on it, Yuuri squished the pillow violently.

Holding it down on his lap, Yuuri punched it over and over, pretending it was the face of his stalker, the driver who ran over Vicchan, and most of all, himself.

Yuuri's punches got more and more erratic, until they slowed down, tears running down Yuuri's face as sobs rocked his body. Vicchan...

His punches slowed to a stop as a thought came to him, suddenly. The Grand Prix Final. How was he supposed to compete now? He was in no condition to do so. (And if Yuuri was saying that, you know it's serious.)

Yuuri was a mess, in more ways than one. He also remembered that Celestino told him to get dressed and go to practice not that long ago.

Yuuri sat there for what felt like hours, sitting in his tears. Eventually, his tears stopped, but all Yuuri could feel was numb. There was a harsh knocking on his door.

"Yuuri, I know this is probably nerve-wracking, but please, come to practice." Celestino's voice was pleading. "I don't want you to accidentally hurt yourself tomorrow because you're in your head over this. You and I both know you can do this."