Your blood 》Yuri On Ice

Ripping Heart

ACT II

Yuri Katsuki
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The fire has been lit and now my whole world will burn around me.
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Only seconds ago I thought nothing could bring me down.

Turns out something can.

I should have never doubted the worlds personal vendetta against me. I should have never doubted that dream I had several weeks ago.

Because It just had to end like this.

I had gold. I had my life. only for it to be taken away minutes later, wrenched from my deserving and desiring hands.

Now my hands are empty. Empty like every other part of me. Empty like they've always been. Like they always will be.

I have no idea what expression I'm displaying. I feel numb; Victor, however, has an expression connoting that he's going to burst into tears and spontaneously combust at the same time. That expression doesn't last long though, it turns into a game face, a face ready for whatever is thrown at it. He directs those powerful eyes to me for a moment, speaking words that my own eyes are too weak to understand. After that he sprints in the direction of the judges panel, closely followed by Geodas.

He's going to solve my problems while I'm standing here wallowing in self pity, wasting 'precious' minutes of my life; my life that's months are numbered, weeks are numbered, days are numbered, hours are numbered, minutes are numbered, seconds are numbered.

Numbered. So numbered that I could pull out my phone and work out exactly how many months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds I have. But I wont do that because it'll probably make me start cutting it into my wrist again.

With a heavy sigh I decide I'll watch Victor's endeavours from afar so I leave the kiss and cry to get to the rink. 

Unfortunately reporters block my passage.

"Mr Katsuki! How do you feel about this turn of events?"

"No comment" God... they talk about it like it's some kind of reality show. This isn't 'a turn of events' this is my life's turn toward absolute shit.

"What are your thoughts on this years winner?"

"Nothing special. He was good." What I want to say is that it should have been me, I should be standing here with a gold disk hanging from my neck, they should be asking me how it feels to be the winner. It's not even because I want to be a winner, but because being a winner means I can have my life back from the clutches of that short, old Russian vampire that killed my dad and betrayed my fiancé.

"What are your plans for the next Grand prix?" At that question I just walk straight through the group of reporters, not caring about the foots I'm stepping on or the sides I'm elbowing or the bodies I'm shoving.

They don't need to know about the next GP because there is no next time. They can visit my gravestone if they have and questions of such nature this time next year. I'm sure I'll give them a great answer.

"Yuri!" I stop dead in my tracks and slowly turn to face no other than Otabek Altin who's smiling for the first time ever. I wounder if he would be smiling if he knew what he's done to me, if he knew that we'll never compete against eachother again due to this.

I can't even blame him. It's not his fault.  I can't return his smile even if I try but I also can't blame or hate him even if I try.

This happened because I'm not good enough. I lost to a skater that is simply better than me. That's what hurts the most.