Bluebeard's wife

Knowing you were wrong

Extracts from Yuuri Katsuki's diary, Evidence 02-15-19-27-40

It is over.

Funny how three little words can change the course of your life in a split second. Blink and you'll miss it.

During my first year we had this professor in psych 101 who had us write as many possible different sequences of words as we could manage without thinking too much. It started out words, and then it became sentences, then texts. A surrealistic train of thought, he called it, as if it weren't the greatest contradiction one could come across in a psychology class.

Write me a story in three words, he said. Make it simple, make it tragic, make me cry.

[...]

It is over.

I love you.

I hate you.

I miss you.

I don't care.

You are pathetic.

I am sorry.

Not worth shit.

This ends now.

Pull the trigger.

I dare you.

You fucking pig.

I'll kill you.

I can go on forever. I could have given him a haiku, one, two, a thousand if he had wished for them.

[...]

Three little words and I feel as if I've committed the worst crime in human history. Like I have borne witness to a death I myself am responsible for.

Phichit says it's for the best. Mom, Dad and Mari only just found out and I think they still have to process everything. I think we all do.

[...]

They say everything must come to an end, such is the nature of all things. Then why do I feel as if we were doomed for the start?

You should never meet your heroes. Because once you do they will crawl right inside your heart and make you their bitch. They will become a permanent fixture in your life and they will poison your blood and desecrate you and tear you to pieces until you are but a piece of your own jigsaw that will never come together.

[...]

I used to admire him, you know.

One moment he's screaming at me and the other he's holding me in his arms and telling me that I know he doesn't mean it that way. One moment I am soaring into the sky, floating right above ice, and the other I'm stumbling and he's looking the other way.

There's no way we can share the same name, no way I can be student to one Yuri Plisetsky, living legend of figure skating and five-time gold medallist if all of his hard work amounts to my failure.

There's not enough place on the ice for two Yuris.

There can only be one Yuuri Katsuki. I hope he comes to the realization there can't be a Yuri Plisetsky without me.

[...]

Now I see him everywhere I go, and yet I don't. I see ghosts of him, his features reflected in anyone whose path I cross. The small details, the more significant ones. I hate myself because everyday I lose sight of him, and it hurts more than I'd like to admit. You fall in love for a stranger, a face with whom you've barely exchanged more than ten nice words with in your life, and the next thing you know you're forgetting what he looks like, what his voice sounded like, the smallest tremors and the stronger, rougher notes.