Change of Heart - Yuri Plisetsky x Reader

Chapter Twenty

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I sighed for what must've been the fifth time in ten minutes, gazing blankly at the ceiling.

I was thinking of Yuri - I couldn't keep my mind off him since the last time I'd seen him. Tick. Tick. Tick. The monotonous white noise fit perfectly with the hopeless sense of loss I felt as I laid there, floating away in an emotion not unlike hollowness, while simultaneously enveloped by sorrow. Tick. Tick.

Feeling fuzzy, I rolled over on my side to gaze out the window. The snow had melted months ago, so the scene outside was painted in much different shades than when I'd first seen it. The sky had clouded over. It was starting to rain, and that only provoked more troubling thoughts.

The date was April eleventh. I'd gotten out of the hospital early - Or, rather, my parents had pulled me out before they were supposed to. My condition before getting there hadn't been great - The doctor had to plug an IV in my arm, chalk-full of iron. I had been borderline anemic. But the worldwide competition was coming up soon, and rather than let me rest, my parents had decided that the best thing for me was to get back to practice.

It was a little counterintuitive, in my opinion.

Being free from the confines of a hospital bed, however, didn't free me from the watchful eye of my parents. Even after the cruel display I'd put on at the hospital, it seemed they still didn't trust me. To be fair, I hadn't given them any reason to, what with all of my lying and sneaking around. But at the same time, I really felt sort of trapped here. Every time I'd even considered the possibility of sneaking out to see Yuri, I ended up snuffing it out. You'll only get caught, I'd say to myself. You're leaving soon, anyway. Best not to put salt in the wound.

That didn't mean I wasn't thinking about him, though. And I felt so guilty for thinking of him, because I'd already given myself the "shape up" talk, where I'd convinced myself that my parents knew best and I should just do what they want me to, and I might as well just stop fantasizing about a life I would never have. And I still thought. And thought. And thought.

I'd kissed him. I'd kissed that boy full on the lips. Why did it go by so quickly? Why hadn't I savored it? If I'd known this was going to happen (which I should've), I'd have probably grabbed him by the shirt on tournament day and made out with him in front of everybody. Hell, I'd have done a whole lot more when we were alone... I'd have made him forget his own name.

It wouldn't have helped with the aftermath, though. I knew full well that it would still hurt just as much.

Refusing to let the tears begin to pool, I jerked myself up off the mattress and jumped onto the ground, blinking rapidly. I couldn't let myself cry - Not in front of them. I didn't want to give my parents that sort of power over me - Nor did I want them to think that I was being melodramatic.

The competition's in a week, I reminded myself, looking at my drooping figure in the mirror. Might as well get suited up.

Feeling blue (and annoyed at myself for feeling this way), I pulled on my uniform for the billionth time. I certainly didn't look like a fierce competitor. It didn't matter that I was short and weak-looking - Anybody with a brain cell knows that even the puniest of people could turn out to hold incredible power. No, it was more about the hopeless aura I put out - Droopy, frowning, looking tired and upset, I would hardly make an impression. There was no fighting spirit there; My entire presence must've reeked with the stink of someone who has completely given up.

On the bright side, though, at least I wasn't on the edge of passing out. I'd stood up so quickly, and I could still see to the other side of the room. Yay for me.