He keeps a journal to hold his darkest thoughts... Maybe it'll cure him of this illness? Apparently the one thing that might cure what plagues Yuuri's heart is Viktor himself.
What are the odds of the two of them meeting? Probably zero to nothing...
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"How come it feels like
my heart is not yet healed
by the pages in this book?"
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December 21 My name is Yuuri Katuski, 17 years. I'm not really sure how to start this but I have a feeling that you and I are going to get to know each other very well.
Ah, who am I kidding? I sound like an idiot already. Should I name you too??
Anyways, I'm supposed to fill you up with all my "thoughts and experiences" at least once every day. It's supposed to help me somehow...
I'm just not quite sure what to write at this moment. Good grief, it's like I'm writing instructions to you.
With an audible sigh, I shut the tan leather journal on my desk. Throwing aside my ink pen, I grab a fistful of my hair, clearly frustrated at everything and nothing. I shut my eyes in an attempt to block out the voices ridiculing me.
It's not working...
I slowly open one eye again and stare longingly at the door across my room, listening intently to the faded voices downstairs. I didn't even need a glance at the time to know that it was almost dinnertime.
I should probably be joining them.
But instead, I decide to ignore the protests of my stomach and climb off of the floor to flick off the lights. After placing my blue rimmed glasses on the bedside table, I jump onto the bed and bury my face deep into the familiar feeling of the pillows.
Don't leave me alone with my thoughts.
I inhale deeply and let a momentary feeling of content wash over me before the rush of reality crashed into me.
"Yuuri? You should come down and eat dinner before the food gets cold." Okaasan's voice was muffled from the other side as the sound of the knob jiggling hit me hard. I rushed under the covers faster than you could say, "Pork cutlet bowl" and faced the other side of the wall, faking sleep.
Keeping my eyes shut, I try to breathe as evenly as I could with the thud of my heart drowning out most of my mother's padded footsteps. I hear her stop just beside the bed as if she was taking a good look at me before brushing her fingers gently through locks of his hair.
Without saying a word, she sneaks out of my room and slowly shuts the door behind her with a final soft click. I wait silently for a moment as her footsteps receded before rolling onto my back.
Thank goodness she left. For a second I thought that she would drag me out of bed to eat.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
But I should, shouldn't I? Because it was clearly obvious about what problem I have. I refused to face it though, hoping it would slide back into its dark corner.
Clenching the soft blanket in my hands, I prepared myself for another night ridden with anxious dreams.
My name is Yuuri Katsuki, 17 years. And I have been diagnosed with depression.
