victor knew he could quite easily get a hit from chris in a heartbeat if he asked - and that it would take away the edge, for at least a while - but he didn't pick up the phone and dial chris giacometti's number. instead, he stared blankly at the three words that had been popping up over and over again for the past five days since his party.
message not sent!
he almost threw his phone at the fucking wall in frustration. at this rate, the amount of cocaine he would need to shoot into his bloodstream to make it all seem better would result in an overdose.
look at what you've done.
look at what you've done, victor.
are you happy now?
are you happy that you hurt him?
is that what you wanted?
victor couldn't bear to think of the tears streaming down his yuri's face that night; every one in his eyes there because of what victor fucking nikiforov had said to hurt his angel.
he's not yours, victor.
you pushed him away.
you hurt him.
you broke his heart.
get over yourself, nikiforov.
victor picked up his phone to dial yuri's number again, with the smallest sliver of hope that he would have to hear "call ended. you have been blocked from communicating with this contact. for assistance, press 1" yet again.
but he did, and groaned aloud in anger. it was his fault; for being so selfish and uncaring, for wanting to
hurt his angel with the dark, dark hair and chocolate eyes.
all he wanted to do was hold him in his arms again and beg him to forgive him for every fucking word he had thrown at him in that study; for every fucking word that had made yuri katsuki's eyes fill with tears.
victor lay down on the same grey sofa had lain beside yuri katsuki on over a week ago and ran a hand grouch his hair; god, did it hurt for his arms to ache so much, and for his chest to be so tight as he thought over every fucking word he had said to hurt yuri katsuki.
and it was the silence that was killing him, not the toll of expensive sugar and endless cigarettes; two days before, victor had drunken himself nearly to a stupor, dialled jj's number and sworn, threatened and shouted down the line, so there was someone else who he had cut himself away from.
but victor couldn't care about him; whenever he thought of jj leroy, all he could see was his yuri under jj's hands, followed by the hurt in his chocolate eyes after victor hurt him.
victor didn't like the pain in his chest at the thought, and decided to do nothing more but drown it out with alcohol. chris was at some thing with jj again, so he wouldn't pick up his phone even if victor wanted coke. and although victor had enough cold money to buy it himself, he didn't feel like it.
alcohol was closer to him.
the sound of his phone ringing was isolated in the silence of his big, empty house, devoid of the smell of katsudon or the scent of bubblegum and feel of soft skin.
"hello?" victor said in voice hoarse from lack of sleep; the guilt of want to
hurt yuri katsuki having kept him awake at night in his big, lonely bed with empty, aching arms.
"u-um is this v-victor?" a small voice said down the phone quietly; a voice that victor didn't recognise,
"yeah," he said unsurely, his thin hopes of it being yuri dissolving when he realised it wasn't the soft voice he longed for that he could hear down the line.
he sat up straight. "who is this?"
"m-my name's phitchit," came the anxious reply down a crackling phone line, and victor remembered the name of the boy with caramel skin in a tight top in chris's penthouse, asking him how much he was willing to pay.
and he thought of yuri teasing him time and time again over "how much," and victor swallowed back the lump in his throat.
katsudon: talk later x
vnikiforov: did you just kiss me
katsudon: depends
vnikiforov: on what
katsudon: how much?
"oh. hi," victor said, confused. "wh-what do you want, phitchit? how did you get my number?"
"well, um," phitchit said, the line poor. "i-i asked chris for it last night. because i needed to talk to you. about yuri."
victor's knuckles went white around his phone at the mention of his angel's name, before the words came pouring out of his mouth down the phone line.
"you know yuri? god, is he ok? can i see him? do you know where he is now? god, i want to see him. fuck, i need to see him. tell me where he is, phitchit. has he said anything about me to you? about every fucking thing i said to hurt him? god, i want him to know i didn't mean a single fucking word, i - "
"victor, listen - " phitchit cut in, and victor could hear the worry in his voice.
panic set in.
"fuck, phitchit, is he alright? what's happened? is he alright? is he hurt? tell me, for fuck's sake, tell me what - "
"i had to get your number from chris because yuri deleted it," phitchit's words came in a stuttering hurry. "i tried to call you yesterday when he left his phone on, but i-i couldn't find your number. i wanted to call you because i'm worried about him, victor..."
victor could feel his body starting to seize up.
"...ever since that party of your, he hasn't been the same..."
victor could feel his chest start to tighten and his legs start to shake; he had hurt yuri katsuki, just like he had wanted to. all because he was hurting himself.
"a fucking whore."
"what do you mean?" he asked phitchit, his throat dry and voice thin. phitchit sighed on the other end of the phone, his voice trembling.
"i-i think he's cutting again, victor," he said quietly, and victor's felt his heart start to pound hard against his chest, as if he had just shot up with jj's credit card in hand.
look at what you've done, victor.
look at what you've fucking done.
"where is he now?" victor demanded, leaping to his feet, grabbing his keys, throwing open the door and slamming it behind him, voice high-pitched and breaking from the panic.
he had to tell him that he every fucking word was a lie, had to hold yuri katsuki in his arms and tell him how much he loved, wanted and appreciated him.
what was it you said again, victor?
"a fucking whore."
"th-that's what i'm worried about too," phitchit went on, stammering over his words. "w-we've been going to this hotel every n-night, and he always goes upstairs...with this same guy... and he doesn't come back home with leo or i, but comes back in the mornings. and he looks terrible. i-i don't know hats wrong wth him and i-i'm worried about him, victor. i keep thinking that he's going bad again, and that the pills aren't helping, and i don't know what he's doing all night with that guy..."
victor's hands were shaking, and he was panicking too much to cry the tears that were burning his eyes.
as if tears will erase this, victor.
look at what you've done.
look at what you've fucking done.
"i-i called you," phitchit went on, "b-because i read through his texts last week, the texts from you. a-and it seemed as if you loved him, and i was wondering if he had been acting different around you before the party...or...did you both have a fight on friday? is that what this is? v-victor..." phitchit trailed off, and victor stood in the middle of the street, shaking despite the evening's warmth.
"p-please help me...help him..i'm scared...after friday we found him crying on the floor, and then h-he just locked himself in the bathroom...didn't say anything...and i-it looks like there a-are bandages in his arms...h-he loves you, victor, i th-think...he was happier after you were t-talking to him...and th-the texts i-i saw from y-you made me think that you love him too...p-please talk to him...he won't talk to me anymore..."
"where is he now, phitchit?" victor asked, scarcely able to breathe. because instead of the rows of cars lined up along the street, he could only see a razor blade cutting into the soft skin he had wanted to feel under his hands and kiss to show how much more yuri was worth than sex.
"a fucking whore."
"phitchit where?" he shouted, and phitchit stammered out an answer.
"h-he's gone o-out upstairs again...w-with some guy...he keeps texting y-yuri...ever since we went to that h-hotel on m-monday...i d-don't know his name..."
"what does he look like?" victor demanded, getting desperate, panicking with razor blades, the scent of bubblegum and some stranger taking advantage of his yuri every night.
"i-i..." heard heard phitchit ask someone next to him who that man was, and recognised the voice replying almost immediately.
"put chris on the phone," victor almost shouted down the line, hands shaking as they gripped the steering wheel and turned the corner.
"victor? what's wrong? why are you shouting?"
"is yuri there?" he said, breathing quick and ineffective. "who's he with? i have to talk to him."
to tell him that i love him.
to tell him that he's worth so much more.
to tell him that he is loved, appreciated and wanted.
to tell him not to hurt himself over me.
"n-no..he's gone...um...upstairs..."
"with who?" victor screamed at chris in frustration, driving towards the hotel where hot-shots always met; if they told victor to meet hen at a hotel, it would be this one.
"i...victor i don't think you...want to know...i mean..."
"victor, wait - "
and outside the glimmering hotel, victor sat still as a statue in his car, as every fucking thing started to make sense.
"it's jj, right?" he asked in a voice that abandoned him, and the silence on the end of the line told him that he was right.
and now, god, was victor worried; his mind disbanded the images of razor blades across the soft skin with the scent of bubblegum and left him to the thought that had been creeping into his head since phitchit mentioned the name jj, and how yuri had been looking "terrible" and not coming home in the nights, staying up in the hotel room with a dark-haired man.
and victor thought of the two ruby red dots on jj's forearm, and how he had told victor he did it to "forget the pain for a while."
oh god.
yuri.
yuri, please no.
oh god, yuri.
look at what you've fucking done.
"chris what the fuck?" he tried to shout in a panic, but tears took the place of anger. victor ran out of his car, chris's words blurring in his ears, hung up and pushed through the doors of the hotel and ran into a marble-floored foyer, breathing heavily in a panic, thinking of his yuri pressing a needle into his arm to erase what he had said.
oh god, yuri.
please, no, yuri.
victor hoped to god that he had got it all wrong, and even prayed that jj was only using his angel for sex, and not injecting heroin into his bloodstream and leaving ruby red dots on his soft, sliced skin.
"victor?" chris said, hurrying up to him wth phitchit behind him in a shirt black coat. "w-what's the matter with you?"
"where is he?"