NOTE BEFORE READING: This chapter deals with some heavy topics, particularly depression, Yuri's grandmother's battle with (and subsequent death from) cancer, Yuri's abusive childhood, and his mother's alcholism and drug addiction. Nothing is particularly graphic, IMO, but some details are given. Also, Yuri says something that implies he was conceived by rape.
Chapter Seven
The alarm clock on his nightstand beeped at exactly five o'clock in the morning.
Yuri immediately reached over and slapped it off, wondering why he had even bothered to set it. He'd been awake since three, staring up at the ceiling and absent-mindedly petting a slumbering Potya as he had done almost every night since he returned from Moscow. His sleep schedule was all out of whack. He ended up drinking and napping his days away, only to find himself falling victim to insomnia at night.
Over a week had passed since the funeral. Yakov, in a rare stroke of kindness, told him he could take all the time he needed before coming back to training. For the first couple of days, Yuri seriously considered not returning to the ice at all, joining Mila in retirement. After all, he had his individual Olympic gold, had won everything there was to win – Nationals, the Grand Prix Final, Europeans, and Worlds – multiple times. He had mostly decided to keep competing because his sponsors wanted it and it wasn't as if he had any other employable skills anyway, but with Grandpa gone… Well, the money no longer seemed all that important.
But for the first time in what felt like forever, Yuri wanted to skate.
He tossed his blanket aside and climbed out of bed, Potya popping his head up in mild curiosity before curling into a ball and going back to sleep. As he grabbed some clothes at random from the dresser, Yuri wondered how many days had passed since he had last taken a shower. Probably at least a couple, judging by the whiff of his T-shirt he got as he yanked it over his head. Whatever. He was just going to sweat some more anyway; he'd take one later.
Yuri changed into a pair of leggings, a T-shirt, and an oversized sweatshirt that he was pretty sure belonged to Otabek and pulled his matted hair into a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. He made a concentrated effort to avoid glancing at his reflection in the mirror, knowing he looked like crap. After slipping on his running shoes, he grabbed his skate bag and left for the rink.
The rink didn't officially open until six, but Oleg, one of the rink's managers, unlocked the doors for him, offering his condolences with a sympathetic look on his usually grouchy face. Yuri thanked him and changed into his skates after doing some light stretches at the boards.
It was eerily quiet so early in the morning, the ice smooth and pristine, free of the scratches that would soon mar its surface. Yuri skated a couple of laps around the ice to warm-up, then attempted some jumps. Nothing too difficult – a couple of double axels, some easy triple toe-loops. He was out of practice, but the jumps still felt solid. That was good. He ended the warm-up with a couple of spins before stripping off Otabek's sweatshirt and tying it around his waist.
Skating back over to the boards, he took a drink from the bottle of water he had bought from the vending machine out front, then pulled out his phone, turning it back on. There was a text waiting for him from Otabek: Where are you going? It was dated that morning, right around the time Yuri had left.
Yuri was tempted to ignore it. He didn't want Otabek to worry, though, so he sent a quick text back, informing him that he was at the rink. Once that was done, he connected his phone to the rinkside Bluetooth speakers and found the song he wanted on his playlist, setting it on repeat.
He already had his new programs choreographed for next season, but he practiced neither of them. Instead, he started working on a new program, an exhibition dedicated to his grandfather's memory. The idea had been brewing in his mind for the past couple of days, bits and pieces of choreography coming to him in half-forgotten dreams. The first couple of times the song played, Yuri mainly skated around, getting a feel for the music and envisioning where he would put certain elements. The third time, he began working in earnest.
He frowned as he came to a stop at the end of the song's first verse, unsatisfied. The choreography was serviceable enough, but it was missing something that Yuri couldn't quite put his finger on. He began skating over to the boards to start the song over again, startled when he saw Otabek holding his phone.
Otabek paused the music. "I didn't think you were religious."
"I'm not. Not really." Yuri continued to skate over, taking the phone from Otabek's hand. He didn't elaborate beyond that, pretending to be preoccupied with checking his emails. He hadn't as much looked at his inbox since his return home; he dreaded having to go through all two hundred of them for real.
Maybe he would just send them all to the trash can... Most of it was spam anyway.
"It's good to see you back on the ice," Otabek said. "You're choreographing a new program?"
"Yeah, um, an exhibition. Gran—I mean, he always wanted me to skate to Ave Maria, so…"
"Will you show me what you got so far? I'd like to see."
"I just started, like, fifteen minutes ago. I don't really have anything worth showing yet."
"Oh, okay."
Yuri handed the phone back to Otabek. "Since you're here, can you take care of the music? It's a pain having to skate over every time I want to start or stop."
"Yeah, sure."
He skated back to the center of the ice and took his starting position, but no music came out of the speakers. After about a minute of waiting, Yuri relaxed his arms and frowned. His phone was charged; there shouldn't be a problem. "Beka, music!"
"Can we talk?" Otabek asked, completely disregarding what Yuri said.
"Right now?" Yuri placed his hands on his hips. "Can't it wait till later?" There wasn't much time left before other skaters would start arriving for the first practice session of the day. He wanted to at least have some idea of where he was going to block his jumps and spins by then.
"Will your door be unlocked tonight?"
Yuri didn't say anything, crossing his arms and staring down at the ice.
"Mila and I are worried about you, Yura," Otabek said. "You won't answer your door, you won't answer your phone…"
"I reply to your texts." Sometimes.
"Yura, what's going on?"
Sighing, Yuri skated back over to the boards and took another gulp from his bottle of water. "I'm fine," he said, swiping his arm over his mouth. "I…just haven't felt up for company, that's all."
"Is that all we are? Company?"
Inwardly, Yuri cringed. That didn't come out the way he intended. "No, of course not. I just meant... Sorry."
"Have you been avoiding me?" Otabek asked after a long pause. "Because of what happened that night?"
"What?" Yuri looked up, his eyes widening. "No!"
In truth, he had barely thought about the night they spent together at all since his return to St. Petersburg, his mind consumed by other things. They had sex; it was a thing that had happened. It had freaked him out a little at first, sure, but he was mostly over it. Like Otabek had said the next morning, nothing had to change between them because of what they had done.
"Oh. Good." Otabek stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "I, um, really do think we should talk, though. You know, about what happened at the reception? We don't have to do it right now, or even today. I don't want to force you if you're not ready, but…"
"Yeah, I know." Yuri set his water bottle down, leaning against the boards on folded arms. He had known he couldn't avoid the subject forever. "Give me a little more time, okay, Beka? About my mother… I never told anybody, not even Grandpa. It's…not an easy thing to talk about."
"Of course. I'm sorry. Take all the time you need. There's no rush." Otabek moved closer, pressing his lips against Yuri's forehead. "Will you at least come by for dinner tonight, though? Mila's making lasagna – one of Sara's recipes – and, well, she really is worried about you. A lot."
"I don't know. I'll think about it," Yuri said, unable to promise anything more than that. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate a full meal that hadn't come out of the microwave, but he wasn't sure if he was up to socializing just yet. "I should get back to work."
"Oh, okay." Otabek lingered a moment longer, as if waiting for Yuri to invite him to stay and watch. When he didn't, he sighed and dropped his shoulders. "I'll see you later, then. Sorry for interrupting."
It took another week before Yuri began feeling somewhat "normal" again. The grief was still there, always lurking underneath the surface, but with each passing day, it hurt a little less. Working on the new exhibition program helped. Though he only sporadically showed up for official sessions with Yakov, Oleg continued to open the rink early for Yuri, allowing him the privacy to choreograph and practice his Ave Maria program without having to deal with his peers giving him those sad, pitying looks Yuri had come to loathe so much since his return to the ice.
Otabek was the only witness to those secret practices, sneaking in about halfway through when he arrived early for his own practice and watching from the boards. He never said much, but Yuri appreciated the quiet support, especially after the first full run-through he did of the program resulted in him breaking into uncontrollable sobs in the middle of the ice, overwhelmed with emotion. Otabek, still in his street shoes, had made his way to where Yuri had collapsed to his knees and held him until his cries subsided.
Since that first day, Otabek hadn't pushed him to talk any more about his past, for which he was grateful. A couple of nights after his mid-ice breakdown, however, Yuri decided he was finally ready to rip the bandage off the wounds of his childhood and headed next door.
He stared at the door to Otabek's and Mila's apartment, raised hand frozen in mid-air. To simply enter their apartment unannounced, as if nothing had happened and it was just another day, seemed inappropriate after spending the past two weeks with his own door on almost permanent lockdown, but knocking felt too impersonal, like he was nothing more than an acquaintance coming for a visit.
In the end, he decided to knock anyway, inhaling a breath before rapping his fist against the door.
It was Mila, clutching a sketchbook against her chest, who answered, her eyes widening when she saw him in the hall.
"Yura?" She immediately moved to hug him, squeezing him tightly. "Oh, my god, I'm so happy to see you," she said. "How are you feeling? I've been so worried."
"Um…better, I guess? Sorry, I…"
Shaking her head, Mila pulled back. "No, it's okay," she said. "I know it's been a tough couple of weeks for you." She frowned, bringing her free hand to caress his cheek. "Have you been eating? You look like you've lost some weight."
"Not as much as you've gained," he quipped on reflex, bringing his hand to his mouth when he realized what he said.
Mila stared at him for a long moment before she burst into giggles, motioning for him to come inside. "I've never been so relieved to hear that," she said, closing the door behind him. "If you're making fat jokes, you must be feeling better."
"Sorry, I didn't mean… You look great."
She really did. In the two weeks since he last saw her, her bump had become much more prominent, her T-shirt stretched almost to its limit. It probably wouldn't be too much longer before she was forced to switch to proper maternity clothes.
Mila smiled, placing a hand on her belly. "Thanks. She's getting bigger, and more active, too. Beka finally got to feel her kicking last week. He says she's probably going to be a football player, but I'm still hoping she'll pick up hock—Oh!"
"What? Is something wrong?" he asked, memories of her previous miscarriage scare flashing in his mind.
She laughed. "No, I think she hears me talking about her. She just started kicking up a storm." Mila rubbed the area just underneath her ribcage on her right side. "Do you want to feel?"
"Oh… Um…"
"Come on, it feels really cool." She reached for Yuri's right hand, guiding him over to the couch and placing his palm over the spot where her hand had been. "Do you feel anything? You can push down a little if you need to."
The baby was kicking hard enough that that wasn't necessary. Yuri easily made out the soft thumping movements. "Y-Yeah." It actually was pretty cool, the corners of Yuri's mouth curling into his first real smile in weeks. "Wow..." he murmured, entranced by the movement. She really was kicking up a storm in there! He couldn't help but laugh at a particularly strong kick, thinking Otabek might be right about her future as footballer. "Does it hurt?"
"Every once in a while, but it hasn't been too bad so far," Mila said. "Hey, do you know who that is, baby?" she asked her bump, her voice softer and slightly higher pitched than usual. "It's Yura! He's your…" She looked up at Yuri, tilting her head to the side. "What do you want to be called? We haven't really discussed it yet, have we? Do you wanna be Uncle Yura? Papa Yura?"
"Oh." His smile fading, Yuri removed his hand from Mila's belly, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie along with the other one. "I, um... Hey, what's that?" None-too-subtly changing the subject, he nodded at the sketchbook she had set aside on the coffee table. It was opened to a sketch of what appeared to be a girl's skating costume – a sleek black one-shouldered dress with a lace sleeve, asymetrical hemline, and a "cut-out" of illusion fabric on the opposite side of the model's abdomen, outlined with crystals.
"That? It's a design I've been working on for Kira Trusova, that quad-jumping junior Yakov recently began coaching," she said, grabbing the sketchbook and handing it over to Yuri so he could have a better look. "I've actually been thinking of getting into costume design now that I'm retired. I know Mama thinks I should start coaching, but I'm not really sure I'm cut out for it, you know? I think designing skating costumes is more my thing. I'm good at sewing, and I always enjoyed helping out with the designs of my own costumes, so..." She bit down on her lip when Yuri began flipping through the pages, looking at some of her other sketches. "What do you think? Are they any good?"
"They're not just good – they're great," Yuri said.
And he wasn't just saying that. He wasn't the type to sugar-coat things when asked for an opinion – Mila had real talent. Of course, she always had amazing costumes when she was skating competitively, but her new designs blew those out of the water – bold and innovative, not the same old cookie-cutter looks that most everybody else wore.
"You really think so?"
"Yeah, these designs are fanta–" He paused when he flipped to the next page.
It was one of the few costumes Mila had designed for a male skater, the model very obviously based on himself. Much more simple than her other designs, the cosume consisted of light grey pants and a draped ombre shirt, grey at the neckline and gradually fading to white. There was only a smattering of clear rhinestone crystals around the cuffs of the sleeves and near the shoulders, but that was all the bling it needed.
"Oh! You weren't meant to see that yet. It's not quite finished."
"Did Beka tell you?" Yuri asked, knowing without asking that the costume was meant for his new Ave Maria exhibition.
"Yeah." She slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, crap, was it meant to be a secret?"
"No, not really." At least not from her. He did want to keep the new program underwraps from the rest of the skating world until he debuted it at his first Grand Prix event, but he didn't mind if Mila knew. In fact, he should have known Otabek would have likely told her. "It's fine. Just don't tell anybody else."
"My lips are sealed," she promised, miming zipping her mouth. "Anyway, don't feel obligated to wear one of my designs if you don't want to. I just felt inspired when I heard about your new program and started sketching. It's fine if you already have something else in mind."
Yuri stared back down at the design, fingers lightly brushing over the drawing. It had a different style and vibe than what he normally wore on the ice, but the more he studied it, the more he realized it was the perfect costume for his program. "No, I love it," he said softly. "Thank you."
"Really?" She seemed surprised. "I can make changes if you want. My original idea was to do an all-white costume – you know, like an angel – but those have a tendency to blend in with the ice, so I thought it might be better to go with a light grey instead. If you do want to go completely white, though, we could try going with a more creamy –"
"No, no changes. This is the costume I want," he insisted, handing the sketchbook back to her. "I'll need it ready by October. Will you be able to get it done in time?"
Mila smiled. "Absolutely! Come on, let me get your measurements."
She pulled him up from the couch and grabbed her measuring tape from her sewing kit, scribbling down his various measurements on a scrap piece of paper as she worked.
"So, hey, is Beka around?" Yuri asked while Mila measured his inseam, remembering the main reason why he had come over in the first place. "I wanted to talk to him about something." Normally, Otabek would have joined them if he had heard Yuri's voice or at least had said a quick "hello" if he was busy with something else. Maybe he was in the shower?
"Ah, you just missed him. He left about fifteen minutes ago. Denis wasn't feeling well, so he asked Beka to fill in for him at the club last minute."
"Just for a set, or the whole night?"
"Only a set. He said he'd probably be back around eleven," Mila said, standing back up when she finished. Even with her growing bump, she was still able to get up and down easily, as graceful as she had been on the ice. "Feel free to stay and wait for him if you want. I was thinking about heating up some leftovers from dinner when you knocked. I made plenty if you want some."
"No, uh, that's okay. I'll just talk to him later, I guess," Yuri said. "Are those all the measurements you need?"
She jotted down the final number and looked over the list one more time. "Yeah, that should be it!"
"Then I'm gonna go. See ya."
"Yura, wa—"
The door closed behind him, cutting off the rest of what Mila was about to say.
Yuri went back to his own apartment next door, plopping stomach-first onto his couch with no regard to the fact that Potya had already claimed it. Hopping down to the floor, the cat let out a hiss before running off and climbing up the elaborate cat tower standing in the corner of the room.
"Sorry, didn't see you there," Yuri said, sighing as he buried his head in his arms.
Dammit, why did Otabek have to be busy when he finally felt ready to discuss things? He just wanted to get it over with, to put his past behind him once and for all.
Yuri dug his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. Still over half an hour before Otabek was expected home. He could sit around and wait for him to return, but Yuri had too much pent-up energy. He headed to his bedroom instead, changing out of his jeans and sweatshirt.
Usually when he hit the club, Yuri took much more care with his appearance, pulling together a stylish outfit and making certain his hair and eye make-up were Instagram-perfect, but this time he didn't bother with the effort. Ripped black jeans and the vintage rock T-shirt Mila had given him for his birthday were good enough, Yuri running a brush through his hair. Combat boots and sunglasses completed the look.
When he stepped outside, he blinked, surprised that it was still light out so late at night. It took Yuri a moment to remember that St. Petersburg was experiencing its annual White Nights, when the sun never set. He pushed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose and started walking down the street.
The club where Otabek was working was quite a distance away, but he decided against driving, the walk giving him some time to think about what he was going to say to Otabek. By the time Yuri arrived at the club, it was already close to the end of Otabek's set. The bouncer – a good friend of Mila's named Maksim – waved him through at the entrance, the pulsating sound of one of Otabek's most popular remixes greeting him as soon as he stepped inside.
It looked to be one of the club's slower nights. Usually the place was jam-packed, but Yuri supposed the White Nights kept the usual crowd away from nightclubs, people preferring to take advantage of the extended daylight hours instead. He managed to find a spot near the DJ booth, leaning back against the graffiti-covered brick wall, hands stuffed in his pockets, to wait for Otabek to finish.
It took Otabek a few minutes to become aware of Yuri's presence, his eyes closed as he grooved along to the song he was listening to through his headphones, checking the levels. When he finally opened them, a rare expression of surprise crossed his face when he spotted Yuri, his hands reaching up to pull his headphones off his ears and down to rest around his neck. Yuri gave him a brief wave, Otabek shooting back their usual "thumbs up" before announcing to the small, yet enthusiastic, crowd when his next gig was scheduled and transitioning to the final song in his set.
As soon as the set ended and he received his pay from the club's manager, Otabek made his way over to Yuri. "Hey, I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight," he said, a small smile on his face. "It's good to see you getting out more. Want to stay for the next set? It's Dina, and I know you always like her –"
"I didn't come here for fun, Beka," Yuri said, cutting him off and pushing himself off the wall. "I-I think I'm ready to talk. You know, about her." There was no need to clarify who the "her" in question was. "Can we get out of here?"
"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. Come on."
Otabek took Yuri's hand, leading him out the back entrance reserved for employees and guest deejays. A couple of bartenders on break waved good-bye as they exited the building, Yuri coughing and fanning away the smoke of their cigarettes with his free hand as they passed by.
"Did you drive?" Otabek asked, stopping to glance around the small parking lot.
"No. Walked."
"We'll take my bike then."
He pulled Yuri in the direction of his motorcycle, handing him the spare leopard-print helmet to put on before pulling out his phone to text Mila and let her know he was going to be out later than expected. When he finished, Otabek put the phone back in his pocket and fastened his own helmet securely over his head.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked, mounting the bike in one smooth motion. "Back to your place?"
Shaking his head, Yuri climbed behind Otabek and wrapped his arms around his waist. He was tired of hanging around his apartment. A change of scenery might do him some good. "You choose," he said. "Somewhere private."
Otabek nodded his understanding, revving the engine and taking off.
Finding "somewhere private" proved to be a more difficult task than Yuri expected. Even at midnight, people were still out and about, enjoying the extended daylight hours. Letting out a sigh, Yuri watched the happy, laughing pedestrians as they drove by and wondered if he would ever feel like that again. He was slowly breaking free of the funk he had been in ever since his grandfather's death, but it still felt like he had a long way to go before the sadness fully disappeared – if it ever did.
They drove around for quite a while. After stopping at a couple of their usual hang-outs and finding them less than secluded, Otabek headed more toward the outskirts of the city. He seemed to have a certain destination in mind, but Yuri had no idea where, the streets becoming less and less familiar the longer they drove. He was beginning to think that maybe they should have gone back to his apartment after all when Otabek's bike came to a stop.
Yuri furrowed his brow in confusion when he saw where they were. "A...playground?"
"Is that okay with you?" Otabek asked, kicking down his stand and taking off his helmet. "I thought a playground would be a good choice since most kids should be asleep by now, but we can look for some place else if you want."
"No, it's fine." Yuri didn't really care. At least it was deserted. He climbed off the back of Otabek's bike and took off his own helmet.
Yuri experienced a curious case of deja vu as they walked over to the nearby swing set. He was almost certain he had never visited this particular playground before – there hadn't been much spare time for playing once he moved to St. Petersburg and began training under Yakov – yet somehow he distinctly remembered the rainbow-colored monkey bars and the bright yellow slide that twisted into a couple of loops.
"This is where I shot the photograph that earned me the honorable mention in that contest last year," Otabek said, answering Yuri's unasked question. "One of the novices at the rink recommended it to me when I was looking for a subject to fit the 'childhood' theme."
"Oh. Right." So that's why it looked so familiar.
He took a seat in one of the swings, Otabek casually leaning against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest.
Yuri didn't say anything at first, staring down at the clenched hands in his lap as he gathered his thoughts. Otabek already knew some things and had probably inferred the rest of the story based on what happened at the funeral, but unsure where to even begin, he decided he might as well start from the very beginning.
"My mother discovered she was pregnant with me when she was only sixteen years old," he began. "At the time, she was a budding pop star, signed to one of the major labels. She'd put out a single that reached number five on the charts and was about to release her debut album, but when the pregnancy scandal broke out..." He scoffed. "Well, it's no surprise they dropped her. A teenage pregnancy didn't exactly fit into the virginal, girl-next-door image they had been trying to promote, after all.
"To this day, nobody knows who knocked her up. She told Grandma and Grandpa that it was just some random guy she met at the release party for her single, that she didn't even remember his name, but, um..."
Yuri pressed his lips together, swallowing hard. He had a theory about who his biological father might be, one that he had pieced together from the scant scraps of information his mother had divulged over the years. The one time Yuri had innocently asked about him, wanting to know what happened to him and why he didn't live with them, she had slapped him so hard that one of his loose baby teeth fell out and made him promise never to bring up the subject of his father ever again. There were times during her drunken rages, though, when she would let some things slip, things that Yuri only really began to understand when he was older.
"Yura?"
He again clenched his hands, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans. A part of him didn't even want to voice his suspicion aloud, afraid to even acknowledge the possibility himself, but Yuri had resolved to tell Otabek everything about his past, no matter how dark or terrible. "I...think he was a bad man, Beka," he admitted, his voice strained. "Someone who...hurt her."
Otabek's dark eyes widened when he realized the implication behind Yuri's words. "You mean, he –"
"I-I don't know for certain." Yuri glanced away. "It's not like I have any proof or anything. It's just something I suspected sometimes. Whoever it was, though, I don't care. It doesn't matter. He's not my father.
"Anyway, things were rough," he continued, pushing all thoughts of the man who had impregnated his mother back to the dark recesses of his mind where they belonged. "My mother was pregnant, and my grandma…" He sighed, his hands wrapping around the thick chains of the swing. "She'd been diagnosed with breast cancer the year before. Grandpa told me that the primary reason my mother was so desperate to become a singer was to help pay for Grandma's medical bills. I don't know if that's true or not, but... In any case, the original plan was to put me up for adoption. My mother was too young and finances too tight after her record deal fell through to deal with another mouth to feed. My grandparents thought it would be for the best."
"What changed?"
Yuri shrugged. He had spent a lifetime asking himself that very same question, with no answer to be found. "Apparently, when the time came, she refused to give me up. Maybe some small part of her really did love me... I don't know.
"Grandpa said she did try to be a good mother, at least for the first year. We lived with him and Grandma in that small apartment, and my mother got a job working as a waitress. Grandma even went into remission for a little while, but a few months after my first birthday, the cancer came back, more aggressive than before.
"That's when my mother 'went wild', as Grandpa put it. She started skipping out on her shifts and staying out all night, drinking and doing drugs with her loser boyfriends. She basically forgot about me, leaving Grandpa to take care of his terminally ill wife and baby grandson almost all on his own, on top of working long hours at the factory." Reminded of how much his grandfather had done for him, Yuri's eyes watered, and he fought back a sniffle, rubbing his finger underneath his nose. "I-I don't know how he did it, honestly."
Otabek moved to stand behind him, placing his hands on Yuri's shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze. "Your grandfather was a remarkable man."
"Yeah," Yuri whispered, leaning back against Otabek. "He was the best."
A long moment passed in silence as Yuri collected himself once again before continuing with the story.
"Grandma passed away about eight months later. At her funeral, my mother showed up drunk and high as a kite." Not unlike Grandpa's funeral, he thought bitterly. "That was the last straw. After the burial, she and Grandpa got into a huge fight. He wanted her to clean up her act, but she insisted that she was fine, that she was an adult now and he couldn't tell her what to do anymore. Later on that night, she ran away from home, taking me with her."
"I don't understand," Otabek said. "She clearly wasn't interested in being a proper mother, so why didn't she leave you with your grandfather?"
"The hell if I know!" Yuri jumped up from the swing, pushing the hair out of his face as he began pacing. "Everybody would have been a lot happier if she'd –" He paused mid-step, inhaling a deep breath to calm himself. If he let himself get too worked up, he would probably never be able to finish the rest of the story. "I don't know much about what happened over the next couple of years," he said in a softer voice, wrapping his arms around himself. "Grandpa tried his best to find us, but he didn't have much luck. I think we probably moved around a lot at first, shacking up with whatever boyfriend she happened to have at the time.
"Eventually, though, we got our own apartment. Don't ask me how she got the money to afford it. I don't remember her having any kind of regular job. She was probably either selling drugs or her body – maybe even both.
"I'm not really sure when the, uh..." His eyes again teared up, Yuri swiping a hand over his cheek. "When, um... Dammit!"
It was harder than he expected to even say the word "abuse". Walking over, Otabek wrapped his arms around Yuri and pulled him close.
"Hey, it's okay," he said, kissing Yuri's temple. "You don't have to tell me the details if it's too painful for you. I don't need to know everything."
Yuri shook his head. "I want to tell you." He needed to tell somebody. He had kept it a secret for far too long, the anger and shame bubbling inside him for years, ready to burst. "I-I don't know when it started, exactly," he began again, pulling away from Otabek's embrace. "The first time I clearly remember it happening, I think I was four? Maybe five? I remember the day before, she'd promised to take me to the zoo to see the tigers, but that morning, she was hungover and didn't want to get out of bed. I kept bugging her and bugging her to get up until I just started bawling. That's when...um...she smacked me across the face, telling me to 'shut the fuck up'."
Yuri glanced over at Otabek. He was clenching his jaw, his hands balled tightly into fists at his side, but he didn't say anything, allowing Yuri to continue his story uninterrupted.
"She apologized right away, said she didn't mean it, that it had only been an accident. To make it up to me, she took me to the zoo after all, and she bought me this humongous stuffed tiger that was almost as big as I was," he said, letting out a bitter chuckle. "That's what she usually did when it happened. Apologized, then gave me something I wanted if I promised not to tell anybody what she had done. I was just a dumb kid back then, so of course I agreed. In a weird way, her giving me gifts made me feel...loved, I guess, even when she was hurting me. Pretty stupid, huh?"
"No, not stupid," Otabek said. "Every kid wants their parent's love."
"Yeah, I guess." Yuri sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he turned his back to Otabek. "It's not like it was a constant thing. If things were going well with her current boyfriend, she usually didn't drink as much, and when she wasn't drunk, she almost passed for a decent mother. But when she was single or going through a break-up..." He closed his eyes behind his sunglasses, willing himself to hold it together for a little while longer. "It was mostly slaps, sometimes spankings. It's not like she was beating me black-and-blue. I know there are kids out there who have gone through a lot wor–"
"Yura, your mother abused you. Just because it didn't leave any physical marks doesn't mean your pain was any less."
"I-I know."
"Was... Was she the only one? Who hurt you?" Otabek hesitantly asked, looking away when Yuri turned back around. "After all, you mentioned she had a lot of boyfriends..."
It took Yuri a moment to realize the hidden implication behind his question. "You think I was molested? Because I'm asexual?"
"No! I mean – Maybe?" Sighing, Otabek ran a hand through his uppercut. "I would be lying if I admitted the thought hadn't crossed my mind before."
Yuri supposed he couldn't blame Otabek for suspecting something like that. "No, nobody hurt me like that. Nobody 'turned' me ace," he said. "Some of her boyfriends were real bastards, but...not in that way. Sometimes they did hit us, though, me and her. My mother was a victim, too.
"I should probably feel sorry for her, shouldn't I?" He kicked at a rock near his foot. "I don't, though. I don't fucking care if that makes me a bad person, or whatever. She was my mother." Yuri's voice raised both in pitch and volume, cracking and straining against the tears that were threatening to break through. "She was supposed to love me, to protect me. She chose to bring me into this world, to keep me even when everybody told her to give me up, so why? Why? Why couldn't she just –"
At that point, he couldn't hold it in any longer. A sob ripped through his throat, Otabek rushing over to embrace him.
"Dammit, I was only a kid! How could she...?" Yuri dug his fingers into the fabric of Otabek's T-shirt, the rest of his story coming out in broken gulps, a half-coherent mess. "She never really wanted me, Beka. I h-heard...that night. She said...she said she wished she had gotten an abortion. I was nothing but...an in-inconvenience to her. When he demanded... She chose him over me...when that prick didn't even love her. She gave me away so easi– I hate her. She's my mother, but I fucking hate her! If she didn't want me... If I reminded her of... She shouldn't have kept me. Why did she...?"
Otabek tightened his embrace around Yuri. He didn't say anything, but no words were necessary, his calm, supportive presence all that Yuri needed. He continued crying into Otabek's T-shirt, his body shuddering as he released all his pent-up emotions.
"Sorry, I..." Yuri pulled away after a while, using his own shirt to blow his runny nose in lieu of a tissue. "I probably look like shit, huh?"
"Are you okay?" Otabek asked. He used his thumbs to wipe away the remnants of tears on Yuri's face, his touch soft and gentle.
"Yeah." Sniffling, he forced himself to look up. "Yeah, I'm fine."
As much as he hated to admit it, it had been cathartic to finally let it all out. He'd carried around the secret for far too long. Otabek frowned, not seeming convinced, but he brought his hands back down and jerked his head to the left.
"There's a store just across the street. Want something to drink? Eat?"
"I wouldn't say 'no' to a Diet Coke, I guess," Yuri said with a shrug, his throat dry and parched. Beer would be even better, but shops in St. Petersburg weren't allowed to sell liquor after 11 p.m. – an idiotic ordinance, in Yuri's opinion.
"Okay." Otabek squeezed his hand. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes," he promised before jogging off to the store.
While he was gone, Yuri plopped back down in the swing with a weary sigh, unconsciously kicking off with his legs. The chains of the swing squeaked under his weight, his loose hair flying every which way in the wind as he swung back and forth. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine his grandpa was standing behind him, pushing him forward with every swing at his command of "Higher, higher!"...
"Need me to push?"
Yuri, recognizing the voice that was not his grandfather's, dragged the heel of his boots across the sand underneath him, the memory fading away as he braked to a stop.
"Here. They were out of the diet kind, so I got you a regular Coke," Otabek said, pulling a can out of the plastic bag hanging from his arm and holding it out to him. "I assume you don't mind?" There was a slight smirk on his lips, Otabek well aware of Yuri's love for the forbidden soft drink.
"Yeah, thanks." Yuri accepted the offered drink and pulled back the tab. He barely tasted it as he took a small sip.
Otabek sat down on the empty swing beside him and twisted off the cap on the bottle of water he had bought for himself. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, although Yuri sensed Otabek had something on his mind, noticing that he kept glancing over at him, barely even touching his drink.
"Just spit it out already, Beka," Yuri said with a roll of his eyes after the fourth time he had caught him doing it. It wasn't like Otabek to be so reluctant to speak up. His straight-forwardness was one of the things Yuri had always liked best about him.
Otabek took a sip of his water before swiping his arm over his mouth and twisting the cap back on. "Maybe...it would be good for you to talk to someone?" he suggested. "You know, about all this?"
Yuri frowned. "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"
"Yes, but... You know what I mean – a professional, someone who can help you deal with the things that happened to you."
"I don't want to deal with it," he said, hopping up from the swing to toss his half-empty can of Coke into a nearby trash can. Turned out he wasn't as thirsty as he thought. "I just want to forget about it and move on with the rest of my life."
"Yura..." Otabek walked over to join him. "Your mother isn't the only reason why I think it would be good to try therapy. You've been...really down lately," he said, resting his hands on Yuri's upper arms. "Even before your grandfather died... You haven't been acting like yourself."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
"It's getting late," Yuri said, shrugging Otabek's hands away. "We should start heading back, or else Mila will freak out."
He began walking back to Otabek's motorcycle, but Otabek remained rooted in place. "It's the baby, isn't it?" he asked. "The reason why you've seemed so closed off these last few months?"
Yuri slowed to a stop and closed his eyes, cursing Otabek's intuition. Hadn't he already shared enough of his secrets for one night? He just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and get some sleep. Confiding to Otabek about his childhood had taken more out of him than Yuri expected.
Yet...
"What if I end up like her?" he found himself asking, his voice barely above a whisper.
"W-What? Yura, you're not your mother."
"How can you be so certain?" Yuri pivoted back around. "I have a temper – you know that. And I like to drink. I try to control it now, because I know it's not good for my skating, but what happens when I retire and there's nothing to stop me from boozing my life away like her? People always say addiction is hereditary. What if one day I get in a drunken rage and h-hurt..." He couldn't even say the rest aloud, dropping his gaze down to his feet.
"Yura..."
Yuri shook his head, taking a step back when Otabek moved toward him. "Don't say it won't happen. You can't predict the future, Beka, and I…" He inhaled a deep breath, gathering the courage to finally say what he should have told him months ago. "I don't think I can do it."
"What are you saying?" Otabek asked, eyes wide. "You don't want to raise the baby with me and Mila?"
"It's for the best." Truthfully, he never should have agreed to the idea in the first place. He had known from the start it wouldn't work out. "You're gonna be a father soon. You have to put your daughter's welfare first. I'd never forgive myself if I – if something happened."
"You can't live the rest of your life afraid of something that 'might' happen."
"I'm not –"
"You are." Otabek once again moved toward him. "You're right. It's possible you will follow in your mother's footsteps – I'm not denying that possibility exists – but for what it's worth, I don't think you will."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Do you remember what you said to me that night," Otabek asked, "when we first found out?"
Yuri shook his head. "Not really." That had been months ago, after all.
"You said that if we decided to keep the baby, we should never let it feel like it was a mistake." To Yuri's surprise, a soft smile crossed Otabek's lips. "Those words really stuck with me, you know? I think it's possible you loved our daughter even before Mila and I did."
"What the hell are you talking about? I –" Yuri clenched his hands into tight fists, his fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. "I didn't want Mila to keep the baby," he confessed. "I...I was scared things would change between us if she did."
"Hey, we were all scared, I think. Yet you were the only one who was thinking of the baby. Mila was worried about what would happen to her skating career, and I...didn't really know what to think, but you..." He brought a hand to Yuri's cheek. "I didn't really understand it at the time, but now I realize why you said that. You didn't want the baby to go through what you did, right?"
"Don't make me sound like some kind of noble hero," Yuri said, slapping Otabek's hand away from his face. "Did you even hear what I said? I wanted Mila to abort your baby. Why aren't you angry about that? How can you still –"
"We all thought about it. If I hated you for that, I would have to hate myself and Mila, too."
"Yeah, but..." It wasn't the same.
"You love her. I know you do," Otabek insisted. "Even now, you're willing to walk away from us just to keep her safe. If that's not love, then I don't know what is. That's how I know you won't turn into your mother – because you won't allow yourself to hurt her."
"That's not a fuckin' guarantee!" he shouted.
"No, it's not." Otabek's voice rose in volume to match his, expressing anger for the first time that night. "It's not a guarantee, but it's good enough for me to believe in you, so tell me, why the hell won't you believe in yourself?"
Yuri had no answer to that, the accusation hitting like a slap to the face. "I-I...don't know."
Maybe Otabek was right; maybe he did need professional help. This wasn't like him – even he could recognize that. The usual Yuri was someone who took challenges head on, who fought like hell to achieve his goals and went after the things he wanted. Yet, lately, he'd been a passive actor in his own life, so afraid of losing what he had that he kept pushing everyone away instead.
"Look, Yura, if you truly don't want a life with us and the baby, I understand," Otabek said softly, reaching for Yuri's hands and bringing their foreheads together. "I want you to be happy, even if it means...even if it means losing what we have. But if you're just running away because you're afraid of turning into your mother..."
"But what if I do?" Otabek could say that he believed he wouldn't all he wanted, but that didn't make it true. "What happens if I do follow in her footsteps?"
"Then Mila and I will step in and stop you." He gave Yuri's hands a firm squeeze. "You're not alone. If we ever feel like you're starting to lose control, then we will support you and get you any help you need."
Yuri sucked in a shaky breath. "You will?"
"Of course. I promise." Otabek brought one of Yuri's hands to his mouth, brushing his lips across his knuckles. "So, what do you say?" he asked. "Do you still want to be a part of our family?"
Yuri thought back to earlier that evening, when he had felt the baby kicking against Mila's belly. For the first time, he had been genuinely happy about the pregnancy, no longer thinking of the baby as an interloper in his relationship with Otabek, but as a source of...joy. Real and actual joy! He finally felt connected to the baby in a way he hadn't when simply seeing her image on the ultrasound, something that Yuri feared might never happen.
It still scared him, the thought that he might one day continue the cycle of abuse. So many "what ifs" ran through Yuri's mind, but at the end of the day, that's all they were: what ifs. Nobody knew the future. His future was his to create, and Yuri finally realised what he wanted that future to be.
A life with Otabek, Mila, and the baby – the family that he chose.
"Yeah, I do," he whispered, wrapping his arms around Otabek. "I really do. So, so much."
Otabek hugged him back, holding Yuri tightly in his strong embrace.
The two of them stayed like that until the soft ping of Otabek's cellphone disrupted the moment. Otabek pulled back to check the text message.
"Mila?" Yuri guessed.
"Yeah, wanting to know where we are." He typed a short reply, then slid the phone back in his pocket. "We really should head back. It's getting pretty late."
"Yeah."
Not that anyone could tell. The sky was slightly darker than it had been when they had first arrived at the park, but it still didn't look much later than early evening. The late hour was beginning to get to Yuri, though. He hid a yawn behind his hand as they walked back to the motorcycle, his other arm slung around Otabek's waist.
"Hey, Beka?"
"Yeah?"
"You won't tell her, will you?"
"Mila?"
Yuri shook his head as they reached the motorcycle. "I don't care if Mila knows...about my past. You can tell her if you want." Frankly, he would rather Otabek be the one to tell her. It had been difficult enough to share his story once. "I meant the baby. I don't want her to know that I..." He swallowed. "It's just, I know how it feels, to hear a parent say they wished they aborted you, so..."
"'Don't ever let her feel like she was a mistake,' right?" Otabek said, placing the leopard-print helmet over Yuri's head. "Don't worry. I have no intention of ever telling her. Your secret is safe with me. I won't even tell Mila."
"But we aren't supposed to keep secrets from each other."
"I think it's okay to make an exception in this case. Mila doesn't need to know."
"Thanks." Yuri breathed a sigh of relief. Mila probably would have understood, just as Otabek had, but he still didn't want to risk upsetting her. "For the record, I'm glad she didn't go through with it," he said as Otabek smoothly mounted the bike and put on his own helmet.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too," Otabek said with a soft smile. "Hop on. Let's go home."
DISCLAIMER: "Yuri! On Ice" doesn't belong to me.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hope you liked this chapter. This one was a tough one to write, but this should be the last "heavy" chapters. The next chapter of this story should hopefully be posted in early August.
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