Author's Note: Hello, all! It's me once again with yet ANOTHER fanfiction because I'm just that obsessed xD  Whatever, it doesn't matter; we're ALL obsessed! Anyway, I love Yuri on Ice and ship Victuri with a passion, so I knew I had to write a fanfiction about it!

This is my first Yuri on Ice fanfiction and will probably be a little different than the others you've read, so please no hate! If you don't like it, just don't read it, but I hope you like it anyway!

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️
This book contains mature themes such as depression, suicide, self harm, and bullying. If any of these themes make you uncomfortable or at any point you become uncomfortable, don't read. Also, fangirl meltdowns are possible, so prepare yourselves.

I hope you enjoy the book! Happy reading!
—RadipDagger✌️️

"Be mindful when it comes to your words. A string of some that don't mean much to you, may stick with someone else for a lifetime."

—unknown

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|prologue|

The boy ran, his legs and face on fire, away from the laughing crowd.

As he felt salty tears streak down his cheeks, his eyes betraying him yet again, he was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

It's happening again.

Now he was running so hard he felt as if his legs might snap and his lungs might collapse. He had done this many times before.

But, this time, it was different.

Yes, people pointed and laughed and sneered at him like always, and yes, he was crying and running away like a baby like always.

But this time it seemed as if the pointing and laughing and jeering was amplified by a thousand, filling his head with the voices he heard often.

That's right, keep running, keep crying. Run and cry like the coward you are.

You're weak.

Worthless.

A waste of space.

An excuse for a human being.

No one likes you.

If you suddenly disappeared, no one would miss you.

You should just kill yourself.

The tears came down even harder. These were the voices of his peers, saying the things they always said to him.

It was the same, but at the same time much different.

His world was dying, falling apart, ending. Everything around him was wrong, wrong, wrong, and it would never be right.

What's the point?

He ran off the school grounds, grabbed his bicycle, and rode off as fast as he could go.

You're such a loser.

Get lost.

Are you gonna cry? Look at him cry! What a baby!

You don't belong anywhere.

When he arrived home, he jumped off his bike and threw it on the grass, rushing toward the house.

He unlocked the door and swung it open, not bothering to close it behind him and not caring whether anyone was home or not as he ran upstairs, the tears still flowing down his face.

When he made it upstairs, he made a beeline for the bathroom before he dashed inside and closed the door. He made sure to lock it right after.

His wrists seemed to itch and burn, and though he knew it was all in his head, it was a sensation he was all too familiar with—the urge to slide a blade across his wrists.

He badly wanted to give in to the urge. To, for a couple of seconds at least, have some form of control. To focus on some pain other than the pain he felt everyday when he went to school.

Usually, whenever he'd give into the urge, it'd help and take away the pain for approximately a minute or two before the weight of all his life's problems came crashing down on him once again, drowning him.

And, even though the amount of time in which he would have relief was short, he badly wanted to give into the urge.

But, today he didn't, because today was different. The truth is, things had been different for awhile, and not in a good way.

Giving into the urge wouldn't do it for him today, or, he realized, probably ever again because the pain he temporarily got rid of was never enough.

And now, he carried a hundred times the pain he usually carried. Giving in wouldn't take a fraction of that pain away.

He didn't really care if it wouldn't help, though. He just needed some form of release, and he needed it now.

He opened the medicine cabinet where the razor and its razor blades resided and was about to reach in and grab one.

He stopped mid-grab.

His eyes had caught something and were now entirely focused on it.

A bottle of painkillers in the far corner of the medicine cabinet. A full bottle of painkillers.

A tear slid unconsciously down his cheek as he, without fully realizing it, slowly reached out and grabbed the bottle of pills.

Loser!

Get lost, freak!

He unscrewed the bottle cap, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

No one wants you here!

No one would care if you died here and now, so why not do it? You wouldn't be missed!

The bottle cap came off with ease, and he let it fall to the ground.

Nobody likes you!

You're such a loser!

He emptied the bottle, the pills spilling into his open hand.

Just kill yourself already!

He closed his eyes and took all the pills.