FANFIC: hearts for sale
6 May 2018 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyanoscarletWord count: 1,770
In a world where human emotion is a tangible commodity, Otabek sells his emotions for a great price. As he spends his days a lifeless shadow of himself, he meets Yuri Plisetsky.
-
In another time, Otabek was an angry boy, his gaze piercing and his words scathing.
In another time, Otabek wore his heart on his sleeve, his skates leaving deep cuts on thin ice.
In another time, Otabek was fire on ice, impassioned, impatient and infectious.
Then came a time when Otabek ceased to be all those.
This is how it happened.
-
They had placed his mother on a table and stuck a needle near her heart. She screamed and screamed until she could scream no more. Bright yellow fluid containing years and years of tears, laughter and tempered emotion; was sealed in a bottle and taken away. After the procedure, they received bundles of cash in a black, bloodstained briefcase. The money had been enough to keep them alive for six months.
The first month after was the worst. His mother never spoke, never left her room, never played with them, never helped with homework. And just as well, his father said; he was very afraid of her white, lifeless eyes.
They thought she was as good as dead.
Little by little, though, she got better. She tried her best, but it wasn't enough.
And soon, the money, too, was not enough.
-
Otabek comes home to a small apartment with thin walls and a leaking ceiling. He does not like the way his father is shouting tonight; it's getting worse day by day. His sister is crying in the corner; his brother has not come home since yesterday.
So he keeps to himself in his room. In the drawer are his three medals, one won from a competition and two "consolation" prizes. The stuffed teddy bear from his sister is on his bed; he has taken to hugging it tightly while he sleeps, a blanket and two pillows blocking out the noise from downstairs.
Oh, careful not to drop the skates - the right boot could fall apart.
He sets himself down beside the bed with a thud. He is tired, tired, tired. He knows better than to say so, however, lest he gets yet another bruise on his thigh. His coach - oh, poor Miss Anna - bears the brunt of all his frustrations, as do his worn skates. Someone said he needs anger management - they do not understand him, what he is going through.
His father's voice keeps getting louder and louder - no food, no tuition, no money. And somewhere in his long, angry tirade, Otabek hears his name.
His mother does not answer back, still a far cry from what she used to be. Give it a few months, the doctor had told them. She'll be back to normal soon.
But not in time, he added. They can't operate on her again until after another six months.
And they badly need the money.
His father calls his mother a useless bitch.
So Otabek steps in and rams his father into the wall, hard enough to render him unconscious. He takes the operation form from his mother's trembling hands and walks away despite her tears and weak protests.
-
Psychocentesis
– the medical procedure of evacuating arduous humor, a compartment of the cardiovascular system that is said to contain human emotions.
Indications:
- (Psychiatric) Therapeutic evacuation of arduous humor in cases of massive effusion, manifesting as extremely heightened emotion approaching manic levels
- (Medical) Pleural congestion, general fluid overload or non-diuresis, manifesting as increased intracranial pressure, edema of internal organs and extremities
Relative Contraindications:
- Uncorrected bleeding diathesis
- Cellulitis at site of puncture
Complications:
- Loss of emotion, flattened affect
- Altered sensorium
- Pneumothorax and/or hemothorax
- Major vessel rupture and massive blood loss
Technique:
Ultrasonography is performed to confirm the location of the effusion. Standard aseptic technique is performed, and the patient is prepared for the procedure. Local anesthesia is infiltrated around the puncture site, and a large-bore needle is used to puncture the site at a depth of 3 cm. Gentle aspiration of the desired volume of arduous humor is done, and the needle is removed. Standard wound care is then rendered.
The fluid is collected in a sterile bottle and stored at 5°C, or sent to the laboratory for analysis.
The medical encyclopedia does not say anything about the illegal arduous humor trade.
There are relatively few known cases of successful arduous humor transfusion worldwide. It is said that the risks outweigh the benefits by a huge margin, and has fallen out of practice since. Those who need the transfusion instead turn to the black market, which has soon grown into an industry of exploitation for the less fortunate.
Clearly, Otabek knows what he is getting into.
He knows for a fact that this shady clinic located in an even shadier back-alley is not to be trusted. He knows that he is endangering his life and his career, subjecting himself to a dangerous, unnecessary procedure without compelling reason. He knows he is being reckless and stupid, as he is placed under sterile drapes and he is slowly put under, under, under.
He also knows how much money they are paying him after this.
It's the only way.
-
The first month after is the hardest. Otabek is confined to his room, unable - no, unwilling to move from his bed. His mother tries - and fails - to get him to eat. She had sobbed for days when he came home with white eyes, hurt, limping and practically lifeless.
The second month, he is able to walk, and the first place he visits is the rink. The others shower him with hugs, yet he doesn't feel a thing. Miss Anna tries to probe him, ask him what happened, why he didn't ask for help. But he cannot summon the strength to speak.
Skating proves to be more difficult than he’d thought he remembered. He wills himself to jump - and he does, but the fire in his eyes is gone. The rage in his heart has been silenced, and he has no story to tell. And a skater with no story to tell is no skater at all.
Later, Otabek bangs his fist into his locker - or he thinks he does. What really happens is that a piece of a skater slumps against the cold, metal door, thinking he can be better - he should be better. His small hiccups do not make tears, and he is left even more frustrated than before.
He knows - he knows what he got into.
But he cannot bear it anymore.
-
Give yourself time, the doctor tells him. You'll be back to normal before you know it.
The words ring in Otabek's ears, loud and true and disturbing. The fourth month sees him no better than the second, but at least he is able to shop for groceries again. It'll be okay, his mother says, with tears in her eyes and salt in her lips. I love you, son. No matter what.
She really does understand him.
A single tear (finally) falls down his cheek.
"You're holding the line, Mister," he hears an annoyed drawl from behind. Otabek is momentarily brought back to his senses, and he quickly shuffles away with his two, large paper bags. As he turns away, he is met with bright, green eyes, flickering with impatience.
It sticks with him forever, and he is filled with purpose once more.
-
The Miracle Child, they call Yuri Plisetsky. Beyond his unadulterated skating genius and masterful storytelling on ice, he is known as the only survivor of the Emerald Tower Tragedy from six months ago, when some past miscalculation during its construction caused it to crumble years later, leaving its thousands of residents dead.
Images of Yuri confined to a wheelchair made major news websites, his eyes white and lifeless and dead. He disappeared from the limelight for a short two months, his coach Yakov Feltsman citing intensive training and therapy as the reason for his absence.
This leaves Otabek confused as to what the same Yuri is doing on his feet, in his rink, skating quite differently from how he used to. Miss Anna says the accident has sparked a fire of determination in his eyes, bringing his skating to new and glorious heights.
But all Otabek sees right now is pure, unadulterated rage. Passion. An inferno.
Himself.
-
Yuri is as secretive in real life as he is emotive on ice. But he does consider Otabek a friend, and friends tell each other things.
"I'm tired of the media hounding me at every turn," he whines. "Asking me what happened there, when they saw it happen for themselves."
"You don't have to answer them if you don't want to," Otabek assures him, because it's the only thing he can do. He wishes he could do more - hold him tight, stroke his hair, tell him... no, he can't. He mustn't.
"But that's not all," Yuri continues. "They've started... suspecting. How I quickly recovered. Why I'm in Almaty instead of in St. Petersburg. Where Yakov is."
Otabek has seen more than enough news articles. In the weeks he has known Yuri, he, too, has had his own suspicions, some leaning on the impossible.
"Some say I made a deal with the devil. They might as well be correct."
Otabek's breath hitches all of a sudden, and he realizes the truth all at once.
"The black m--"
"Don't say it!" Yuri cuts him off, clamping his thin hands over Otabek's lips. Green eyes meet gray ones, and they see anger, emptiness, loneliness -- themselves -- in each other. And Yuri finally realizes it, too.
"No... Otabek... Why..."
A deal with the devil, huh. Otabek never thought of it that way, but Yuri might as well be correct. Suddenly the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet feel heavy all of a sudden, like he doesn't deserve them.
Perhaps the past six months were the price he paid.
It doesn't sound as bad anymore.
As long as it saved Yuri.
Yuri knows this, too. Otabek finds himself enveloped in a tight hug, Yuri's tears staining the front of his shirt. "I... don't know what to say... I-I can't believe..."
"Me, neither." And he means it in the gentlest of ways, for all the things they have gone through to lead to this moment has become a blessing for them both. "For what it's worth, it has led me to you."
Yuri puts their foreheads together, his warm breath a healing salve to Otabek's soul. “You’re not alone, Otabek,” he says. “You and I - we’re both the same. I’m glad we met.”
His smile is beautiful, Otabek thinks.
“Stay close to me,” Yuri asks. “You saved my life; I’ll help you find yours.”
So Otabek does.
