Chapter 3

Heartbreak is a curious cruelty of life. As Misty walked toward the elevator she recalled her first experience with the sensation. She was three years old and her mother had gifted her with a helium balloon. Like the jewel of a Starmie did that balloon ever shine red! Little Misty paraded her new treasure outside — hoping to draw admiration from the neighborhood kids— but everyone was inside that day. So Misty and her balloon played together. She let go of the string and the balloon floated upward. Like a Mankey she jumped and retrieved it. Misty had quick reflexes and she delighted in testing them! The game continued: she freed the balloon and watched it go up, only to leap into the air to possess it again. This game of 'catch and release' lasted several rounds, until the breeze pushed her balloon up a little faster than before. Misty sprung for the string, but it slipped through her fingers. The balloon floated up . . . up. . . up . . . far away from her. Misty stretched her arms high above her head, hoping her balloon would come back down. But neither her calls or tears brought the balloon back. The bright red sphere shrunk smaller and smaller, eventually vanishing into the sky.

Adult Misty hastened her pace. Maybe she could leave the memory with Gary: behind her down the hallway.

Her own hotel room was several floors below. The 'booze-in-blood-high-heels-on-feet' combo was not conducive to stair climbing (or even walking for that matter). Misty needed to find the elevator before the alcohol threw away both her balance and the contents of her stomach.

Sight downcast Misty considered the carpet: it was red like her balloon. But had it always been that color? Was it red in honor of the hotel's namesake, Chateau Vulpix? Or was it red because her own heart was currently bleeding out upon it? And — by Articuno— what was on her face?

Fingers considered cheeks and Misty blinked, struggling to identify the wet substance. Certainly she was not shedding more tears over Gary Oak?! No! Such emotion was unacceptable!

Misty had wasted enough tears on him.

He didn't deserve her tears.

Misty approached the elevator, her finger preparing for the 'down button', but she paused. Someone sad and judgmental had appeared in the metallic door. That someone was her own reflection.

Stop, Waterflower. Gary Oak is the love of your life. Turn around. Go back to him. You'll regret this moment for the rest of your life if you don't. He's serious about you. He's already left his wife for you! For the love of the legendaries, don't be so stubborn. Usually people get their hearts broken when the one they want doesn't want them back. Not the other way around! You want him, he wants you. So what the hell?!

Shut up, Waterflower. I can't be with that man and you know it. It's not that simple. I don't trust him. How can I serve my heart up to the devil to be devoured? He has not changed! If he had then he wouldn't have spent ten months cheating on his wife! How can I ever trust that he won't do the same to me?

Fair point, but, it takes two to commit adultery. Stop trying to sound all high and mighty. Gary is the love of your life. You can't stop loving him. You've been trying for eight years. And you can't stop loving him because you don't want to! You love that man, admit it! Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me that you're happy with your life! Tell me that the past ten months spent bedding the man were meaningless?! You can't do it. Gary makes you happy and you are miserable without him.

Damn you. Fine. Yes, okay, I'll concede. He is the love of my life. THERE! I can't stop loving him. I can't deny that anymore. I love that man more than anything, and the thought of never seeing him again is breaking me all over. But I can't trust him. How can there be any hope of a healthy relationship after our history?

Because you love each other. Because no relationship is sunshine and roses. Human beings make mistakes, that's how we learn. Love takes work, love takes effort, and hard work and effort pay off. Giving up, Waterflower? Really? YOU? Giving up the most precious thing in your universe? Forfeiting love without even trying to fight? Because you're scared? Prideful? Now that is pathetic. Your cold words were killing Gary. Did you enjoy seeing him break before you? Beg for your forgiveness? Of course not. Gary is hurting and you hate to see him hurt. You have the power to take his pain away along with your own. Why be a murder and a masochist? Why not simply love him? Allow him to love you?

I . . . I . . . don't know . . .

GO BACK TO HIM. PLEASE, WATERFLOWER! PLEASE! PLEAASSEEE!

Misty pushed the 'down button' as fresh tears poured down her cheeks.

Which was worse: living her entire life without Gary in it, or, living her entire life with him and never knowing if he were being faithful?

The elevator descended. Every second southward felt like an hour-long plunge toward the pit of hell. Fingers fluttered over the elevator's buttons . . . with such a small addition of pressure she could direct the lift to take her back up—No no no! Where is your pride?! He's probably on the phone with Jocelyn already, trying to sort everything out, patch it all back up! Do NOT push that button!

Misty pressed her palms against the wall instead, face downcast and watched new tears spill upon the floor. Why were these tears translucent in color? Why weren't they red? Weren't eye sockets merely the escape route? Wasn't this how the heart shed its unbearable gore?

Palms pounded against the wall —hard — as though Misty could somehow crush her feelings for Gary; pummel them into oblivion if she continued to pummel that wall. Her palms ached. A broken hand would be welcome compared to her broken heart. There was no medical cast for her primal organ.

The elevator door opened. Misty was thankful for a vacant hallway. No one was present to witness her state: drunk, sobbing and nearly disfiguring her own hands.

Once inside her quarters Misty made a dash for the restroom. Her body could no longer endure the liquid spirits or her own broken one. One hand skimmed the restroom light switch, but failed to flick it on. Not because her fingers were damaged, but because they were afraid. The darkness obscured her mirror reflection. Misty didn't have to face her own grief-stricken, pleading self again. She would rather miss the toilet and vomit upon the floor.

Ah well, the bathtub, that was easy to—

Misty retched into the huge bathing basin, it was detectable even in the dark. Bitter booze-based bile gushed from her lips. The vodka had been like lava going down, now it scalded like acid rain — burning with ulcerative-rage as it was forced to evacuate. Vomit scorched her esophagus, her tongue and coated her teeth in an eroding film. Misty gaged, eyes tearing, as wave after brutal-nauseated-wave convulsed her frame. Like a wax sculpture left to the mercy of the sun did the remaining fifth drip from her lips and down her chin. An exhausted and empty Misty clung to the tub rim, trembling and spitting.

The relief was immediate. Misty was granted the strength to stand, the wherewithal to think and the courage to . . .

She ran the shower.

She rinsed away the evidence of her upset.

Next Misty turned to the sink. Washing her face and brushing her teeth would feel like lavish pampering, but, she had to turn on the light to see.

Misty tested the plastic switch beneath her finger. It didn't feel as ominous as it had minutes ago. Brightness illuminated the room and she acknowledged her own flush-face with a nod. She then busied herself with freshening-up. When she was finished her reflective-self let loose a mighty sigh.

If you won't listen to me . . . maybe it's time to call in for backup?

Misty retrieved her cellphone from her purse. The 'backup' she sought was at the top of her 'recent calls' list. She pressed the name to initiate a face-to-face vidphone chat. It rang twice before her long-time friend, Pokemon Master Ash Ketchum, appeared.

Ash grinned like a Gengar, his head bopping along to music blaring in the background. The Pokemon Master was still downstairs in the ballroom, and he was enjoying the hell outta Gary's award shindig! Murkrow-black hair was slicked back neatly for the occasion, and Misty identified Ash's golden bowtie at the bottom of her screen. It was his fanciest bowtie. Ash was dressin' for the impressin'!

"Mist?" Her name was accompanied by a visual shakedown. Brown eyes examined flushed cheeks, scarlet-rimmed lids and then considered her surroundings. "You look like a Voltorb about to self-destruct." Ash had to shout over the music and laughter surrounding him. "Mist, what are ya doin' in your hotel bathroom? You're missing one heck of a party!"

Emotion usurped voice and Misty could only offer him: "You talk?"

Like a Pokemon overdue to evolve did Ash's expression rapidly change. Her friend took on a familiar expression — it was ridged and decisive— like when he'd surmised a battling opponent's weakness. Ash opened his mouth, but was suddenly replaced with another familiar facade: that of her own sister, Lily. Ash cried out in surprised protest as his cellphone was snatched from his hand.

"Hey little sister! W-T-F!? Get your ass down here! Let's show the boys how the Sensational Sisters get down to the beat!" Lily's magenta locks were styled into a fabulous updo, and she shook those locks wildly as she scolded Misty. The younger Sensational Sister forced a smile, Lily was drunk and (unlike Ash) oblivious to her sadness.

"Gimme my phone back!" came Ash, his face popping in and out of the screen like a Diglett from a hole.

Lily twirled around, easily evading the Pokemon Master and giggled. "She's my sister, Master boy! My talking rights outrank yours!"

"Yeah, but that's my phone!"

"Settle down, kids," came another — notably calmer — voice. The cellphone was plucked from Lily by a third familiar face.

"Hi, Lance, Sir." Misty bowed her head, quickly catching her sensibilities like wild Pokemon. She needed to appropriately acknowledge her sister's date, this was the Dragon Master himself!

Lance flashed his famous poster boy grin. His own spikes of hair were as shiny and untamed as one of the red Gyarados that Gary studied. The Dragon Master considered Misty for a moment, and then exchanged his grin for a considerate frown.

Misty could hear Lily and Ash bickering nearby, but their volume failed to overwhelm Lance's words: "We all wish you were enjoying the party with us, Misty."

"Thank you, Lance." Misty laced courage into her tone, but Lance raised a discerning eyebrow. This was a man who read the vulnerability of others as a career.

"Go on. Explain your dilemma." Lance was as sharp as his namesake. Lily and Ash were now peeking into the phone screen, blinking like curious Hoothoots.

"May I . . . get some advice?"

Lance nodded, encouraging her to ask for just that.

"I've been given an . . . opportunity. It's something I really want. I want it so so much, but I'm terrified to accept it. I'm not sure I'm ready for the opportunity. I don't know why this offer has even fallen into my lap. I'm nervous that the offer could get re-negged on me and I don't wanna waste my time. I've been disappointed before, to say the least. I mean, what if it doesn't work out—"

Lance held up a finger, thoughtfully silencing her. Lily and Ash were holding their breath, in suspense as to how Lance could possibly coach Misty given so little detail.

"I'm going to stop you right there, Misty, because all I'm hearing are excuses. I don't tolerate excuses from any of the young trainers I mentor. And so I'm gonna give you the same advice that I give to those I coach year after year," he narrowed his eyes, "if you want something bad enough you'll work hard for it. If not you'll find an excuse." His frown flipped into an encouraging smile and he added: "If you never throw a Pokeball, you'll never win a battle." Misty saw Lily swoon and 'hand fan' herself at his side.

Misty matched his smile. "Thank you, Lance."

"That'll be a five dollar coaching fee." Lance teased, winking at Misty. The Dragon Master returned Ash's phone so his hand was free to hold Lily's. The couple vanished from the picture, obviously heading back to the dance floor.

Ash shrugged sheepishly into the phone screen. "Everyone is drunk," he half-sighed-half-laughed. "I am too, though. And my date is currently stumbling around and polling the room on their favorite Pokemon."

Misty tried to laugh, but it perished in her throat.

Ash paused, assessing her expression again. He could scan her like a Pokedex on a Pidgey. "You know, Mist, it's pretty strange that Gary Oak — a guy who lives to be the center of attention — isn't here. He's missing his own party, the party of a lifetime, where everyone wants to fawn over him and praise him for being the best researcher blah, blah, blah. I mean, the guy is one of my closest friends, and I know him well enough to know that this is waaayyyy out-of-character for him." Ash outdid Lance and raised both of his eyebrows. "I just thought that was interesting is all. I can't imagine what could be more important to Gary than this party? Can you?" Ash smirked, wrinkling his nose at her and Misty couldn't help but mirror him. Genuine affection bounced back and forth, as though they were standing inches apart and no phone screen separated them. The warmth of Ash's optimism and forgiving nature were nearly palpable. Misty could see his willingness — his need — to let go and forgive within his eyes and . . . Misty stiffened. These were not Ash's emotions that she saw. These were her own. She could see these feelings upon her own face . . . reflecting back at her . . . within his own eyes.

"Ash, how long have you known?" Misty wasn't even surprised.

"I might seem oblivious to a lot of stuff, Mist, but—" Ash whispered into the microphone, "—you two aren't as stealthy as ya think. Just be happy already, alright? I'm tired of you two being mopey-fuckin-magikarps twenty-four-seven." Ash wasn't exactly a wordsmith like Lance, but the blunt earnestness of his words dried her mouth as though she were a mopey-fuckin-magikarp stranded on land.

"Hey, Ash, I have to go. Um, good luck with your date and . . . thanks for answering the phone."

"Always." The Master smiled coyly. "I knew you'd beat me with a mallet if I hit 'ignore'."

Ash was the one who'd set Misty up on that blind date with Gary so many years ago. He'd now also set a spotlight of truth upon her.

As the screen went black did Misty's reflective face light up. Her expression would outshine Zapdos, mid-Thunderbolt attack!

Now did every cell in Misty's body compel her to rush back to that elevator!

Now the passing of time was at Rapidash-speed!

Now Misty was running — and doing so remarkably well in her heels!

Now did Misty find herself in front of Gary's hotel room door. She was panting, her legs and feet ached as though she'd been trying to out-kick a Hitmonlee.

Misty faced Gary's door and raised her fist to knock, but paused to glance over her shoulder at the wall painting of Articuno opposite his room. She silently thanked the legendary bird for clearing the emotional blizzard from her mind.

An electronic beep caused Misty to jump, and she faced the door as it swung open. Gary stood in the frame. He examined her: fist raised frozen in place, as though by Articuno's will. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Too stubborn to knock? Really?"

"You're such an ass," Misty couldn't help but smile against the words. Her raised fist fell to her side. "Were you watching through the peephole? Waiting for me?"

Gary nodded, unabashed.

"How'd you know I'd come back?"

"I didn't," he answered honestly, "I just hoped that you would."

The smile on her lips deepened and Misty playfully pushed Gary back inside the room. But the loud bang of the door jarred all happiness from her lips. Misty faced Gary seriously: "I was in my room. . . I called Ash and he called us-us mopey-fuckin-magikarps. And, well, I threw up before that and I couldn't . . . Ash said to be happy already. I banged up my hands on the elevator. And Lance had good advice too and, I-I want to throw a Pokeball. I want to be happy." New tears ambushed her, effectively washing away Gary's happiness too. His eyes were a blend of azure astonishment and cobalt confusion, but he never removed his focus from her own.

"Misty," Gary breathed her name as though it were more precious than air, and his strong arms were around her. Her professor pulled her in wonderfully-tight, and Misty nestled against his chest, relishing the familiar thump of his heart beneath her ear.

Her small hands gripped the fabric of his jacket like a life-raft. "Do you really love me?"

Warm lips were upon her ear: "I really love you, Misty."

Her heart beat faster and she faced Gary now, eyes of vulnerable jade no longer keeping his own at bay.

"I love you." Gary repeated, and her heartbeat spiked again. With one finger he tipped her chin toward him. "I love you." Each proclamation of love was like a chest compression — pumping fresh blood — the blood of forgiveness, of necessity, of happiness— throughout her body. "And, it's my turn to sound dramatic, Misty, because I don't know how to live my life without you in it." Screw the chest compressions! That last line hit her heart like a defibrillator and the taste of love was now upon her lips.

Time itself seemed to bend as their lips moved together. Gary and Misty were a solo act of passion in this universe, and their very souls seemed to align. Gary's yearning for her — his devotion to her—flowed through his mouth and Misty drank ravenously! All of that vanilla vodka and fancy champaign were shit compared to the taste of him. Misty thirsted for the forever intoxication only Gary could provide: the blissfulness of feeling her love returned.

Reality reminded them of their need for oxygen. Gary pulled back — just barely— and Misty felt him smile against her lips. "I love you," his words were but a breath. Though starved for air these words were deemed more critical than inhaling.

Misty held her man and she held him tight. The string attached to her balloon. Second chances. The balloon had floated back to her, just low enough for her to reach out, straining upon tippy-toes to claim it. Her grip was as steadfast as his heartbeat. As strong as his arms. As secure as she felt within them. As firm as what roused between his legs as she pressed more intimately against him. Misty knew that she would never release this string . . . Gary . . . this feeling, again. Misty captured his mouth next. She kissed Gary with such fervency that his lips would be swollen and red like her hands. Red like the blood pumping through their hearts. Red like her balloon.

Her hands demanded their turn and so her lips relinquished his own. Misty cherished Gary's jawline with fingers. She grazed her thumb across his lower lip and he trembled. His lips took in her thumb and sucked, causing a sizzle from there to the hottest point between her thighs. Blue eyes smoldered with tender longing — with the shameless need to physically prove to Misty just how much he loved her.

"Gary, I do love you." The man had milked the very confession from her— as his mouth continued to torture her thumb, teasing what his lips could do to other parts of her body.

Drawing on every once of self-control, Misty gently retreated her thumb. She needed to speak seriously before his ethereal sexiness possessed her. "I forgive you. But I'll never forget how you hurt me. And if you hurt me again—"

"I won't." Gary conquered her concerns within a chaste kiss. He pressed his brow against hers, as though desperate to brand her with his sincerity. "Thank you for giving me the chance to prove myself to you."

The fiery redhead was speechless for the first time in her entire life.

Small hands ascended Gary's body. Fingers eagerly climbed his mountain of muscles. Through his dress shirt she traversed hard abdominals, muscled ribs and firm pectorals . . . finally reaching the pinnacle of his broad physique. Misty traced his Adam's apple and then landed upon the highest button of his shirt. She was going to worship Gary, and the experience would not be unemotional and hard or silent. Misty would sear her love for this man into every touch, every kiss, every movement of her hips.

Mischief and passion glinted within Gary's sight and he matched her grin — daring her — begging her — to release that first button . . . releasing both of their hearts from solitary confinement.

Misty Waterflower did free that button, and then she freed all of the buttons below it.

Gary allowed her to claim his buttons, but that was where his generosity — or rather restraint —died. With the finesse of a professional stripper he relieved himself of the shirt and lay waste to it upon the floor. Misty hadn't the chance to admire bare-chested Gary, before he hoisted her up and over his shoulder like a caveman! Misty's bellybutton was upon his shoulder and her ass practically in his face. This naughty position awarded her a fantastic-albeit-upside-down view of his own backside. His rear was sexy in dress pants, but Misty knew it would look even better with no pants. She was slapped from her dirty musings as a firm hand landed upon her own rear.

"Buckle up, darlin'," Gary announced, moving toward the bed, "because I've got plans for you tonight. Oh, and I'm not letting go of you again. Ever." His wonton words were chased by sexy laughter.

"Not ever, huh? Well, that sounds clingy." She missed teasing him in the verbal arena along with the physical one. "Plus, I don't know if you have the stamina for that, buckaroo."

"I do hope that's a challenge," Gary taunted and pulled her dress up, gifting himself with a very up close and personal view of her backside. "Very nice," he breathed appreciatively, "you know how I love a red thong."

Anticipation nearly suffocated Misty. She couldn't see where Gary's hand was headed . . . what he was preparing to do to her exposed flesh. The man could unravel her sanity with just one large skillful finger. And the mere inkling that he was preparing such a deed aroused her to the point of near blackout. Hormones boiled Misty's bloodstream and pooled between her thighs, but —somehow—she retained the wits to banter back: "It's very much a challenge, Mister 'Researcher of the Year'."

One long finger slid under her thong, and with a proficient pull the panties were sliding down her thighs en route to her knees. Next did a singular swift motion land Misty upon the bed. She was laying on her back with Gary leaning over her. Misty heard the zipper of his pants coming undone, but her eyes did not venture south to the source. In this moment she was not capable of looking away from his handsome face.

Gary smiled, eyes flaring, and his trousers dropped. "Challenge accepted, my love."

Was the hour very late or very early? The exact time no longer mattered.

Gary Oak mattered. Misty meant everything to him and he meant everything to her. She was his balloon too.

The End

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NOTE: Thank you to everyone who didn't abandon ship on this ship. ;) Please review. If you read this, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Don't know what to say? A smilie face will do. :) I write to know that someone is reading (other than me!). My adult life got pretty crazy this spring. I traveled so much for work that I was only in my own bed three nights since March. BLEH! My Muse isn't always keen on traveling with me, but now that I am home she's helped me finish this story. :) And I have more stories on the way! Thank youuu sooo much for reading and reviewing! Egoshipping love to all! xoxo Maia's Pen