A/N: Thank you for clicking on this story! Enjoy! Also, this is my entry for Ebaz's The Key Signature Competition on the Pokémon Fanfiction Challenges Forum.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.
F# minor: A gloomy key: it tugs at passion as a dog biting a dress. Resentment and discontent are its language.
End of the Line
Every morning I would wake up with her opening the curtains, letting the sunlight flood in our bedroom.
"Good morning," she would chirp, her blue eyes sparkling in the light. Her hair wouldn't be done yet, still in an untamed mess.
I would groan and wished I would never have to open my eyes, wished that I could stay in my land of dreams forever, freed from everything here in reality.
But of course that wasn't possible. I would have to get up, to face her small jokes, her laughs and her smiles. And worst of all, to see that trust and love in her eyes, and knowing, actually knowing, I didn't deserve that.
I didn't deserve her. And maybe even worse, I didn't even want her.
And every morning that reality, those facts, would come and hit me in my face, effectively ruining whatever happiness I had left from my dreams.
And she didn't know.
She and I would have a simple breakfast – I didn't speak of we anymore, because she and I aren't we. In the past, it was we. It used to be we, just like it used to be happy, new and exciting.
But not now. Now it was she and I.
Two parties. Separated.
And yet, she and I were together.
Linked. Tied. Bound.
Confined.
She would always eat the same – toast with jelly. And every time, every time, she would ask, "Ash, dear, do you want some?"
And every time, every time, I would say with a forced smile, "No, thank you honey, I'll stick to my cereal."
She didn't know it was forced. She didn't know I detested her for asking that same question every damn time. She didn't know how much I detested this routine.
How much I detested her.
After breakfast, she would go and feed the Pokémon, and I would quickly put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
I would always do that in record time – the sooner I had finished it, the sooner I could go. Go and be free for ten minutes.
Free.
Free from her presence, free from her expectations, free to be myself again.
And yet, it wasn't free. Yes, I was outside, yes, I was with my Pokémon, yes, I was without her, but I wasn't free.
Because every morning, I would walk the same route. Every step I would take, I had taken yesterday too, and the day before that, and the day before that.
It was a routine.
And I hated it.
When I would open the door, returning from my little walk with Pikachu, she would be standing in the hallway, all ready to go.
She would put her arms around my shoulders and place a quick kiss on my lips and I would count to three – at three, I pulled away, trying not to look too relieved that the kiss was over.
"I'll see you tonight sweetie," she would say. "Love you."
"Love you too," I would answer, automatically, insincere.
It used to be sincere, it used to be true. Something changed.
And it was all my fault.
My fault for falling in love with her.
My fault for marrying her.
My fault for those hers being two different women.
As I would watch her leave, I would always think of how it used to be.
When she and I were travelling together, how wonderful it was. Just her, Brock and me. And later, when she and I were dating, she would always be up for something, and always she would smile.
She showed me new things, would take me on adventures – our relationship was new and beautiful and exciting. There were so many things to discover, so many things to find out, and every time I thought that this was the end, she would come up with something new.
It was like an amazing rollercoaster ride.
But now she and I had finally reached the end-of-the-line.
Marriage.
After half an hour of thinking and doing nothing I would have to go to my job, and with reluctance I would go.
On one side, it was nice to be away from her suffocating presence. On the other, I did not like my job. This job was yet another thing she expected from me.
Whenever I brought up the subject, she would smile and say, "Oh Ash, Pokémon battling doesn't hold any future for you, does it now? You're a good Trainer, yes, but you need to be a real master if you want to make money with it. Besides, you wouldn't want to be away from home, would you?"
And I would reply with "Yes, yes you're right dear. And no, no of course I wouldn't."
But of course I didn't agree with her. And of course I would.
But that didn't matter, because I would say anything to make her happy.
Even if they were lies.
And they always were.
And then I would go home after yet another day at work, after yet another day of doing what I always did, and feeling like I always did.
Captured. Stuck. Imprisoned.
Not free.
And I knew that with her I would never be free.
And I knew I would never be without her. Not in this lifetime.
When I would open the door she would capture me in a hug, confine my lips with hers and every time I would do my best not to jump away, revolted, disgusted, not only by her, but also by myself.
How could I do this? How could I continue like this? Pretending, lying, not living but being lived?
How?
Because I had to. I had vowed.
And I could not permit myself to break another vow.
Wedding vows.
How I wished I could take them back.
She would have dinner ready, and she would talk and talk and talk about her day. I would nod and smile and when she asked about my day, I would say, "Work was good. As usual."
But she would never catch the edge in voice when I spoke the last two words.
She lived in a bubble, her own little world, and everything that did not fit in that world of hers would be either ignored or shaped that way so it would fit.
Just like she did with me. From an adventurous, overexcited Pokémon Trainer to a stay-at-home, stuck-in-routine shop assistant.
On the inside, I would shudder at those words. But I could not change back.
I had tried, once, with disastrous consequences. It had resulted in my conscience constantly whispering one word to me, etching it in my brain forever, tainting my soul and heart – one little word.
Unfaithful.
Some evenings she and I would watch a movie, or some series on TV, and then go to bed – I didn't mind those evenings too much.
But other evenings she would try to kiss me and put her hands under my t-shirt, or she would sit on my lap and cuddle with me.
I know what she wanted then. And I couldn't. Not with love and passion at least. But I knew it was one of my tasks as husband – satisfy the needs of my wife.
My wife.
And not my love.
After, when we would lay on the bed, sweating and panting, I would listen to how her breathing slowed down and how she eventually fell asleep. And then I would think, wallow in guilt and curse myself and my choices.
I was married to the wrong woman. To her.
And I had cheated. With her.
I was married to her.
And I loved her.
Misty.
Dawn.
Later, much later, my routine life would be shaken up, and I would leave her. Forever.
All caused by three little words my wife would tell me.
"I am pregnant."
Because I had been mistaken. Marriage was not the end-of-the-line. Children were. And children were also the beginning.
In that moment I would finally understand why my father had left Mom and me.
And I would hate it.
A/N: You can interpret this story however you want. Personally, I interpret it that when I write angst I go way overboard in a non-sense making way XD Thank you for reading, and I hope you somewhat enjoyed it.
This story was written for a competition on an awesome forum, the Pokémon Fanfiction Challenges forum. If you like Pokémon and writing, you should definitely give it a look.
Please tell me what you thought of this. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Please leave me a REVIEW!
Thanks again!
