Broken
You lay curled up in the fetal position. Your eyes are glassy and glazed. You don't move.
Ever since that happened, this is all you can do. Your ruffled hair isn't at home in its cap anymore; it lies limply on the white tile floor in the cold boxy room with only one door.
Not that you care. You don't care about much anymore.
You were just trying to help! You knew he was trying to rape her! You had to save her! Why you chose to yell "Pikachu, Volt Tackle!" instead of "Pikachu, Thunderbolt," or even "Pikachu, Quick Attack!" not even you know.
All you know is that by the time his heart stopped, you'd realized what you'd done.
And you broke.
But you aren't alone; not always. She comes sometimes, with worried eyes, and crouches next to your folded body. She uncurls your icy hand and holds it, or brushes your hair back from your forehead, but you don't respond.
But today is different. She sits, hard, on the floor next to you. You still stare straight ahead.
"Ash Ketchum," she starts, her voice wavering, "you had better get better."
"You still..." she gasps, trying and failing to hold in sobs.
"You still...owe...me a bike."
She gives in and puts her head in her hands. She sobs and sobs.
You take her hand. She looks up, startled. This is the most you've done in months.
But now you know how broken she is, too. And now, maybe you can pick up the pieces together.
Author's Note: Keep reading and reviewing!
3,
Sofia