Authoress here.

Okay, firstly, I understand that you may think Pokémon is a bit childish, but I'd like you to give this a chance. I had been thinking, "Which anime show haven't I written about yet?" This was my answer.

This is a more mature insight into the innermost workings of Jessie's mind both as a young woman coping with the hardships of life, and a girl forced to grow up too fast.

START CHAPTER

I turned twenty last month, and my God did I get drunk.

I had an all girl party at a new nightclub downtown with some people I barely knew. They all work for Team Rocket, so we couldn't talk about work while we were there. A downside to working in an illegal business is that you can't complain within earshot of anyone but coworkers. Talk about awkward silences. After awhile one of the girls, a skinny twiggy thing named Kohana, suggested that we all go find a random guy and dance with him. She then scribbled down the point value for any sexual things we got this stranger to do with us on a napkin she grabbed off the table next to ours.

Kiss on the cheek – 2 points. Kiss on the lips – 10. French – 12. Make out – 15.

Safe sex – 50. Real sex – 100.

In her bubbly, girly handwriting, Kohana had issued a challenge.

I don't really know why I did it. Maybe it was because I knew I shouldn't.

I had a drink, then another, and another...I had enough that I racked up way more points than I should have. I can barely remember that night, but I know I didn't have sex with anyone. I came close, but somehow I had enough sense to get out of there before I made a huge mistake. To top it all off, the bartender carded all of us, one right after the other. Two of the girls, Mitsu and Nariko, were twenty-one. Everyone else was underage. Kohana was only seventeen. But he served us anyway. I'm not making any accusations, but I'm pretty sure Kohana repaid him for his leniency later that night.

All of us were totally wasted by the time we left. I had enough to loosen my tongue around even the most judgmental of the girls, and started talking about work.

I told them all how sick I was of failure. James and I have never accomplished anything for Team Rocket in all the years we'd worked together. For crying out loud, we can't even steal a Pikachu from a fucking kid. He's like, ten years old!

We've wasted so much company money with big machines that never work, spent our entire paychecks to pay back our debts, eaten food out of dumpsters during the hard times...

All that crap put together is why I'm keeping a diary. When I woke up lying on the bathroom floor with a welt on my head from the countertop, I realized for the first time how serious my problems have been getting.

It took a long time for me to realize that I was sleeping in the bathroom at the T.R. headquarters. I had to get up really slowly so I wouldn't fall over. The whole place smelled like puke. My puke.

I didn't find out until an hour later that while I was drunk and bitching about my job, the girls thought it would be funny to bring me to see Giovanni. He never told me if I had quit by myself or if he had fired me for it, but either way, I don't have a job there anymore. It's sad. My own birthday, and I can't remember most of it.

Once I had recovered from a hangover of biblical proportions, I went back and begged for my job back. I was laughed out of the boardroom by the higher-ups in the business for even trying. To make it worse, Giovanni told me that James had heard what happened and that he never wanted to see or talk to me again. I don't know if there was ever a time in my life when my head hurt from trying not to cry as much as it did when he spoke those words. I felt so...lost. So hurt. I ran out of headquarters and haven't been back since. I haven't tried talking to James. The pain is still too fresh.

I didn't know what to do for a long time.

It was too late for me to go back to high school. I never finished eleventh grade. I dropped out and ran away from home. It's not that I didn't love my family – I did, they gave me my first Pokémon – I just couldn't handle the pressure. My family was expecting too much from me. I was sixteen, way too young to have to keep food on the table when my dad left, and my grandma moved in. My mom had a job; she just hated spending her own money, so I had to. It was either that or starve.

I could already feel myself rooting to the lifestyle of a daughter who lived at home, stayed single, and obeyed her mother unconditionally setting in after a few months of it. So I ran away and joined the first underground organization I could find to distance myself from my old life. Team Rocket.

I let my hair grow out from the pixie cuts my mom gave me so that she wouldn't recognize me if we ever met again. I was half ashamed about what I'd done to my family and to myself, but also half angry at the life my mom tried to force on me.

I read in the papers last year that Mom remarried a rich businessman, and I haven't seen nor heard mention of her since then. I hope she's happy, and that she forgot she ever had a daughter. The two must go hand in hand.

When I left, I had some money put away. After a week of being on my own, I knew it wasn't working. I needed a source of income. So I got a part time job at a beauty salon owned and run by a woman named Aneko. She's medium height and her hair is long, layered, and about twenty different colors from all the "fashionable" highlights and lowlights she's gotten over the years. I suppose she's impressive as far as big business owners for being so down to earth, but I think she's a little scary. Don't get me wrong though – she's a sweet lady. She didn't ask questions when I confessed that my last job was illegal. I think she figured I was a hooker and just plain didn't want the story, but she hired me anyway, so I didn't dwell on it.

I do rich people's hair and nails, and purposely steer clear of the body waxing rooms so they don't ask me for help. I tried it once on some woman's legs, and she screamed till she passed out. That's when I decided body waxing wasn't for me. I can cut hair really well though, oddly enough, and I'm getting much better at doing people's nails. I mess up on the polish sometimes and have to re-do it, but honestly, who doesn't?

I found an apartment a few blocks from work, and I'm doing my best to keep up on the rent. It's little and the kitchen microwave smells like burned popcorn, but it's the best I can do right now and I'm damn proud of it. It's really not so bad, I guess. My neighbors are nice to me. The man next door promised to help me fix the sink in the kitchen, so I feel bad that I can't remember his name. He certainly knows mine. I told him my name was Jessie, but he occasionally calls me Jess instead. I don't know if he's trying to be cute or something, but it's kind of nice to have a friend other than James.

Why am I so torn up about this? We never acted like anything other than friends. There was nothing more. He's the only guy who I've ever cried in front of, the only person alive who really knows me.

He never knew. I never told him that over the years, I'd come to see him as being something more to me than a good friend. I still have problems admitting it to myself. Maybe if I write it down, the ghosts of the past won't be as bad. Maybe if I admit it, everything will get better.

I can say it. It's easy. I love him. I love him more than anything in the world. I would die for him, I would kill for him...I would learn to like kids if he wanted some. God, I'm ranting like one of those creepy stalkers.

But I can't even stalk him. He doesn't want me anywhere near him. That shouldn't be a problem that anyone has to complain about! I could at least have gotten a massive crush on someone I could see whenever I wanted. Fate really dealt me a shitty hand.

For God's sake, I kept my Rocket outfit. It's in my closet. I stuffed the inside of the boots with newspapers so they wouldn't lose their shape. I know I should really let go of the past and throw it away, but right now, it's my only tie to James. I was wearing it the last time we saw each other. I can't just chuck memories like that, good or bad. They matter to me.

I don't mean to angst all over my notebook, but if I don't let all of this out, I think I'm going to implode. Let's call it a home remedy for depression and lack of self-worth. It may or may not work, but it's worth a shot since I can't afford therapy.

Till I next need to vent,

Jessie

END CHAPTER

What did you think? I hope people like this story since it's the first one I've actually plotted out ahead of time. PenPusherM shook me today until I promised to give her something to read to take her mind of off finals.

I hope this falls under that category!

Review away!