Yes, Ash—with whom I traveled, matured, laughed and cried all over the Kalos Region many years ago—was widowed. I had followed his life closely and then I hadn't, but bits and pieces of his existence after our first lives together were always attracted to my ears, and they stuck to my memory with an equally predatory force. I was not able to attend his wedding because of an unavoidable engagement I made up, and, with the same despondent resolution, I failed to attend the consequent funeral as well, although that time my inability to attend sunk my heart into a deeper sorrow—I wanted to be there for whom was still to my soul an irreplaceable friend—as I was currently dealing with a departure of my own (nous sommes très similaires!), a disappointment, and a further severing of our already cold relationship, was unavoidable.

At this point I find myself unable to write her name, just as at that moment I felt unable to utter it. It felt like a sign of disrespect towards her. Towards her, who had as much of a claim as one can have on another person, and as I had, on Ash. The times he and I traveled together, the things we learned together, were not different from what he and she experienced together, not different at all. And her daughter, for whom I wasn't there to witness as she said her last goodbyes to her mother, was likewise forbidden from appearing on the swaying of my fingers, not even as a silhouette. I had already profaned her treasures too much, my filthy and unworthy hands enjoyed themselves with her property; I guided her little one through nature as only a parent should do, and ended with the transient distress that tormented father and daughter.

Please accept that as a belated apology for my transgressions, you, the real winner, the blessed usurper of the life that wasn't mine. I witnessed the gifts you left on this earth, and then I was set to disappear.

I saw Ash's face during the harrowing moment before I returned his daughter to him, it was that of a person with too much to live for witnessing his own death and resurrection. She sprinted towards him like a little angel floating back into heaven, and the effusive and consoling hug that they shared at first contact reminded me of a different time, of a time when I went to bed at night and got up in the morning with the thought of sharing a hug like that, with the same boy-turned-man for bonus points. I couldn't ask myself how I felt about him currently, I wouldn't have dared. Before I did such thing I would've knocked myself unconscious, or I would have enacted the same punishment on him; a part of me objectively wanted to knock him out of my consciousness with a flying kick.

Then, after the hug, the little one turned to me with with her big eyes full of different emotions; I was dreading it, how I wished she hadn't looked at me! I was ready to bolt away. She pointed at me in what seemed to me an accusatory manner, and declared me her savior. Her tiny waving finger felt like a dagger to my chest. Her dad looked at me with his mouth wide open and contemplative eyes, his brain was slowly processing the situation. He looked like an idiot, I suddenly hated him. But I was left without my agency, when the little one disarmed me with her hand. So what did I do? I put on a fanciful smile and waved my hand at them like one of those exasperated dames riding on top of a car during a parade. And I let my insides silently devour me, of course.

"Serena, is that you?" He said, and I repeated his words with his own voice in my mind, before I replied with a fraudulent, high pitched, "Yes, hi!"

Anyone with the least developed ability to discern human emotions and gestures; anyone who's not Ash Ketchum, could have easily seen behind my pathetic facade; I was dying. But not him, he was only happy to see me, genuinely so. The little one exploded with happiness when she realized—more specifically, when she was explicitly told—that we were old friends. She took an instant liking to me, and made things harder for the two adults when she said: "You remind me of my mom!" (I am nothing like she was, nothing at all) I could see in his eyes, how her father's heart broke a little when she said that, but he made an instant recovery, taking from an unlimited source of energy to which only Ash Ketchum had access.

"It was nice to see you," I said. I had already started turning back by the time I finished my sentence, my body implored me to leave the unadulterated expression of their pure hearts and mother nature to themselves, but the two of them paralyzed me with their voices; chanting in unison, they put a spell on me. "Wait!" They cried like two children. And they were keen on continuing their handling of my complete being.

Ash was grateful in a way no person should ever be. I had returned his life to him, for a moment I had a hold over his immortal soul. It's an injustice how something so desolating is permitted to happen in this world. The little one loved pokemon (and she still does, now more than ever), and she was prone to forget her surroundings and to wander off at the sight of anything resembling a pokemon, but she couldn't be held accountable for her innocent proclivities, as it was on her nature, which had been passed on to her by her equally innocent, equally vivacious father.

It seemed neither of them were willing to release me yet, instead they were ready to continue my torment, albeit of my distress—as I can assure everyone, including myself—they were completely, innocently, almost endearingly, unaware. Together they invited me to dinner. Once Ash uttered his desire to thank me with his trained culinary offerings, their humors fed off each other's and increased their moods in such a way that showcased their obvious blood relation; they were equally vivacious and had the same self-sustaining motivational drive, like never ending candles that shone brighter when they were closer, and I knew then that if I refused their pure and kind offer I'd be rejecting the miracle that was life itself. So I graciously accepted with a smile on my face, although there was not a doubt in my mind to quiet what echoed inside it: it would be a torture for me.

I guess I hadn't given them enough, appeasing their spirits after an unthinkable scare was not enough. Now I had to appease their spirits by ascertaining that their thankful states were well communicated with the food that they so eagerly wanted to get in me.

Retroactively, I was the luckiest woman in the world: Ash invited me to dinner! In his house on Pallet Town no less!

Once the procedural exchange of information was completed and the time and place for the date were set (both of which notified me of what my afternoon would consist by doing a number on my feelings—the suffering had already begun), and we said our hollow goodbyes, I returned to my hotel room, closed the door behind me and grabbed my phone, all with the intention of making a long distance phone call. I needed to get some words out of me, so that when the time came, only what was outside of me managed to harm me. The phone rang, and kept ringing. I worried she wouldn't pick up, I worried she wouldn't have the time to listen to another one of my ravings, before I heard Bonnie's carefree voice; she was completely unaware of my perils.

"Hey sweet-cheeks, how's yourrendez-vous amoureux going?" She said nonchalantly, the short yet exuberant minx. Of her I never lost sight. I watched her turn from an adorable mini-bohemian dudette, into a cunning heart-breaker with a porcelain figure and a dangerous mind, as well as my best friend.

"It was pleasantly cruising through its natural course," I said, "until… guess what happened,"

"No, tell me now or I'll hang up, I'm serious," the small-bodied demon said to me,

"Shut up,"

"Come on, you know you're dying to tell me, we'll do the guessing later."

At this point I gave up, and the words started pouring out of me like a violent waterfall of poisoned water. Even then I could reflect on my exasperated state. The fact that she was my best friend did not detract from the level of alienation I could sense on my verbosity; even I could tell many words had been left inside me for too long—a week, to be specific. After the call ended I remembered she could have recriminated me for demanding that, if I was to take a vacation, I needed to go alone, although at that moment, during my hyperbolic fit, it did not cross my mind, and I wouldn't have cared if it had.

"I can't stay here," I finalized my repellent tirade, which included abundant mentions of Ash, his daughter, his late wife, and the coffee I forgot on the park along with my handkerchief; I could sense Bonnie's uneasiness and confusion on the other side. "I'll check if there's an earlier fly for tonight, I can't stand staying here another night" I said,

"You're making a mistake," she had the nerve to reply,

"Can we please not do this? I know I'm not, I know it,"

"You don't know anything,"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not in a better position than you, and yet I do know you are overreacting because you're scared, you've always been a coward my friend,"

"Thanks friend, it's nice to know I can always count on you to cheer me up, I'm glad I called you,"

"From the moment we met your cowardice was noticeable, you never had the courage to confess your feelings for him, and, when even your counter-hegemonic nature became tired of your hesitation, and you smacked a big wet kiss on him, what did you do next? What did that amount to? Nothing,"

"…Anything else?"

"It is because of this, my dear sucré fesse, and because all of which I know you've been through, that I now tell you: you have been given another chance, can't you see?"

"I can't, can you?"

"Of course!"

"Really? So I must go back to Lumiose at once, so that I can see it too!"

"That is so hilarious, but no, your precious love is calling you, love and fate have put you on that specific space at that specific time…"

It was at this moment when my blossoming contempt for my—at that point—former and future best friend, led me to stop listening to another one of her mawkish and saccharine speeches, which, like those of my own, contained real sugar, although hers were always complemented with another layer of spice and a ribaldry which mine never included, and which always made my ears uncomfortable. It was not until, after a couple of minutes, she said something along the lines of: "you are too afraid to take the chance which for some reason has been given to you." (Now that I remember correctly, that's exactly what she said to me) How dare she, who called herself my best friend, tell me what was inside of me with such accuracy? How dare she reveal to the conscious part of my being what its counterpart was dying to communicate? That I dreamed of what was happening to me, that it was exactly what I hopelessly and shamefully longed for every night, that I already knew it, and that I was dying to take it.

I was going to leave that night, right after my supplice on Pallet Town: I couldn't take it.

Before my date at Ash's house (little Serena, gush and rejoice), I went back to the park and retrieved my intact morose gentleman and my rear guardian from the bench. Honestly I thought about consuming the inert contents of the first one I'd betrayed, but at that point the ill-fated taste, consistency and temperature, of which I thought it was owed of me to endure, all because of my betrayal and sudden abandonment, weren't the only worries in my consciousness, and, fearing the intrusion of a third party into our relation—the wicked defiling of my beverage by an ill-intentioned marauder—I was forced to dispose of it in the cruelest of ways, by settling it with the rest of the world's waste, were only the unwanted and forgotten went. I'll admit, during that moment I wanted to curl up with my cold cup of coffee inside the trash can, but I resisted the urge, and, as the detour had already made me late for the date, I instead discarded myself with disparaging thoughts, about how much of an intrusive and shameless coward I was, as I headed to Pallet Town.

I stood outside his door and pressed my spare handkerchief on my forehead three times before I could bring myself to knock. I was twenty minutes late. I only had to knock once before the door was opened with an energy that communicated their enthusiasm perfectly. Father and daughter stood one at each side of the door, with their open hands pointed at the living room, with bright smiles on their faces, welcoming me inside; she was definitely his daughter.

I went in, their house felt warm and inviting, it was cozy and full of light. It nullified my negative thoughts and stopped me from creating new ones; my harmful, self-deprecating voice was silenced once Ash closed the door behind me. That's when I saw Pikachu and he saw me, stopped his unfettered enjoyment of a nature show on the tv on the living room, and went in for a hug, which I reflect I received beaming with happiness. Both of us embraced with the same feelings on the inside and wide smiles on the outside. He returned my love and my remembrance of our past adventures to me with a warm connection. And then the trio urged me to bring forth all my pokemon, and then they took me to the patio where the dinner was to take place, I should have predicted that. They thoughtlessly—albeit not inadvertently—treated me like a princess, they fed me and asked me how I was constantly as we watched the sun go down. Meanwhile our pokemon sprinted and swayed around us, it was exactly how I pictured a real vacation in my mind.

Then something peculiar happened, not because it was an unusual change of behavior or a hyperbolic gesture, but because of the shattering effect it had on my mindset, which, after witnessing said peculiarity, would never be able to return to its muted normalcy. Ash laid on his belly on the green grass, his elbows embedded on the soil beneath him served as support for his shoulders and torso. And on the space between the ground below, his chest above, and his arms at either side, my sylveon rested pleasurably, cuddling with the man. They were gleefully nudging each others' noses and cuddling, innocently as siblings, passionately as lovers.

"I'm sorry, she's allergic to jerks," I said after I saw them. I had to say something, and the carefree way with which he always minded pokemon, and never humans, irked me.

"That's okay," he said in an adorable and subdued manner, as if he were handling a baby. I wanted to call him a jerk again.

He hadn't changed one bit. I hadn't changed one bit. He was the same boy with whom I had been hopelessly in love ever since we were kids. His lips were still imprinted on mine. The kiss meant nothing to him, it couldn't have, he was a child. But to me, to me it meant the world. It had been my world for a long time, until I decided it was enough. I couldn't awake the memory of the kiss, it would consume me, it would kill me, it was too much. But when I gazed at him petting my pokemon I realized there was no way out for me. There he was, right in front of me. His life had had many loves, but he was the only true love of my life, he had been unwittingly filling me with the love that had kept me alive for all these years. I thought I wasn't worthy enough to even be near him, he needed someone much better than me, but any argument was useless. If I tried, it would kill me, if I didn't, I would die.