Logic

I can feel the colour running
As it's fading from my face
Try to speak but nothing's coming
Nothing I could say to make you stay

Grabbed your suitcase, called a taxi
It's 3 AM, now where you gonna go?
Gonna stay with friends in London
And that's all I get to know.

Logically, it makes no sense at all. A few months ago, this girl was nothing more than a fellow Gym leader to me, another piece to beat in this competition that we call the Pokemon League. She was fierce, abrupt and passionate. She was a pain in my arse, is what she was. But after months of fighting and pushing back, we had a lapse in judgement, we let the heat of the moment suffocate us and we inevitably lost ourselves to one another. It's been a few months into this little game and I can't quite pinpoint the moment when everything became much more than just sex. How long has it been since I bought that secondary toothbrush, and how long has it been since I started calling you 'beautiful' instead of 'hot stuff'? How long have I been acting like some sort of jealous boyfriend in our unestablished relationship, even for the littlest of things like when you meet up with Ashy-Boy the few times he's in town? For how long had that picture of you kissing my cheek been my default phone background, the one I hate but you loved, the one you said captured my true smile (not a smirk, but an actual smile), the one that showed your freckles and my blush- though I pretended it to be a mere sunburn. I don't think you ever did believe me.

But I'm getting off topic, because that is what you, you and no one else, does to me. You drive me crazy and raise my anger and cool me down- like no one else can. You make me go off topic because you're beautiful and smart and most definitely stubborn. You're Misty. And you're perfect. So perfect, that it scares me. This, us, it scares me. I've never felt so enthralled and attached to anyone. Ever. You're a special case and for these past few weeks I've been trying to convince myself that this- whatever it was- was nothing but a phase. But I have to tell you it's one hell of a fucking long phase.

I spin in my office chair, despite still slouching, until I stop suddenly at the grandfather clock. It's been a full hour. I groan and face plant into my two open palms. Warm water trickles lightly into the calloused skin of my fingers as I take hesitant breaths. An hour. An hour of sitting here prolonging my work load and thinking of her. That blasted woman.

As soon as I think that I feel an uncontrollable surge of guilt. After all it's my fault she left, that she packed her suitcase and removed herself from my property. I can clearly see the tear stained image of your face, black trails and smeared lipstick, flustered cheeks and bitten lips. My fault you cried for the first time in so long. My fault. All my fault.

But, I was just so scared...

Balled firsts, a flash of lightening illuminated my room and I'm jolting from my Seattle from the plush fabric of my official office chair.

The woman I loved was currently pursuing a line of Tarmac as I sat pondering my own damn idiocy.

Wait- loved? I stop. Pause. What? I don't- I couldn't possibly- it's not- I sigh. I'm in love. I, bachelor playboy Gary Oak am in love- with one: hotheaded, bitchy but beautiful Misty Waterflower. I give myself a second to absorb the realisation before I stand on two feet, scurry around my clutter filled office, scour my claustrophobic kitchen and then my 'homely' (messy) family room. Finally, I grasp ahold of the keys I have been masterfully failing to find before racing out of the door- not bothering to lock, or even close the raft of wood for my mind was trained on one thought: the redhead I had stupidly allowed to slip out of my life mere hours ago.

I know that she was heading for a ship, to Pallet- no doubt to see that simpleton Ketchum, a growl escapes my chapped lips as I step on the gas. As I'm dodging the few cars on the motorway at three in the morning I hear the blares of sirens chasing my car. I don't stop. No time.

I open up my cell phone, pressing one on speed dial.
Please pick up.

I hear her strained voice sniffle as she picks up.
"Gary?"
"I'm in love with you."
And then I'm stopped, the police are in front, behind, I'm trapped.
"Please don't leave me?" I whisper into the mobile. Fuck logic, just please don't let her leave me.

[A/N:] Lyrics are from the Script's song 'Talk you Down'

I haven't updated this in a while and wrote this a while ago, I finally think its half decent and have gotten over the utter paranoia of uploading something new, damn you anxiety! So here it is, review and constructive criticisms welcome. note the use of the word constructive. :)