11 - Guilty Pleasure

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"Would you like to go congratulate him?" Erika asked.

"I'll pass," I said, with a sly smile. She responded in kind.

I know what you're thinking, Erika. "Oh look, she's impressed, she's vulnerable- aim for the weak spot and strike!" I may be impressed with him, but you can take your little romantic machinations and shove it. This does not mean I will be friends with him, much less his lover.

"Well, bye!" I said.

"Wait! Do you have to leave? I wish you would stay for the last match."

"I really have to, Amphy needs food. He gets grumpy if he doesn't eat before nightfall."

"Ah, well… There is an after-summit party tonight, would you be able to come then?"

"Eh. I'll think about it."

Hmm, do I want to go to this party? Considering how the gala went…. Mmm… No.

Proposition duly thought about and rejected. See? I'm a woman of my word!

"Oh." Erika looked disappointed. "Well, if you must leave, may I walk you out? There are one or two things I'd like to discuss before you go."

"Alright." If she dares brings up a conversation containing the words "Morty", "Romance", "Love", or "Sex", I will Extreme Speed out of there so fast, she'll be coughing up dust for a week. We began strolling out of the stadium enclosure side-by-side.

"So, I'll be going back to Celadon tomorrow evening," she said. I nodded, expecting this.

"However… I'll be back in a week."

"What for?" I asked, curious.

"I'm taking an extended leave of absence. Things have not been going well, exactly, so I will be leaving the gym for a while."

"You're quitting? Is something the matter?"

"No, not quitting. Not permanently. I'm simply taking a long break. One of my protégés will become the acting Gym Leader while I'm gone."

"Why?"

"I can't say."

"Whhhyyyyy?" I asked, adopting Whitney's whiny voice for when she's not getting her way. Erika giggled.

"Let's just say the politics around Celadon are not friendly. Hmmm... you could say there's an unhappy lame duck in office, and they're using their residual powers to settle a personal vendetta. I've gotten caught in the middle. I think it's best for the gym if I hid out of town until the new officer is sworn in."

"Sounds dicey. Are you sure everything will be okay?"

"Don't worry, it will be alright. Besides, it's become quite a robotic existence there, I am absolutely yearning for a change of pace. So, to my point- I'll be staying in Olivine until January or February."

"Really?!"

Thank you corrupt politicians! For your ethical failings, I get to see my bestie on a daily basis for five straight months! Squeeee!

Of course I suppressed my inner elation, and presented only a smile and laughter for my friend.

The rest of the walk was filled with delightful chatting: Intricate plans for what we planned to do over the autumn, where Erika could find a nice rental home, and how I would finally have the chance to play tour guide to my home city.

"It'll be like the summer I stayed over at your place," I said excitedly.

"Much longer, actually."

"They have a casual tennis league, we could join as a team."

"Sounds splendid."

"Are you set for cash? Will they pay you while you're on leave?"

"Only for the first month. But don't worry, I have plenty saved."

"That's right, your flower business." In addition to the gym, Erika ran a nationally renowned flower and fragrance business.

"Yes. I think I might open a branch here in Olivine- the climate is perfect for growing chrysanthemums."

A minute spent discussing flower arrangement later, we arrived at the exit.

"Well, this is it," I said.

"One more minute. Jasmine," Erika said. Uh-oh. She has a serious face on. "I'm worried for you."

"About me and boys?"

"Well that too."

We hung still, letting an awkward moment pass in silence.

"I don't mind talking about it, but maybe when we have more time," I said.

"Well, I appreciate it. But, what I was more concerned about, is your probation."

Who told you about that?!

"Yes?"

"I just want to say, you have my… and Whitney's, and Lyra's, full support. We'll be there for you the whole way. And I have ideas for how to help you through it, too."

"Th-thank you!"

I embraced Erika.

"I'll call again later tonight, in case you'd like to go to the party," she said. Fat chance, but I nodded to her. "Or if you'd rather, I could come over. My plane is not till late, we could have that chat." I shrugged.

"See you soon," I said, she said her goodbye, I turned and left, and that was that.

The moment of truth was drawing closer, I sensed. What was I going to tell her? The actual truth? The half-truth that I had been feeding society these many years? A completely new lie, to throw her off track?

As much as I wanted to find and decide upon a rational course of action that most benefitted me- the one thing that felt like the worst solution was the thing I wanted to do most.

Run away.

Avoid the issue.

Hide.

Bury it like the wretched, fetid corpse of a memory it is.

Rationally, it was the worst thing to do. Emotionally, it was my only option. All the frank discussion and intellectual persuasion would not get me to unearth it. The only thing that could bring it out was an equally strong, opposite force, of the same kind as it- an emotional force.

I pulled out my phone. 5:08. I was at the steps to my apartment, and it would take another fifteen minutes to get to the lighthouse, if I hurried. That should be just enough time to get there and let Amphy eat before he goes on duty. Apparently, if he has to eat while he's luminescing, it causes stomach irritation, and he becomes a pain to deal with. While I care for Amphy because he's my Pokémon and I love him, I am also officially responsible for caring for him, to ensure he keeps Olivine Bay properly lit. We haven't had a shipwreck here in twenty years, almost, but the possibility always weighs on the back of my mind.

"Food… food… food… where are… ah." I found them sitting at the bottom of my pantry, under a pile of grocery bags. They were single-serving packets of food, both dry and wet, in a variety of flavors. Amphy liked the wet food, and usually had me microwave it for him.

"Oh please don't." I looked outside, at the sky. It was beginning to cloud over, and I was afraid it would rain.

"Weather?" I wish I had a TV. I opened my little netbook, each second taking away precious walking time.

"10% chance for rain. Ew." Cloudy Castforms littered the Johto region board. If not tonight, it was definitely slated to rain for the rest of the week.

I dashed off.

The lighthouse came into view at 5:36. Running most of the way had put me out of breath, forcing me to use the elevator.

Ding!

I nearly dashed out, heading straight for the stairs to the second landing.

"Aiiieee?!" I tip-toed to a startled halt, catching something in the corner of my eye.

"AIEIEIIEIE?! What are you doing in bed!" I stomped my way over to the delinquent Pokémon. "C'mon, you've barely enough time to chow, then it's off to work!" I nudged the slumbering form with my toe. There was no response.

"Hey, wake up!" I nudged him more forcefully. Amphy tucked himself into a tighter ball. Why you little!

"C'mon, wake up! I've got food and you've got a job to do!" After a few embattled minutes of provocations, Amphy was no more awake than when I arrived. I picked him up, body and all, and sat him upright. He tried to wrap himself into his blanket.

"Unt-uh." I ripped the wooly refuge away.

Amphy stared at me with eyes full of resentment.

I quickly left to microwave a packet. Upon returning, Amphy was stuck in a ball, blanket woven around itself.

"Hey, I've got dinner. What are you doing?!"

I dug in, struggling to untuck the Pokémon. "People don't battle Pokémon, Pokémon battle Pokémon! Amphy stop this, or I'll bring Steelix out." I wasn't even certain Steelix could safely fit inside the room.

"Phooo."

"Are you sick?" I put my hand to his head, then stomach. After a silly game of cat and mouse, I managed to grab a hold of his tail bulb. The one sure way to tell if an Ampharos is sick is to inspect its bulb. The cellular photobodies that produce light and electricity inside of the bulb are produced by an organ interconnected with the lungs. They're unusually susceptible to infection because of this proximity. If the bulb appears cloudy or darker than usual, it is a sign of sickness.

Amphy's bulb was dull, but free of impurities. That means a low photobody count- possibly caused by a rare disease or severe depression, but the most common cause would be excessive sleeping. I wonder which one it was…

"Chow down this instant! There are fishing boats and passenger liners and tankers out there relying on you! Don't let them down!"

Amphy reluctantly ate his food.

"And no more sleeping in! It's not like you don't get to lay down and powernap through your job too! If I could sleepwalk through my battles, you think I would be on probation?"

Amphy slurped down the last morsel.

"Here." While he had eaten, I had prepped instant hot tea. Amphy slowly lapped this up.

I didn't trust him to not go back to bed, so I followed him upstairs and saw to it that he lighted up. The usual dance of machinery ensued and a beam of illumination pierced the night air.

"Thank you."

"Ampha."

I sat down in the door, back to the frame and head facing away from the blinding light.

"What's the matter with you? You've been stubborn lately."

"Ampharos!"

"I missed a good matchup to get you dinner, and you're sleeping! How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Amphoo…" which sounded like "sowwy…" to me.

"Whatever. I had a long day. I can't believe it, I didn't even really do anything. But, a lot happened."

Quite a lot. My head was flush with the events of the day. Too much had happened, I couldn't process it all at once. Singing before a national audience was a first, and hopefully, singular experience. Whitney's rivalry with Maylene rose to new heights, and I finally found out the root cause of it. Many great Pokémon battles had been fought. Coming to watch them had proved valuable, despite the headaches involved. I felt inspired to become a better competitor, and had gotten some ideas on how to do that. Between my new ideas, and Erika's reassurances, I felt a lot more confident going into probation than when I lost to Lance.

Maylene and Sabrina showed me how useful diversifying one's types a little could be. Until today, I had stubbornly clung to the belief that specializing in one type made one better, because of familiarity. As the old kung-fu master said: "I do not fear the man who practices 1000 punches once each. I fear the man who has practiced one punch 1000 times." Turns out, the best solution is to practice one punch 900 times, and two other punches 50 times each. In other words, I need new Pokémon, non-steel types… On second thought, I could use more steel types too. Steelix was the only Pokémon who carried his weight on my team.

From a spectators' standpoint, the battles themselves were spectacular. If I hadn't been personally attached, Whitney and Maylene's would have been downright funny. What little I caught of the other battles on the video replays were pretty cool too: I especially liked this trick Candice's Froslass pulled with Barrier and Mirror Coat. Sabrina, and especially Volkner, had fought with skill and determination; they and their Pokémon never gave up.

And then… there was Morty.

Morty, Morty, Morty.

What am I supposed to do with this idiot? How am I supposed to feel towards him?

Three years of absence from my life hadn't softened any of the ill will I held towards him. Three days of interactions had turned my entire opinion of him topsy-turvy.

He was a better trainer than I remember. I always knew he was clever. On the other hand, I always believed he was too lazy, too lacking in discipline to train his Pokémon properly. The same way he sidled out of doing homework or going to P.E. classes, I was under the impression he habitually skimped out on training, leveling, and organizing his team. Even if he was smart enough to win, his Pokémon would never have the discipline or capability to carry out his schemes in the middle of battle. I was wrong- oh so very wrong. By some miracle, he had buttoned down and put in the effort to make them strong.

The result? A trainer who I believed was on par with Red, the world champion.

I could no longer deny his prowess on the field.

His character, though? Could I trust him to have changed in that department too? It seemed impossible to me.

Was this time going to be different? Does the fact that he disciplined himself and changed his old lackadaisical trainer habits also indicate he's changed his lousy treatment of others? His actions these past three days indicate otherwise. He treated me like a child and belittled my virgin status; he pissed off his closest friend and beat him in a nationally-televised Pokémon battle; tried wagering to get my friend in bed with him; successfully played two other women into his bed; and acted like a wise-ass the whole way through.

Even now, he's probably lounging at the party, basking in victory, forcing Sabrina or Maylene or both to hang off his arm, eagerly waiting for later tonight when he could ravish them.

If he weren't so good looking and suave acting, he'd be recognized for the creep that he really is.

He wants to impress me? Ha! He's going to have to do more than "change". He needs to have a damn good reason for these actions of his, and apologize for them. Maybe then, I can forgive him. Maybe then we can progress from "mortal antagonists" to "friendly acquaintances".

"Blah!" I yelled out loud in frustration.

What's the point?

I've been here before. I trusted him; I gave him a chance to show me he was a nice person, and he messed up.

No, that's putting it too kindly. He betrayed me.

These thoughts poured through my head as I slowly made my way down the lighthouse stairwell. Each and every mark against his moral character surfaced and played over and over in my head. No matter what I did I could not rid myself of the thought of him.

'He likes you'. Whitney's words. They clung to my conscience like a Remoraid. I can't escape those words. Was it even possible, for all the crap, for my incessant self-denials, for my endless list of grievances, that I liked him too? Impossible! I am me, these are my most personal, inner-most thoughts, and in this deep refuge of the mind, I still harbor enmity towards that individual. I will never allow him the pleasure of my body! Simple as that!

Then why can't I stop thinking about him?!

Just as I was saying, "Damn you Morty, why you?! Why me?!" I reached the bottom, and my phone rang.

"Hello Morty," I answered. Loud dubstep music was playing in the background, drumming my ears and making it difficult to hear the caller.

"Jasmine? It's me, Erika."

"Who?"

"Erika!"

"Erika?"

"Yes, me."

"Oh…"

"Were you expecting Morty to call?"

"…"

"Anyways, I was wondering if you were going to come to the party." Just over the phone the dubstep was getting to me. I hate music like that- not necessarily the genre, but when they turn the subwoofers so low that you feel it in your chest, not through your ears- that grinds on me in the most unpleasant way.

"I'm pretty tired, and feeling faint. I don't think I can make it."

"I see," Erika said, clearly disappointed.

"How's Whitney? Is she there?"

"Oh, Whitney. I wish you were here to see it. She and Maylene are drunk- very drunk. Brawly is here too, and they're fighting over him. They're so tipsy, though… It's quite a sight."

"Did you say Maylene is there?"

"Yes, she's here."

Looks like Sabrina got first and sole dibs tonight.

"So is Whitney fighting with her?"

"It's not fighting, so much as… flirting, let's say, with Brawly."

"Flirting, as in…"

"I don't think you would like the details. At least they're not nude."

"Too much info."

"Thought so."

Too much info indeed; my imagination started off on its own. Images of nibbling and petting came to mind. I squashed the imagery by picturing Muks playing in sewage.

"And what about Lyra?"

"She's playing drinking games with Ethan, Lizzy, Jeff, and a red haired guy, I forget his name. He seemed like an old acquaintance of hers."

"Uhuh. Well, I hope you have a good time, give my regards to the girls, and tell Morty to lay off Sabrina for me, if you see him, 'kay?"

"About that…"

"About what?"

"Sabrina is at the bar- she's probably the most drunken person here. Morty stopped by to chat with some people, but now he's gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes, gone. Nowhere to be seen. I doubt he'll be bedding Maylene or Sabrina tonight."

"Huh."

What does that mean? Is he having trouble 'downstairs'?

"Who did he chat with?"

"Oh, let me think. Just Whitney, a young lady with rosemallow flowers in her hair, and Volkner."

"Did he get into any trouble?"

"No, everything was civil and polite. I will ask Whitney what they were talking about, in a bit, if you'd like."

"Please."

"Very well. It's nice seeing you interested."

"Not in that way," I retorted sharply. "I'm trying to find out something concerning Morty. It'd put my mind at rest if I could know for sure. That is all."

"And that something is?"

"Can't say, not until I know the answer."

"Very well, I will respect that. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be at the airport."

"Alright, then, goodbye."

"Bye."

Morty's not at the party. Sabrina and Maylene are. He's not going to have sex with them. Not tonight, anyways. Most people leave for their home regions tomorrow, so the chances of collecting the wager any time soon is slim-to-none.

Why pass it up?

Don't all men lust, constantly, incessantly? I can't imagine a pervert like Morty going out of his way to create a bet just to get sex out of women, winning, and then being a no-show when it came time to collect.

What the hell?

I repeated this to myself, over and over.

I stormed around the lower floor of the lighthouse, pondering and questioning and becoming excitable.

"Ugh!"

I paused a moment at a doorway. The Glitter Lighthouse Public Library. It was a tiny auxiliary branch to the main Olivine Public Library. The latter was a large, luxurious building, but it was located way up in the hills. Olivine's literary constituency wanted something closer to the coast, and this was the only available public space. Seeing as a good number of beach-goers came through, it was full of cheap romance fics, mainly geared towards middle-aged women. For the men, one shelf was dedicated entirely to action thrillers, for the cruises, but that was about it.

I sometimes browsed the stock, usually perusing the nonfiction section. I found myself walking in and starting there.

"Guide to Olivine City". Read that a thousand times.

"Psychology of Pokémon". I need a psychology for boys and girls, not Pokémon.

"Beacons of Safety: National Lighthouses". Irrelevant.

Meh! Real life was the cause of all my problems. Where's some escapist literature?

I continued through the thrillers, then through the slice-of-life novels, and ended up in the young women's section.

"How many of these books are actually about love? They're just slutty fantasies," I said to myself.

Why? Why is it so popular? Is procreation so vital that nature had to build in such uncontrollable desires to force us? It's gone so far that there's an entire trashy book industry for women to wet themselves over. I mean, really, why resort to books? It's not as if any decent looking woman couldn't have a dozen men at her beck and call whenever she so desired. The fact that this exists, that we had to invent idealized partners to fantasize over, doesn't that confirm my worldview of a sleazy, bastardly male population? But… but… those kinds of men fill these kinds of books to the brim. What does that say about the women who lust over them? That everyone is a hedonistic chimp, waiting for the next round of pleasure, without any regards to actual love?

It's sad, but true, I think. The whole world is ruled by lust. I was brought up to believe a lie called love. I dearly wish I had never known, I most dearly wish I could be above those urges…

But then I think of him, and a shiver goes up my spine and across my shoulders, my gut sinks, my stomach feels light, and my heart speeds up. I told myself, these are signs of adrenaline, because he scared you. You're still afraid of him.

But… but… it's not that, is it?

I want to believe I'm special, but here I am, angsting over the dilemma; angsting over a boy, and trying to prove to myself that I'm better than that, that I couldn't possibly have feelings- and I'm failing.

I thought I was a good girl with too much to accomplish in life and no need of love. Against all logic, though, I picked a certain book up, some classic but trashy novel about unrequited love, and started reading from the middle. I started reading because… I'm not really sure; it's one of those things you just do. Perhaps I was momentarily piqued by love and romance and sex and the over-blown eminence our world places on it. Perhaps I was a victim of hormones. Perhaps the stress of the day had lowered my guard for a moment. But I was reading about prince charming cheating his way into the heart of an overly sweet, putridly sweet lady, and it was quickly heading towards the dirty parts. "His eyes dwelled restlessly on her buxom chest." Gross! I set the book back on the shelf at that.

Then I just had to think of Morty. If I had words for my feelings, they'd go like- "Why should he be any better? Why should he deserve me?" Which I don't know what to make of. But it bothered me, and I got curious, and I opened the book back up, starting again at the trashy part.

Well…

I admit: I've masturbated before. But, I did it for the self-pleasure, and only that, and never imagined anything fancy. Besides, it was rare; once or twice a month, and it's been much longer still since the last time. And every time, I felt guilty, and dirty, and not myself. I regretted it. I tried passing it off as hormones, or for mere health reasons. I never wanted to imagine what I was doing was connected to romance.

But now, I'm reading about [REDACTED]. Ugh! How banal! How disgusting! But god and devil I was bothered! All the tingling feelings over my body, [REDACTED], were tripping signals to my brain, begging me to read on.

And I did. I did, taking in the poorly written prose, reading each dirty word, each repulsive description, while one hand flipped the pages, and the other… slowly glided… southward.

[CENSORED] Jasmine fantasizes and masturbates. [/CENSORED]

I was so idiotically in love with my pleasure then, I didn't notice anything else.

So I composed myself, tired and happy, flipped my skirt aright, closed and shelved the book, and made to leave, all in one smooth motion, when I looked forward and nearly screamed.

A person was standing there. No, not just a person. It was Morty.