It took days—days, over one little incident!—for Huey to speak to Lucas again. The pair was in their shared cell five days after Huey had exploded in a rage of reminisce on Diamonds. Huey was lifting some weights that he'd pilfered from the gym, grunting and sweating excessively, and Lucas was lying on his top bunk, reading a paperback novel of Rob's that had the first few pages and the cover torn from it. From the contents, Lucas gathered that it was a cheesy romance, as the vast majority of the scenes were of either the dramatic or pornographic sort between a blonde doctor named Lorraine and her smoldering construction worker husband, Lewis. Of course, Lorraine was having an affair, but Lucas was becoming bored of the book and found it easy to nod off.
After he'd skimmed through a few chapters in silence—excluding Huey's noises of exertion—Lucas couldn't ignore the simmering tension between him and his other mentor. Slamming the book shut, not at all concerned with losing his place, Lucas turned to Huey. "Hey, Huey," he snapped. "I don't mean to be rough and pissy, but let's solve this like diplomatic men. What did I do that made you so angry with me?"
At that point, Huey was tiring of weightlifting and placed the weights on Rob's bunk, the twenty pounds of the combined heaviness making the soggy mattress sag. His broad, fat shoulders heaved as he collected his strength, a child with his scattered marbles. Turning around, Huey opened his mouth and started to speak utter nonsense that took the guise in a form of guilt. Lucas suspected that Huey was only apologizing because Rob encouraged him to, but after a few jumbled excuses, Huey sighed deeply and shook his head.
"Look, kid, I'm sorry," he said frankly. "I just don't know what to say. I shouldn't have clawed your ass like that in there in front of everyone else. It was a dick move, and I sincerely apologize." He bit his lip, trying to sort his words in his brain. "Rob… told me everything you said to him. About you and the girl. And it kills me that I couldn't muck through my shit long enough to give you the advice that he did. I hope you'll forgive me, Diamonds."
"I have already," Lucas said softly. He admired this man—and he could give him leeway for cracking at a bitter memory. Already, Lucas was growing intolerant of the recollection of Dawn being torn away from him. "Can you answer something for me, though?"
"Sure," Huey said after a brief moment of hesitation.
"Rob told me you had a fiancée," Lucas said. "What's your story with her?"
Huey's eyes went dark instantly with hooded secrecy. "Someday," Huey told him sternly, "when I get over it, I'll tell you." Turning his back to Lucas, indicating that the conversation was over, Huey lifted the weights from Rob's bed and started to work out again. Lucas had already experienced a rough patch with Huey, and now that they had resolved their differences, he didn't want to create more turmoil. No longer questioning, Lucas picked up his book, chose a random place, and started reading. But he did not do so without thinking.
He wondered what this woman was like. Rob said she was apparently beautiful; though Rob was a shady character, he seemed to be the type of person that appreciated a strong girl. Maybe she was short and fat like Huey—or tall and slender, exactly his opposite. Was she sassy and grudge-holding, too? Stubborn? She was probably a redhead. Huey was quarrelsome, so red hair would suit him well in a woman. He knew nothing, but by the way Rob retold Huey's tales about her, one thing was definite—Huey loved her. He loved her with the bottom of his heart, and Lucas understood completely how that felt.
When he wanted to remember love, he always thought of Dawn in her bikini on the shoreline of Sinnoh, laughing and playing and looking at him with her black eyes. She regarded him with adoration. Not his level of adoration to her, but friendship. Hope. Affection.
Maybe Rob was right.
Maybe he just needed to wait.
Maybe she would come to him.
()()()
"You've been called for, prisoner."
Lucas looked up from his book again twice in the same day, riled that he was being disturbed from his cheesy material. It had been roughly an hour since Huey had sincerely opened his heart to the boy—the former sailor was now in the gym, returning the weights, and Rob was milling elsewhere in the prison. Lucas had been left uninterrupted in his reading as Huey slipped out of the cell, but now, twenty minutes later, unfamiliar voices shook him from his deep consideration of Lorraine as an imperfect bitch.
His head snapped up at the deep intonations, presuming them to be nosy inmates, his mouth poised to bark at the intruders. But instead, he met the eyes of two staid-faced Galactic grunts in their stupid uniforms and laughable hairstyles. Their ray guns in hand, they eyed Lucas with bland summons.
"What do you want?" Lucas demanded resentfully. "I'm in the middle of a book." He hated these people. What did they want with him? As far as he was concerned, he'd been a model prisoner. Working out quietly, spending time only with Rob and Huey—the sole men he trusted down here—and cleaning his plate. He hadn't sparked any fights or stirred the cauldron of trouble. All he wanted was to be left alone with his book and his thoughts of Dawn.
"Are you deaf, boy?" The Galactic grunt to his left said. "You've been called for. Someone would like to speak with you. Your name is Lucas, correct?"
"If it's your leader, tell him to go eat shit," Lucas thundered. "And no, my name is not Lucas. It was Lucas. It's Diamonds now."
The grunts flinched visibly at that and scowled deeply at him, fingering their guns, probably debating whether or not to incinerate him. Lucas took a silent pleasure in that.
Serves them right, the pompous 'd developed a poisonous mouth from his few weeks in jail, and he was growing proud of it.
"No," the same Galactic grunt replied, this time in a warning growl. "A girl. Speak harshly again and you won't be seeing anybody."
Instantly, Lucas's heart leaped. A girl! Could it possibly…? He then paused. It could be a trap. Perhaps they knew his weakness for the beautiful Dawn that he had partnered with and were baiting him. Perhaps they were here to lead him to his end—his execution. He laid his eyes on them momentarily, narrowing them in suspicion. He couldn't trust them. Of course not. To trust them would be suicidal.
But…
He was optimistic for nothing else, was he?
Sighing, Lucas placed the book face-down on his dirty bedspread and got up, climbing down the rickety, creaking metal ladder from the top bunk. His marred sneakers hit the floor, the rubber soles shredded to pieces and his feet stuffy and uncomfortable from weeks of wearing the same pair. "Fine," he said. "I'll go. Willingly. Don't cuff me or anything."
"You might try to overtake us," the second Galactic grunt input, gruff.
Lucas rolled his eyes at him. "I have no weapons. Seriously, pat me down if you don't believe me. You guys have ray guns. I have my beat-up fists. Who's gonna win?"
The Galactic grunts exchanged exasperated looks, chewing on this carefully before gesturing to him. "Come then, prisoner," the first grunt guard told him. "We will believe you. Understand that any resistance will be met with your immediate death."
"I get the drill." Lucas shoved his hands in his pocket and headed over to them. Removing a lighter from his pocket, he clicked the top aimlessly. The grunts appeared tense and alarm at the steel container, so Lucas shrugged and put it away. "Either of you got a cigarette? I'm famished." Lucas had been smoking outdoors with Rob for the past two days and found it considerably easier to light up with his adult friend. In fact, Rob was so proud of him for his newfound straightforwardness with smoking that he'd presented him with a gift—a lighter with a dark red finish, the one Lucas had been flicking. Rob had bought one before getting caught and thrown in prison, and he preferred matches anyway, he'd said.
The grunts stared at him disparagingly, as if he were an animal. "Let's go," the same grunt said. Turning on their heels, they marched out. Lucas, still wary, followed them out.
And not once did he wonder how Dawn, another prisoner, had the power to call for him.
()()()
They led Lucas to an ultramodern interrogation room within the deeper bowels of the prison, the walls painted with a bright white finish and glinting off the two-way, transparent window placed on the single door that he and the grunts entered. In the center of the snow-colored box was an industrial-grade metal table and two chairs. All three piece of furniture were bolted to the floor, which Lucas realized was false, titanium-reinforced wood as he walked on it—meaning the room was not flammable. Lucas remembered the lighter in his pocket and glumly wished that he could just burn the place down.
One of the Galactic grunt guards pointed to the chair on the side of the table facing the door. "Sit," he ordered. Lucas frowned. He didn't like being bossed around, but he understood that these people had the means to kill him if the wrong chord was struck. Huffily, he moved to the chair and sat down, his hands folded before him on the table. He noticed then how poor his nails were—chipped and brown with collections of dirt and grime, and so long that they could be considered weapons in themselves.
The grunts took their places on either side of the windowed door. Lucas felt this was distasteful. Why did they have to stay here? Surely two teenagers couldn't overpower them alone. Or were they worried that Lucas's sharp fingernails and frightening lighter would devour them whole? He snickered, losing his slightly debonair pretense, and the grunts glared at him.
"Quiet," one said roughly, and Lucas closed his mouth, gritting his teeth. Oh, what it took not to punch them.
Suddenly, he perceived a shadow on the other side of the window, and the shimmering gold doorknob—the only thing that wasn't a drab color in the entire room—turning slowly. The door opened just a crack, barely large enough for someone's head to pop through, and a slight, feminine figure slid in sideways like the consistency of a Tentacool. She closed the door behind her, and met Lucas's eyes with warm informality.
There she was. Dark hair, dark eyes, tiny form, and with a silvery smile on her handsome face.
Dawn.
Oh, Rob, you bastard. I love you.
Lucas's heart flew into his throat and was caught fluttering as he flushed red and stammered to find his speech, stuttering like a machine gun. Dawn watched him with her characteristic cheerful glow, cocking her head to one side adorably. Finally, Lucas trashed the words, as he was too flustered and overjoyed to speak, and jumped to his feet. He rushed toward her and grabbed her in a strong embrace, squeezing her so hard that he thought her spine would snap. The Galactic grunts jolted and braced for impact, but calmed as they realized he was merely reuniting with the girl.
"Dawn!" He cried, burying his face into her shirt, inhaling her sweet scent as if he would never hold her again. "Dawn, Dawn, Dawn! Oh Arceus, it's really you!" He bathed in the silkiness of her hair against his cheek and the tautness of her muscular back beneath his fingers. Her breasts pushed against his chest as she wrapped her arms around him in response, and the plush heat made him feel giddy.
"Yes, Lucas," she laughed, her voice muffled by his stinking, torn clothes. "I'm alive. And you smell like a Muk. How long as it been since you took a shower?"
Lucas drew away from her and placed his hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes, swimming in their murky depths. He needed this. He needed her. And now, by the blessing of Arceus, he had her! "We only get a shower once a week," Lucas said. He'd hardly noticed his ear-to-ear grin. "I wish I look as good as you do right now." He assessed her appearance and saw with a note of excitement that she was wearing new clothes—a firm ebony turtleneck that flaunted the curves of her bulging bosom and an appealing little pink sherbet skirt that was much shorter than the last one. Lucas liked that. "Damn, nice threads. What, do the women get better things in prison than the men do?"
At that, Dawn's beam faded and was replaced with uneasiness. She bit her lip and fiddled with the edge of her skirt, a habit that she'd done as a child and still did now when caught in nervousness or small lies. "Erm, Lucas, about that," she said. "I'm not in the women's prison."
Lucas started. Had Rob lied to him? No way. "There's not a women's prison?" Lucas asked.
"No, you misheard me," Dawn said. "I'll repeat. I'm not in the women's prison. There is one, but I'm just not there. I'm being kept above ground. I'm quartered in with the grunts."
Lucas licked his lips and gnawed on them, staring at Dawn with a confused gaze. Wait, what? How could she be with the grunts? She wasn't actually… being recruited, was she? No, that was impossible. Dawn was a spirited individual—she would never agree to something like that. She'd die before such an allowance was made. Flummoxed, Lucas reached up with one hand and played with a lock of her hair, spinning the glossy tendril in the pads of his fingers. "Dawn," he said, just to speak the gloriousness that was her name.
"I know what you're thinking," Dawn said with a slight smile. It didn't reach her eyes, and Lucas was stabbed with a pang of worry. Now that he noticed it, none of Dawn's usual jolly motions seemed natural. In a way, they appeared forced, as if she was trying to act normal for him. What was happening to her? "They aren't making me a grunt. I'm still Dawn. Free and for freedom. Three weeks doesn't change me too much." She reached over and gripped his upper arms, pressing them twice. "And look at you! You're a muscle machine. Impressive. That's kind of sexy."
Lucas let the "sexy" comment slide. Dawn said those sort of teasing things all the time. "But you're not happy," he translated.
Her eyes softened. "Oh, Lucas," she whispered, her face crumbling into an expression of despondency. Straightaway, Lucas was alarmed. This was not the hopeful Dawn he knew—something awful had happened. "Why would I be happy here, of all places?"
"Dawn," Lucas said quickly, tucking the strand of hair he was playing with behind her ear. "What is going on?"
Dawn parted her fleshy, cherry-red lips at Lucas, a sad but alluring pout that reflected with unfathomable sadness in her vision. She touched Lucas's dirt-caked, calloused hand with hers, trailing the place where his fingers had brushed her earlobe. The soundless but loving manner in which she connected with him in that moment made Lucas heartbroken but aroused. He wanted to kiss her. If the guards were not here, he would have done that. He wanted to make love to her gently, and he knew that such emotion wasn't merely his hormones acting up. Always, he had wanted her. It was just now that they were nearing adulthood that he wanted to share himself sexually with her.
"Dawn," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
"Lucas," she responded, clutching his palm.
Without warning, a voice boomed, separating them with its slicing words. "It has been five minutes," one of the Galactic grunts bellowed, as if he had not witnessed the scene unfolding before him and instead operated like a robot. Stung, Dawn hurtled backward to the door, her eyes wide with shock as she turned to the pair of guards. Lucas glared at them viciously. How dare they interrupt the two of them! "Dawn, you must be getting back to your quarters. Master Cyrus instructed that you only meet with this boy for such a duration of time."
"Cyrus?" Lucas mumbled to himself. That blue-eyed, emotionless guy who looked like he was fifty? Was he Team Galactic's leader? Who did he think he was, bossing Dawn around? Better yet, what did he have to do with her?
Dawn's shoulders drooped. "Oh, right," she sighed. "Can't disappoint him, of course." She headed toward the door without a backward glance at Lucas. She reached for the doorknob, twisting it. She was suddenly so cold, so deeply shaken, as if she were about to do a chore she absolutely detested.
"Dawn?" Lucas said meekly. He felt rejected. Hurt. Betrayed. Where was she going? Oh, why couldn't she stay? He had to be with her for just a little while longer. She was his sanity.
Flipping her hair, Dawn turned to Lucas one last time and smiled at him. Again, this one did not extend to her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lucas," she said lowly. "I have to go. I'll ask Cyrus if I can see you again soon, I promise. I've really missed you. I love you. Please, stay alive for me."
Lucas's heart throbbed with unshed tears. "I love you too," he said back.
Dawn disappeared through the door. And, at the last minute, pain flashed in her eyes.
And suddenly, Lucas got it.
He understood why she lived in such royalty.
Cyrus's hands on her waist. Under her shirt. Unclasping her bra. Unzipping her skirt and peeling away her panties. Cyrus's mouth against her chest. Her belly. Her…
"No," Lucas groaned. He brought his shaking hands to his temple. Why? Why? Oh, why? He wanted to be her first. Her last. Her everything, just as she was to him. Why? That bitch! No, it wasn't her fault. That dick Cyrus! The blame was his! Bastard! Goddamn bastard! Shit-eating, girl-raping bastard! How the hell did he…? He was empty! Soulless! How could he feel desire? Sex was for the privileged, not monsters like him! Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe this was all in his mind.
"A girl as pretty as her wouldn't be locked up."
Rob was a veteran. Meaning Rob was always right.
It was then that Lucas started to scream, and he wished for the first time in his life that he had never seen her.
