As soon as we entered the dingy
motel, I wanted to turn back. The smell
that assaulted my nose made it almost impossible to breathe, causing a wave of
nauseous to roll over me in it's wake.
"Classy," I heard James murmur from
my right shoulder, a hint of sarcasm in his deep, silky voice. I wrinkled my nose, refraining from
comment. I knew that if I said anything,
there would be more than a little bit of sarcasm in it.
It was more than just the
smell. The room looked like someone's
sick joke; like a cardboard box someone had hung a dusty light bulb from and
then charged you to stand under it. A
sickeningly large, sweaty man sat on a stool across from an archaic looking
computer, paging through a beat-up old copy of Penthouse. Supposedly the owner.
Dear God.
"Excuse me. We'd like a room, please."
He looked up at me dully, his small
beady eyes boring into me. It sent
shivers up my spine, and I seriously regretted my choice of disguise at the
moment. Seeing as how we were expecting
to be holing up in a dirt-cheap motel, James and I had dressed the part. Dressed in baggy farmer's jeans and
unbuttoned blue plaid T-shirt over a tight wife-beater, James looked every bit
the type that would check-into a place like this.
And I... I almost blushed at the thought. Tight, tight jean
cut-offs, so short they were almost crotch high. Cheap healed sandals. And
the frosting on the cake: an extremely small white T-shirt, torn about an inch
below my chest.
I know I'm very busty for my age. Very busty for any age, in fact. And I definitely like to show my assets off.
But this was almost humiliating.
To top off the whole ensemble, I had
tossed my beautiful red hair into two messy, bun-like pigtails on the side of
my head. I was feeling about exactly
how I looked at the moment.
Trailer trash.
I realized the man had been running his
eyes up and down my form, as if inspecting my figure was important for renting
a room. My temper flared. Nothing got my goose like getting undressed
by some lowlife's eyes.
"Hey, buddy, I said we'd like a
room! What, can't you hear me with all
the colors at war in here?!" I snapped testily, hands on hips. His eyes finally seemed to find my face,
although it wasn't much of a comfort as they soon fell to my chest. I find that most men talk to my chest.
Except for James.
"Okay, lady, don't get your panties in
a bundle," muttered the man gruffly, breaking me out of my sudden slip in train
of thought. He turned to his computer,
clumsily tapping the keys with his pudgy fingers. I felt James come up beside me as I glared viciously at the man's
bent head. Turning to me, he pierced me with his green eyes.
I shook my head stubbornly. I could sense how much he wanted to take
over the talking; noticing the owner's demeaning behavior towards me. But my pride wouldn't let him. It always had.
Despite it, he always tried to protect
me. Though not apparent to others,
James could be very protective. Most
people would say it was the other way around. I guess it seemed that way to them because I never accepted the
protection.
Like I said, stubborn.
The man looked up from his computer
screen. At my chest, none the
less. Like there was any ounce of
decency and respect in such a despicable character.
"We got one room left, lady. Take it or leave it," he remarked gruffly.
"We'll take it," I replied firmly,
slapping some bills down on the monitor. He grunted noncommittally, the bills quickly disappearing, and typed
something into the computer. Then he
pulled a dirty key off a nearby hook and handed it to me.
"Room 003," he grunted, not looking up
from his screen. Amazingly.
James snatched the key from his grubby
hand before I could even move my arm.
"That disgusting, indecent, slimy,
filthy bastard!"
I huffed angrily into the cramped,
shoddy little motel room, flopping down on the bed angrily.
That's right. The bed. As in one.
"One bed. Should have known," sighed James, dropping our bags on the
floor. He ran a hand through his hair,
staring at the disheveled room in a slight look of disgust.
I sat up angrily. "Did you see how he looked at me?!" I cried,
as if it hadn't been obvious. I
couldn't really complain though. The disguises
had been my idea.
"Damn, I hope we don't have to stay in
this hell hole for long."
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking
exhausted. I suddenly realized how
tired I was as well. It had been a
long, wearing day.
Stretching, he looked at me again. With those intense green eyes of his. I tore my eyes away, embarrassed. My gaze fell, and I couldn't help but admire
how good he looked in that tight white shirt.
"If Meowth doesn't show up soon, we
might have to stick around for awhile," he commented, falling back onto the
bed.
Meowth. My stomach sank. I had
completely forgotten about the small cat Pokémon. He had been missing nearly three hours. I bit my lip, a wave of worry and concern washing over me. Despite appearances, I missed the mouthy
cat.
James sighed suddenly, getting up from
the bed and taking off his over-shirt.
"At least they have showers here," he
commented absentmindedly. I could tell
he wasn't talking to me, just thinking out loud.
Then to my complete shock and
enjoyment, he took off his shirt. I
stared at his well-built chest, unable to cover-up my appreciative gaze. Fortunately for me, he didn't seem to
notice, green eyes glazing over as if lost in thought.
"I'm going to take a shower," he
murmured, grabbing his duffel bag and retreating to the small bathroom at the
back of the room.
I realized I was still staring after
him. Shaking myself out of my almost
trance-like state, I got up from the bed and went over to my own bag lying on
the floor by the door. I quickly
changed into my nightshirt and pajama pants, struggling to get the hair ties
out of my tangled hair.
Sitting back down on the bed lotus
style, I took a brush to my mussed-up hair, brushing out the snarls and
smoothing it into a shining wave that stretched down my back and spread onto
the stained, dirty motel blankets. Separating it into three equal sections, I slowly began to braid it into
a loose braid over one shoulder, lost in thought.
My feelings hadn't been recent. I tried to think back, back to when I had
met my best friend and partner, back to when the feelings had first started.
But it seemed like I couldn't pinpoint
the beginning. We had been too young to
like each other anymore than a friend when we first met, but I felt as if I had
cared for him this way as long as time.
And hiding it just as long.
It had been becoming harder
lately. Being partners in Team Rocket,
we were trained to work as one, often so physically close as to raise any other
person's eyebrows. But we were used to
it. But as of lately…
My skin tingled pleasantly, remembering
the feel of his strong arms around me when he had jumped me from that
tree. And how well the sleek, black
ninja's suit had fit his well-built form.
Finishing my braid, I wrapped my arms
about myself comfortingly, my overwhelming feelings conflicting with my
stubborn pride in the back of my head. It was becoming so hard to hide my feelings being constantly so
close. Every time his brilliant green
eyes met mine, every time he brushed up against me. Every time he embraced me, or smiled that beautiful smile of
his. And his voice. His deep, enticing voice sent pleasant
thrills up my spine, and haunted me in my dreams.
I wanted to share my feelings with him
so badly. But I was even more terrified
of hurting our friendship.
Sighing deeply with indecision, I
slipped under the covers and turned out the light.
Something woke me up. The room was still black, and I was guessing
it was still quite early. And then I
realized that James had climbed into bed while I had been asleep. A thrill ran up my spine.
Suddenly the bed seemed incredibly
small.
I held my breath, not wanting to wake
him. And just lay there. Enjoying his presence.
Me. Jesse. Needing the comfort of
someone else's presence. People
wouldn't have recognized me.
I suppressed a bitter sigh, tears of
frustration welling in my eyes. Like
the phrase, "so close, yet so far" he lay, had always lain, whether it was
physically or metaphorically. I
suddenly wished I had been lying in the other direction, so that I could watch
him sleep like I often did when we were in camp. He usually fell asleep quick and easy at night, unlike me, and I
would watch him longingly, unable to drift off myself. I could lie awake in bed for hours,
thinking. Thinking, but mostly
worrying. I became pensive at night,
full of my own self-doubts and the fear of losing others. I was most vulnerable then, uncertain in my
emotional stability and the stability of the image I reflected.
Underneath my hard, violent shell, was
a frightened and weak little girl who had run away from home a long time ago
but was still unable to forget the horrors of her past. Bitterly, I realized I had probably never
really 'grown' up. Over years of
shoving my past so far back in my mind, I had simply built up a protective
barrier to prevent it from ever happening again, isolating me from others and
turning me into a supposedly cold and fearless warrior.
Ha. Fearless. Me.
I had thought I would never trust
another man again, abused by so many as a child. And I wouldn't have. They
were at the top of my hate list.
But innocent little James with the
large green eyes wasn't a man. Not when
I met him. Just a lonely and frightened
little boy in a similar predicament. It
never even occurred to me that little boys grow up into men, at the time, and I
look back and am thankful that I didn't. If it hadn't been for James, I don't think I would have survived.
I had always thought of James as
weak. He cried a lot, nearly everything
frightened him. Especially me. Sometimes when he was scared, he would look
at me, green eyes crazed with fear, and the look he gave me broke my
heart. Like I was the very essence of
everything horrible and evil in the world. Like I was the very cause of his pain. I told myself he was incoherent with fear; seeing someone else's face in
my own. But the thought that I caused
him pain like that bit at my insides like a razor.
Thankfully, that had been when we were
young, years and years before I had even begun to notice he was turning into a
man. By then, I had used his fear of me
to toughen him up. I hated myself for
it, regretted it night after night as soon as I was old enough to realize what
I had done. But in the eyes of a
frightened and lonely little girl, it had seemed the only way. But it had worked. And he didn't seem to hate me for it. I was his closest friend after all, whether I had achieved that
by violence or not.
But could he ever love me? After what I did to him, I told myself
never.
In the beginning, it had been him who
needed me the most. He had been used to
showing his feelings, whether they got him hurt or not. He cried when he was sad, smiled when he was
happy, shook when he was afraid.
Cried out when he was in pain.
This innocence, the innocence I had
lost far earlier than he, made him seem weak and cowardly. Showing your feelings had never been a
concept to me. Childhood was full of
putting on a face of stone and dealing with ever horror I had to face without
fear.
So although I was alone and frightened
as well as he, I became his backbone. I
had assumed that he was simply frightened at being alone; I had been living in
fear since I was old enough to remember, so I immediately took charge of him,
believing I was much more seasoned in the area of pain and loneliness.
How wrong could I have been.
Another wave of bitter tears struck
me. I sucked in my breath, trying to
prevent them from falling.
How long had it been since I had really
let myself cry? If James hadn't been so
close, I believe I would have let myself. It had been so long.
And there were so many tears to let
fall.
For my childhood, my lost
innocence. My mother, my true
father. Friends who'd turned against
me, lost loves. Millions of lost
opportunities, people's trust, respect, compassion, dignity. Everything a woman should have grown up
with.
And James. Half of those tears would be for him. He had been hurt in the past, I knew that now. And not just by me. By those who were supposed to love him but
never had.
I had been fortunate to at least know
the love of one parent in my lifetime.
I was so caught up in my grief that I
didn't realize he was awake at first. Then he sighed, softly and sadly, as if he had been lost in thoughts of
his own. I started, upset that my guard
had gone down and I hadn't even noticed until just then.
"James?" I whispered, not wanting to
startle him. He was, though, a small
gasp of surprise escaping him.
"Jesse?" came his voice softly, calming
down again. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
I shook my head gently, my back still
to him. I was afraid to turn around,
for fear he'd see I had been about to cry.
I felt him turn to face me, propping
himself up on his forearm.
"Jesse…are you alright?"
My throat clenched. He had asked me that a million times and I
had always answered "Yes!" sharply and harshly, sometimes striking out at him
for added emphasis. But despite the
possibility of getting hit and turned away, he had always asked it.
I took a deep, shuddering breath.
"No, I'm not," I answered softly,
finally letting the tears spill. He
cared about me. Whether in a love kind
of way or simply as a best friend, he cared. Enough for me to share my feelings with him.
There was a short pause as he digested
this. I wondered briefly of the look on
his face. I had never admitted to being
upset before. But he had seemed
prepared for it this time.
Then he lay back down, and wrapping his
arms around me comfortingly, pulled me against him. It startled me, but it felt so good. I sighed, closing my eyes and drinking in his smell. His hair was still slightly damp from his
shower, and I could smell his shampoo and the clean smell of the soap on his
skin. His bare chest felt warm and
comforting against my back, our breathing rising and falling as one.
"What's the matter?" he murmured,
concerned. His breath tickled my neck,
sending warm tingles down my spine. "Is
it Meowth?"
I shook my head gently, his hair
brushing the side of my neck. I had
already lost the need to cry, just by his embrace. Now all I wanted to do was stay there forever.
"No," I murmured, failing to mask the
longing in my voice.
He sighed, sounding defeated, and held
me closer.
"Jesse, you can tell me," he murmured
pleadingly, beginning to rub my arm in the most pleasant way. "You know you can tell me anything."
I sighed, wanting to so much. If only it were that easy. "James,
I'm in love with you. I have been for a
long time. I've just been so afraid…"
Instead, I simply shook my head. Gently taking his arms and wrapping them around my waist again, I curled
up against him and closed my eyes.
"It's nothing. Just hold me—that's enough."
He paused, then I felt him nod softly.
And as I was drifting off, I could have
sworn I felt his lips brush my cheek.
* * *