What matters?, Chapter 3
By Arina Ketchum
Author notes: Based on a character created by my friend Electra. You don't really need to read her fanfics in order to enjoy this story, but you do get a different perspective when you do read them. :) This is my interpretation
of Ele's fanfics, with no nudging from her at all. This is completely my doing. :) Many thanks to Electra for allowing the use of her wonderful character.
This fanfic is rated 'R' for language and certain topics broached. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
* * * *
After I left Team Rocket, I bounced around for a while.
I'm sorry I can't jazz up my past adventures during that time, but that's all I can say - I didn't really *have* any adventures. I basically survived on a day-to-day basis, and if I got my hands on some cash - the legal way, I'd never sink to my father's level and begin a life of crime - I'd ration it as much as I possibly could. I slept in cheap motels, you know, the ones you see in terrible movies with the blinking neon signs in bad neighborhoods; worked as a waitress for a few cheap coffee shops, nothing terribly exciting in the least.
Until an Officer Jenny picked me up one cold night as I slept on a bench in a small park in some town I hadn't even bothered to learn the name of. She took me to the station, and tried unsuccessfully to get any information out of me. I was, in the very least, extremely uncooperative. I was just about seventeen, and hated the world for what it had done to me, what it had taken away from me. Finally, she called a good friend the next morning to have me placed in foster care.
Oh joy, I thought, living in an orphanage or with a family who doesn't really want me. But I didn't fight back, I didn't run. I just went along with everything. I was sick of life, I was sick of trying to survive.
I wanted to die.
Suicide had crossed my mind a number of times, I won't lie about it. I wanted to end it, I wanted to be with my family again, wanted to stop LIVING.
And yet...and yet every time I got the courage to do it, either by grabbing a shard of glass, or a sharp object to slice my wrists, hold my head underwater in a public fountain to drown, getting to a building's roof and jumping, or God knows what other way I could come up with to end it all, something, like so many times before, told me to hold back, there had to be a way out, had to be something I could do to get away from the lowest level I was at then, and every time, like the idiot I was, I believed IT, whatever the hell it was, and kept surviving.
I think that may have been the turning point in my entire life, when I went into foster care. Maybe the system does work. It seemed to for me. I lived with a family of four: a mother, a father, and their two teenage daughters. At first, I had no intention of cooperating, and locked myself in "my room" and cried bitterly. However, by the time dinner rolled around in their home that first night, I was famished. I hadn't eaten anything decent in the last three days, except for a donut I'd stolen in the police station when Jenny wasn't looking. God, what was cooking? Meat? Smelled like...rump roast...my mouth watered and my stomach demanded my pride step down off it's high-and-mighty pillar and unlock the door and go downstairs, and for once since my kidnapping, act like a human being.
My pride won out, damn it all. I lay on my bed as they ate, as they cleaned their dishes in the sink, had their "family time", no doubt talking about me the entire time, then one by one, going to bed.
The next day was no different. The mother was a housemaker, so she was there the entire day, while I stayed put. She knocked several times on my door, begged me to come out so we could "talk". HA! As if I was just going to cuddle up to her like a lost lamb, acting as if nothing had ever happened.
They finally got fed up with me that night, and broke into my room. By that time, I had fainted from serious malnutrition, and severe dehydration. They rushed me to the hospital, as I was told later on, where I was cared for, fed and pampered.
All at their expense.
I don't know how many people out there would have done the same thing for such an ungrateful wench like me, but I don't think it's a whole lot. It dawned on me that these people were NOT my enemy, they wanted nothing in return to love me, just like I was a member of the family, and when they came into see me, they brought flowers; roses, one of the most expensive get-well gifts one can get. I could only burst into tears, babbling on about how sorry I was, how I hadn't trusted anyone to get close to me in such a long time...In the end, I spilled everything, from living in the Safari Zone, to Team Rocket. They had had NO idea when they initially agreed to take me in as a foster child, mainly because I gave out VERY little information about myself.
Immediately, they said they wanted to adopt me, give a permanent home. I had to think that over. Did I really want that - to feel pain of losing someone again, if something happened to any of them, to be hurt...to be LOVED by another human being - not just that superficial love my father, Giovanni, had for me, only because I gave him Pokemon as a Rocket - no, the real kind, the love of my aunt and uncle had for me as parents.
These people had just spent an enormous amount of money on me to make sure I stayed alive, asking nothing in return. Why shouldn't I say yes? All they wanted was to love me, to care for my well-being. To make me a part of their family.
I said yes, tentatively. I wanted to do a trial time first - 3 weeks to see how it worked out. If they wanted me out - or I wanted out by the end of that trial, there'd be no arguments, and no tears.
It worked out better than any of us expected. I was the sister and daughter they'd wanted, and they were the family I had only dreamed about since my parents' death.
When the three weeks were up, we sat down at the kitchen table, and I told them I wanted to stay - much to their delight. Finally, at long last, I had jumped from the level of suicide to true happiness.
* * * *
It was hard leaving home.
And yes, I eventually had to leave. Kids, adopted at age 17 or not, are not allowed to stay at home forever to annoy parents. However, I left with a happy heart. I was beginning my very own Pokemon journey. I was twenty by then.
And no, reader, I won't bore you with the specifics of the trip, that's for another book. ^_^
One of the daughters, my sister, gave me her Pikachu for a starter Pokemon, and its name was Thunder. I promised I'd take very good care of it, and I did. Thunder and I were a great team, and even though we didn't win a lot of badges, or catch a lot of Pokemon, we had a great time. Eventually, with Thunder's permission, I evolved my Pikachu into a Raichu using a Thunderstone. Since there was no real rush to finish my journey, I wandered around for five years, exploring cities, meeting people, making a little money at coffee shops for the trip.
However, there was a dark side (Not the "Star Wars" kind, but just as bad), to my journey. Someone, I didn't know who at the time, started calling me, or leaving me notes at the places I was staying, either at the Pokemon Center, or at a motel, telling me they were watching me. The first time it creeped me out, and I didn't sleep that night, but then I just figured it was a crank call. At first, it didn't bug me, but then it got more persistant and more worriesome. The calls kept coming. Someone WAS watching me, they told me awful things, like they were going to steal my Raichu, or they were going to kidnap my family and murder them. I was in a panic when the last one arrived, and I hung up the phone, then dialed home, sobbing. My poor parents couldn't make out what I was saying until I calmed down, and then they only reassured me that someone was just being cruel and playing a prank on me. I tried to obtain some measure of comfort from them, but it didn't work. I had half a mind to pack my things and head straight home to protect my family, but they told me I would do no such thing, and I would continue to make them proud and keep going on my journey.
So, like the obediant child I was, I kept going, for them, for myself. I had to show my stalker that I wouldn't be frightened off so easily.
Little did I know that when I reached Pewter City, my life would be completely turned upside down yet again.
End Chapter 3
Author notes: Based on a character created by my friend Electra. You don't really need to read her fanfics in order to enjoy this story, but you do get a different perspective when you do read them. :) This is my interpretation
of Ele's fanfics, with no nudging from her at all. This is completely my doing. :) Many thanks to Electra for allowing the use of her wonderful character.
This fanfic is rated 'R' for language and certain topics broached. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
* * * *
After I left Team Rocket, I bounced around for a while.
I'm sorry I can't jazz up my past adventures during that time, but that's all I can say - I didn't really *have* any adventures. I basically survived on a day-to-day basis, and if I got my hands on some cash - the legal way, I'd never sink to my father's level and begin a life of crime - I'd ration it as much as I possibly could. I slept in cheap motels, you know, the ones you see in terrible movies with the blinking neon signs in bad neighborhoods; worked as a waitress for a few cheap coffee shops, nothing terribly exciting in the least.
Until an Officer Jenny picked me up one cold night as I slept on a bench in a small park in some town I hadn't even bothered to learn the name of. She took me to the station, and tried unsuccessfully to get any information out of me. I was, in the very least, extremely uncooperative. I was just about seventeen, and hated the world for what it had done to me, what it had taken away from me. Finally, she called a good friend the next morning to have me placed in foster care.
Oh joy, I thought, living in an orphanage or with a family who doesn't really want me. But I didn't fight back, I didn't run. I just went along with everything. I was sick of life, I was sick of trying to survive.
I wanted to die.
Suicide had crossed my mind a number of times, I won't lie about it. I wanted to end it, I wanted to be with my family again, wanted to stop LIVING.
And yet...and yet every time I got the courage to do it, either by grabbing a shard of glass, or a sharp object to slice my wrists, hold my head underwater in a public fountain to drown, getting to a building's roof and jumping, or God knows what other way I could come up with to end it all, something, like so many times before, told me to hold back, there had to be a way out, had to be something I could do to get away from the lowest level I was at then, and every time, like the idiot I was, I believed IT, whatever the hell it was, and kept surviving.
I think that may have been the turning point in my entire life, when I went into foster care. Maybe the system does work. It seemed to for me. I lived with a family of four: a mother, a father, and their two teenage daughters. At first, I had no intention of cooperating, and locked myself in "my room" and cried bitterly. However, by the time dinner rolled around in their home that first night, I was famished. I hadn't eaten anything decent in the last three days, except for a donut I'd stolen in the police station when Jenny wasn't looking. God, what was cooking? Meat? Smelled like...rump roast...my mouth watered and my stomach demanded my pride step down off it's high-and-mighty pillar and unlock the door and go downstairs, and for once since my kidnapping, act like a human being.
My pride won out, damn it all. I lay on my bed as they ate, as they cleaned their dishes in the sink, had their "family time", no doubt talking about me the entire time, then one by one, going to bed.
The next day was no different. The mother was a housemaker, so she was there the entire day, while I stayed put. She knocked several times on my door, begged me to come out so we could "talk". HA! As if I was just going to cuddle up to her like a lost lamb, acting as if nothing had ever happened.
They finally got fed up with me that night, and broke into my room. By that time, I had fainted from serious malnutrition, and severe dehydration. They rushed me to the hospital, as I was told later on, where I was cared for, fed and pampered.
All at their expense.
I don't know how many people out there would have done the same thing for such an ungrateful wench like me, but I don't think it's a whole lot. It dawned on me that these people were NOT my enemy, they wanted nothing in return to love me, just like I was a member of the family, and when they came into see me, they brought flowers; roses, one of the most expensive get-well gifts one can get. I could only burst into tears, babbling on about how sorry I was, how I hadn't trusted anyone to get close to me in such a long time...In the end, I spilled everything, from living in the Safari Zone, to Team Rocket. They had had NO idea when they initially agreed to take me in as a foster child, mainly because I gave out VERY little information about myself.
Immediately, they said they wanted to adopt me, give a permanent home. I had to think that over. Did I really want that - to feel pain of losing someone again, if something happened to any of them, to be hurt...to be LOVED by another human being - not just that superficial love my father, Giovanni, had for me, only because I gave him Pokemon as a Rocket - no, the real kind, the love of my aunt and uncle had for me as parents.
These people had just spent an enormous amount of money on me to make sure I stayed alive, asking nothing in return. Why shouldn't I say yes? All they wanted was to love me, to care for my well-being. To make me a part of their family.
I said yes, tentatively. I wanted to do a trial time first - 3 weeks to see how it worked out. If they wanted me out - or I wanted out by the end of that trial, there'd be no arguments, and no tears.
It worked out better than any of us expected. I was the sister and daughter they'd wanted, and they were the family I had only dreamed about since my parents' death.
When the three weeks were up, we sat down at the kitchen table, and I told them I wanted to stay - much to their delight. Finally, at long last, I had jumped from the level of suicide to true happiness.
* * * *
It was hard leaving home.
And yes, I eventually had to leave. Kids, adopted at age 17 or not, are not allowed to stay at home forever to annoy parents. However, I left with a happy heart. I was beginning my very own Pokemon journey. I was twenty by then.
And no, reader, I won't bore you with the specifics of the trip, that's for another book. ^_^
One of the daughters, my sister, gave me her Pikachu for a starter Pokemon, and its name was Thunder. I promised I'd take very good care of it, and I did. Thunder and I were a great team, and even though we didn't win a lot of badges, or catch a lot of Pokemon, we had a great time. Eventually, with Thunder's permission, I evolved my Pikachu into a Raichu using a Thunderstone. Since there was no real rush to finish my journey, I wandered around for five years, exploring cities, meeting people, making a little money at coffee shops for the trip.
However, there was a dark side (Not the "Star Wars" kind, but just as bad), to my journey. Someone, I didn't know who at the time, started calling me, or leaving me notes at the places I was staying, either at the Pokemon Center, or at a motel, telling me they were watching me. The first time it creeped me out, and I didn't sleep that night, but then I just figured it was a crank call. At first, it didn't bug me, but then it got more persistant and more worriesome. The calls kept coming. Someone WAS watching me, they told me awful things, like they were going to steal my Raichu, or they were going to kidnap my family and murder them. I was in a panic when the last one arrived, and I hung up the phone, then dialed home, sobbing. My poor parents couldn't make out what I was saying until I calmed down, and then they only reassured me that someone was just being cruel and playing a prank on me. I tried to obtain some measure of comfort from them, but it didn't work. I had half a mind to pack my things and head straight home to protect my family, but they told me I would do no such thing, and I would continue to make them proud and keep going on my journey.
So, like the obediant child I was, I kept going, for them, for myself. I had to show my stalker that I wouldn't be frightened off so easily.
Little did I know that when I reached Pewter City, my life would be completely turned upside down yet again.
End Chapter 3