I hated her.

Actually, that was a lie. I loved her, but for now, I would settle for hating her.

She had tricked me, used my own hormones to manipulate what she wanted out of me and then sauntered away with both my Pokemon and my heart. She'd feigned hurt, and I, stupid as I was, had fallen for it. And now I was wrapped around Hilda's little finger again, just like I had been all those months ago. Willing to do anything to please her, willing to travel any distance to see her smile. I would never admit it, but she astounded me. She was a champion in all senses of the word. She never lost a battle, not once. She'd captured several legendary Pokemon in mere Pokeballs, and all I had done was cause destruction. What she saw in me..I had no idea.

They tell me that my upbringing, that my father, is to blame, but I have a difficult time believing it. Even though it's all said and done and there's nothing left to fight against, it doesn't matter. It was my fault. It didn't matter the 'your majesty' thing was just a joke on her part. My father used me, abused me, put a crown on my head and called me a king and then took it away like a prized toy. I couldn't understand. Why would he do something so awful? He'd convinced me of this lifestyle, raised me to fight for Pokemon and to hate trainers, and that was easy..until Hilda, at least. She was different. Her Pokemon were ecstatic just to be with her, willing to do anything to please her. They wanted to battle, and that confused me. She in general confused me, with her empathy and her smiles and her unwavering will to win. I didn't understand the smiles, or the pity in her eyes the day that I lost to her and my father nearly disowned me. I didn't understand, and then she finally spoke, and suddenly it clicked.

She had liked me.

And I kissed her out of what I like to think is sheer impulse. It's not, and it wasn't, but I'm fine with telling lies to myself. I don't like to think about how she was seconds away from returning the kiss, or how beautiful she looked every time I saw her after a long period of absence. We didn't see each other much. She had challenges and gyms to battle and friends to laugh with, and I was the leader of the organization she hated the very most. There was never time for a friendship, much less romance, but that didn't stop anything.

I would have attacked her in the Ferris Wheel if I could've. No Plasma recruits to hunt me down, none of that Cheren boy or the Bianca girl to interrupt just as the situation comes to fruition. Just me, her..and the confession that I was forced to admit. Forced, because Father had seen it. He had seen the way I looked at her, bewitched as she fought with the Pokemon she loved so dearly. He had seen it, and I have the scars on my back to prove it. Damn the person who told me I hadn't suffered in her name, that everything I had done had not been in consideration of her.

Footsteps behind me distract me from my thoughts, but I don't turn from my spot in the kitchen. Light, quick footsteps, a stride too quick to match the leisurely Mrs. Black, and suddenly she's there and I'm forgetting all about the scars on my back and the man who caused them. Suddenly she's there and she's smiling and putting the sun to shame with that very same smile, and I can't help the small grin that tugs at my own lips. She had always looked shamelessly happy, and nothing had changed. Her Serperior is curled around her calf, avoiding the Liepard which occasionally bats at it. She has so many Pokemon, and although it disappoints me that she keeps them locked up in a box for so long, I say nothing, instead turning my attention back to the counter.

"What? No hello?" She's taken to speaking more now, and over the week she's chattered so much that her hoarse voice has grown clear again. Her personality is vibrant, loud and cynical at times but unashamed of the ideas it produces. At the same time, she's calm, clear-headed. She doesn't panic like her little blonde friend, and she doesn't over think it like the dark-haired boy. She just does, and I love it. I don't like to think that what my father said about her bewitching me was true, but at this point, I don't think there's any other explanation.

Another small smile, for her sake, before I answer. "Hello." I've been here a week, yet she's already taken it upon herself to forge something remnant of an old friendship between us. I know what she's doing. She's making up for lost time, for the year that we spent together, seeing but not touching. She was untouchable in my eyes, and me in hers, and in a way that's still true. The..erm, session from the other night is nearly all but forgotten, like it never happened even though she initiated it. I keep waiting on her to tell me to pack, that we're going on another journey, but she never does. She just walks around and sings and occasionally catches me staring at her. Sometimes, she'll walk into the room and we'll talk like old friends, and others she'll walk in and completely ignore me. She is an enigma, a maze, and I honestly don't mind the idea of never leaving the labyrinth.

"You seem tired. Did you sleep last night?" She knows about my sleeping habits, my staying up until one in the morning just thinking and listening. She hates it, and she's always finding a way to encourage me to go to sleep. She tells me I'm different when I'm tired, that I'm boring the next day when I don't sleep, but sometimes I like to think that it's because she cares. It's stupid, though. I know it's probably just because she's sick of hearing me pace around until the late hours of the night.

I shrug, my focus on the empty counter. "Bad dreams, that is all." Dreams of the whip burning into my flesh, screams of dying Pokemon. I cringe, and my revulsion does not go unnoticed.

"Oh." She doesn't say much, but she doesn't have to. She is perfectly capable of speaking, but sometimes, her expression does a much better job at it. Her eyebrows are drawn together now, which means she's probably trying to figure out what I'm not telling her.

A pause, lasting one, two, three heartbeats, before she speaks. "What was it about?"

I smile again, bittersweet this time. I don't exactly enjoy the constant smiling, but she craves to see those she cares for happy, and I'm not about to stand in her way. I turn away, moving to the couch. "Nothing. Just bad dreams is all."

She follows. "Tell me." An order, not an inquiry. Too bad I don't follow orders anymore.

"No."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't want to see you upset." The springs squeak as she plops down beside me.

Her nose crinkles in offense, and I can tell that I've hit a mark. "Who says I'll get upset?"

My hand itches to smooth the worry wrinkle from her cheek, and out of what I still claim is sheer impulse, I carefully touch her porcelain cheek. How is this girl so pale? "I know you. You will get upset if I tell you."

"I don't mind getting upset."

She never loses, this girl.

"I dreamt about before, when I was under my father's care. Every time I would lose, he would..do things, and they were never very nice. That's all."

That intense gaze is burning into me again, and although I know she's not some little girl, I fight it. I don't want to upset her, period. With all her empathy and compassion, if I told her what had happened and that it had happened because of her, I'd have a new tear-soaked shirt.

Suddenly there's a pressure on the side of my cheek, and slender arms wrapped around my shoulder like a vise. "I am so, so sorry."

Before I can ask her why, she's gone, and something in my chest twitches.