Hello and welcome back! Just a warning to everyone, there's going to be a lot of child abuse, swearing, and drinking from this point on. If any of those things bother you, turn away now. Any reviews that flame me for including such topics will be deleted. You have been warned.

This story currently has 4 reviews, 10 followers, and 11 favorites. Thank you!

Responses to reviews:

Aaml mania - Thank you! Yeah, at first this story took place in the Pokemon world, but now I guess it's just Pokemon humans in the real world?

arcanineandlucariofan - Thank you, and I hope you like my other stories!

SteamPunkHillbilly - I'm glad to know you'll be a returning reader!

JordanMax - Thank you! As for Ash falling into the alcohol trap like his father has, I guess you'll just have to wait and see ;)

The featured story for this chapter is I Love by JordanMax. "Pokeshipping 3 Shot. Misty and Ash both confess that they like each other except both of them don't know it, yet. AAML." So this is basically a very simple three shot about Ash and Misty admitting their feelings about each other... but not to each other. It's really cute, and Chapter 2 is a plus for any of you out there who are like me and hate AmourShipping. Plus, JordanMax is a friend of mine, so... yeah. Read the story. Do it. Do it now. I'll wait. / pulls out popcorn

Okay, so you're back? Let's get started, then.

~ "What fascinates me about addiction and obsessive behavior is that people would choose an altered state of consciousness that's toxic and ostensibly destroys most aspects of your normal life, because for a brief moment you feel okay." ~

- Moby

I wrapped my hand around the doorknob. My teeth gnashed at my inner cheek as I tried to think of what to say to my father. I didn't even need to ask myself the question of whether or not he knew. Because I knew he did. He always found out, one way or the other.

What do I say? What can I say? "Hey, Dad, I punched a kid at school today and got sent to in-school. Hope you aren't mad."

Maybe silence was the best thing. Maybe he'd be so drunk he wouldn't even notice me. Maybe I could sneak up to my room and lock the door. My father had this weird habit of never bothering me if my door was locked. I guess he assumed I was doing homework or something. Maybe I could make it up there in time. Stay up there for the night, and sneak back down in the morning when he was passed out drunk.

I opened the door.

I held my breath when I saw the silhouette of my father in the kitchen. He was slouched over something, probably the sink, and I could hear moaning sounds. Great. So he wasn't drunk. Just in a hangover. Fucking great.

He must have heard me come in, since the silhouette started moving, eventually becoming a person. My father was still in his sleepwear, which told me he really must not be feeling well. He never stayed in his pajamas past nine o'clock.

He stopped right in front of me. I could feel his hot breath on my forehead.

He drew his arm back and punched me. I fell to the floor, instinctively grabbing at my face.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" he screamed. "I thought I told you never to talk to any of those fucking students! I told you to stay out of their god damn business, and what did you do? You fucking punched one of them! Fighting and disobedience!? Fuck!"

He grabbed the collar of my shirt and dragged me across the floor. Years ago, I would have struggled. Now, I stayed quiet, the knowledge of what was to come forming a pit in my stomach so deep you could have fit a house in it.

He dragged me all the way out into the garage, to where he had his little "discipline center" set up. It wasn't anything like those torture chambers you see in the movies, of course, but it was bad enough. He had various tools there that he loved to use to set me straight.

My father threw me against the table he had there. The hard edge of it jammed against my stomach, knocking the breath right out of me.

"Take your shirt off," he ordered.

I shuddered, but did as he asked. Now that I truly knew what he had in store for me, I began to shake. He only used this punishment when I did something terribly wrong, which in his eyes was about once a month.

The first time it connected with my back was the most startling. It always was. The impact of the belt against my bare skin sent a jolt up my spine that made my knees buckle. I fell to the floor, inadvertently giving him better access to my back.

I'd heard from some kid once that a long time ago, kids who misbehaved used to get smacked with a belt like this. I guess it was purely for the purpose of making sure they never did such things again.

That wasn't the case with my father. I had pretty much convinced myself by this point that he thoroughly enjoyed these activities. The thought of someone actually enjoying something like this made me sick.

He usually only did it ten or eleven times, but this time he went beyond that. I guess he was really pissed. By the twelfth or thirteenth stroke I was seeing spots. I had lasted longer this time than I normally did, but I couldn't last forever. By this point I was biting my tongue so hard I drew blood. It was the only thing I could do to stop myself from screaming, since I knew I'd get it ten times worse if I did anything to alert the neighbors that something was going on next door.

Finally, after what I believed to be about twenty strokes, my father stopped. I collapsed flat on the floor as I heard him put the belt back on its rack. The clicking of his shoes as he walked away was like music to my ears.

I remained still until I heard the garage door slam. It was only then that I tried to move. If he came back and saw me still laying in the same position, he'd beat me again for being a weak coward who couldn't tolerate any pain. It hurt like hell to move even a centimeter, but I did.

Through the spots that were still dancing sporadically across my vision I managed to find my shirt. Pulling it over my head, I fell against the wall. Tears began replacing the spots, and I allowed myself to sob quietly.

My father never let me have any friends at school. He forbid me to talk to any of my classmates, and even checked up with each of my teachers every day to make sure I was following his orders. The only person I was allowed to talk to was my cousin Jerry, but that was because he was a straight A student and my father thought he'd be a good influence on me. Even then, my father always had to be in the same room as me whenever I Skyped him or talked to him on the phone.

My classmates usually never bullied me, but today one of them did. Gary Oak, a former prep student, decided at lunch that it would be funny to "accidentally" bump into me and dump the contents of my tray all over me. I was already in a touchy mood after a confrontation with my father right before I had left that morning, so I guess it just made me explode. I threw the tray to the side and socked him. Do I regret it?

Yes.

Sometimes I really wondered if I would be better off dead. My father obviously cared nothing for me, and saw me as just another waste of oxygen. He viewed every human being except for himself that way. I was only good for entertainment and doing the dishes. That was it.

I must have drifted off, since the next thing I knew there was orange light coming through the glass panels in the garage door. I breathed in the cool, musty air, relishing in the fact that I was alone.

I wasn't sure how long it was before I came to my senses and realized where I was. Everything came swimming back into focus, making my head hurt. I went to stand up, only to fall back again when pain shot up my back in a thousand tiny arcs.

"Shit," I muttered. I tipped my head back and focused on a beam that ran along the ceiling. My hands formed fists as I tried to overcome the pain, my nails biting into my skin.

I knew that I had to get up, or else my father would be back out here. The last thing I needed was another belting.

"Alright, Ash," I said. "You can do this. One... Two... Three!"

I groaned as I pushed myself into a crouching position. The pain returned, this time sharper than ever. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the feeling of the concrete beneath my fingertips.

"Come on, Ash," I encouraged myself. "Halfway there."

My whole body shook as I lifted my hands and stood up. I stumbled, and found myself leaning against my father's Volkswagen. Oh, how I'd pay for that later.

Once I was sure I was okay, I started moving toward the door. Every step was an effort as the pain threatened to overcome me. I guess I never realized how much I really did use my back until it hurt.

"Fuck," I spat, gritting my teeth. "Come on, Ash, come on!"

After what felt like four lifetimes I finally reached the door to the house. Opening it, I stumbled inside.

The entire downstairs was dark, which told me one of two things. Either my dad was out at some bar, or he was up in his office.

Praying for the former, I inched my way toward the stairs. Despite the fact that my throat felt like the Sahara, I didn't dare take a drink. I was afraid that if my father heard me down here, he might come and beat me again. Holding my breath, I tiptoed over to where my father had thrown my backpack.

As I passed the stairs, I looked up. The lights were all off, although the door to my father's office was closed. That signaled that he was inside. I felt a bit disappointed that he wasn't gone for the night, but it didn't matter. Either way, he was still drowning himself in alcohol. He thought I didn't know about his secret stash, but I did.

The fact that he was home, and that my room was right next to his office, left me two options. One, I sneak down to the basement and stay down there until I was sure my dad had enough time to get drunk and thus lose his awareness. Or two, I sneak out to the park and stay there until the same time.

I chose the park.

Picking my backpack up off the floor, I quietly opened the front door. Fortunately for me, the front door didn't squeak and groan like most of the other doors in our house did. That was at least one thing that wasn't wrong in my life.

Once I got outside, I was home free. The window of my father's office faced away from the street, so there was no way he'd see me. I started toward the park.

I made slow progress, since the pain in my back made it difficult for me to walk. As I passed by the old Hanley place next door, I thought I saw movement in the front window. I blinked in confusion at that. Mr. Hanley had died two years ago, and his house had been empty ever since. I'd never seen a "For Sale" sign or anything, so I was confused as to who it was inside. Probably just some trashy teen smoking weed and drinking.

Things like that were typical around this neighborhood. Things used to be better when I was seven or eight, but lately a lot of druggies and ex-criminals had moved in. My classmates were getting worse and worse. Gary wasn't even close to the worst person in my school.

When I got to the park, I tried to find a secluded spot where I wouldn't be disturbed. The last thing I needed was to end up in the middle of some drug deal or gang fight. There was a reason only teenagers hung out at this park.

I eventually found a spot for myself underneath a big old oak tree. I cared a lot about the environment, so it really pissed me off to see how many bad words and inappropriate drawings people had carved into the bark over the years.

I eased myself down onto the grass and pulled out the first book I grabbed. Trigonometry. Great. My favorite subject.

I was just getting into the first few problems when a shadow cascaded over my view. I looked up, an annoyed phrase on the tip of my tongue, when I saw who it was.

It was a girl. I didn't recognize her, but she looked to be about my age. She had hair as red-hot as my father's temper, and bright, friendly green eyes that seriously contrasted her hair. She gave me a smile.

"Hello. Can I sit down with you?"

I looked at her, startled. No one ever asked to sit down with me. Anyone who ever came up to me just wanted to spit in my face or make fun of my introvertedness (which was not by choice). And even that rarely happened.

She clearly was waiting for an answer, so I gave her one.

"Uh... sure?"

She happily sat herself down right beside me. Like, right beside me. I shuffled away from her a bit, slightly uncomfortable at how friendly she was being.

"So you're doing Trig homework? I was really good in Trig. I could help you."

I blinked several times. I shifted my back against the bark of the tree in an effort to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Sure enough, pain shot through my back. I winced.

She looked at me, concerned. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, gritting my teeth.

She pulled something out from her back pocket. A pencil. "Here, let me help you. I know exactly how to do this question."

I stared at her. "O-kay."

She turned my notebook in her direction and started writing things down. I watched her with interest. I wasn't the best Trig student by any means, so the fact that this girl was so good at it was impressive.

Within mere minutes, she was done. "There. See how I did it?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. Come on, Ash, talk to her.

"Um, uh, well, yeah. I mean, I uh, I didn't need help, but uh, thanks."

She looked over the previous question, her eyebrows raising. "Don't need help? This question is wrong."

I got defensive then. "How do you know? What are you, a walking answer key or something?"

She looked at me, surprised. I guess she hadn't been expecting such a response from someone like me.

She pushed my notebook back toward me. "I'll leave you alone, then."

It took me longer than it should have to stop her. "Wait, wait."

She stopped. "What?" Her voice was short, which made me feel bad. Nice going, stupid. Now you've put her in a bad mood.

I sighed. "I didn't mean to be so short. I'm sorry if I offended you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Do you have trouble with bullies?"

Out of all of the questions she could have asked, that one surprised me the most. "Uh, what?"

"I said, do you have trouble with bullies?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. Do you? Because if you do, I can help."

What is up with this girl and helping me? "I'm fine."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"'I'm fine' means 'No'."

"'No' means 'No'."

I huffed. "Whatever. No, then, okay?"

She huffed herself. "Sorry for asking."

I ignored her and went back to looking at my homework.

"I'm talking to you."

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Fine then."

As I heard her walking away, she said something else. "You're welcome, by the way."

I looked up at her sharply. She had her back turned to me, so I stuck my tongue out at her. Childish, yes, but justified.

I was really starting to think by that point that someone had put her up to that or something. Offered her drug money in exchange for coming up and trying to help the weird kid fix all his problems. I was almost tempted to go after her and deal with her the same way I had dealt with Gary, but I didn't. God only knew what my father would do to me if I punched a girl.

I finished up with my Trig homework, and moved on to Chemistry and English. Thankfully, that stupid girl never came back. That just further solidified my belief that someone had put her up to coming up to me. No one ever approached me out of their own good will. It was a crime in today's society to ever be caught within a five foot radius of the weird kid.

By the time I finished my homework, it was totally dark out. The only light I had was from the lightposts dotting the park, which made me feel slightly uneasy. Not because I expected some rapist to come out and assault me, but because night was when all the drug deals started. I guess doing it at night meant they were less likely to get caught or something. However, they normally stayed away from me. Thank God.

Nonetheless, I hurried out of there as soon as my homework was done. As I walked, I realized that I forgot to ask the girl's name. I didn't know why, but it bothered me that I had forgotten to do that. I wanted to know her name. Why? I wasn't sure, but I had the idea that it was so I could more easily get revenge on her for tricking me like she had. I had genuinely thought for a while that she was actually a nice person.

It was stupid of me to think that.

When I got home, I saw my dad getting into one of his friends' cars. I stayed off of the sidewalk, crouching next to some bushes. It surprised me that my father was going out after what I assumed to have been a night spent drinking. Maybe he'd finally drink himself to death and I'd be done with him.

Of course, everyone knew my luck was never that good.

When my father's friend's car went by, I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. It was only then that I realized that I was hiding in front of the old Hanley place. That house creeped the hell out of me at night. It hadn't been touched in two years, so the grass had grown up knee-high and the porch roof was caving in. One of the second story windows was smashed from when some kid threw something at it a few months ago. I chuckled a bit as I recalled how my father took after him. He didn't catch him, of course, since all of the drinking my father did had put him relatively out of shape. It was still a good memory, though.

Despite my logical half telling me to leave, my eyes stayed glued on the Hanley house. Everyone in school loved to spread rumors about how the Hanley place was haunted, and all that shit. People told some pretty ridiculous stories about the house. One particularly outrageous one said that apparently at night, an axe can be seen floating freely around the room, chopping invisible heads off. Blood could be seen flying all around whenever the axe moved, and creaking sounds could be heard all through the night. The story also claimed that during the day, the axe hid in the basement, waiting to chop off the heads of anyone who tried to venture into its territory. And the worst part?

Everyone believed it.

Everyone except for me, of course. I was really the only logical one in my entire school.

A loud bang brought my attention back to the present. I jumped, immediately thinking that someone was inside. I tried to relax, telling myself that it was just some raccoon or stray cat or something. I almost had myself convinced when something else happened.

A light turned on.

I bolted.

That was one of the few times I ever felt actually relieved to be in my house. I leaned against the door once I was inside, trying to calm myself down. I was the type of person who got scared easily, and tended to suffer from panic attacks when I did. Thank God my dad wasn't home. He'd beat me for being scared, even though he had a very apparent train phobia himself. Whenever we passed over train tracks in the car, he'd go at like two miles an hour and be breathing heavy and sweating and all that shit. It was amusing, but of course I didn't dare laugh.

As soon as I had calmed myself down, I was upstairs and in my room. I locked the door behind me, thanking God that I had been able to avoid my father ever since the belting. That usually didn't happen. I just hoped he'd stay drunk long enough for me to be able to get to school unnoticed tomorrow.

I threw my backpack in the corner and collapsed on my bed. My bed was probably my favorite object in our entire household. Most boys my age would say their Xbox, or their phone, or their car. But for me, it was my bed. It was the only place where I truly felt safe. I knew that my dad would never bother me if my door was locked, and especially not if I was in bed. It was a strange habit, but one I appreciated. He'd probably be so drunk he wouldn't even notice that the door was locked, anyway.

I turned off the light and closed my eyes, not even bothering to change into my pajamas. I was just so tired. Everything that had happened today, from Gary to my dad to the girl, had worn me out. On top of that, I had a big Trigonometry test the following day that I was sure I was going to fail. I sucked at testing. It made me nervous, and when I got nervous, my brain shut down. It was one of the reasons as to why I was never able to stand up to my father. Well, that and the fact that he was a foot taller than me and had an arsenal of tools to use to his defense.

The last thought that came to my mind that night was the girl. I wondered again what her name was. I hated her, of course, just like I hated everyone else. But something about her made me curious. It piqued my interest to know that someone out there was actually getting people to come up to me and act like they cared. I had no idea what they were getting in return, but it was still interesting. I mean, I wasn't the only weirdo in my school. As I drifted off to sleep, a single question came to my mind.

Who was that girl?

Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed that chapter. I was trying to think of a way that Ash's father could abuse him outside of just punching, kicking, and screaming, and belting came to mind. I avoided being descriptive with it for any of you who are sensitive about that stuff, but I did warn you. Just know that stuff like that isn't always going to be happening. Like Ash said, his father saves the belting for when Ash does really bad things. Like punching a kid in school, for instance. Anyways, pushing that aside, I just wanted to thank ya'll again for reviewing, favoriting, and following. See ya next time!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, or anything else you recognize in here. All rights go to their respective owners.