Subsequent to their journey through Kalos, another unexpected one begins. One that draws heartache from heartstrings themselves and passion from riots in veins. And new ambitions are formed, and new love is conjured, from all the unexpected people.
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The first few months were hard. Very hard.
As much as Serena and I were best friends, make no mistake, we were very different people. And we dealt with this in very different ways.
Serena let the poignancy slowly leak from her defenses, drop by drop, tear by tear, let him go. And as her anguish left, in fits of sobs, independence and solidarity replaced it. Day by day, she was stronger, pulling herself out an onyx abyss with steady heaves. I watched her cry, whimper at the little things. Things that reminded her of him. At night, when she was vulnerable, I watched her cry herself to sleep. And I watched her get up in the morning, wretched with the memories of a dream.
Perhaps, that was the healthy way to deal with it. Perhaps not. Who can really tell?
I, on the other hand, let myself slowly implode. Every little tear or cry or lamenter was bottled within the new spinning cyclone I had created. Stacked higher and higher, every hint of sadness pushed into a corner that became so congested, it couldn't be ignored. And just like you can't shut the door on a closet that's too full, the plug securing my sorrow, was eventually torn in half.
But in the mean time, to extend the period before such event happened, I hid those fragments of misery behind other emotions. Painted them and plastered them with masks. And my disguises fooled even myself for a little while.
First it was pity. Pity for Ash's mother, sitting broken-boned on a rigid hospital bed . And pity for Ash, watching her. This worked for some time. Until I need an emotion much stronger, much more overpowering, to keep my heart from falling straight out of my chest.
So that, was when it became anger.
Ash Ketchum became a person to blame. Blame for Serena's nightmares, for her sadness and suffering. He was the ugly spot on my heart. The distaste on my tongue. The blister on my heel. He became the reason anything synthetic happened to Serena and I.
And that worked for an even longer time. But nothing is suppressed forever. Not even my opulence of anguish.
Soon the dam walls crack and the faults splinter. That scaffolding of anger crumbles and, before you know it, there's a flood.
