Fighting 3.3: Lies and Lyra
Genesis
“Excuse me, Genesis.”
Your eyes flick away from Reshiram—Reshiram!—to see the man behind you. There’s a human-like pokémon with yellow stripes beside him. Wait. You think you recognize him? From dad’s security team? The one he uses abroad. “You work for my father, right?”
“I do.”
“You been following her?” Kekoa asks/growls.
“For her own safety.” You swear he’s glaring at Kekoa but can’t quite tell in in the dim light. “After all, you never know who might set their sights on someone like her.”
“Never saw you,” Kekoa adds, more defensive than anything.
“I didn’t want to be seen.” His attention shifts back to you. “Come with me. Your father wants to speak with you.”
Father.
Cuicatl’s still growling back and forth with Reshiram. When you start walking away, Kekoa following with a huff, she doesn’t even notice. Once you’re far enough from everyone else that the electabuzz’s light can’t reach them, the man hands you a phone. Oh. For a second you thought that he was here, but this makes a lot more sense. Kekoa tries to step closer, but he’s held back. Gently, but the message gets across loud and clear. Even to you.
There’s already a call started. No time to prepare. You raise the phone to your ear and cough. “Hello?”
“Hello, Genesis. Are you hurt?”
His question makes you smile; he does still care about you.
“I am not. Are you?”
“Good to hear. I am also unharmed. Security has only encountered one of the monsters here, and it was quickly dispatched. Which brings me to the reason for this call: it is time for you to come home. The world has become far too dangerous for you to be unprotected.”
“But you’ve sent protection, haven’t you?” He did. He was watching after you the entire time. Because he cares.
“Hector was the one who requested you be brought back to a more defensible location.”
“Okay.” You’re going home. It’s still a shock to hear, even after months of waiting and praying for it. Sure, it took the sun going out—but you’re going home! “I’ll come.”
“Excellent. I have a teleporter ready to bring you over. We will continue this conversation once you arrive.”
He hangs up. Teleporter? That’s—you were expecting a boat. You had a whole speech planned out for when you got back, but now it’s slipping out of reach as you try to find it. No time to prepare, everything on the line and—and you have to say goodbye, now. To Cuicatl. Someone who had always been nice to you. Well, almost always. But you usually deserved it when she wasn’t. And there’s no way at all that Mother ever lets you speak to her again.
You take a deep breath and turn back towards Reshiram. This is it. Your last impression with her. Better not screw it up.
*
You screwed it up. No, Kekoa screwed it all up. Cuicatl even tried to help you! Wasn’t even mad you called the death cult she’s in a death cult. Uggggggh. She hates you now, doesn’t she? And you’ll never get a chance to correct it. That was all you were trying to avoid.
You’re still reflecting on that conversation when the teleporter’s alakazam makes the entire world stretch and stretch until there’s nothing but lines around you. The alakazam leaps away just as soon as the world starts to settle around you.
You’re home. It’s hard to see the edges of the room in the dark but the floor is familiar and you’re home! After the first footstep echoes around the parlor you remember that you’re wearing ragged hiking boots and shamefully slip them off. Fine. You’ll face your parents in socks. Maybe they won’t even notice.
It’s just two trips around the staircase to the second floor. To Father’s office. Hector and his pokémon stay at the bottom with your bag. More light, brighter than the electabuzz’s, flows down from the top.
A vikavolt’s light. The bug—you never learned the vikavolts’ names since they were usually at work with the spiders—floats behind you and gently presses you closer to the door. No one opens it when you approach, so with shaky hands you press down the handle and step inside.
The vikavolt stays behind, but there’s still light and a great deal of heat in the room itself. Red is lying down in her bed when you enter. That doesn’t last long, as the pyroar ambles over to you and sniffs you over. Then she nuzzles your shoulder. You used to be scared of the big cat, but now you’re just happy she’s here because it means you’re home. For a moment you ignore the other people in the room and hug her back, giving her a scratch on the chin. But it doesn’t last. Eventually Red walks back to her bed and you have to turn and face reality. Father is smiling, either at you or at his longtime pet. Your mother is not, legs and arms crossed and almost glaring at you.
Not good. Not good at all.
“You’re back,” she says after what feels like an hour of silent appraisal. “But have you changed?”
Fragments of what you wanted to say come back. You’re sorry. Time alone made you realize—what did it make you realize? She keeps staring at you in the dim light and you have to move on without figuring it out.
“A lot. I cared for my own pokémon. Saw the world in a different way. I’ve been away from—” do you say her name or not ahhhhhhh— “her for a few months and got away from her influence. I made new friends—”
“The pagan and the transsexual, yes?”
“I—I was trying to teach them.”
There’s fire in her eyes that can’t be blamed on the pyroar’s light. “’Trying,’ were you? Tell me, were they also trying to convert you?”
“Cuicatl said—”
“Because from where I’m sitting, I see a different explanation.” You turn to your father but his eyes are locked on his pet. He can’t see your pleading. “What happened on the roof—”
“She kissed me!”
She cuts you off, again, with a wave of her hand. “So you said. Does it matter, though? Something awoke within you. We cast you out and away from it and what do you do? You find another deviant to latch onto. Rather than fight the demons you seek out and embrace them, time and time again.”
It’s all too much. The loathing in her voice when she talks about your friends, the accusations, dad looking away… you want to yell but that would be childish and you want her to take you seriously so you can stay.
“Tell me, Genesis,” she practically purrs. “Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that girl never tempted you?”
“Of course she didn’t.”
Mother leans back into her chair, a very self-satisfied smile on her face.
“Genesis Elizabeth Gage, you have always been a terrible liar.”
2015
The library door swings open and you look up from your homework. Stefan is standing in the doorway with an Asian child about your age beside him. Her eyes briefly settle on you before immediately flitting away to look at the rest of the room. Like you’re the least interesting thing in it. “You have a visitor, Miss Gage.”
The girl finally, almost unwillingly turns back towards you and walks forward. You stand up, rubbing some of the wrinkles out of your skirt, and extend a hand. “Hi. Who are you?” There’s a sharp cough in the corner and it takes all your willpower not to look at Agnes. “Hello. It is a pleasure to make your ack-wain-tens.” That word took you forever to get right. “My name is Genesis. What is yours?” You correct yourself, a little stiffer than you have to be out of spite. Agnes doesn’t disapprove, but that might have counted as ‘sass’ and earn you another manners lesson tonight.
Stefan breaks in before the girl can respond. “Oh, Agnes, you’re free to go for the day. Sarah and I will watch the children.” The old woman huffs (she mostly speaks in huffs, tuts, and scoldings) and gathers her things. The girl glances between you and Agnes with a sly smile that grows much wider once the only adults are behind her.
“I’m Lyra,” she finally says when the door is shut. “Or Kotone if you want to call me that. That was my name back home. But a new country means a new name. That’s what dad says.”
“Oh? Then you’re from…?”
“Japan.”
Japan. Mother told you about that place recently. They don’t worship Xerneas there, so he couldn’t stop it when Yveltal sent monsters. A city was destroyed. A lot of people died. Now they’re all in a cocoon. That is why you believe in Xerneas. He can protect you. But if Mother let you speak to Lyra then she also believes and already knows all of that. You can ask about other stuff. “Your Galarian sounds good.”
Lyra shrugs. You wince at the thought of Agnes seeing you do that. “I had someone to teach me.”
“Cool.” Like your Kalosian lessons. It’s one of your best subjects. You even managed to mostly speak in it when Father took you to Kalos last year. “What do you like to do? When you’re not seeing the world?”
“Be outside.” At some point her eyes had started wandering the room again. They snap back to you all at once. “Want to go out? It’s Winter in Japan, but it’s warm here. I want to enjoy it.”
You glance at Stefan, still standing by the doorway, and he nods back. “Okay. There’s a playground outside.”
There is. You don’t use it much. Not anymore. Exodus…left…and your parents don’t like letting you do anything with Levi where he could get hurt. Even though you’re nothing like your sister.
When Lyra first sees the playground her eyes widen and she just stands still and looks at it for long enough that you start fidgeting. “This is all yours?”
“My brother uses it sometimes.”
She shakes her head and finally looks away from it and back to you. With a quick flick of her wrist her finger presses into your heart. “Tag. You’re it.”
Lyra races off and it takes a moment for your thoughts to catch up with the present. Okay. You’re not really dressed for this. She isn’t either, but at least she has more comfortable shoes on. It’s fine, though; you can still play for a bit.
You chase her up the stairs and onto the bridge, up the spire, down the pole, turn around real fast (and almost wipe out), catch your balance and go to the second set, up the stairs when she decides to crawl up a slide—wait, she just ran back out the bottom of the slide—down the slide, towards the—your shoes catch on the ground and you fall flat on your face. Little flashes of pain shoot up your arms and legs. Your knee is sore where it hit the ground and you can imagine the pattern of woodchips plastered on it.
It’s fine. All fine. Nothing too bad. You press yourself up on your hands and sit down properly. Sarah’s running over with her comfey draped over her shoulder. It takes Lyra a bit to notice you aren’t following, but she starts jogging back when she does. The comfey wraps herself around your arm and you can feel the healing pouring into you. Sarah does a quick check on everything before standing up and starting to walk away. Comfey stays for a little bit as your cuts stop bleeding, become thin red lines, and then disappear altogether. Even the pains from your too-tight saddle shoes fade away.
Lyra plops down beside you right as the comfey starts to fly back after her trainer. “They really keep an eye on you, huh?”
“Yeah. They want to make sure I’m safe.”
She doesn’t look like she agrees. “I hate it. Haven’t been living with dad long but he always, always, always has someone watching me. Can’t do anything without him finding out. Have you always lived like that?”
“Yes, but it keeps me safe. There are bad people out there.”
Lyra scoffs. “I know. Still hate it.”
She glares at the merry-go-round like it’s responsible for everything and for once you know what to do.
You poke a finger into her heart, smile, and run away.
*
“HEY!” You’re jolted out of your thoughts by someone yelling very loudly very close to you. Lyra. In what you’re pretty sure is the uniform of the school down the street. “You really don’t pay attention when you run.”
You flush in embarrassment and look away. “I was thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?”
There’s a book series about a group of knights. There are a lot of books and there’s sort of a bigger plot but mostly it’s just kids a little older than you hanging out with other kids and fighting bad guys with swords, bows, and pokémon. When you run around the track you get lost in that world, sort of, except you’re in it and have friends, a faerie rapidash, and a sword made of pure crystal. The sword also—doesn’t matter. The point is that you won’t tell anyone any of it. Ever. It’s not real. It doesn’t matter to them.
“Stuff.”
Lyra stares at you like you said something wrong. And maybe you did. Eventually she nods. “I did not see you at school today.”
“I don’t go. Agnes teaches me here.”
There is a local school run by priests of Xerneas but Mother has some issue with them that she’s never really explained. Or maybe she has and you just didn’t understand. That happens a lot with her explanations.
Now Lyra’s really looking at you funny. “Is that common here? It was not in Japan.”
“It’s not common, but it might be someday. More and more people are doing it.” Mother is working to ensure that. She’s often in Hau’oli or even on the mainland trying to get the government to make it easier.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Are you not lonely, though?”
“I mean…” Yeah. Very. Sort of. You have your brother. And your parents. And Stefan, Sarah, Agnes… There are people around you almost all the time. And also Lucy. That’s enough.
Lyra grabs your hand. “Let me get changed. Then we can play.” She seems very determined. You aren’t sure what about.
*
At first Lyra just uses you for the playground out back. Sometimes she’ll talk about school, but never for long. Later she starts coming inside, usually for snacks. Then she starts talking about whatever’s on her mind (snakes, cartoons, something or other that another friend told her) and listens when you say stuff that probably isn’t as interesting. Eventually you just expect her to show up almost every day at four on the dot and sometimes she doesn’t leave until it’s dark. Lyra shrugs it off whenever you ask: “I just like being here.”
2016
“Do you want to marry me?”
You almost faceplant onto the bridge but you catch yourself just in time. Lyra’s right in front of you. Was that a plan to throw you off so she could win? You almost had her. But she doesn’t start running again and just shrugs it off when you poke her (on the shoulder, not the heart, because Mother says you can’t do that anymore).
“What?”
“A bunch of kids are getting married at recess. A boy asked me today and I told him I was already married. It was a lie, but we could maybe make it not a lie?”
“No.”
Her expression immediately falls. “Why not?”
“Because we’re both girls. Duh.”
She has her ‘you’re-wrong-and-I-want-to-say-it-but-probably-won’t’ look on.
“I mean, you’re nice. If you were a boy, yes. But you’re not, so…”
“Ah.”
And that’s the end of that.
2017
Mother says you can go to school! On your first day Lyra comes over early and you help each other tidy up and make sure the uniforms are on right before you get in the car and ride over together.
Not ten steps in the door Lyra’s flagged over by some girls you don’t recognize and they start talking with only a quick introduction for you. Their discussion moves quickly with lots of gestures, hugs, and words you can barely make out over the dull roar of the children around you. But you aren’t a part of it. You aren’t wanted here. That’s fine. You knew she had other friends. Betrayal weighing heavy on your heart, you slip off into the crowd.
*
Lyra finds you again at lunch.
“Where have you been?” She slams her tray down onto the table and stares at you, lips drawn back in a snarl.
“In class.”
“Not what I meant and you know it.”
She’s angry at you. You’ve seen her angry before but you’ve never been scared of her. Until now.
“You were talking to your friends and…” You sigh and look down, away from Lyra’s ferocious eyes. “They’re your friends. Not mine. I didn’t want to get in the way.”
Lyra huffs and half-laughs half-cries. “That it? Then get up. You’re coming to my table and I’m making them your friends.”
She tries. She really does. And you start to learn things about them and they learn some things about you. Three come over to your house in October, but Mother keeps two from coming back (one was a liar, the other too masculine) and the third stays away on principle. They let you keep sitting at the table (it’s not your fault your mom’s crazy, they explain, until you start to argue that, no, she isn’t, and one politely changes the topic). There are always jokes you don’t get and there’s a wall between them and you but it’s nice to have other people to talk to. And Lyra’s always there, glancing at you from time to time and making sure that you aren’t too far out of the loop.
2018
Lyra storms into the library, all but slamming the door behind her. Stefan looks up and starts some snide rebuke or another before the young girl silences him with a vicious glare. “Gen, can we go somewhere private?” She says it like it is not a question.
“Sure.” You smooth your skirt and walk out of the library with her, taking a left to the staircase, up two flights of stairs, and down to the third door to the right. You hesitate before opening it. She seems really out of it and if she wanted something private… you brace yourself and open the door to your room. Fluffy looks up and chitters for a moment before going back to sleep on her web, strung up in the corner between four posts.
Lyra shuts the door, gently, behind you and looks at the room with the same curious eye she had when you first met her. “This is your bedroom, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Thought you’d never show me.”
You don’t respond, instead walking over to your bed and sitting down on the edge. Lyra casts a wary look at Fluffy before following and sitting beside you. And it’s true. You don’t like her here. This is your space. Yours. You make your own bed and do most of the chores just so fewer people come in. Having anyone in here feels invasive. Even if it’s Lyra.
It’s a boring room, anyway, since you barely spend time here. A few toys for Fluffy. A plush pyroar (almost as cute as the real thing). Plain blue wallpaper. A diary on the desk you stopped writing in years ago. Mother pretended she could read your mind and kept catching and punishing you for stuff you were pretty sure happened in the rare moments while no one was watching; you only figured out how she was doing it when you made up a little sin you didn’t actually commit and wrote it down. Sure enough, you were locked in the library for four hours of silent reflection over something that didn’t happen. She was upset when you stopped writing and keeps having a new diary put back on the desk whenever you hide or throw out the old one.
The diary sends you off into a thought hole that doesn’t matter; Lyra is upset now and she matters, not a stupid book.
“Guess I should tell you what’s going on, right?” She sounds resigned, like she’d really rather not. But why would she want privacy if she didn’t want to tell you?
“If you want. You don’t have to.”
“My idiot big brother is going back to Japan.”
“I… I’ve heard that parts of it have recovered?” You aren’t sure why this is bad as she makes it sound. She barely even talks about Ethan.
She shakes her head, sending waves through her long black hair. She must notice, too, because she tucks some behind her shoulder before turning to look at you. “Gen, how did my dad make his money?”
“Music? Or television?” You think it was music but you sort of remember her talking about being on set for a show filming once and you aren’t sure if that was through her dad’s work or not.
“Yeah. Officially. And maybe for real some of the time. But in Japan all the big businesses compete in the market and in the shadows.” She makes a point of looking directly into your eyes. “He worked for the Rockets and he was damn good at it.”
You flinch at the casual swear. She said ‘Rockets’ like it meant something. Should mean something.
“Who are the Rockets?” you nervously ask. If it’s important you should know.
“Mafia group.”
What? Her father… he seemed nice enough. A little strict. You had mistaken him for a security guard at first with the way he held himself. But you’d never thought he was a bad person. “I think he’s still in it,” she mutters. “Just a little bit. Makes sure that spider silk keeps flowing. Another company, another gang, makes it back home.”
That was too far. “Father doesn’t sell to criminals.” You meet her gaze with a glare of your own, doing your best to keep it up when her brown eyes soften considerably and she looks… sad? You suddenly feel stupid and maybe mean and decide that it’s time to inspect your socks.
“He sells to war criminals. Really, the yakuza are tame compared to his other clients.”
“I…”
She waves a hand—wait when did she start wearing colorful nail polish?—and cuts off your thoughts. “My brother and I didn’t meet him until I was eight. Before that he was just the guy who left Mom and sometimes paid for stuff make up for it. Then he came back and Hibiki—I mean Ethan. No, screw it—Hibiki figured out what our Dad did pretty quick. And he took it hard. We’d both always liked pokémon since grandma was a breeder. Talked to each other about going on journeys and all that. And in Japan that all leads back to Red,” she says the word with a strange mix of awe and disdain. Like he wasn’t just garbage, he was the Mt. Everest of garbage. Which isn’t fair. Your father’s pyroar is lovely, if scary. But you don’t think she’s talking about the cat. “Some kid beat the Rocket Gang’s leader so bad he stepped down in disgrace. Then the Rocket Gang’s rival companies made TV shows, video games, and everything else they could to rub it in. Made the kid a saint in the process.”
You realize you have heard of him. “The guy with the pikachu?”
“Yeah, the guy with the pikachu.” If she’s impressed she doesn’t let it show before she plows on. “Hibiki practically worshipped Red. The night he found out what dad did he completely lost it in our room. Went on about how he had to redeem his family.” Lyra sighs. “Total drama queen. And now he’s going to go home and fight the Rocket Gang until they kill him.”
A lot of ideas whir through your mind but they range from stupid to rude. And most of them come back to one phrase: ‘I don’t know how to help you.’
Lyra abruptly leans over and wraps her arms around you in a big, tight hug. Out of all the things you should be focusing on, you end up thinking about how nice her blukberry-scented shampoo smells.
*
A few months later Lyra comes to school with the gloom that had settled over her replaced by bright, shining happiness. The new semester had moved you to a different lunch period than hers so you don’t get a chance to ask her why until Emile drives you both to your home. She stays quiet but clearly excited between her almost-too-wide grin and her foot bouncing off the bottom of the car, replaced by almost skipping-steps as you move out back to the former playground.
When you’re both sitting down on one of the benches alongside the tennis court, Lyra finally breaks her silence. “My brother got arrested.”
“What?” And since when is that a good thing.
“Yup. Turns out it’s illegal to attack people and break their stuff, even if they’re also criminals. The cartoons lied.”
“But he’s in jail and that’s bad?” You’re pretty darn sure it is, anyway.
“For now. But Dad thinks he can get him home with a slap on the wrist and a promise to not come back for a few years. Win-win there. He’ll be safe back home and can’t return to risk his life.”
Oh. That’s why. Now you get it. “I’m happy for you.” Lyra smiles and gives you a quick side hug before pulling back up. She seems to sink down into the bench as her legs sprawl out further in front of her.
“And now I can finally think about my own journey without worrying about his.” Right. Her journey. She’d talked about it a lot with you at first but then she must have realized that you didn’t know what she was talking about so she moved onto discussing it with other friends. But you should care about the stuff she likes. Or at least pretend you do.
“Have you decided what pokémon you want?”
Her smile somehow grows wider. It almost hurts your lips just to look at it. “Well, I want to be able to explore places so I need pokémon that can help with that. And a fire-water-grass core is sort of tradition. The fire-type is salazzle, of course, because I like their mating dance.” She winks at you and you get the feeling that there’s a joke you were supposed to get but didn’t. Her smile thins a bit, but she doesn’t try to explain it. “As a kid I wanted a tangrowth since their vines could help me cross gaps and climb places, but you don’t have those here and I haven’t thought of a good replacement yet. Then lapras is obviously the go-to water-type for crossing oceans and lakes and rivers and stuff. But I might go with pyukumuku instead.”
“Pyukumuku? You know my dad pays people to get rid of those? Why would you want to own one?”
“Well, they’re super easy to care for and that’s good since some of my other pokémon might not be. Plus, most people underestimate them and they can be really tricky to fight.”
“I see.” You really don’t—why on earth would she pick the ball of slime over a gorgeous milotic, lapras, or primarina?
“Yup. Then something for deserts, something for the tundra, and a bird to fly on. Or maybe flygon for both the deserts and the flying…”
You don’t really understand half of what comes next. Something about a sled race that someone won with a sandslash, which apparently don’t live in sand at all. And there’s a lake in Japan that supposedly leads to another world entirely but only three people have gone, only two came back, and only one ever talks about it.
There are a few opportunities to ask a question that sounds like a good one or interject with something you’d heard somewhere but mostly you just let her talk. Lyra’s happy again. You hadn’t fully realized just how much you had missed that.
*
“You’re going to homecoming, right?”
Lyra leans onto the locker next to you and looks at you expectantly.
“Wasn’t planning on it. Dances are…” full of bright lights and loud music and crowds of bodies and the smell of sweat and other terrible stuff. Helping out with prom as part of student government terrified you into swearing off both dances and student government forever. “Not my thing. But are you going?”
“I don’t have a date, no.” Her smile turns almost predatory. Was that the wrong question? Should you apologize. “But there’s nothing stopping us from going. As friends.”
“Um.”
“Janet,” the blonde from the lunch table (right?), “just found out that she’ll be on the mainland that weekend, so she gave her ticket to me.”
“I—”
“Please. For me?”
She looks terribly anxious and she just got happy and her hair looks very cute today and you just can’t find it in yourself to say no.
*
You should have said no.
The night starts well enough. Lyra comes over to your place wearing a black shin-length dress and black opera gloves. The dress is silk and clearly fitted for her and it looks really good, but the gloves mean that there’s more fabric on her arms than her legs and it’s unbalanced and you can’t even imagine wearing that without immediately taking the gloves off. The dark fabric makes her look elegant enough that you can almost forget it.
Just after the car drives off Lyra notices something wrong with your hair, which is annoying because you spent so long sitting still and getting it styled earlier, so she steps over and fixes it. She’s surprisingly slow and has to get a lot closer to you than you would’ve expected. It isn’t unpleasant, though. She smells good and it at least takes your mind off the heart rate spike you’re experiencing as you get closer to the dance, even if it somehow makes your heart go even faster.
The dance is almost as bad as you remember it being. Less people seem to want to actually dance so there’s less sweat in the air. And if they aren’t dancing then they’re talking and the DJ has to turn up the music to be heard over the talking and then people have to talk louder to be heard over the music and there are dozens or maybe hundreds of conversations going on and your mind keeps grasping onto snippets of all of them and it’s too much to handle and you’d really rather be outside. But Lyra’s here and she’s happy and seeing her happy makes you happy enough that your face gets hot so you’ll stay. Lyra looks at you occasionally or nudges your elbow and asks if you’re fine and you lie and say you are and she hesitantly accepts it every time. Once in a while the conversation between her and her friends turns to something you actually know about and you talk too much until you get embarrassed and just stop talking for a while.
After what feels like days but may have been minutes a song plays that you know how to dance to. Lyra went to those lessons with you and she must remember because she grabs your wrist and moves her eyes to the dance floor. “It’s a guy-girl dance,” you mutter-shout.
“You’re tall. We can make it work.”
And you do. It’s surprisingly easy to tone everything out while the song is on and just focus on your movements and Lyra’s. But the song ends, and a loud, fast pop song takes its place and the moment is over.
*
You try, you really do, but eventually everything is too much and you have to step out of the room to breathe. Lyra follows, looking equal parts guilty and concerned. She glances down at your hand, seeing it twitching and folding in on itself as it desperately wants something to fidget with even though you kicked that bad habit years ago.
“I messed up, didn’t I?”
“No.” You agreed to it. You freaked out. It isn’t her fault at all.
She takes a deep, dramatic sigh. “You don’t hate me, right?”
Of course you don’t. She’s closer to you than anyone is. Practically family.
“You know I love you, Lyra.”
She brightens up like her brother got arrested five times.
July 5, 2019
Your concentration has been even worse than usual lately. You’ve even caught yourself fidgeting with a coin a few times, staring off into the distance for minutes on end. It’s gotten bad enough that someone told Father and he talked to you for a few minutes before you convinced him that everything was fine and he could go back to his work. Levi, bless him, has done his best to cheer you up but it’s nothing he can do anything about, nothing that you’d want him to do anything about, and he gets the hint.
Lyra’s leaving soon. You don’t know how long she’ll be gone. Maybe for a long time. She does want to explore, after all, so there’s no reason for her to stop after she beats the island challenge. And she says she’d be happy if she never went home again.
You’ve met her starter, a stoic absol. He lets you pet him in long, gentle strokes down the back and he’s so, so soft.
The day Lyra leaves gets closer and closer and closer until its finally here.
“I’ve never been up on your roof,” she asks without asking.
You take her up there because it’s her last day and you aren’t denying her last request. The door is unlocked. You don’t know if you should be surprised since you’ve never even tried to open it before. On the roof you’re hit with the smell of salty air and the sounds of wingull down on the beach. The ocean stretches out almost to the horizon, only broken by the faint silhouette of Lanakila in the distance.
It’s a good view. Maybe you should’ve come here before. Lyra seems to think the same, leaning on the railing and letting the wind run through her hair without a care in the world. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore to the dance. It’ll make it easier to remember how she looks forever, even if she never comes back.
You walk over to the railing and stand by her in silence. You should say something. Time is running out fast and while she can text you on the trail, she’ll have bigger things to worry about and new friends you’ll never meet. Someday she might forget to text altogether.
“I guess you’re never going to make a move, are you?” Lyra finally asks.
“What?” What is she talking about? Move on wha—
Her lips meet yours and your mind stops working. Then it starts up again going way too fast. You’ve never been kissed before and it feels good but it shouldn’t feel good but it’s Lyra and she’s pretty and you like it and you’re going to burn with Yveltal and no you aren’t you hate this hate this hate this but you still don’t pull away. Why don’t you pull away?
The door swings open. “Girls,” Stefan says. “You really shouldn’t… be… on… the…”
Lyra steps back and you stumble back from her and Stefan looks more confused than anything before he looks away from you, disappointment replacing the shock. You want to apologize, to beg to him that you didn’t mean it, she did it, you didn’t like it, please don’t tell Mother!
But you know he will and begging him to deceive her might just make it worse.
Now you can only pray that Mother will be merciful.
*
You look into her eyes and see that there is no mercy to be found.
“I swear—”
“That’s enough, girls.” Father finally speaks, but he still won’t look at either of you. “Genesis, Stefan will take you to your room. You are not to leave it. Please spend the time reflecting on your mistakes.”
It’s not fair. You want to stamp your foot and shout it but it wouldn’t change their minds. A better argument might work but all of your ideas melt to nothing under Mother’s withering stare. Maybe… Maybe it is fair. You’re back. They’re keeping you safe. Keeping an eye on you. They’re just worried about your soul and when they realize that you’re still pure everything will go back to normal.
“What about my pokémon?”
Father waves towards the table. You remove your belt and for a long moment you simply hold it in your hand, unable or unwilling to put it on the table. Putting it down feels like you’re throwing the last few months away. Throwing your experiences away like they didn’t matter. All you’ll have left to show for it are the memories.
…
Maybe Mother was right. Maybe Lyra and Kekoa did wear you down. Make you rebellious and prideful and sinful to the point where you would defy your own parents in favor of a pagan and a transsexual. Maybe you can’t trust yourself with a tie to the past.
You set the belt down on the table and walk towards your room.