She filled the cup with her eighth coffee. It was the only thing she consumed now. She closed her eyes, taking a large sip, letting the bitter taste wash over her tongue and feeling a zing of energy rush through her from the caffeine. She took another sip, and another, again, again, again, until the cup was finished. Then she got up and got another cup of coffee from the dispenser.
"Are you sure you should be drinking so many of those? You're only twelve," Nurse Joy piped up cautiously, moving towards her.
(Y/N) Moon ran an unfriendly eye over her. "I'm paying," she grunted. Her voice was rusty and rough from years of disuse, but she was getting better at speaking now.
Nurse Joy hesitated, then returned to her station, still keeping an eye on (Y/N).
To be very honest, (Y/N) didn't blame her. She knew she looked a fright. But there was a policy in Pokémon Centers that they accepted anyone who needed a place to stay, besides straight-up felons. They legally couldn't turn (Y/N) away, even though she looked nearly as ugly as a Trubbish from a month of an unhealthy lifestyle and countless cups of coffee a day.
(Y/N)'s eyes were eerily bright and bloodshot, with livid bags under them. Her entire face sagged like a potato sack, and her olive skin was as oily as french fries. Her mouth drooped like a wilting flower. Her hair was matted and snarled, with bits of fluff and dirt and even coffee dregs tangled in it. Her clothes were the same she'd worn for a week straight and were stained and torn in several places.
Before Ryan died, (Y/N) had been shyly cute, pretty, even. Now she looked like a hag you'd see panhandling in the street every time you left the house.
Not that she cared. Frankly, the only thing she had cared about since Ryan died was her self-imposed isolation and Ryan himself.
(Y/N) poured the rest of her coffee into her mouth in a long brown stream. She abruptly got up, slapped a couple of notes down, and took two more cups of coffee to go.
Rooms at a Pokémon Center were always free, mostly because a large majority of the ten- and twelve-year-olds on their journeys couldn't afford to pay to stay. And providing a place to stay for them for a while on their journeys was the main reason the Pokémon Center provided rooms. (Y/N), however, had opted to rent a suite of deluxe rooms that cost a fortune weekly.
(Y/N) was burning through her savings as a Trainer at an alarming rate, especially as she wasn't earning anything anymore, what with her coffee addiction, reckless spending, and luxury accommodations. She hadn't battled—or even taken her other five Pokémon out—since that fateful day.
(Y/N) returned to her suite. There was really no point in her living in such expensive, lavish quarters, since she hardly ever went in them and didn't relish them when she did. But she was renting them anyway, just because they were the first rooms she had seen when she first entered the Pokémon Center and she didn't care about her money or herself enough to swap. Before—before Ryan's death—that is, she would have delighted in the pale pink satin sheets on the queen-sized bed, floral-designed lava lamp, ocean-themed pastels, and never-ending supply of cream and raspberry-filled milk chocolate squares on her rich cherry wood bedside table. Now, though, (Y/N) hardly noticed the extravagance. She stumbled over to the bedside table, picked up the chocolates, and flung them into the trash can, wasting them like she did every single painful day.
When Ryan first died, (Y/N) had descended into a depression. She had stayed in bed all day, not eating, not sleeping, hardly even washing. The only things she had done was breathe, remember, and cry. She had racked herself inside our.
Two weeks later, she had realized she had two choices. One, stay depressed. Two, try to block out most of the grief, but remember enough to punish herself.
She had chosen the second. The first hurt too much.
As she presently walked in the main area of the Pokémon Center, (Y/N) thought wryly, Looks like every male I have a relationship with dies. First Ryota, then Ryan. Should I warn Hau and Gladion?
Even in her own mind, the joke fell flat.
Gladion.
She wouldn't, couldn't, let herself think of him. Right before she said her last words to him, she'd realized that the sparking, joyful, warm emotion she felt around him was...
Love.
(Y/N) now killed the emotion. It would only do more damage to her to remember.
Didn't Guzma also die because of me—jumping in front of Lusamine's gun? That brings my kill count up to three...
A deranged, jagged smile spread twisted her lips, sharp as a dagger and cold as ice. (Y/N) was well aware that she was terrifying Nurse Joy, who was blanching at her station. She didn't care much.
I kill everyone, (Y/N) thought. Everyone, everyone, everyone. Why didn't I learn from Ryota? Why did I let Ryan sacrifice himself for me? I'm not worth a millionth of what Ryan is. And even an infinite amount of (Y/N) can't equal the value of Ryota.
(Y/N) took a deep, shuddering breath, and strode outside of the Pokémon Center and into the sharp outside wind and harsh sunshine. She would expel the thoughts and brood later. Right now, she had a task to do. She would stay calm. Collected. Cool. Okay.
(Y/N) threw up into the nearby bushes.
She ducked her face down into the bush to hide herself throwing up. She retched and retched, her stomach curling itself into knots, her vomit dark brown from all the coffee. Bile, bitter and stinging, scraped her throat. Thorns scratched at her face, one jabbing her eye, and she bit her cheeks savagely to keep herself from shrieking, tearing off skin and leaving her cheeks sore as she did so. When (Y/N) pulled her face out of the thorny bush, she traced a finger on her cheek and saw that it was stained with dark red blood. She stuck another finger in the center of her cheek, feeling tears and blood flow over it, then flicked them off and watched them splatter on the ground. This physical pain was the least she deserved. A tiny drop in the ocean of what she deserved.
Being mute had never been enough of a price for losing Ryota, or even assuaging her guilt for it. Her Rotom Phone had started speaking for her after that, and the only difference between actually speaking and using a Rotom Phone to do it was that the latter option gave her fingers more exercise. She had still spoken using the Rotom Phone, just with the machine's mechanical voice.
(Y/N) suddenly wondered if she deserved to die.
No, she told herself. "You deserve to live every remaining day of your life in pain and grief, (Y/N)," she muttered to her own ears.
A wave of rage, agony, and sorrow came over her, and she lost control.
She grabbed twigs from the bush and wrenched every thorn off them, screaming from rage, collapsing from agony, sobbing from sorrow, not caring that gashes were being ripped in her hands, that tracks of blood were smoothly travelling down her rapidly moving hands, that her entire body was jerking and shaking uncontrollably as she screamed:
"It's not fair, it's not fair, my life was never fair, why does it all have to be my fault, and WHY CAN'T I BRING RYAN AND RYOTA BACK?"
She was as wild as a beast that lives in the forest in a dark cave of pointed ice and sharp rocks, a beast that kills helpless forest creatures, ravages the bodies of intruders, rips up trees by the roots, and sets fire to things just for the pleasure of watching them burn.
It had been a month since (Y/N)'s last encounter with Gladion, since Ryan had sacrificed himself for her. Already, all her sugar sweetness had leaked away in droves.
She remembered some of her last words to Gladion: "Pay penance by being alone. Forever." Talking about her plan for herself.
Now, it was time for her to put that plan into action and start her real penance and isolation.