The weekend finally
arrived, ushering in Sunday, the day of my release. The past week felt like an
eternity and a blink, a strange distortion of grief and discovery. After
endless therapy sessions where I carefully navigated the psychologist's
questions, feigning confusion and memory gaps to avoid revealing the impossible
truth, and the constant procession of medical staff in and out of my room, I
was beyond eager to go home. Home, a place that was both familiar and utterly
alien. I didn't even know if I lived in the same house. But I craved the
solitude, the chance to process everything without a watchful eye or a nurse
Pokémon nearby. The static in my head, my constant, unwelcome companion, hummed
a low note of anticipation. Freedom, even this warped version of it, felt like
a desperate necessity.
I was still profoundly
depressed, of course. The word "home" still twisted in my gut,
irrevocably tied to the life I had lost, to Erik's comforting presence and the
joyful chaos of my children. This new "home" would never truly be mine,
not in the way that mattered. A part of me, the most vital part, remained
tethered to a dimension that no longer existed for me. But I was never one to
quit. Adaptation wasn't a choice; it was survival. I would find a way to live
in this strange new reality, even if it meant carrying the weight of two lives
on my shoulders.
Beyond the immediate
relief of leaving the hospital, a long list of unknowns stretched before me. I
knew I would be forced to go to school again, but the very thought brought a
fresh wave of anxiety. How did schools even function here? What were the subjects?
Were there Pokémon battles integrated into the curriculum, or specialized
classes on type advantages and EV training? What parts of my extensive Pokémon
game knowledge would actually translate into practical, life-saving wisdom, and
what would just be useless trivia? Most pressing of all, what was my future plan?
But for now, those questions could wait. I had
a little bit of time, a precious sliver of reprieve, before I had to face the
daunting task of building a life in a world that wasn't mine.
I got out of bed and
into the shower, to clean myself of the hospital scent that clung to me,
finally free from the constant chirp of the heart monitor since Wednesday and
the bandage and stitches since yesterday. The water felt good, a small
blessing. Afterwards, I tackled my hair –unnecessarily long, like a dark lion's
mane that belonged to this me. I tried to wrangle it into a simple ponytail,
but layers my alternate self had clearly cut kept escaping around my face and
neck. Seriously, why the layers? They were a nightmare to manage. Another
reminder that while this was me, it wasn't really
me.
Dressed in clothes my
nannyhad brought, I inspected the outfit. My alternate self's style seemed
pretty typical for a 2012 teenager: a pair of bright blue skinny jeans,
slightly faded but still tight. A tank top, a graphic tee with a stylized anime
character I didn't recognize with a Haunter beside him, but the art style was
vaguely familiar. Over that, a light, open flannel shirt and a hoodie would
complete the look, perfect for that casual, slightly layered vibe, and warm,
because this week was really cold for October in Colorado. The shoes were
purple converse sneakers, well-worn and familiar, a comforting echo of
something from my own past. It was a comfortable, if uninspired, ensemble,
perfect for blending in.
Just as I finished
getting ready, the door creaked open and the large, pink form of Chansey
waddled in, a tray laden with breakfast balanced carefully on her stubby hands.
A small smile touched my lips, a genuine one for the first time in what felt
like ages. Over the past week, we had developed a quiet, understanding
camaraderie, something akin to friendship. She wasn't just a hospital Pokémon
or nurse; she was a gentle, consistent presence in a new reality, her soft hums
and empathetic gaze a balm to my fractured mind. I had even found myself
gushing to my dad over the phone about how cute and incredibly helpful she was,
adding that I definitely wanted one of my own someday – a thought that
surprised even me with its earnestness. Her unwavering kindness had been a
small, unexpected anchor in the storm of my grief and confusion.
Chansey carefully set
the tray down on my bedside table, then reached out a stubby hand to pat my leg
reassuringly. "Chansey, Chansey!" she chirped, her repetitive
name-saying a familiar melody by now. Of course, I didn't truly understand the
specific words, but her tone and gesture clearly conveyed something about my
impending discharge. "I know, I'm just waiting for my dad," I told
her, reaching out to gently stroke her soft, pink skin. "Thank you for
being so good to me this week. You're a really nice nurse, Chansey." Her
dark eyes seemed to gleam in response, and she gave another soft
"Chansey!" before waddling back towards the door, leaving me to my
breakfast and the growing anticipation of my father's arrival.
While I ate, my mind continued the analysis of this new world. I thought
about some more discoveries I'd made these last days, gleaned from frantic
internet searches on my iPoke and careful observation of the hospital staff.
I'd found out that trainers could indeed "understand" their own
Pokémon, though it wasn't a direct, linguistic translation. It was more like an
intuitive game of charades, where the context, the Pokémon's intent, and the
general emotional idea were transmitted, rather than word-for-word
comprehension. Otherwise, as I'd mentally theorized, it would literally just be
like hearing a dog bark, or a bird chirp, with no discernible meaning. It was
even more difficult to understand Pokémon that weren't your own, especially if
they weren't from family members with whom you might share a more distant but
inherent bond. My current hypothesis, strengthened by my knowledge of the
franchise, was that the pervasive natural aura of this world, or perhaps the
strengthening bond itself, somehow helped bridge that communication gap,
implanting the right ideas in trainers' heads. The more time spent together,
the deeper the bond, the clearer this internal "understanding"
became.
And there were deeper, more profound implications to this "aura
link." This profound connection, I'd learned, seemed to fortify humans and
Pokémon alike. The most astonishing discovery was that humans here lived
significantly longer since they began formally bonding with and training
Pokémon. The average trainer or even casual Pokémon owner could easily live to
90 years old, a noticeable increase from my old world's typical lifespan. But
the truly dedicated, the elite trainers and Champions? They could reportedly go
up to 200 years, their lifespans radically extended by this symbiotic
relationship. This aura link not only seemed to extend human longevity but also
fundamentally altered the Pokémon themselves, making them smarter, more
adaptable, and more capable of complex thought processes with prolonged
interaction and training. It was a dynamic feedback loop, a true evolution of
coexistence. On that vein, I also found out that only really strong Psychic or
Aura Pokémon could "speak" like in the more fantastical anime
portrayals, and even then, that "speech" wasn't audible in the
traditional sense. It was more or less directly transmitted to the human brain,
a telepathic impression of words. The Pokémon would still vocalize their
species name aloud ("Pikachu!"), but the "pokespeak" would
be simultaneously translated into human speech within the listener's mind. Even
with this ability, if the Pokémon wasn't powerful enough – a casual blattler
Pokémon, for instance – only one or two people in close proximity would hear
them; they couldn't give a speech to a full room, for example, or the vast
majority of people would only hear their species name. To project their
translated thoughts to multiple people, the Pokémon would have to be at least
high Gym level, maybe even Elite level. It was a fascinating, intricate system
that hinted at layers of power and connection I was only just beginning to
grasp.
And talking about
"levels"—of course, they don't exist in this world in the way I knew
from the games. What I had learned was that humans had created a classification
system for Pokémon strength in the last 100 years. A normal household Pokémon,
for instance, would be considered "Beginner" level (levels 1-10).
After Beginner came "Journeyman" level (levels 11-20), named as such
because it was the typical strength of Pokémon belonging to young adults
embarking on their first badge journey. Following that was the
"Adept" level (levels 21-30). Then came "Proficient"
(levels 31-40), followed by "Gym" (levels 41-50), representing
Pokémon powerful enough to challenge or belong to Gym Leaders during the 8th
badge challenge. Beyond that were "Ace" (levels 51-60),
"Expert" (levels 61-70), "Elite" (levels 71-80), and
"Champion" (levels 81-90). The very peak of power before the absolute
mythical tier was "Hero" (levels 91-99), with the ultimate, almost
unattainable strength reserved for "Legendary" (Level 100) Pokémon,
and even inside the legendary tier, there were power differences. This system
provided a framework for understanding power, a human construct to quantify the
raw, untamed strength of these creatures. But, of course, without it being a
game, what really quantified these levels were the aura and imponence of the
Pokémon, that even humans had adapted to feel and give an approximate measure.
Anyway, while I was doing this mental comprehensive review, my room door
opened.
Standing there, a weary but hopeful smile breaking through the lines of
stress on his face, was my father. He looked older than I remembered him when I
was 17 in my own life, the grief of losing his wife and other daughter evident
in the slight slump of his shoulders and the faint shadows under his eyes.
Nurse Alina, who had been particularly patient with my "memory
issues," stood quietly by the door, a clipboard in her hand, respecting
the moment.
His gaze swept over me, taking in my face, my less-than-perfect
ponytail, and the clothes I wore. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the angry
red scar line stark against the skin of my left arm, and a flicker of deep pain
crossed his features before he quickly masked it. Then, his eyes met mine, and
it was like a dam breaking. He didn't say anything, just strode forward,
crossing the distance between us in two powerful steps.
"Little bug," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion as
he pulled me into a crushing hug. I buried my face in his shoulder, inhaling
the familiar scent of his cologne and something else, something uniquely him that I hadn't realized I missed so
desperately. It was the smell of home, of safety, of a father's unconditional
love, even if this wasn't my father
from my original life.
This man, however, felt every bit like the dad I remembered, and for a precious
few seconds, the layers of alternate realities and devastating losses fell
away. I just let myself be his daughter again, clinging to him as tears, hot
and uncontrollable, finally streamed down my face.
After a long minute, as our initial emotional reunion softened into a
steady embrace, Nurse Alina gently cleared her throat, a soft, unobtrusive
sound. "Mr. Fuente," she said, her voice warm but professional.
"Celeste, when you're ready, I just need a final signature on the
discharge papers." She stepped forward slightly, extending a hand to hold
the pen to my father, while holding the clipboard.
My father gently loosened his embrace, though he kept one arm tightly
around my shoulders. He signed the consent forms with one hand and looked down
at me, his eyes red-rimmed but shining with relief. "Your Eevee,
Maya," he murmured, a soft smile forming. "She's been worried sick
about you."
I laughed through my tears, a watery, broken sound. "Yeah, Maya,
sure," I said in a sarcastic tone, still sniffling but managing a small,
wry smile. My dad always had trouble expressing concern and some other emotions
directly. I knew he said "Maya," but it was clearly him who had been the most worried. He'd
always been that way, deflecting his own intense feelings by focusing on
someone else, even a Pokémon. He gave me a squeeze, a knowing look passing
between us that spoke volumes without needing words. It was an old dynamic, one
that felt surprisingly comforting now.
With the papers officially handled, we were free to go. The process was
surprisingly quick, a testament to the efficient, Pokémon-assisted healthcare
system, I supposed. As we walked down the hospital corridor, my dad kept an arm
firmly around me, guiding me past other patients and some medical Pokémon,
while holding my bag on the other side. The static in my head seemed to quiet
slightly, almost as if the sheer normalcy of my father's presence was a calming
influence on the whispers.
The hospital doors slid open, revealing a bright, sunny morning. The
fresh air hit me like a physical thing, crisp and clean after the sterile
hospital environment. A gleaming red
Bentley, a model I didn't recognize but instantly registered as astronomically
expensive, was waiting at the curb. It looked very, very high-end – another subtle clue to the altered
circumstances of this life. As we approached, the back window rolled down, and
a small, fluffy head with huge, curious eyes poked out.
"Eevee!" Maya barked, a joyous sound, as she launched herself
from the car, barreling towards me.
My father chuckled. "Looks like someone couldn't wait any
longer."
Maya
jumped on me, her small body hitting me with surprising force, almost taking me
down. I instinctively dropped to one knee, wrapping my arms around her as she
licked me all over my face, her tail a furious blur, frantically yipping
variations of her name. That's when I had the most surreal experience since
arriving here. Amidst her excited barks and frantic movements, a jumble of
impressions, not clear words, but distinct feelings and images flooded my mind. Concern...
fear for me... absence... apology... hurt. It was a chaotic, intense burst of
pure emotion and context, the essence of Are you okay? I'm so sorry I wasn't with you
when you got hurt!, but without the precise phrasing. It was probably the
most bizarre thing that had ever happened in my life, besides dimension
hopping, to gain such a raw, empathic understanding from an "animal
sound." I really didn't think that would happen anytime soon, not with me
being not really "me," and Eevee being "mine" only in name
and circumstance, rather than through a deep, personal bond. The sheer intimacy
of it, a direct mental connection to a creature whose mind should have been a
mystery, left me stunned even as I continued to hug her.
I
came out of my stupor to respond, scratching behind her ears. "I'm okay,
Maya," I murmured, my voice still a little shaky. "And it wasn't your
fault. Don't be sorry, little one." I scooped her up, a surprisingly solid
weight in my arms, and carried her to the Bentley. As I opened the back door, I
saw Joana sitting in the backseat, a small, polite smile on her face.
"Hi," she said, her voice soft. Since I had just seen her yesterday
in the hospital room, we didn't have much to talk about, but her presence was
another small piece of this new life, waiting for me. I buckled myself in,
settling Maya onto my lap, and the luxurious car pulled away from the curb,
finally heading home.
Well… "home" was an understatement. We headed towards a
different neighborhood than I remembered, driving across Denver to an entirely
different side of the city. We soon reached the Country Club neighborhood, and
my eyes practically popped out of my head. This was
home? This was probably the richest, most exclusive neighborhood in Denver, a
place my old family could only dream of visiting, let alone living in. We
definitely didn't live here before, not in my timeline.
My dad stopped the Bentley in front of a sprawling, tasteful mansion, its
old-style architecture hinting at generations of wealth. Stepping out of the
car, I looked around at the neighboring houses, all equally grand and exuding
that 'old money' aesthetic. I was kind of shocked, but perhaps I should have
expected it after seeing the car. The Bentley wasn't just a fancy ride; it was
a clear signal of the drastic upgrade in my alternate self's family fortunes.
I grabbed the small bag the hospital had given me with my meager
belongings, Maya trotting faithfully at my heels. Without waiting for a grand
tour, I turned to Dad and Joana. "I'm going to my room," I announced,
needing a moment to process this latest revelation. Dad simply nodded,
"Okay, Bug. Come down for lunch at 1 PM." The casualness of it, the
expectation that this opulent palace was my room, my home, was still sinking in.
But… where exactly was my
room? I looked quickly around the sprawling first floor, taking in the high
ceilings and elegant furnishings, trying to catch a clue from any door. Joana,
ever observant, eyed me strangely, a faint hint of confusion on her face at my
lingering gaze. I quickly scratched my cheek and offered a small, awkward laugh
to cover it, then headed towards the grand staircase, hoping for inspiration on
the next floor. As Maya padded up the steps beside me, a brilliant idea
sparked. Problem solved! "Maya,"
I whispered, nudging her gently with my knee, "Lead the way to my room,
girl." Her ears twitched, and she looked up at me with those intelligent
Eevee eyes, then turned and confidently trotted down a long hallway on the
second floor. Good girl.
I stopped in front of a door completely covered in Pokémon and other
cute stickers, a vibrant collage of cartoon characters and Poké Balls. I turned
the doorknob and stepped inside, feeling an immediate wave of intense déjà vu
that left me momentarily dizzy. Despite being significantly bigger and boasting
a plush reading seat tucked into the bay of a huge window, this room was
practically identical to my old one from my original life. The baby yellow
painted walls were plastered with posters of bands and singers I recognized,
alongside some series posters like Hannah Montana and Supernatural. A tall
bookcase overflowed with teenage fantasy books, a testament to my lifelong avid
reading habit. Hauntingly, colorful Romani cloths hung draped from the ceiling,
a nod to my mother's heritage from a clan in Brazil. A double bed was tucked
into an alcove in the wall, complete with a sheer yellow bed curtain hanging
from the ceiling, and separate doors led to a spacious closet and an en-suite
bathroom.
Then I noticed the biggest differences. I. Had. Eeveelutions. Sheets.
Specifically, the designs for Vaporeon, Jolteon, and Flareon, the original
trio, covered my duvet and pillowcases. No sign of Espeon, Umbreon, Leafeon, or
Glaceon here – only the ones that evolve via stones. Oh my god, the sheer
pokenerdiness of it made me almost snort-laugh. And besides the familiar faces,
there were posters of famous trainers with or without their teams, others just
featuring popular Pokémon like a grinning Gengar and a beaming Blissey, along
with more Poké Ball and Pokémon stickers everywhere, especially on the doors.
This alternate self was not just a fan; I was a bona fide pokemaniac!
That's why Dad called me a pokemaniac In my old world, I liked Pokémon,
yes, but not like this. I never really played competitively; I never spent
thousands of hours looking up strategies or trying to catch or breed shinies.
But I always knew I loved Pokémon, a quiet, consistent affection for the games
and their creatures. Seems like that love was a bit too much here, in this
alternate life. This girl lived and breathed it.
I was shocked at her love for Pokémon. The incessant buzzes in my head
seemed to be laughing at my reaction, a low, chittering sound that resonated
with my own amusement. And I will admit, it was kind of funny, but even Maya
looked at me strangely, tilting her head as if sensing my internal monologue. I
shrugged, tossing my small hospital bag onto the windowsill, and then, after
kicking off my shoes—an ingrained habit, knowing my mom would kill me for
putting shoes on the bed, and I would, in turn, kill my own kids for it—I
collapsed onto the double bed. Maya, ever affectionate, nudged her way onto my
stomach, laying her head down as we just lay there like that for some time, a
quiet, comfortable weight. The soft rhythm of her breathing, combined with the luxurious
comfort of the bed, slowly started to soothe the frantic whispers in my mind.
My peace was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "Come
in," I called out, and my dad's head poked in. He was smiling, but there
was a mischievous glint in his eyes, and I noticed he was carefully hiding
something behind his back.
He walked mischievously inside, still keeping his hand tucked away. I
held my torso up on my elbows and squinted my eyes at him. "What have you
got there?"
He hummed, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Hmmmm, I don't know, maybe
some kisses will make papa tell you."
"Dad, I'm too old for these jokes!" I groaned, though a smile
was tugging at my lips despite myself.
"Not joking!" he insisted, and pointed one finger at his
cheek, while still keeping the other hand stubbornly hidden.
"FINE!" I surrendered, too curious to pass up the mystery. I
got up, giving him a quick, exaggerated flurry of kisses on his offered cheek.
But not one to pass an opportunity, I seized his moment of distraction, darting
my hand behind his back and snatching the item.
"HEY! Not fair!" he shouted, a booming laugh following close
behind.
It was a Poké Ball! I lifted it up to look closely, and saw it was pink
with a heart in the top center. A Love Ball? It was so cute! "Why do you
have a Love Ball, Dad?"
He just beamed, looking like a kid in a candy store. "Why don't you
find out? Toss it!"
My eyes almost bugged out of my head. "THERE'S A POKÉMON
HERE?!"
"Just toss it, little bug," he urged, his grin widening.
"I don't wanna ruin the surprise."
I hurriedly tossed it between us onto the plush carpet. A soft, warm
light bloomed from the opened ball, and a small, oval Pokémon materialized.
I shrieked! A freaking HAPPINY was looking
confused at my sudden, high-pitched reaction, standing a mere meter away from
me. It was so freaking cute!
"A Happiny!" I darted to kneel with both knees in front of it,
my heart doing an ecstatic flutter. My first instinct was to scoop it up and
cuddle it senseless, but I managed to hold back just barely, remembering
internet warnings about not scaring Pokémon. I knew that Dad was giving it to
me partly out of guilt, a tangible apology for his recent absence and the
general trauma I'd endured, but honestly, I really didn't care at that moment.
The pure joy of seeing the Happiny overshadowed any other thought. "Hi!
I'm your new trainer!" I glanced back at my dad for confirmation, and he
nodded with a wide, proud smile. "Can I touch you? My name is Celeste, but
my friends call me Celes."
The tiny, pink Pokémon blinked its large, innocent eyes, then, very
reluctantly, gave a small nod, repeating its name in a soft, musical chime,
"Hap-pi-ny!" as if introducing itself.
That was all the permission I needed. I carefully, but swiftly, gathered
it into my arms, holding it like a precious toddler. It was so soft, so
perfectly cuddly! I gently patted its head, and it leaned into my hand, making
a tiny, content sound. I almost cooed. "Thank you, Daddy! I love you so
much! I've always wanted one of its line!"
"I know, Celes, that's why I went through a LOT of trouble to get
you this little one. It's a 'she,' by the way. She was one of the Happinys of
the Joy's clan nurse training program, and she excelled in mental health
monitoring. But she also wanted to battle, unlike most of her species, so I
used a lot of connections to get her. Treat her well, she'll be a great
friend."
My dad was saying some important stuff, detailing her origin and
personality, but I stopped listening almost entirely at "Joy's clan."
What did he mean by that? Joy, as in Nurse Joy? The thought hit me like a
physical blow, reverberating through my already fragile mind. I felt like an
anime character who had just heard some earth-shattering news, and the words
kept echoing in my brain, getting away and taking my sanity together. The only
thing going through my brain was a frantic, insistent whisper, "JOY… JOY…
Joy… joy…"
I felt like Raven from "That's So Raven" at that moment. I
literally stopped patting Happiny's head, my head turning to look blankly at
nothing, eyes wide as I started recalculating and trying to remember if I saw
any online or heard anything about any Joy at the hospital. And I was sure I never heard anything about them.
"What do you mean, 'Joy's clan'?" I turned back to look at
Dad, my voice a little bewildered.
He chuckled softly, a wistful sound. "Oh, yeah, you've got some
knowledge gaps. You used to love them some years ago when you were dead set on
being a nurse! One day you even loudly screamed at the dining table that you
were going to be the best nurse in the world, even better than the Joys… your
mother laughed herself silly, then grounded you for yelling at the dining
table." He paused, a fond, distant look in his eyes. "They are the
largest family focused on healing Pokémon in the world. Most of the Pokémon
health research and advancement in the last 300 years came from them, and they
have nurses scattered all around the world! Every major city has at least one
Joy, and they are very easy to distinguish with their pink hair. Just like our
family's hair turned blue after the unsealing, theirs turned a very nice dark
pink. Anyway, I'm friends with Alice Joy, a researcher on the wellbeing of
Rotom used in appliances, and asked her for the favor of letting me contact the
Joy head of their medical Pokémon breeding center. I spent the whole week
trying to convince them; they usually don't make Pokémon sales to
outsiders…"
Well,
that changed things. A LOT. If the Joys were here in this dimension, who else
would be? Which characters were real? Ash? Serena? Maybe some Champions or
Elite Four members? Thinking back on it, I had a poster that looked distinctly
like Karen, one of the Elite Four in the games, but I had easily dismissed the
idea. There was no name on it, and the team was slightly different from what I
remembered, with a lot more Ghost-types than Dark-types. But maybe it's because
Dark-types weren't really a 'thing' yet when she was active, or maybe this was
just a different Karen.
I
had another anime moment as the incessant buzz in my head got even louder,
almost a humming chorus of frantic speculation. I felt like a literal light
bulb had just lit itself on top of my head, but I was still fearful of the
answer. Swallowing, I looked at my dad, who was still smiling, oblivious to my
internal crisis.
"What
about the Jennys?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He
looked genuinely confused, scratching the back of his head. "What about
them? Your aunts and uncles are probably fine… I haven't talked to them for a
while, you know that." He didn't seem to be picking up on my distress at
all.
I
just stared at him like he had grown a second head. My gaze must have been
utterly bewildered because he stopped scratching and continued, a slightly
awkward note entering his tone. "I don't know if you remember, but the
Jennys are the core Pokémon police in the world. Of course, there are many
people that work as PokéPolice, and the governments even have their own forces,
but the Jennys were the first ones to establish a private force focused on the
use of Pokémon for crimes and the wellbeing of Pokémon. Nowadays they are
integrated with the global PokeUnited Nations governments as the experts on
PokéCrimes and are scattered around the world, usually in high-ranking
positions. I'm… a Jenny. I mean… I was… a Jenny, until I married into your
mom's family. My mother, your grandma, is the spokesperson for the Jennys at
the PUN, and she thought I should marry one of her pre-approved candidates… she
hated the fact that your mom wasn't really 'distinct,' and her family were
Brazilian Romani who had come from Spain when the unsealing happened." He
sounded bitter talking about the topic, the usual jovial mask slipping to
reveal a flash of old resentment. Happiny, still in my arms, sensed the shift
in his mood and tried to get free from my embrace, patting his jeans with a
small, concerned hand. But my mind was reeling, and I could barely believe it.
I knew my grandma was a UN representative in my other life, and that we never
had much contact, only some phone calls throughout my whole life, but this was
crazy!
Only
one thought managed to push through the cacophony in my brain. "I'm a
Jenny?" I whispered in utter disbelief.
Now
the crazy blue hair made perfect sense.
The whispers in my head became almost unbearable, spiraling into a
deafening roar that clashed with the sudden, sharp spikes of a new migraine. It
reached a new, agonizing might, too much to process, too much to hold onto. I
finally let myself go and slumped backwards, the world dissolving into a
swirling kaleidoscope of blue hair, pink Pokémon, and echoing "Joys"
and "Jennys" before everything went black. I passed out.
I only heard my dad, Maya, and Happiny shouting something as my body hit
the floor. I woke up apparently some minutes later, going by the clock on my
wall. My dad was sitting on the side of the bed with Happiny on his lap and
Maya curled beside him, while Joana stood behind him, all of them wearing
deeply concerned expressions.
Maya barked "Eev, Eevee!" when she saw me opening my eyes,
then immediately jumped onto the bed and licked my cheek.
"Oh, thank God you're okay!" my dad exclaimed, relief evident
in his voice. "Happiny tried to say that you only had a stress pass-out,
but I wanted to rush you back to the hospital! She doesn't know any healing
moves yet, but she did a full check-up on you." All of them looked visibly
relieved, their tense shoulders relaxing.
"I'm fine, Dad," I managed, my voice a little rough. "I'm
just really weak these days since I lost a lot of blood last week. I'll be back
to normal in no time. It's just my migraine that became really strong." I
grimaced, pressing a hand to my temple.
"Are you hearing the sounds again?" he asked, his tone
resigned, clearly having dealt with this before.
"Yeah, but don't worry, it's not that bad! Honest! Today was the
first time it was bad like this," I quickly reassured him, not wanting to
worry him further.
"Okay," he said, still looking skeptical but accepting my word
for now. "Well, we'll let you rest with your Pokémon. Joana will bring
something light for you to eat later, okay? Get better soon."
My dad and Joana exited the room, still looking concerned, but I was
honestly fine now, just exhausted. What was notfine was the dizzying speed at which
my thoughts were going. Joys, and Jennys, all real! In the "real"
world! This really changed everything. I needed to know what else was real, who
else was a real, flesh-breathing person. But first, I desperately needed some
aspirin and a nap… The rest could wait.