I'm not a Trainer

XVIII: Apprehension

TRAINER

'Son, why does it every time you come back home, your Pokemon... is injured?'

'Jacob, you're being too nice to him. Injured? That Pokemon doesn't even look like it can stand up straight.'

'Maybe, you shouldn't try and be a pokemon trainer.'

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I wake up to the pitter-patter of rain outside. The shadow greeted my eyes with the midnight darkness, and I stared at complete emptiness, where I found myself putting an arm on my forehead. The sound of my fan squeaking matches the beat in my heart. I breathed a loud, disappointed sigh.

'I know dad... I know...'

I shouldn't be thinking like this. Being consumed more by my negative thoughts can only bring me dismay, yet why does it feel so addicting? Like shattering a glass into pieces, then having to put them back into pieces, then shattering them again. I kept on feeding myself these inelegant thoughts every day inadvertently.

Emotions swell up inside my chest, making me want to scream as loud as possible. If a heart could cry, my lung would burst from the inside, and I would love it for every second I managed to get my contained stress out.

It's pathetic...

Though the dark blinded my eyes, I could almost somewhat see the silhouette of my arm when I stretched it, pointing to the ceiling. I imagined grabbing my Pokeball for the first time and capturing myself an Eevee. Both of us swore, no, that's a lie. I'm the one who swore that I would become a great Pokemon trainer. But that never come to life, not even a single slidder of hope.

I could feel goosebumps on my back like a spider crawling beneath my spine. I couldn't tell whether what I was doing was right or wrong. Is it the right choice? For me to stay a trainer. No, it's not. I decided not so long ago that I would consider that I would stop being a trainer and give out my Pokemon to others. A plan for the future I so hate, but it's not like I couldn't find any other way around it.

Hard work beats talent is what I'm trying to convince myself. I kept being a trainer, finding tips, and working on a winning strategy, but it was not enough. It was apparent. Being a trainer is not my strong suit.

Yet why do they stick around? Training themselves days after days where it seemed like they were torturing themselves, and I had to step in to stop them from doing it anymore. Wounds that reopen, bones nearly clustered, and internal bleeding that could cause permanent damage.

Just... Why?

The day I started to see crimson painted on my Vaporeon's face, I finally took notice and asked internally, "Why do you go so far to train?". Why bother walking through the torturous phases of exceeding one's limit when you know the result will stay the same in the end? They know; I know they do. There has to be no way they would put all their trust in me to win a single battle.

Such a distance strived by my partners, how could I not be filled with guilt that pours poison into the depths of my soul? I berated myself every day, telling myself to put an end to their efforts. Using such passion on a failure like me would be a waste. I did not deserve them.

My beloved, all three of them, I, for a single moment, never felt like I earned them. They were meant for something else. A taste of victory in the championship, a title of the strongest, and defenders of the gyms; that's who they're meant to be. Not to be stuck in some useless trainer's house.

During this moment, I was disconnected from myself. All my five senses dulled, my eyes blackened, my ears deafened, my tongue crept, my nose numbed, and my touch nulled. My soul endlessly floated in the ethereal plane where I could see a mirage of my before. Then it all went black once more.