Chapter 2
With two cups of straight black coffee, he headed up to the bedroom where Lucy had already stripped off her dress and lay sprawled on the bed in nothing but skimpy lingerie. She grinned up at him, still in a drunken state.
"Make love to me, Brock." She said in a giggly overly dramatic way.
He gave her a friendly smile. It wasn't an unusual thing for her to get drunk at a celebration, or a party, or even just for a holiday. He was used to taking care of her when she became intoxicated. "I think you need to sober up before we do anything."
Lucy rolled over on her stomach and ran her fingers through her hair. "I remember there was a time you would have taken advantage of me having a little too much to drink. What's gotten into you, Harrison?"
"I grew up." He answered truthfully as he watched her sit up. She took the cup of coffee from him and took a short, quick sip. It was hot, strong and pungent. She blinked a few times as if her sobriety was already starting to come back by just the smell of it alone.
"That's powerful stuff." She commented, taking another sip. Normally, she hated black coffee and Brock knew when she refused to drink anymore that she had gained some of her sense back.
He took a few sips himself, not enjoying the taste anymore than she was. He rested his cup on the night stand and Lucy eventually did the same, then leaned back onto her pillow and looked up at the ceiling.
"Better?" Brock questioned his wife, trying not to think of the time. It would only have taken Ash an hour to get from the reception to Pine Valley, which was located just south of Mount Moon and Pewter City.
He didn't want to think about what they were doing right now.
Lucy nodded, mutely.
He sighed and wrapped his arms around her thin form. He was her husband, her protector and her lover and that was what he was supposed to do. No matter how much she pissed him off at times.
And he certainly should not be thinking about Misty.
But he was.
"You know I don't like it when you drink like that, Lucy." He stated honestly and she rolled her eyes.
"Oh, Brock. I'm a grown woman." She crossed her arms over her chest and pushed him away. "Besides, I have no responsibilities. It's not like I have children I have to take care of. I'm still young and I should enjoy my youth."
"Well, I wish we did have children!" He swore he wasn't going to bring this up tonight, but at the mention of kids he couldn't help it. It was something he felt strongly about and he hated the way Lucy was so incredibly selfish.
Lucy shielded her eyes from the dim lighting on bedside lamp. "I could really live without brats screaming for me every two seconds. I wouldn't have time to make myself sexy for you."
Brock rolled his eyes. When he had married Lucy just four years ago, she was the same. He had thought that marriage would have grown her up and maybe her instincts would have kicked in and she would want to become a mother. But she was still as immature as ever.
"You're still on the pill?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
"Of course." She said, sighing.
"Well, can't we compromise?" It was one last proposal, but when he saw her turn over on her side and face away from him, his depression set in deeper.
"I'm not compromising my uterus." She stated, clearly annoyed with his nagging.
He felt his throat catch. "Not even in ten or fifteen years?" He hated the way his voice quivered, it showed his weakness, his emotional side that he always tried so hard to cover up. But he was human and the thought of never becoming a father really upset him.
"No, never, Brock." Lucy pulled the quilt over her shoulders and closed her eyes. Nausea was starting to set in and she just wanted to sleep, not argue. "I'm going to sleep."
He stood up from the bed. She hadn't kicked him out, but he just didn't want to be in the same bed or even the same room for her. Sometimes it felt like he had fallen out of love with her, if he was even in it to begin with. It was a horrible feeling and he hated it when it washed over him.
"Where are you going?" She asked when she saw him tugging on a pair of jeans.
"Out." He responded. Tonight, he just couldn't stay here in this house, alone with Lucy. Not while he was thinking of Misty alone with Ash. He felt like he had hit rock bottom. Today, he had lost everything he'd ever wanted.
He always knew it would happen and he just sat back for the last four years while he pretended to be happy in a marriage he clearly wasn't satisfied with, and let it happen. Now she was gone. Forever.
His truck gave a shaky start and then he pulled out of the driveway, onto the suburban streets of their neighborhood. He wasn't sure where he was going, he didn't really have a place in mind.
The night was pitch black, not even a moon hung in the sky and no stars peeked through the gray clouds. It was like a black abyss he driving through and even though it was the middle of July, the night was cold.
Brock was sickened with anger towards his wife. He felt like he had married a selfish woman. One who only cared about herself.
Somehow he found himself by the East Street bridge. It had a beautiful view of night skyline of the distant city and it stretched a few miles over a beautiful harbor. He parked his truck and got out. A walk is what he needed to clear his head, to forget about the day he had.
A warm summer breeze brushed across his face. It felt so good and refreshing. He approached the railing and looked out over the harbor, admiring the distant ships as they sailed smoothly in the dark water.
As he walked, he heard a pair of light footsteps behind him. They were weak and timid, non-threatening. Brock stopped and whirled around to see an old man with a torn jacket and raggedy dirty clothes. White wiry hair stuck out from underneath an old French beret.
Ignoring him, Brock continued his walk, every once in a while looking over the side of the bridge. The water looked deep and foreboding, despite it's calm surface. It was pitch black and murky. The bridge was high above it.
Another car rushed past him and he felt the wind from it.
This wasn't the first time he had suicidal thoughts. He had thought many, many times to come out here late at night and just jump. Why shouldn't he? He had nothing to live for. Nothing to show for his twenty-seven years of life.
He had no children. A selfish, gold-digging wife and now…
Now he didn't even have Misty anymore.
Finally, he stopped walking and looked back to where he had parked his truck. He could barely see it now, it was nothing but a mere dot on the horizon. Finally, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a tiny black case.
It was coated with a thick layer of dust, but the ring inside was still gorgeous and sparkling. It was the very same ring he had bought for Misty their senior year in high school for the day he was going to tell her about how he felt about her and pray to God she felt the same way.
However, he had lost his nerve and kept the ring hidden very safely in his room where no one would find it. He had planned to sell it when he met Lucy in college, but instead he drove to pawn shop and didn't even bother going inside. He knew he couldn't get rid of it.
Now, he's had it for ten years and no one, not even his mother, knew about it.
The old man with the beret kept getting closer and Brock knew he was homeless by now. His jeans looked decades old and his gloves had holes in them. He once again turned away from him and took the ring from the slot in the black velvet.
He remembered he had thought about just giving this ring to Lucy. After all, it cost him three paychecks. Why not give it to another girl when Misty didn't even know it existed? But he couldn't.
This was Misty's ring. It belonged to her even if he never gave it to her.
The diamond sparkled under the bridge lights. It was crystal clear and of very high quality. He smiled when he remembered thinking nothing was too good for Misty. He would have spent every last penny in his account just to make her happy. He still would.
Brock almost felt guilty about not paying as much for Lucy's engagement ring or wedding ring, but his mother had assured him that money wasn't really an issue. Of course, she also didn't know he had spent over three thousand dollars on a ring for a girl who didn't even return his feelings.
With only the thought of Ash and Misty's marriage on his mind, he reared back his arm and threw the ring out over the harbor. He threw it so hard his shoulder ached and he didn't even hear where it had landed in the water.
His lips felt dry and he leaned against the rail, feeling as if he was going to cry. He looked down into the water again and he was actually mustering up the nerve to climb over, but his concentration was interrupted when the old man approached closer.
The soles of his shoes were falling off and his socked toe was sticking out of the front. Sympathy washed over Brock and he dug in his pocket for money. A couple bucks and a few pennies was all he had and, with what he was planning to do, he couldn't make much use of it anyway.
The old man grinned at him with a snaggle-toothed smile and he held out a partially gloved hand.
Brock gave him a polite smile and handed him the two bucks and the pennies. Maybe it would be enough for a new pair of sandals at the dollar store, or maybe a cheeseburger from a fast food restaurant. At least he would have done something for somebody in this world before he went.
"God bless you, young man." The old man said, bowing to his graciously.
"You take care." Brock said, hoping and assuming the old man would go along his merry way. In fact, he didn't even care if he used the money to buy himself cigarettes or booze, he just wanted him gone.
Instead, the old man leaned against the rail with him, a look of shame washed over his tired old face. "You know, Boy," He said, gruffly, much to Brock's annoyance. "I wouldn't be out here beggin' for money if I had a bite to eat. Ain't no job out there for an old geezer like myself."
"I'm sure that is plenty of money to buy some food somewhere." Brock didn't mean to sound irritated, but he was. A man couldn't even commit suicide without some homeless bum breathing down his neck!
"I've been there before, son." The old man took off his hat, he was bald on top. "Good-lookin' boy like you shouldn't look so gloomy. You shouldn't be havin' woman troubles."
Surprised, Brock looked over at him. How the hell did he know? From years of experience? He looked like he had definitely been put through a few ringers in his day.
"It's not really trouble, it's just…." Brock paused, feeling like a complete fool for telling a complete stranger about his personal life. "Ok, there's this girl."
"Ah! Is she pretty?"
"Beautiful." He corrected.
"So, what's the problem?" The man asked, looking straight at him. He was very intent and Brock assumed that the old man probably didn't communicate with very many people.
"She got married today. To my best friend." He informed him, seeing the old man nod. "And, I don't even know why I'm sad. I mean, I'm married to a very beautiful woman, but this other girl…she's had my heart for years."
"Very common, my boy. Happened to me once. I was married to a woman, had an affair with my high school sweetheart, so I divorced my first wife and we ended up getting married and we had forty wonderful years together, but tragically, she died." The crows feet around his eyes were deep and he patted a dirty hand on his back. Strangely, Brock didn't feel uneasy about it. Normally, he would have recoiled in disgust, but something about this old man was trusting. "By the way, name's Neal. Neal Dash."
He offered a dirty hand and Brock hesitated for a moment. He had shaken homeless people's hands before when they had come into the hospital for various medical emergencies and normally he could feel the grime and dirty that was imbedded in the cracks and crevices of their hands, but when he shook Neal's hand, it felt clean, but slightly calloused.
"Brock Harrison."
Neal smiled again. "Listen, my boy, no matter how dark things seem now. They can, and will get better. I've been living at the shelter now for almost twenty-seven years and I'm as happy as a clown."
Brock didn't see how anyone could be happy living like that. He had nowhere to call his home. No family. No career. No food to eat at times. No warm place to sleep. He looked like he could barely shower and yet he was smiling and laughing, grateful for the two bucks Brock had given him.
And here he was wanting to commit suicide? Why?
"Yea, I guess you're right." Brock swallowed his pride. "I'll just have to get on with my life. I'll have to get over Misty." He said, knowing damn well he'd never be able to.
"Misty?" The old man peered up at him. "That her name?"
He nodded slowly. And what a beautiful name it was. The two of them started back towards Brock's truck and his body still shook from what might have happened if Neal Dash hadn't been there. All he really needed was to feel like he wasn't alone. That someone out there who was older and wiser knew what he was going through.
"You put your faith in a higher power and everything will work out the way it's supposed to." Neal gave him a wink, patted him on his arm and turned away. Brock was back at his truck and he gripped the cold metal door handle. Suddenly, it felt good to be alive. The sense of hopelessness just melted away and even though he thought he never would be again, he was driving his truck home again.
The honeymoon suite was gorgeous inside. Misty had briefly surveyed her surroundings, but she didn't waste too much time getting Ash to the bedroom. It had been a long wait, five years to be exact, but she had remained a virgin for her wedding night. She wanted to be pure for her husband, and now she would be.
The bed was large and piled up with fluffy pillow and quilts. Ash ripped of his bowtie and gave her a seductive smile as she lay back on the bed, closing her eyes and waiting for Ash to take her.
His black hair was wild and untamed and she liked the site of that. There had been many times they had kissed and fooled around, but Ash was always the gentlemen and he respected Misty's wishes and boundaries. He would stop himself and she would reluctantly follow.
But tonight he didn't have to stop. He was finally going to make love to her.
Her wedding dress had been easy to slip off and she lay underneath him in skimpy lingerie that Lucy had given her for her wedding night at her wedding shower. Lucy had said she bought the same thing for herself and that Brock was practically putty in her hands.
Misty wanted that with Ash. She wanted him to not be able to resist making love to her.
His hands were on her bare skin and she could feel him trembling. Yes, she must have been exciting him. Then, she did something she had always wanted to do, but never quite had the nerve to do it. She ran her fingers over his crotch, expecting to feel a large, stiff bulge in his slacks.
Instead, she felt nothing. Softness, and no arousal despite his heavy breathing.
Concerned, she looked up at him. He must have been totally nervous, after all, Ash had told her he was a virgin as well. "Ash? You don't have to be nervous." Misty looked up at him as he hovered over her and she pulled down the straps of her bra. "I'm your wife now. This is alright."
He nodded and watched her as she pulled them down further until her breasts were exposed to him. She smiled seductively as he just stared from her breasts to her face. A move like that was sure to get any man's hormones raging and she pulled his head down to her chest. She wanted to feel the sensation of his tongue on her skin, as Lucy had described as if you were "ascending to heaven". She wanted to see if everything about sex was true and she wanted to feel it now.
Ash hesitantly kissed her skin, timidly. Misty smiled and after she gave him enough time to work himself up, she reached her hand between his legs again. Softness.
A lump rose in her throat. It was her. She wasn't exciting him. Her husband just wasn't aroused enough by her. "Ash, what's wrong?"
He looked up at her, almost grateful for the non-sexual question. "Nothing. I'm just…n-nervous." He stammered and Misty rubbed the back of his head and down his neck. She was clearly aroused, but he just seemed plain frightened.
"Don't be." She tried to comfort him, but it didn't help.
Instead, Ash clambered out of bed. "I need to brush my teeth. I have this…weird taste in my mouth and I'm afraid my breath is going to smell or something. Can you give a second?"
Nodding, she watched him run into the bathroom and she sat up, covering herself up. She was a little angry, but most of all befuddled. There had been countless times she had kissed Ash right after he had eaten onions or garlic. Sure, it wasn't the most pleasant kiss in the world, but she sure as well wasn't worried about his breath right now.
Besides, it didn't even smell bad so she didn't know why he was acting so weird.
Then again, he was nervous. Maybe he had gone into the bathroom to catch his breath, think more clearly. Sometimes she wished he could have the smooth, effortless confidence that Brock had.
She stopped.
Where the hell did that come from?
The bathroom door open and Ash emerged, awkwardly with his jeans around his ankles and a bulge in his white underwear. He smiled, mock-confidently. "I'm ready for you baby."
Misty blinked, confused. He went into the bathroom to work himself up over some plastic bimbo with fake boobs and fake hair in some sleazy magazine? Hurt and anger rose within her.
"Forget it, Ash!" She growled and went over to her suitcase pulling out a silk night gown and donning it on over her lingerie. "I'm not in the mood anymore."
Ash's mouth fell open. "But, Misty…"
"No! If I'm not sexy enough to turn you on without the help of a Playboy then we don't need to be having sex." Her voice cracked and she broke out into a sob. "I'm going to sleep on the couch."
"No, Misty, wait…" Ash pulled up his pants and buckled his jeans, but she had already shut the bedroom door and was pulling out the bed from the couch in the living room. Sighing, and feeling ashamed, Ash went and lay in the large empty bed by himself.
Tonight, he was just nervous. Tomorrow night would be better. He only had the weekend to make love to her before the honeymoon was over and he didn't want to waste a single minute.
Misty lay curled up on the couch bed, which was quite comfortable for a pull out. But it was empty and cold and lonely. To make matters worse, she was crying and she loved for a pair of big, strong warm arms to hug her.
She closed her eyes and imagined it. Large, solid frame. Big broad shoulders. The scent of cologne and aftershave. Then, she realized who she was thinking about.
Brock.
Misty bit her lower lip nervously. Why was she thinking about him? It was her wedding night, she should have at least been thinking about Ash even though she was mad at him and not her best friend's husband.
She wiped the last of her tears away and she just felt numb. Numb towards Ash and numb towards her own feelings of being hurt and feeling inadequate. Eventually, she felt herself falling asleep from pure exhaustion and Ash Ketchum wasn't who she saw in her dreams.
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