She doesn't love her any more.
Rainbow Dash looks blankly at Pinkie's silhouette in the dark of their bedroom, willing, begging herself to feel something for the other mare. To feel anything for the other mare.
But she can’t.
And when she can't, the truth echoes through the room, so loud that Dash is almost afraid it will wake Pinkie up.
She simply just doesn't love her any more. The spark is gone. The feelings have died.
It's not fair. So many things about the situation are just not fair.
It's not fair that her feelings have suddenly shut off like this. After all this time. After twenty five bucking years of marriage. After five foals together, after countless happy memories—
Her feelings had no right to do this. They had no right to just quit. Pinkie didn’t deserve this! The other mare had been nothing—nothing—but the epitome of everything Dash could possibly want in a mate. That’s why Dash had fallen in love with her. That’s why Dash had married her, after only eight months of dating. That’s why Dash had raised five foals with her.
She wants to cry. She wants to sob, to break down, because HOW was it fair to any of them?
She can’t tell anypony that she doesn’t love Pinkie. Of course she can’t. It would ruin her family. Would completely and utterly destroy it. And her family is the most important thing that there is to her. They are her everything, and she will not lose them this way.
So that’s why she lays here tonight, and repeats the truth in her head over and over again. Because it is the truth, and because this is the only time she gets to release it.
She cheated. She was a cheater.
Pinkie stares up at the ceiling, watching the shadows slowly slide as the moon naturally shifts across the night sky bringing its light into a different angle every hour that passes by.
Another sleepless night.
Another sleepless night of torturing herself with the truth of her infidelity.
She doesn’t remember who it was. She was drunk at the time.
She hates herself even more for the fact that she has to use that copout excuse as explanation.
But Rainbow was gone—touring for two months straight—and she had had a terrible day overall that day, so she went to the bar to relax—and Celestia it’s sounding even more like the cliché story every second she thinks back on it.
But she can’t help but to think back on it. Her mind was against her tonight, probably because Rainbow was beside her in bed. Home, instead of on tour.
She feels a hot tear slowly creep down her temple, leaking out of the corner of her eye.
Rainbow would never forgive her. How does one tell the Element of Loyalty that they were unfaithful?
One doesn’t. Simple.
So that’s why she lays here tonight, and repeats the truth in her head over and over again. Because it is the truth, and because this is the only time she gets to release it.
He’s a scammer. A cheat. A druggy.
Lightning lies in his bedroom, staring steadily at the framed diploma on the wall above his desk through the darkness on the night.
He knows what the diploma says. He knows it by heart, so proud he was the day he got it that he memorized it.
Cloudsdale Flight Academy
has conferred upon
Lightning Tempest Dash
proof of graduation from our institute with the title of Talent Marshal
on the 15th day of the month of May in the year 2028
It's a lie.
His whole graduation, his whole entitlement, was based on a lie.
In his fifth year he befriended a colt named Mirage Gaze. Mirage Gaze was a clever pony, and had contacts to illicit deals and friends in shadowy places, and one day Mirage offered him some… let’s just call them performance enhancers. And when he took those performance enhancers, he could fly faster and longer than he could before.
Eventually, the enhancers were a part of his daily routine. He took them during breakfast and was the fastest, hottest thing in the air all day.
It went on for a very long time. It wasn’t until his mother got sick and he had to pull away from school that he realized how dependent he was on them, and by that time it was too late.
But he was a healthy colt, and his mothers needed him to step up, so he powered through withdrawal on willpower alone. It wasn’t until later that he found out quitting cold turkey could have killed him.
But it didn’t and he’s still here.
He doesn’t use any more. Doesn’t have a dealer, see. But he knows that if he did have one, he’d be right back into them without hesitation.
He can’t tell anypony. Not without major consequences. Family-wise, job-wise, and legal-wise. No, no. Telling simply isn’t an option.
So that’s why he lays here tonight, and repeats the truth in his head over and over again. Because it is the truth, and because this is the only time he gets to release it.
Trigger warning: rape.
She’s a victim. A rape victim.
Sue lies in bed, not staring at anything, but content to let her mind wander and her eyes go unfocused.
She doesn’t know many things about it. Doesn’t remember, which is a blessing and a curse. Repressed memory, it is called in the psychology books.
Yet, even if she doesn’t remember the act itself, she knows it happened. She knows certain things about it, such as the fact that it happened when she was a foal.
She also knows who did it. She knows because whenever she sees him, her body freezes up without her say-so. She sees him walking around Ponyville sometimes, a highly respected member of the town. He’s even spoken to her before—cordially and easily, as if he doesn’t remember the events himself.
But his eyes tell the real story. There is darkness and hunger in them, one that is not at all sexy but actually petrifying. One that tells her that yes, he remembers the events, and yes, he wants to repeat them.
She can’t tell her family. They would figure it out—the one who did it. And, knowing the impulsiveness of many of her family members, they would probably end up beating him or worse. Probably worse.
And then there would be lawsuits, and possible prison time for one of her siblings—either Stormee or Lightning, since they’re both impetuous like woah.
It would tear her family apart—none would know what to do, so they would start walking on eggshells around her and treating her like a ticking time bomb. It would make her frustrated, and eventually she would blow up, and then—
She’s getting ahead of herself again.
The point is, she can’t tell her family.
So that’s why she lays here tonight, and repeats the truth in her head over and over again. Because it is the truth, and because this is the only time she gets to release it.
She hates them. She absolutely despises them with a burning passion of a thousand suns.
Diane lies in bed and glares at the framed photo on her end table, the one depicting her family.
She hates them. They’re loud and brash and a bunch of attention whores. Selfish and arrogant.
Her hate has been building for so long, in fact, that she doesn’t even remember a time when she loved them.
No, no. That’s a lie. She remembers a time when she loved them. In her foalhood she had many fond memories of them. But then they had to grow up, and now they were all separating. Heck, she hasn’t seen Lightning in about a month—he lives and works up in Cloudsdale now. Sue is the same—had gone off to Manehattan as soon as she could.
Whatever. She didn’t need them.
She can’t tell her family because—well, because pretending like she loved them was good acting practice, okay?
So that’s why she lays here tonight, and repeats the truth in her head over and over again. Because it is the truth, and because this is the only time she gets to release it.
Trigger warning: self-mutilation.
He doesn’t exactly know what he is. There’s really no name for his type. Not that he hasn’t tried in vain to find a name in every single psychology books he owns—which is a lot.
The only thing that he has found that’s even marginally close to the truth is a DSHer. So he guesses that’s what he is. A DSHer. A twisted one, he supposes.
Skylar sits on his bed, reclined against the pillows but not under the covers. Not like he’s going to be or some stupid shit like that. Not when there is so much time during the night to learn.
He’s reading, in fact. Or trying to, at least. He’s distracted, so reading he is not.
He sighs and lays the book down, and rolls out of his bed.
It’s so hard to resist. He’s tried and failed many times. Many times to resist the act. The temptation.
It’s wrong. He’s a sick little twisted bastard for doing it. He should stop.
But alas he can’t.
Because, he loves it. He craves it.
PAIN.
The sight of blood—his own blood, mind you, he’s not a psychopathic murderer—the thrill he gets in the act of causing harm to himself.
The release.
He doesn’t even know what he gets release from! It’s not like he’s depressed, and he doesn’t have anxiety or anything like that.
He can’t tell his family because—well you’re an idiot if he has to explain to you why. They’d totally lock him up in a padded room with a straightjacket.
He likes to think of himself as a smart colt, too—he’s read the medical books, he knows how deep to make the cut so that it doesn’t scar, and where to make it for the maximum amount of pain.
And now he’s sounding like a lunatic. But he’s not! He swears he is completely sane!
He just likes pain.
Nothing wrong with it.
Some ponies just didn’t understand.
So that’s why he sits here tonight, and repeats the truth in his head over and over again while he slowly runs the blade down his skin. Because it is the truth, and because this is the only time he gets to release it.
She hears voices. Well, voice. One voice.
She’s named him Axel.
Stormee lies in bed, grinning at the sleeping form of her lover.
You should kill her.
Stormee almost laughs at the matter-of-fact voice.
You’re such a joker, Ax. Of course I wouldn’t kill Opal. I love her!
And she does love Opal. It’s weird and unnatural for her, but she’s actually not growing bored of the mare. They’d been together… what, five, six years now? Regardless, it’s a long time, and everything is still fresh, still interesting.
Axel goes quiet for a short while, and Stormee lets her mind wander.
Axel’s been with her… well, she really can’t remember a time Axel wasn’t talking to her. He was her first friend—her best friend.
He had a funny sense of humor, too, kinda morbid and kinda sadistic. But whatever, Stormee didn’t judge. Besides, Axel only joked like that every once in a while. Mostly, he gave her advice on things. Like what to say and who to say it to.
She means to tell her family. Has been meaning to tell them for a while, now, but things have come up and she’s not really been in right set of mind to tell her family.
Eh. Whatever. There’s always next time.
Content, she snuggles close to her lover and falls asleep easily.
Author's Note
I highly recommend listening to 'The Kill' by 30 Seconds to Mars while reading this.
