Cold water ran down Rainbow’s face. She hardly believed she was the mare staring back at her—baggy eyes, pinpricks as pupils, a revolting stench permeating her being. The solo light of Soarin’s bathroom was bright white, new, and fit with the grandiose yellow-and-blue rugs on the tile, toilet-seat covers, and fifty bottles of cologne that littered the sink she was hunched over in. But it gazed upon her as an outcast, a blemish on the fantastic furniture, too blind to see that it was the crown of a sterile shithole.

She’d do it, if she had another chance.

She’d buck him in the face, to boot. She’d fly home at speeds that would make him cry, and tell the girls, ‘Nah, he’s a dickhead.’

“Babe?” A voice slunk in from between the crack of the bathroom door. “You feeling sick again?”

“No.” The words might as well have been more vomit.

“Why don’t you come back to bed? I know you need more than one round to kick it.”

The bathroom door creaked open and closed, but the clouds made no noise as it slammed shut.

Author's Note

I gave it a dark tag.
If you are thinking that I purposefully set up expectations only to subvert them in a hamfisted way for cheap shock value, don't hesitate to comment and tell me what you didn't like-- plenty of other people already have.

This arc is not supposed to be satisfying. You're not supposed to enjoy it, and if you're left wondering what just happened then realize that that's, to a degree, what I intended the words to convey. Use the way you feel to color how you view the words on the page, and the words going forward. The fact that I feel the need to put this in an authors note is more than indicative that I've failed in what I tried to do, so sorry about that.

Hopefully this doesn't turn you off to everything I do. Dark/Tragedy is not my forte-- I like fluffy, happy romancey stuff, but when I was writing this I saw some potential to do something I don't usually do and I ran with it. You're allowed to hate me for that if you want.