Love-Hate

“Fuck… My head… How much did I eat last night…?” Murky headed, that’s what I was, and looking up to twelve empty tubs of ice cream answered my question. “Jesus…” It was morning, the shades were opened and the sun hit my eyes full blast. I always hated the sun, especially when it pulled that shit.

I rolled over onto my stomach, grumbling, and hugged my pillow tightly. How I wished that were a mare and not a fluff-filled bag of lies. Looking around the red tinted room, I noticed that the time read nine-thirty in the morning. I almost panicked, but then realized that it was the weekend, and sighed a breath of relief. But what was a man to do that day?

I decided on pancakes. There was a local pancake house not a few miles from my apartment, and I knew the manager of the place all too well. Belgian, was his name, he was a good friend, very close. He’d always give me free food, if I couldn’t afford anything. This was rarely the case, though. I got up out of bed, and walked out the door. I didn’t bother with the shower, wasn’t really up for it. Besides, I was scared that someone would be there waiting for me inside.

It was a long walk to Belgian’s pancake house, and the sun was unusually hot that day. I saw to ponies getting mugged on the way there, as well. I was forced to stop a mugger at one point, because he got in my way. He pointed a knife at me, and I simply slapped it away and tackled him into the alleyway, at which point I began to make my teeth useful. Thank God the police are really stupid around these parts.

Mother FUCK! I promised to never do that again!

I shook my head, thinking of what that poor pony’s family would think when they learned of his passing. Quickly, I stopped caring, and kept on my way over to the pancake house, which was now within my line of sight. The red roof a beacon of the building, it complemented the yellow paint of the main walls rather nicely. There was this huge, spire of a sign that had in big bold letters, “Belgian’s Waffle House”.

Belgian had bought new revolving doors, it seemed, as I ran face-first into them in the opposite direction they spun. Not knowing where to go, I simply let the mechanism drag me back to the entrance, where I tried again in the correct direction. I was inside, and it was a pretty normal day. Not too packed, but definitely not empty. It looked rather homey, decorated with fifties style diner booths and decorations. It was very clean, and had neon lights in plenty of places. A jukebox was playing an old eighties song, by ‘Depeche Mode’. Good band.

I sat myself down, as this diner would allow a pony to do, and waited until Belgian called me up to order. Staring at the menu, I almost didn’t notice Caritas bounce up to the window and yell for Belgian. I was thoroughly annoyed within a millisecond of her arrival.

Caritas was a changeling, and she was open about it. She was actually a changeling queen, and we’ve… known each other for some time now. It was her doing that created me. Or, well, what I am at the moment anyway. Her black carapace reflected myself back at me, and I noticed the slits in my eyes had shrunk, and my eyebrows furrowed angrily. I didn’t get to look for long though, as she sat more normally and her green hair flopped over my reflection. Damn, and I was enjoying the show, too.

“Flux! How you doing, buddy? Here to order or just to relax?” Belgian called to me.

My ears perked up, and my back arched. “Here to order, man. Give me the usual.” I guess my gruff voice scared Caritas, because she jumped and looked over at me, for a second that is. She said not a word, but I knew she was thinking a million insults to spew at me.

“Large hot pumpkin latte, one sugar, whipped cream, and a nice stack of waffles,” Belgian read off my usual order, in a cheery tone. I nodded back, with a smile. “You got it!”

This cute little mare was sitting over next to Caritas. Her fur was snowy white, and her cotton candy mane hung down in small curls just above her shoulders. Her cutie mark of a pencil-butterfly looked rather nice, but staring at asses is usually frowned upon, so I instead stared at her face intently. Icy blue eyes. I would marry this mare right here just for her looks, but, I knew I would have no chance at that with my luck. Sighing loudly, I looked down to the counter and examined every little black speck that was on it.

It must have had been at least a half hour before I tuned back into reality, and I realized my coffee and food was already sitting in front of me. A conversation between Caritas, Belgian, and that cute mare was going on just beside me. Obviously, I was not included.

“… how about at seven-thirty! My place?” Caritas said, staring at the mare with her fake friendly grin. I knew what she was feeling, me and her were connected in a way. She wanted that mare for herself. Caritas, the queen, always gets her way no matter what. I felt sorry for the mare, considering I remember hearing she only liked dick. Wonder how she’ll feel waking up to the taste of pussy?

That’s when I decided I would tag along, without their knowing. Hell, if Caritas could get free pussy and a date for life, I thought I had a chance too. If anything, I could at least talk to the mare. Get her number, maybe, bring her back to my place… Fuck her senseless and marry her? Never know.

Caritas hopped down from her chair, and laughed. “I like you, Ghostly. Can’t wait to see you at the party!” So that was her name?

She shot me a look that said, ‘don’t you dare’. I took it as a challenge, and made it a promise to myself that I’d get in and ruin her chances of stealing that mare’s virginity. Heh, maybe I could even solve my love starvation problem. I’m smart, I thought to myself. Never use it for good though.

I never know what I love or hate. Sometimes, I just think I’m in a love-hate relationship with my life.