I'LL CRY FOR YOU

I hear you crying for help. Your voice echoes throughout the house. The hollow noise surrounds me. My blood runs cold. I run up the stairs as fast as I can. The bathroom door is closed, your voice streaming through it. My heart is pounding as my mind paints images of what awaits me.

The door slides open with a tiny creak. A cloud of warm vapor spills out from behind it. The room is drowned in a thick, wet haze. I look down and see you lying there again. Your sobs resonate throughout the tiled chamber. You can barely whimper now. Your hair is a matted mess. Tears and ruined makeup are streaming down your face.

Your right forehoof is between your hind legs. I hear an odd, wet noise that makes me cringe. A pool of water, sweat, and other fluids surrounds your prone shell. Your face is twisted into an odd grimace: a wide smile and a look of agony that seem to have merged together. Your jaw drops, your tongue hangs out, and you let out another loud shriek as your body starts to convulse. I recoil from the piercing sound.

You let out a long sigh of relief and collapse onto your back. You're panting from the powerful release. A familiar stench hangs in the air. It tells me everything I need to know, even though I already know it.

One of my hind legs bumps against the door. It knocks you out of your daze, and your head snaps up from the floor. "Hmm?" you mumble. "Wait... who's there?"

I grit my teeth. My hooves start to shake. My eyes tingle. Something wet starts to form in their corners.

"Sweetie Belle? Is that you?"

Your eyes focus on my own. A shocked expression takes hold on your face. I shake my head as I back away. Then, before you have a chance to react, I turn around and gallop out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me.

"Sweetie Belle!" I hear your muffled cries as I run down the stairs. "Darling! Wait! I'm... I'm sorry. I just... I had to... ohh... ahh! Oh, yes! Ahh!"

I close every door that I can put between you and myself. I run into my room, lock myself in, then trot into the closet at the far end. I lie down among a pile of old clothes and curl up into a miserable little ball. The scent of the fabric helps me banish the foul odor.

But I can still hear you. I still hear those awful moans. They pierce through every wall and every thought. I groan and slam my hooves onto my ears. I grab an old sweater and pull it over my head. The muffled cries still manage to get through. I try to hum a song. Any melody that I can remember. I bang my hooves against the walls. I do everything I can to drown it out.

Another piercing shriek echoes throughout our home. My voice is reduced to pathetic whimpers. My eyes are squeezed firmly shut as I try to choke the tears before they can escape.

I sniff at the sweater on my head repeatedly. The scent of the fabric feels pleasant. It sets off memories of better days. I do my best to focus on them. I don't want to be here right now.

The moans and squeals die down. For a minute, the great house becomes silent. In the darkness of the closet, buried under the warm fabric, I feel safe. I feel like I'm back in the womb. I never want to leave.

The bathroom door opens again, and a series of hoofsteps ring out as they move through the house. They become louder and louder as you approach my hiding spot. I hear a soft tapping on the door to my room.

"Sweetie? Are you in there?"

I bite my lip and curl up even tighter. The tapping comes again, a little louder now.

"Look, I'm sorry for all the noise and... everything. I've stopped it. Please, just come out."

I don't want to. But even if I did, then I'd want to go all the way. I want to get out of this place. I hate this house. I hate this life. I hate this unlit haze, the lack of color, the lack of life. I hate the sounds you make and the silence that follows.

But I cannot leave you. I have to stay, even if this kills me. As long as I live, it won't kill you.

"Mommy just had to... relax a little... but she's alright now. Better than ever. So can you come out now? Please?"

I cringe from the tone you use. The way you try to sound so innocent and compassionate makes me sick. I refuse to move an inch. You might as well give up. Go back to your "relaxation."

You wait for a while, then stomp your hoof. "That's it! Sweetie Belle! This is very rude of you. I'm your big sister. Now open this door this instant!"

Terror grips my mind when you raise your voice. My limbs shake. They instinctively start pushing me off the floor. I try to resist them, but they dread your punishment too much, even though you never punish me. You never do, or at least never call it "punishment."

Against my will, my legs drag me toward the door. Every inch I travel makes my heart beat faster. My eyes are focused on the floor. As I reach for the handle, I silently make a wish. I pray for the sister that I used to have. The one with flawless skin and mane. The one with elegant taste and proper character. The one with a pure soul.

The lock clicks. I open the door slowly and reveal what you are instead. The mare with a fake look of compassion on her face. A facade over a grin twisted by lust and malice. The claw marks still adorn your visage. The heart-shaped abomination is still on your chest. Your mind is still plagued by the thirst for pain, the sensation that brings you pleasure like no other.

You smile at me, the sight of which makes me want to scream. I lift a hoof to cover the mark on my own chest. The scar you left on me when you showed me your true colors. It stings as I relive the memory. My insides twist around, and an odd tingle runs down my spine.

"There we go," you coo and reach out to stroke my head. "Was that so difficult?"

I mumble something in response and try to pull away. You just smile and pull me into a tight hug.

"It's alright. I love you, Sweetie Belle, and I know you love me too. Now please tell me what's wrong."

I blink away at my tears and look up into your eyes. I search for the slightest hint of honesty. Somewhere, deep down, I know your feelings are genuine. I know not all of your words are lies.

No, there are no lies. You just see me as a different pony than what I am. Whatever you say is based on that belief. I'll just have to live with it.

I shake my head slowly.

"See?" You hug me again. "What could ever go wrong between us? The two of us are the best sisters in the world!"

You break the embrace after a while, then turn around and trot away with that smile on your face. I sigh, lower my head, and trudge after you.

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. I'll play along the way I always do. I'll smile and be your sweet little sister. I'll take part in your "games." I'll clean up the mess you make whenever your lust clouds your head, and you lose all sense of dignity. I'll drag you back to your room when you pass out after inventing your newest form of self-stimulation. I'll watch you silently as you make your new "toys." As you bring in your new "friends."

As you play with her.

The doll is on my bed. I can't bring myself to look at it. I don't even want to be in the same room. I slept on the couch just so I wouldn't have to touch it again to get it out of my bed. I'd ask you to take it away, but you were the one who put it there.

I remember how I tried to accept it. How I pretended it's a nice little doll, like any other. I hugged it, played with it, slept with it. I did it all to make you happy. I saw how happy it made you, and I want you to be happy.

I watched the two of you spend time together. I watched it slowly poison your mind. Bit by bit, it drained away everything that you were. I couldn't stand it. I didn't want that to happen to me. Already it was making me do things. Things I don't want to remember.

I won't play with her anymore. But I'll follow you all the same. I'll stay here and watch over you. You can do whatever you want to yourself, and I'll be there. Whenever you suffer, I'll smile so you can be happy again. Whenever you cry in ecstasy, I'll cry for you. I'll shed my tears for what you were. When nopony else will mourn you, I'll remember you.

I'll cry for you.

Author's Note

"Having a sister is just about the bestest thing in the world... but it sure isn't the easiest..."

A tribute to the fabulous Lil Miss Rarity blog (NSFW, so no linx 4 u) created by Lil Miss Jay, ~~who really needs to get off his ass, stop whining, and get to drawing more of his vile shit...~~

LMR is the property of Lil Miss Jay
MLP is the property of Hasbro
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I keep thinking the first line of the song is "My balls in your mouth..."