Procrastination

Procrastination

Chapter 8—Status Quo is Best Quo

“So, how do you feel now?”

“Um…a lot…happier, I guess?” He means…like…around this time, right? And not…at the current moment exactly?

“Good. And how is Macintosh?” The brown unicorn moved his glasses down with a hoof to better see his client up close.

“I think he’s a lot happier, too.”

“Do you feel…guilty? At all?”

Caramel rubbed his hooves on the rough surface of his cushion. “Um…yes…I feel really bad that I put my friends and coltfriend through this.”

“And what about your family?”

“I don’t…I don’t want to talk about my family.” He looked at his hooves.

“Okay. Whatever you feel like talking about. We only have a couple of minutes left anyway.”

Caramel looked around for inspiration in Dr. Dynamic’s office, which was painted light blue. That’s a funny name…Doesn’t really have to do with psychology at all…I think… All of his degrees and certificates were framed on a nearby wall. The doctor himself was sitting on a gray folding chair, and Caramel was comfortably situated on a purple corduroy cushion. Finding nothing, he stammered, “I don’t…I don’t know…” He scratched at the fuzz on the cushion.

“Tell me why you decided to…follow him?” Dr. Dynamic

“I…I wanted to know if he was going to that bar or not.”

“You doubted him,” he suggested.

Caramel nodded.

“And what planted that seed of doubt?”

“Two mares I overheard. Gossiping,” he added.

“And if you heard about this in a different way—from your friend, Lily, perhaps—would you have reacted better? Would you have talked to him instead of pursuing him and seeing a situation which you misinterpreted?”

Big words…he’s like a male Twilight. Awesome… “Rose,” he corrected. “I think I would have still followed him. If something like this happens again, I’d definitely talk to him first, though.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” The unicorn’s levitating pen scribbled some notes on a pad sitting on a nearby table. “And about your self-harm? Do you feel the urge to repeat this behavior?”

Caramel shook his head. “Nope.” I…I hope not…

“I want you to reflect on it. What do you think of your cutting yourself when looking back?”

“Um…I think I really rushed into and I should’ve stopped to think first. Because it really hurt. So if I kill myself, I’d want it to be more painless…”

“We’ll…we’ll work on that.”

What…? I thought that was a good thing…Isn’t it good that I recognize that I rushed into it? Argh. What do I need working on…

“Okay, Caramel. I appreciate your coming today. Our time, unfortunately, has ended, so I will see you in two weeks.”

“Huh? Oh o—okay. See…see you…” He stood up and left the office, leaving the doctor alone, still scribbling on his notepad. I’m…I’m confused…is this supposed to help me?

Wandering onto the road, he sniffed the warm air. It was dry, a little dusty, and was hinted with the scent of flowers planted outside the psychologist’s office. The sounds of cicadas chirping in the summer sun filled the background, and in the foreground, was the clopping of hooves on the dirt road.

He ambled onto the road after looking both directions like he was taught. I know this psychologist thing is supposed to be for my own good, but I really don’t know why I have to do this. I’m totally better now.

Caramel yawned. I can’t believe I had to wake up early for this. He passed by a shop selling corn cakes and stopped to admire the decorations on each cake. They had yellow frosting and sprinkles arranged into letters, and they spelled “Happy Summer” in the display.

Suddenly, a familiar set of voices struck him sharply. He turned to his right to see the two mares of his disdain walking toward him. The crepuscular rays reflected off their pale lavender fur so that they seemed innocent and angelic. To Caramel, nothing could be further from the truth.

One had light blue hair that stuck up in spikes. Her cutie mark was a calculator. Probably for counting how many lives she’s ruined. The other had dark purple hair that hung down but puffed outward, effectively making her head look like a mushroom. The latter’s cutie mark was notepad. For writing down lies about other ponies.

They walked past him without even a passing glance. As their paths crossed, he caught a snippet of their conversation:

“Did you hear that the librarian’s coltfriend cheated on her?”

“I heard that, too! And it was with a stallion!”

Caramel galloped to catch up within shouting distance, and yelled out, “Keep your idiotic gossip to yourselves, you mules!” He promptly turned around and walked away, not looking back to see their expressions. I hope they seriously reconsider their behavior. So unrefined. He held his head high, let out a high-pitched “hrmph!” and effeminately trotted home while giggling to himself. I’m glad I got that chance to tell them off. I hope they never bother me again. Stupid fillies.

His head tilted in curiosity when he saw the open package on his living room table. The box was about the size of a cantaloupe, and the flaps were open. Peering inside, he saw a myriad of green and white foam peanuts. More of these puffy figure-eight’s were scattered on the rug around. He cautiously inserted his right hoof into the sea of packing foam.

Rooting around, he found nothing but more peanuts. His brow furrowed into a confused “V.” He lifted the flaps and folded them back—first the short ones, then the wide ones. He smoothed the address sticker with a hoof, pressing down the jagged triangles that had been sliced by a knife. He could make out, “Sta le HQ, Canterlot.” He confirmed that the package was addressed to him.

He let out an audible “Huh?”

I don’t…I don’t remember opening this…And where the hell is Stale? Or…Sta something le…? Did somepony break into my home and…open a package? How…how dare you…? I don’t know the proper reaction to that… I should start locking my door. True to his thoughts, he trotted over to his front door—with a hint of wariness—and secured the deadbolt. For extra caution, he drew the curtains in his living room, as well.

He sauntered into his bedroom to lock the window. Instead, he found a scene that sucked the life force right out of his lungs.

On his bed, was a large red stallion. He was on his back, and his forelegs were hoofcuffed to one of the posts on the headboard. A pillow case was rolled up and tied around his head and into his mouth, so that he could not speak. Another pillow case was secured around his eyes so he could not see.

Caramel diverted his attention to the red stallion’s belly. Taped to his abdomen, which was undulating regularly with his breathing, was a sign: “Ride me like a pony.”

Caramel fainted.