Bridges

Bridges

The Fourth Bridge

Vinyl stared at the ceiling.

She dares talk to me. She dares text me. The offender. How could she call her that name, that terrible, horrible name? How could she put her through a world of pain, the particular pain of which she seemed to have forgotten so successfully?! She couldn't know. She couldn't know. She couldn't know, true. But not knowing didn't excuse her! Besides, she knew it after she'd told her. But, she was drunk. So what? She, Vinyl, had been drunk many times, and never lost her composure! Not drunk, the DJ corrected herself. Just drinking.

But... Vinyl rolled over. She couldn't make Octavia leave her mind. She knew that her desperate, hormone-suppressed mind was craving attention and attraction. She was craving love. And Octavia was there, a new face, just in time. She just had to deal with it. Suppress it. Like always. The phone beeped.

With a curse, Vinyl took it up.

Vinyl, please. I'm really sorry for what I said and tried to do yesterday. I want to talk to you.

The white mare felt anger boiling inside her. That wasn't the rage of Caliban. It was the fury of Calypso. Left, unleft. Broken, unbroken. She typed furiously, and hit Send before she could undo her actions:

I don't. Get out of my life, Octavia. I hate you. Get the fuck out of my life.

Vinyl made an angry, fervent attempt at blacklisting Octavia's number, but stopped immediately upon opening up the menu tray. She was too worn out to act. Besides, she knew that she couldn't really do that. The feelings, the beasts we can't control, the drunken zookeeper who can't get drunk. The feelings were telling her, commanding her. As always. She couldn't blacklist Octavia.

For, as much as she wanted for Octavia to leave her alone, she so wanted to be with her.

***

Octavia broke into tears.

She hadn't cried for a long time, and it made the feeling all the more painful. Why was Vinyl doing this to her? Or, why was she doing this to Vinyl? Or, more importantly, why did she care so much?

Thankful for Beauty being in the shower, singing a happy tune that contrasted so much with Octavia's mood, bathing in the running water - and she wanted to run herself, run away, never show up... stay with Vinyl.

Octavia buried her head in the pillow. She... She was attracted to Vinyl. Just perfect. Her sexual and emotional desperation, mixed with Vinyl's enigmatic attitude and behaviour, was making her attracted to a mare who hated her. Just perfect. The cellist dried her tears.

"Octavia, come on!" Beauty called out from the bathroom, a sound of a fan muffling her voice. "We've only an hour and a half till the pre-concert practice." The cellist caught a giggle. "And don't plead drunk or hangover. You're first cellist, after all."

Octavia sighed. What could she do? She texted Vinyl mindlessly:

I'm really, really sorry. I'm playing at the concert hall of the Manehattan Conservatoire tonight. I would be grateful if you could come so I can apologise in person.

Upon sending the message, Octavia felt a shiver tingle up and her spine in a fast, rushing move. What if it was a mistake? If Vinyl hadn't blacklisted her yet, she certainly would after this message... Octavia closed her eyes, her mind working quickly. It's not a lie. Type it. Just choose the correct wording. Yes, always choose the correct wording - try to. No implication, no insinuation, no ill will. Finally, the cellist opened her eyes and typed up the message that, to her seemed true. The truth of the matter. Life as we know it. She hit, Send.

Vinyl, I think I'm in love with you.

***

Vinyl rolled over.

What? What the hell was that? A trick, a plan? For what? Why tell her that? Why the hurt? Why did Octavia want to hurt her so badly? Why? She knows that I fear those short words that hurt us so badly. She doesn't. Of course she doesn't. She doesn't what? She doesn't love her? She doesn't know? Both? She does love her? Telling her that for what damn purpose?

She needed to check - how to check? Come there? Come where? Go to the concert hall? No, she can't? Why she can't? She can? How she can? How can she if- Ding.

Vinyl rolled over once more, taking the phone. Octavia? No, Neon.

Hey Scratch Imma bum at your place tonight, k?

She typed automatically:

K

Vinyl hit, Send. No, not send! She needed to go to that concert. What? Balckmail. Ransom. No, that's not it. No, that's it. Yes, that's it. But it wasn't voluntary. Or was it? She needed to check. How? How? How?

Sorry, Neon, just remembered that I'm having plans tonight. Bum at Harpo's, perhaps?

Vinyl sighed. What was she doing? Creating. Creating. Creating symphonies and thee zions in her mind. Just perfect. What was she creating? Ding.

K, sure thing, Harpo's busy banging his gf, I'll bum on campus.

Vinyl closed her eyes. She didn't like it when Neon had no place to go. But... You'd better be worth it, Octavia. Or I'll strangle you with the flowers. Vinyl blinked. Flowers. She needed to buy flowers. And... When the hell did the performance begin. She took the phone, dialing the familiar number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Harpo. Need a quick consultation." Vinyl got up. Better reception. Ha.

"I take payment in booze and blowjobs."

"Har har." Come on, Harpo!

"Spit it out, Scratch, I'm having a date tonight."

With Beauty. "What time does the performace begin?"

"What performance?"

Vinyl facehoofed. "The one you're going to, idiot. The one after which you'll go bang your Beauty."

"How did you know?"

Vinyl groaned. "Harpo! The time."

"Seven. I'll pick you up."

***

Octavia took a deep breath.

The performance was in five minutes. Just take the stage. Like the rehearsal. Every time felt like the first time. No sweat - it will ruin the beautiful dress. All alike. They were all alike in their dresses - but not her. Her pink bow tie, the exemption, the exception from the rule, the privilege given to her - not to stand out, but to be different. To feel different, inside. Part of the orchestra, part of the crew. True, true. But, just as this ship couldn't do without its captain, the conductor, it couldn't do without its lieutenant, its first cellist. Without her.

Octavia took the stage.

She placed herself on the chair. The usual sore, sour wood beneath her, not staining, just reminding her of how physically hard it should be to play. Why should it? Why can't it all be easy-peasy, as Beauty would put it? Beauty had already sat down in the brass section not thinking of her now need to concentrate on the music on the score she knew the score by heart right now but still just a quick glance a quick look a swift peekthrough whatever just not to make her think of Vinyl-

Vinyl!

Vinyl! Octavia took a look at the audience: just a quick look, a passing glance that still alowed her to see everything on a greater scope all the mares and stallions and the foals even the foals who had arrived who had come to watch her play not only her the soloist of course she was nothing she was just the first cellist even without that the oh Celestia did it even matter because Vinyl wasn't in the audience! She just wasn't there! She hadn't come and she wouldn't come! The pouncing, the merciless pounding in Octavia's mind was driving her insane, this thick stream-of-consciousness that juggled her whole, that promised revelations and epiphanies, that diverted her from real life, that had been doing it her whole life! No, not her whole life! When had it become - a condition? A condition! Neurosis. OCD. Abbreviations. Argh! ARGH!

Her bow trembled in her hoof. She needed to calm down. The conductor took the stage. No more looking at the audience. There's no audience. There's no Vinyl. Without the oar, the boat does not steer. No Thee Zion to look to. Just the conductor's weak, yet energetic motion, the soloist's frown as he sat almost pressing his back into her eyesight that line how dare he! but one day she will be like him no not like him... She will be a soloist.

Octavia began to play.

Her eyes closed automatically. But she wasn't tranquil. Sure, she didn't need sheet music she didn't need the score she didn't need the conductor and she sure as hell didn't need a soloist she was a soloist herself deep inside she knew it she WAS a soloist! all she needed now was her stage it was a stage only for her and Vinyl because she needed Vinyl painfully desperately she especially needed Vinyl now now that the notes flowed freely from her bow and her instrument not automatically no she had to believe it was just very simple way too simple for her she just didn't need to concentrate and this was the worst at that time that feeling that when you know you neednt concentrate and your mind starts floating around flaring blaring like the brass section Beauty did have her stallion she did have her love but she Octavia what did she have did she have anything?, she did she knew she did she was even ready to accept the fact that she was a fillyfooler she never cared anyway because mainly because she hadnt had the chance to unleash her sexuality and her love truly or had she her head was aching already the notes flowed they flew they danced they screamed as she jiggled the bow yes like a lifeless no not thing never think that! a liveful lifeful putty disregarding her head ached the music was growing intense Vinyl didnt come she didnt come she wouldnt come she hated her! she needed to take a peek one peek her head ached she kept on playing who the hell wrote a concerto without pauses no of course there were pauses but she didnt notice them her head ached she kept on playing so long she had practiced for so long ever since she was a little filly not thinking about family no not because its hard no not because its painful just not thinking about it because cant cant cant mix Vinyl with them Vinyl was special they were specialer more special different its different HER HEAD ACHED the music yelled it pressed into her she was creating this beast and she couldnt put it down for the control of it was not in her hooves or even her mind the hooks! HER HEAD ACHED WHY DIDNT SHE COME?!

Octavia opened her eyes.

The applause was thunderous. The audience went wild with excitement. For the soloist, of course. Nopony was here for her. A tear crawled down her cheek. She watched ponies come up to the stage and throw flowers and give flowers to the soloist and the conductor. Nopony had ever brought her flowers. Why would they? She wasn't a soloist. But it didn't matter. All the flowers in the world couldn't, just could not could not could not fix the sinking feeling in her gut and her heart - and her mind, there too, yes, maybe it was - the realisation that Vinyl never came. It was over. It hadn't even started. The performance was fantastic but the audience failed miserably. Why couldn't she come?! She'd apologise, and now, now she knew - she knew! and it was not just the music; here we go again! - she clutched her head slightly, not to give away her pain and despair and turmoil. She knew she loved Vinyl. For some reason. Because, probably, there's no reason for a love - there's no reason for love, and love at first sight exists? It must! But Vinyl...

Octavia's mouth fell agape. She covered it with a hoof as tears of happiness streamed down her cheek. In the audience, right next to the stage, next to the ensemble, next to her, stood the most wonderful mare in the world, a beautiful, magnetic, enigmatic unicorn, with that wild, frantic blue hair, and those shades - and...

Vinyl was standing right there, before her, smiling and tapping her hoof against the floor softly. Holding flowers.