Learning the Town

Decrepit.

That wasn't the best word to describe the state of Ditzys house, but it started to scratch the surface of it. Walls cracked, ceilings falling in, even the floor was buckled and straight-up missing in some spots. Repairs to this place would cost at least 3 times of a really good demolition, and that wasn't even with good construction. How the house still stood was an absolute mystery, and part of me genuinely wondered if there was some sort of dark magic involved in that.

She deserves credit, though, for what she had to work with, she kept it immaculately clean. Even decorated around the holes in the floor so noone would fall in. I suppose she read a lot more of Canterlot Living than she led on when I first met her, which was confirmed when I wandered around the livingroom and saw the bookshelves absolutely packed with it, as well as other home decor magazines...and somewhat surprisingly, one of my companies catalogs.

Last night, we came and got the essentials for her to be able to survive. Some food, blankets, a couple pillows and this strange looking plush doll that resembled a muffin. Strange, that mare, but I suppose it could be worse.

Today, we came back in the daylight to start moving her properly. Some big stallion named Big Macintosh happened to let us borrow a cart, which I pulled along and parked right outside. It was small, but it's not like I could pull much bigger. My house wasn't all that far away anyway, so I wasn't all that bothered by it.

"Tink...you still sure about this?" I heard her call from the kitchen, for about the eighth time today. Every time she asked, I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. I truly saw my past self in her, and I'm glad I could at least try and be the friendly difference between the two.

"Ditzy, I'm positive...come on, would I have found a cart to help you move if I wasn't?" She let out a bit of an embarrassed whine with that. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she's got almost as much anxiety as that yellow pegasus I met a couple days ago. I forgot her name, though.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." A hint of sadness that she couldn't hide. She never has been good at hiding her emotions, as far as I can tell, but it's most likely nothing she did wrong.

I was packing up in the living room, going through drawers and cabinets and stuff, just sorting. Legal papers in the safe, magazines in a box and office supplies in the little container she gave me when we got here. A few pens and pencils, but nothing exciting.

What was peculiar to me, however, was the uneven wear on the desk. In my job, you get an eye for weird details like that. Lighting, simple as it may sound, can be finicky. One spotlight here leaves another dark, colors clash, what have you. It's just a nuance of the job.

The desk itself was fairly new. I found a sticker that said it was made 5 years ago, and the thing looked practically showroom quality. No scratches, dents, nothing, even the rolltop was in perfect shape. Little bit of dust here and there, but it's to be expected. She even had the top organized impeccably, likely her mailmare training taking hold there.

That center drawer, though, got me curious. The handle was rubbed down, the veneer half gone around it and it even sagged a bit to one side almost like it was slammed quite a few times. I couldn't help but spend a few seconds just staring, analyzing in my head, trying to think of why that particular drawer would look so exhausted.

Definitely weird details. Nopony else would notice it, more than likely, but it caught my attention and it wouldn't leave the front of my mind the whole time.

Still, everything has to go. Easy process like the others, just grab ahold of the drawer, open it and...

Oh, no...

"Tinker...what is this?" My uncle, Yellow Rock, found it first. We were in the middle of moving, and he was helping us pack. The orange, muscular stallion was a huge help, up until he opened that one drawer. My 12 year old self didn't have the forethought to stash it somewhere else. I never expected it to get brought up. Just like always, there was no judgement in his voice. Just a great deal of concern.

"What are...HEY, PUT THAT BACK!" I scrambled to run up to him and shove the stuff back in a drawer. A pill and journal. A way out, as I saw it. Something I ended up swiping from the vet, when we had to take our hedgehogs. The first and last time I ever stole anything, and it just had to be a bear sized dose of morphine. A heavy bear dose, too.

He didn't see it from my perspective, obviously, and most certainly didn't leave it alone. Out of the blue, I was suddenly held tight against him with a foreleg, struggling and trying to reach toward the vial in a desperate attempt to get it back.

"Tink...where'd you get this, kiddo? What's going on?" He held me fast and refused to let go...but that damn face of his, the one of worry, ended up driving me to tears. It always did, and he was always the caring one of the family.

"Just...give it back, uncle...I swear, it's not what it looks like!" He didn't buy it, though. He never did. All the times we sat and talked for hours about what was going on in school, with my parents, with the neighbors...he knew. He told me he had a feeling that was coming, and he was worried. Scared, even.

We sat and talked...read through the journal, looked at that stupid pill. My parents came and asked about the noise, too. I couldn't bring myself to say anything, and my uncle covered for me once again. Just like he always ends up doing, saying I fell up against the desk and rocked it. They bought it, too.

As me and uncle Yellow chatted, trying to sort through my life and figure out what to do, night fell. We spent the rest of the day just talking, up until he found a certain page in my journal. The day I was locked in a chest and sent rolling down a hill, just to crash into a brick wall. I couldn't even look at that page without crying, and all the tear stains proved that it came up a lot. He asked me about it and I just cried myself to sleep.

At least he never left my side. Just let me vent and get it out of my system...tucked me into bed and ended up sleeping on the floor beside me. Nightmares, he said is why he never left there. It kept happening, him opening the journal and asking me stuff. Took the whole weekend to pack that room, too, and I never got the pill back. The journal, though, he left with me.

And he never told my parents about it. I dont know that they'd believe him anyway, even with evidence. Or even listen to my side of it. In fact, I really think they would have just --

"TINKER, GET OUT OF THERE!" Sudden yelling broke me out of my stupor. How long was I just staring in the drawer, at that morphine pill and old ragged book? And when did I start tearing up? My head perked up and looked over to her, standing behind me with tears in her own eyes and that look of staring at the violent end of a friendship.

"What...what is this, Derpy? Where did you - OW! WHAT THE HELL?!" A book...right to the nose. That's what I got for my question. Rubbing my face with a bit of a growl I couldn't hold back, she ended up right in my face. I could almost see her heart breaking

"WHY WERE YOU SNOOPING AROUND? YOU WERE JUST SUPPOSED TO PACK UP THE DESK, NOT PRY INTO MY PERSONAL FUCKING LIFE!"

"Why'd you throw a book at me, Derpy?! WHY?" I couldn't even stop myself from her legal name. Too many emotions, and I didn't realize it til it was too late.

A gasp...it started as a gasp from her, then she backed away. All the way to the open door, before she sniffled and let out a strange growl.

"AND TO THINK I TRUSTED YOU!" Wings unfurled, she scrambled out the door. Before I could even run out and look to see where she went, she was gone. My back legs gave out from under me with a hard thunk right to my hip. Still rubbing my face, and trying desperately to spot a gray splotch in the sky, I just sat there. I couldn't fly after her, there was no way to run after an angry pegasus, and I had this strange feeling it'd make it so much worse.

"...DAMNIT!" That got a look from a couple ponies on the street. They glared, but I couldn't give a shit. I was wiping blood from my nose and tears out of my eyes, and only one thought ran through my head.

You have royally fucked yourself...again. Good job.

I hated my conscience sometimes. Especially when it was right.