Phantom Love

I don't know where I want to walk. It's been a while, not knowing what to do without being asked on what I could do. There's no prodding here, just me, myself, and I, walking somewhere in hopes of getting the events previous out of my head.

"Where are you going?!"

SLAM!

I hear the door echo in my ears. It rings loudly, playing a haunting tune that reverberates with each step I take. I remember a time that was similar to this, only there was no love interest in the romantic sense. My father walked out the door too when my mother wasn't telling him the truth. He was worried that my mother was seeing another man, a friend from a construction company that my father worked for. Turns out, she was telling the truth, but not all of it. She didn't want him to find out that she was no longer feeling in love with him like she should.

It almost sounds like my mother is echoing my own point of view. The love I once had for you is now dying by this reverberation known as her. She whirls around in my head, swirling the perspective of you and I into a her and I that defeats the bond we had shared on this planet. It probably is because of my connection with her.

You see, because of Veronique and I doing more than kissing, we treaded uncharted territory known as sex. For both of us, we were virgins wanting to extend our experience into love. So we did. As a result, I put myself into the position of ring-leader. She and I stood on the steps of this marvelous Church, staring into each other's eyes, letting the world around us turn into a white glow. And, by the blinding light, we bound together a pact to stay together for as long as we shall live, until that day where we perish, or till the divorce papers were thrown into the view of either one of us.

And when I was taken from Earth, she was showing growth.

I look back at that blonde hair beaut. She always looks at me in wonder. I assume she wonders about how she got a catch like me, where we were standing at a bar those years ago, flirting casually in hopes of just getting on equal footing with another. We were just folks looking for a companion in a place where companionship dies, or where fellows drown themselves in pure drink for the sake of forgetting the past. Change would clink and clack on glazed wooden countertops, and bartenders would create concoctions and sweep them down the tops to the users who desired their remedies. And we found love, we found love there.

And now I am here, finding love with someone who sees me as different.

"You're different than me."

You're different than I, too. And does that stop me from loving you? No, but I stop loving you because you stop loving me.

I stop where I stand. I have wandered into a park, a park where you and I once walked on a sunny day, where we would walk side-side to show others that we weren't joking, that this couple of differentiation would work. But look where we are now: separated by difference. I am out here, standing still, while you are inside, wallowing in your own shame. Maybe you aren't wallowing, I need to give you some credit. Maybe you're thinking it over, on the verge of wallowing on that couch of yours, before you dig into your icebox and pull out what remaining ice cream you have, so you can regret your decision of ever even opening your mouth to say those words that you oh-so-tossed into the air. Or maybe you're not even regretting those words. Maybe you're worrying about how I took your words, and how I am now out here, alone, walking with destiny as it sees fit.

I stand out here, alone, with myself and I.

A shiver shatters what little thought I have left. The cold air of the night has made me rush for shelter. But where? I cannot visit any of the girls, they'll ask questions that they shouldn't be asking. Yet again, they have all rights to, but maybe it's safer to just not cross that bridge yet. So where can I go?

I look over to a lone, little, white house near the outskirts of town. Its brown shutters closed slightly, and its dark brown door secured shut. A sign dangles under the overhang of the roof, reading the favorite bar in all of P-ville.

I smile. It's time I paid a certain friend a visit.

Knock. Knock.

The door rattles against the frame.

Pause. Hooves pitter patter on hardwood.

Knock. Kn—

With a loud SCREECH, the door crept open. A light purple head cranes out from behind the wooden shield. There she is: Berry Punch. She, along with the atmosphere of a dead-night bar-crawl, some addicted drunks still sipping at what little alcohol stills in their glasses, stay in her small-town tavern. I've always remembered her looking a bit rough around the edges: her face always wore wrinkles and grey circles made residence under her eyes, and her smile struggles to stay full, while her gait weakens to a slow hobble down on that hardwood floor, her hooves lazily clicking to an irregular beat. And now, she still wears her standard tired haze. It must have been a long day for her.

"Hello?"

Meek is her voice, but tender as her face lights up in recognition.

"Oh! It's you, Scott! Come in, I was just about to close-up for the night!"

Her volume roused overstayed customers whose dates with mind benders would be sent out into the world, away from the makeshift reality they construed in their minds. Each pony heard her call and took it with ease. One by one, they fell into line and out that door. A snore only kept company: a brown mare with alcohol stains ruining her sheen.

"One moment, Scott," Berry says, before turning to the last remaining customer at her bar. She sighs and gently glides her hoof over the mare's muzzle.

The reaction is nearly instantaneous. With a  yelp, the mare jumps out of her deep sleep and crashes on her rump. She groans and tries to push herself off the ground. Once stable, she rubs her eyes, before gazing at the hoof who roused her from her sleep. Then, groggily, she gazes at me with a  brow raised. "Is the bar closing for the night?"

Berry Punch nods. "The rest just left Sugarfly. You need some help getting home?"

A quick shake accompanies Sugarfly's slurring reply, "No, I see you have company over. Just leave my dues on my tab for tomorrow morning, I'll be swin' on by some bits in your direction, Berry Punch."

"You're sure?" Berry asks once again. The mare in front of us is stumbling as she approaches the door.

She swiftly turns her head to Berry and quietly says, "I am sure. I do this most of the time anyway." With that, she exits with what little dignity she has left.

I look at the door. The mare that left reminds me of a friend back home. He used to be my drinking pal from college, where we sat in his dorm and listened to his old albums on his stereo. He'd invite some girls over too, and we chatted about the shenanigans on campus. From disgusting aftermaths of parties, to the tee-peeing of the entire college campus, including the dorms and offices—him and I heard it all. I miss that sometimes, but I always remember him having too much, and him stumbling down the hall and crashing made me sick to my stomach. I hope he's doing well now, and I hope he's still with his girl too.

The mare by my side nudges me with her hoof. "So, what brings you here, buster?"

Buster. A nickname from the first time I entered her bar. Sounds satisfying in a way, like it ring deliciously off that tongue, and yet, it also doesn't. It sounds sickly now, almost routine. Most comparable to a swig of beer, the generic kind. It tastes okay until it drops down the hatch, burning impolitely and causing the acid to slowly rise.

I watch as Berry brings herself to the counter. She slips a rag across the top, cleaning off the mess her customers left behind. Her muzzle contorts as she puts more emphasis in her cleaning. Swipe after swipe, rubbing obnoxious stains off her aging stand. She sighs.

"Apologies for the last one here. Sugarfly has been down on herself lately, ever since her stallion left her."

"…since her stallion left her."

"Where are you going?"

My heart twinges at the reminder. I imagine that's how you are. Your mind is deciding whether it should panic or play safe, but since you're not used to a relationship still, your mind gathers itself for a fit of empty bottles and impending doom. Each sip reminds you of a memory of us, and how you should have just been honest, but every opportunity you had fell to the wayside, underneath that made-up rug you created for our relationship.

Nonsense, nonsense, I know you well. Your mind did not create it out of spite. Maybe I need a drink too, just for a moment. My nerves are acting up again. But, yet again, curiosity needs to be sated first.

"When did that happen?" I ask.

The rag dances on a top to a beat that never exists. "About a couple weeks ago, I'd say," Berry Punch replies, her beat never missing now. "I think she came in right after the deed was done. The girl hasn't been the same since. Worried that she'll be spending her days here, and I've been generous enough to keep her tab minimal."

"At a minimal?"

She looks at me to take a pause in her dance. "I stop her at four, Scott."

Four drinks. She knows something's wrong, especially when the mare pours all her anger into a drink. Same with others on my world. Whatever they're feeling at that moment is poured in a transfer of cash to glass, and they sip that guilt down to keep in still for a while. I do that too sometimes, especially here. The need to see her again passes me by, and I take a few sips to calm it down for a while.

And now? I just want to drown myself too, but the better of me wants to have a chat. A simple one that does not need alcohol to start.

I nod in Berry's direction, before taking a seat at one of the non-spilled stools. In Equestria, the dang things are not even tall enough to feel like a bar on Earth, so, to accompany visitors like me, Berry had to get a stool custom-made. Nopony touches it, unless another being the size of me comes along to snatch it for a while. There was a griffon once who took a spot there for a little, but that was a while ago now. My names on that guy until he or she comes back.

I take my seat at the stand and look at Berry, who looks at me with intrigue. She moseys on over and walks up to me. "What would you like, Scott?"

"How about a chat?"

She looks at me funnily, like I said something that jostled her. Her muzzle scrunches up, and a lone brow raises up, while the other stays stagnant, twitching. "A chat?"

I smile. "Is it bad to talk with a friend?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, it's just… really late and I need to make sure lil' Ruby's in bed."

Ruby. The foal that resulted from the relationship. The 'was' left her years ago, heading straight to another city, probably with his tail between his legs. She has never told me why. Bastard didn’t want to deal with the foal? Did he want the relationship? Or was there something else?

No matter what, he left without a trace. Without any support to spare. Just a inkling to keep her company while he saddled off into the distance, the varmint. I sigh.

"Make sure the kiddo is in bed first, then come back," I say politely.

Her eyes scan over me momentarily, before giving me a quick, "Okay, thanks!" She scurries up the stairs to check on her little youngster, who she hopes is snoring away, or so I think.

It reminds me of something I left at home. A little mini-me is supposed to be walking the Earth now. Veronica has to deal with him or her too, alone. She'll see him or her crawl, walk, talk, shit in the sandpit, and bathe in the sink. She'll change those diapers, train him or her not to miss the toilet, and heck, Veronica will see him or her succeed in whatever he or she desires.

And meanwhile, I am here, moving on in another city with you.

I hear the pitter patter upstairs, a slight rouse from my train of thought, which only pulls me back into it with a much violent-er tug. Am I a bad husband for not being able to control my actions? Am I at fault for not being able to be there for her? Am I guilty of my departure?

My fist hitting the counter shakes me to the core. I look at the fist, the red buster-brown now aching fiercely. It is, as if, my body is crying with me, feeling the pain I have felt for so long, but never have recognized until I sat with it now. Guilt stares me in the eyes, bringing me back to adventures with her under the oak tree, then to a future that I could have had, being the father I always wanted to be. But yet, now I'm dealing with a relationship that probably won't last because I'm different. I am different because I need a stool tall enough to feel like the bar back home. I am different because I was whisked away from her long ago, now dealing with the aftermath with a pony who loves me partially. I am different because I am the only one of my kind here.

I am different, because the real me is dead on Earth.

Slowly, I hear Berry Punch approach the counter. A subtle gasp in the dark tells me that she's seen my hand.

"Does that hurt, Scott?" she says, poking it with a hoof.

I wince. "Slightly, and more-so when you touch it!"

She smiles. "Don't be such a baby, it's just a flesh wound."

"What war was I just fighting in?" I ask.

She smirks as she reads my face. "According to me, you've been in a war with yourself for some time."

The second time I am read like an open book. I want to open my mouth in reply, to say that I am not fighting with myself, that I'm not doing this alone, that you are too, but I stop, give pause, and look at my red fist again. Maybe the jig is up and these ponies found me.

"What do you mean, Berry?"

She looks at me with a downcast gaze. Then, she joins me, her hoof smacking the countertop with unrelenting rage. "Don't give me that crap, Scott!" It is, as if, someone had flipped her switch. "I have never seen you like this before! In the three years you've been on this planet, and for the year and a half that we've been best friends, I have never seen you hurt yourself in the bar, and I never seen you more down on yourself. What the ever-living heck is going on in that brain of yours?"

"What the ever-living heck is going on in that brain of yours?"

"Where are you going?"

"You're different than me."

I stare at the enraged mare in front of me. A best friend, someone who I can open up to, someone who I know won't run off with my secrets, my lies, my truths—here I am. Am I to deliver the message? Am I to tell her that you and I are fighting? That our war does not involve long rifles being cocked, loaded, and fired on a battlefield surrounded by the innocent deaths of many, but involves the reality that you and I are different, that you can't love me like those other folks do because of what I am, not who I am? And I am not a victim, but an instigator, who has failed to let the one who he loved on Earth drop off the face of the planet, to let the existence I once lived die in a fiery blaze called fate.

I look at her directly in her eyes. My arms slowly move to her hoof, and I gently grasp it, caressing it with care. She looks at my hands briefly, her mind reeling from what she's seen, and quickly her hoof retreats to her side. Just like I did when I was on Earth.

"S-Scott?"

I see her face and I sigh.

"Maybe it's time that I let her die."

"What do you mean, let her die?" she asks rather calmly.

The look of care, how her eye-lids move just slightly down, how her hoof returns to my hands, and how another binds them just right. Her sigh feels angelic to my ears, not in a loving since mind you, but how I hear the sense of comfort reaching out and taking my soul into a state of nirvana, keeping me in place to let my soul finally come out of its fortress, and have my body stay here, instead of running away.

It's fine, I can say. It's fine. Berry Punch is here to help me, to help you and I. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I have to help myself to help you and to help her too.

I look at Berry in her eyes. For some reason, I see you in them, and you're pleading for me to speak, to tell you all the answers.

So, finally, I will.

"I think it's time I tell you the truth," I begin, making Berry Punch lean back, yet keeping those hooves on my hands. I try to crack a smile, to show her that I care for her soft glides over my skin, but then it falters, as the reality I see hits the ground with each word my mind conjures…

"You're different than me."

I am juggling this whole Earth to Equis thing.

"Then stay near me."

"Why are you moving away?"

Maybe I should give into you, but I want to hold her too.

"It all started when I came here. I…" I pause, my mind shooting those thoughts rapidly in my brain. I need to keep calm. A box full of matches doesn't explode without a fire to ignite the destruction. "I was but a twenty-seven year old man, taken from my home world that I did not register at the time. I was found in a forest nearby, burnt to the crisp. You remember that, right?"

Berry Punch winces. "How could I not? The town was in a frenzy, but some like I chalked it up as normal, until we saw you come in from the forest. It was horrific to see how you looked—I've seen strikes happen, but ponies only had a slight burn, not a full blown skin-bust…"

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Yeah, I was a mess for a couple of months, right?"

She takes a bit of a staggered breath. She must've remembered how I looked, given that she stopped talking to look away from me to let out a slight acid-ridden burp. She wasn't ashamed to let out a burp in the past, so hiding it must be because of me.

"You were, Scott," Berry says plainly. "And then you were transferred to Canterlot's Hospital, because the clinic did not have the supplies necessary to keep you stable."

"Come on, we have to move him!"

"Get a hold of Canterlot's emergency unit now!"

"We're losing him!"

**BEEP…

"Your heart was irregular," Berry continues, her voice lowering to a haunting soft tone. "I never thought Twilight would be in tears over something that wasn't even her fault. She was in dismay when they were moving you away."

I raise a brow at this. "Why was she upset?"

Berry looks at my hands again. "Probably because she wanted to establish contact with you. You were completely new to Equestria, and losing something like you would be like having a story never told to you when you were so close to getting it."

"Berry, I never knew you were so poetic," I say mockingly. "Are you going to become the next Ponyville librarian?

She socks me in the shoulder with her left hoof. "Goofball, you know I rarely read. My minds all on the brewing of alcohol, not on novels and poems."

I smile slightly. "I'll have to get you a book from there sometime. Maybe we'll read it together when you're not so busy dishing out drinks."

Berry responds in kind, a small smile intoxicating my mind. "I'd like that."

For a moment, silence reigns. My eyes tread westward, down the alley that bowls to the end of the table. I imagine lights shining bright, letting me know that I can get a strike. So I do, watching a virtual ball rush down the valley and into the inevitable clash with the army of pins. The world of inanimacy suddenly bursts as they cling and clang off the wood floor. The ball hits the backboard, and rolls down the shadows of yesteryear, rolling without a regret in the world. Cheers from a time past lets loose in the tavern: a cheer of mine, a cheer of hers, and the cheers of our friends. And then, just as they appear, they fade into the ether, a realm of fantasy.

My gaze turns to Berry once again. She must have been looking down where I was, her eyes set on the rows of empty mugs and goblets at the end of the counter. The dimmed yellow lights lend to a bright reflection on those mugs. Maybe she sees something different than I. Or maybe she's imagining something too.

"So…"

Berry Punch snaps back to me. She looks at me, a flush tinge on her cheeks. "S-Sorry, I was wondering why you were looking down there that I got caught in the view of the glasses. I just imagined how cleaning them will be, and then I imagined just having a drink myself and—"

I silence her by putting a finger to her muzzle. She stops and watches as my finger stands near her lips. Her eyes gaze into mine, awaiting for me to say what I want.

So I do.

"It's okay. There's no need to apologize. Besides, aren't I the one who's telling you what's going on up here?" I take my finger off her lips and point straight at my noggin. "After all, you're wondering what's up here, not what's down there."

She nods and sighs. "You're right. Continue, Scott."

"It was odd waking up in a throne room of the two Princesses. Yet, after having a freak out session and a sad talk with the two, I realized that I was going to be stuck here for a while. I lost the shirt that had my soon-to-be-wife and I's names on it due to what doctors diagnoses as a result of a lightning strike, but I can't really believe that. I should have been dead if that were the case."

A slight caress of my hands brings me back to Berry again. A tear gently glides down her red emblazoned cheek. She notices that I see her tears, and brings her hoof to her face. I stop it momentarily, wiping the offender with a slight flick of the finger. The tear no longer runs down, only the trail remains.

"You did almost die, Scott," she says through watery haze. "You nearly flatlined twice."

**BEEP…

"CLEAR."

**BEEP…

"Analyzing heart rate. Please stand clear…"

"I know, so I was told from Rarity and her friends," I flatly reply.

"CLEAR!"

She sniffles and shifts in her seat. "So why is this whole thing important to say compared to what's going on now?"

"He's breathing again! Keep his airways open! Where in Celestia's mane is that EC group?"

"Because that shirt was the only thing I had left of her. Everything else I had with me was completely destroyed by whatever hit me."

"Veronica…"

My voice wavers. The pain still stings sometimes, knowing that nothing here will ever be from Veronica. I have nothing but memories to remind me of her.

"And what I have left, those memories I love dearly, they torment me. They affect what relationship I have here, because I see Rarity, and then think of her again instead of Rarity—"

"So you're homesick?" Berry asks.

I slowly nod. "Partially. Homesick of her, since she was home for me." I feel a tear slowly escape my right eye. "And I'm struggling to let her go, so that I can love Rarity—"

"But you do love Rarity, don't you?"

"Of fucking course I do!" I shout, my mind losing itself. "I love her so much, I would sacrifice myself for her if it came to be that way!"

"And would you do the same for the her on Earth?"

My eyes widen. Of course I would…

…but I can't, not anymore.

"I would."

Berry brings a hoof to the tip of her muzzle. She rubs it gently, much like how a person would groom their chin, questioning how thick the little hairs on the chinny-chin-chin grow so fast. Or maybe they're wondering what they will have for breakfast. No matter what, Berry is pondering over my words, much like a man does when she wishes to whisk those whiskers off.

"You wouldn't," she concludes lamely.

"What?"

She simply repeats herself, and then adds, "Your heart is not with her anymore. It's with Rarity."

"How the fuck do you know? I've been sitting here wondering—"

She, with swiftness and care, shuts my trap with her hoof. "Because you didn't use the same tone of voice as you did with my questioning of your love of Rarity. You hesitated when you said you would sacrifice yourself for your previous wife-to-be." She smiles and turns away from the stool she was sitting on. "Give me a second, I need to prep a drink for myself, because this will sound awful coming out of my mouth  completely sober."

Oh, Berry, never change.

She pours herself a mug of cider and sits back down at the counter. "So, are you ready for some hard-hitting truth?"

I kick my chair's leg with a slight tap, and nod. "As I will ever be."

I watch her take a long swig of that cider. She pops that damned mug on the counter, and then opens her mouth to say,

"My take on this shit is that letting her die would only solve part of your Celestia-damned problem." She takes a huge gulp of cider, and slams the mug on the counter again. "In order for you to move on, you need to kill whatever is in that fucking brain of yours from your past."

"That's easier said than—"

"Scott," Berry Punch addresses me with a slur. "Did I tell you you could interrupt me when I'm spitting absolute hard-hitting truth?" I shake my head. "Look, you're not on Earth anymore, so why are you fucking about with a reality that is now fantasy?" She looks at me with a glean of rage in her eyes. "You know, you can answer that rhetorical question, wise guy."

I just shrug, my shoulders plummeting as they had rose. "I don't know."

She stops, her chest heaving. Each breath reminds me of a time when I thought of her, a gasp of breath being shot out from my body, an exhale that desperately clings to a situation out of reach.

Out of reach, that's the ticket. Maybe I should stop reaching for something that gives nothing back. Maybe I should be reaching for you, somewhere out there in the ether. Just to find you is a few steps away. Each step represents a day that I would have to be away from you, so you can take time too, to respond, to cry, to think about what you did too. This relationship ain't some one-way street. It's a two lane road, where cars pass each other at an alarming rate. It's like being on that country road, interstate seventy-two. She remembers that well, driving fast just to get back to reality, now fantasy.

Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll start reaching for you.

"I guess it was real at one point. And now it's long gone, and I can't do anything about it now since the spell has taken me away from my family."

'B-But," Berry begins, her breath inhibiting her to talk for long. "You were—"

"Hit by a strike, I know," I say rather dryly. My mind wraps around that fact, that the strike may be real, but there's still something missing. How does a spell create a lightning strike like that? "I'm not sure how the whole spell thing works. Luna never told me about how it worked either. I just hope it didn't create a lightning strike that nearly killed me." I stare at her empty mug down the lane. "You think you're going to drink anymore?"

She waves a hoof at me noncommittally. "Nope, I needed a bit of a shot to take the edge off." She takes a moment to stretch and to yawn, her leg stretches matching the duration of her yawn. "I think I'm going to go hit the hay now. I'll take care of these pesky mugs tomorrow." She hops off her stool, and slowly comes around the counter.

I watch as she makes her way to my side of the counter. She smiles and nudges me. "Off," she punctually demands. "You got some work to do."

"What work?" I ask.

"Love work," she replies. "Get that head straight, and if you need anything else, let me know. I'm always here for you, Scott."

I hop off my stool and bend down to nuzzle her. "Wouldn't have it any other way, BP."

She frowns. "Not even if I add a beer to the mix?"

Little fruitful laughs come from within me. "Not even that!" I pet her mane for added effect. "I'm glad you're friends with me, Berry."

She wraps a foreleg around my neck in a hug. "I'm glad you're friends with me too, big guy."

I let the embrace stay momentarily. It feels warm, to just have someone be around like this. And yet, it reminds me of that time when I was in the bed with you, our bodies rubbing together in warmth. I would pull away, but you cling onto me.

I pull away from Berry first. "Mind if I crash here? Got to stay away from the house for a while."

She smiles. "The couch is always free. Let me give you a pillow and a blanket to work with, Scott." She trots away into the back area, probably smuggling the pillows and blankets she got. While she pulls the supplies from her magical pillow and blanket firm, I move over to the couch. A black leather couch glares at me. I slowly lay on it, sinking into its reaches. Then, I slowly drift.

And then I feel the warmth snare me again. A blanket surrounds me. A pillow props up my head. And to top it all off, a light concentration of warmth resides on my forehead. I know who did that.

"Goodnight, Scott."

And I lay there quietly, drifting to the music of hooves clip-clopping to bed.