RAVER_STAY_WIV_ME
Vinyl Scratch loved benzodiazepines more than anything. After a bar melted in your mouth, you didn’t care about who you were anymore. You couldn’t remember how badly you fucked up, and you wouldn’t remember how badly you were about to fuck up. You were all light as a pegasus on the breeze, warm inside like you’d just taken a big bite of mom’s homemade dandelion bread...
She grit her teeth. Vinyl Scratch used to love benzodiazepines more than anything. Now they didn’t do anything that they were supposed to.
Not at their recommended dosage, anyway.
Her lips broke into a smile, and she let her jaw drop. One, two, three of the small white bars dropped onto her tongue from their suspension in the glittering cloud of magic floating above her muzzle. She never took the recommended dose—Vinyl wasn’t a schizo or depressed or hateful or some self-centered narcissistic bitch who needed her dose just to keep her in stable society.
Her aura dissipated for a moment and rematerialized around her shot glass. Rubbing the bitter bars around in her mouth for a moment, she tossed the glass to her lips, knocked her head back, and swallowed it all. The whiskey stung in her throat, and her eyes watered for just a moment. Vinyl usually didn’t drink, despite her proclivity to (often exotic) intoxicants. For whatever reason, a “nice, stiff drink” never really particularly appealed to her.
Tonight, however, she’d be more than willing to make an exception.
Octavia was gone tonight. She’d finally be alone, if all went as planned.
Vinyl gagged slightly, making a face. She balked, heaved slightly, and then straightened herself up. Her mane hung in several sweaty strands over her face. She lifted a hoof and wiped the hair to the side, staring down at the table in front of her.
She could already feel it spreading through her like she was slowly being bathed with warm water, letting it sink deep down into her and fill her entire form with a dull, pleasurable buzz. She shook her head to the side, and bobbed it to the other; she giggled. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea—
Vinyl’s eyes went wide behind her glasses, and she clutched her stomach. She heaved slightly, and a spray of viscous, off-yellow mucus splattered from over her lips and dripped down her chin. Chest shaking, a small trail of tears leaking from each eye, Vinyl wiped her mouth clean.
The world has gone and left me by.
Her bottom left eyelid twitched. Her forehooves curled in against her for a moment before she reared up on her hindlegs. Slamming her hooves against the flat of the table, she let out a small, shrill noise that sounded very nearly like a strangled whoop.
Ketamine had been discovered roughly sixty years ago. It had amazing properties as a general anesthetic—while generally considered a failure, The Dragon Campaigns would have sustained significantly more casualties without the help of ketamine in the arsenal of the medics. Unlike most other sedatives, ketamine acts less intensively on the respiratory and cardiovascular system, significantly reducing risk of failure in either during intensive operations.
It also gets you high as fuck.
Vinyl smiled wide at the four little lines set out before her. Benzos were something, but ketamine... Dear, Sweet Celestia, she didn’t think something so perfect could have been made.
She’d kiss it if that wouldn’t fuck the lines up. Orally imbibing ketamine wasn’t nearly as rewarding as snorting it. Of course, the best way to dose it was intravenously...
Vinyl’s eyes flicked to the far side of the room. Her safe where she kept the kit was stacked under a pile of dirty sheets she’d ignored for months now... no. She didn’t need that. Not tonight.
She tapped her muzzle with a hoof and giggled to herself. She’d have her trusty snout tonight... and truth be told, the intensity of this particular consumption would be most prime.
I fell out of place.
Vinyl froze, her hoof hovering over the tiny scroll she had rolled ages ago. A thin dusting of white powder clung to the ends of the parchment just as it did to the rim of her nostril, a faint snow dropping from both to gently alight the table. She slowly moved her hoof, upturned, so that the ketamine dust gathered in a minute pile atop her frog.
She brought her hoof to her muzzle, and burrowed in her tongue. Vinyl’s eyes closed for a moment as she savored that sharp, bitter taste. Layponies couldn’t tell the true difference between benzos and ket. It all tasted like nasty shit to them. But she could tell the subtle contours of ketamine as it wrapped around her tongue and how it sent her reeling into numbness while the benzo simply intensified in taste before disappearing as it finally dissolved, all at once and after crushing it with her teeth, into her saliva...
Her tongue felt fat and puffy, like it was far too big for her mouth. She sputtered out a giggle around it, fat globs of spittle splattering the table. Her brow furrowed, and she messily wiped the drool off the table with a hoof, away from the lines.
Placing the parchment just to the bottom rim of her left nostril, Vinyl slowly bent down and pressed the other end of the scroll to the edge of one of the lines.
I never even wanted to become an artist to genuinely express myself.
Vinyl paused again, the crease in her brow tightening. One breath through the nose, careful not to take the line, one breath out through the mouth, careful not to break the line...
I wanted the attention.
It hit her like a buck to the face. It wasn’t like this every time, especially after the tolerance had built up. But this time, the sweet whiskey and benzo soup that was simmering away inside her had created the perfect conditions for Vinyl to actually, finally and truly, feel that fucking snap.
She could feel it washing all down her body, massaging out the aches and kinks and layers of deadweight that she carried around on her all day...
I wanted the distraction.
Vinyl was getting annoyed now. Still, another line would be more than adequate enough to shut her up. She didn’t need this. The physical sensations were nice, and it wouldn’t be a high quite without them... but she’d trade them just to get the fucking mental effects up and running properly.
To shut her up.
It was so hard to get anything done. The benzos usually turned her brain to mush, but with the whisky, the mushiness had been accelerated beyond anything she usually felt. She was rocking back and forth slightly, her hooves doing a weird tapping shuffle to keep her upright.
Music! Music was what she needed. Vinyl set her gaze on the record player, lifted her hooves from the table, then promptly flopped over and landed on her side.
Walking was going to prove a challenge.
Not one to let such a common benzo trope trip her up, Vinyl focused all of her energy into pulling herself upright, and half shuffled-half staggered to the record player. Fumbling dumbly with the record after haphazardly flicking the needle up with a hoof, she dropped the vinyl to the floor as she slowly leaned into her record shelf. She ran her hooves over the sleeves, mumbling happily as she hummed a horrible and discordant medley of several of the tunes.
Furrowing her brow, she tried to trap a record between her hooves, failing to have them line up well enough every time she did.
That’s right. She was a unicorn.
Her horn sparked, and she clumsily dragged the album through the air. The record tumbled from the sleeve halfway to the player, and Vinyl watched with mildly detached fascination as the plastic disk spun around on the floor before settling.
I wanted the lifestyle.
Scowling, Vinyl shot the record straight up into the air, then shoved it into the player, harshly slamming the needle down. There was a horrible static for the first few seconds before a grainy transition to the smooth bass she knew and loved.
Was this the song that had started the dream?
I wanted the aesthetic.
It was almost like she were walking again with her, down through that cramped hallway towards backstage. She could feel the flutter in her stomach that had felt like a hundred taxicolts had pummeled it with their hooves. She could almost see the shine of her manager's too-sweet smile, the electric hum under her hooves on the mixing table that was so far beyond what she was used to fucking around with in her room—
I wanted the identity, I wanted the sense of belonging...
It hadn’t been this particular song. Vinyl sneered. It sounded like atonal noise, like everything did now. She was, on the whole, convinced she never even liked music to begin with.
So what was she doing here?
I wanted the promise of a love of life.
And how did that end up?
I still hate my life.
Vinyl slumped to her haunches, hind legs split wide and forehooves pressed into the carpet between them.
And I’m still full of shit.
It was her bitch mom’s fault really; she was always accusing Vinyl, butting into her life, meddling... even long after she’d run away from home, somehow that horrible slut was still shoving her fat muzzle into her business.
Just like Octavia, actually; she was always bitching at her to clean up her dishes, wash her sheets, spend time with her, work on a new album, incorporate some dumb shit of hers into a song she was working on, talk...
She scowled. Well, Octavia wasn’t here. None of them were here. She didn’t have to...
I wanted to be able to jump on that stage, lose myself, hide behind those neon lights...
Run away from everything she wanted her to be, run away from everything she hadn’t done for her...
For everypony.
Every single one.
I was far too obvious. I look out across all their faces and I just can’t bring myself to look them back in the eyes.
She didn’t look anypony in the eyes while she was on stage. She didn’t look her manager in the eyes when she was signing her record deal. She didn’t look her mother in the eyes when she was yelling at her for taking her month’s pay to buy a point of Saddle Arabian black.
She didn’t look Octavia in the eyes after she’d passed out on her, backstage, still too drunk to realize what she’d done.
But I have the glasses. The glasses keep me safe.
Vinyl ran her hoof along the thin black rims. They were cold.
My twin shields.
Vinyl smiled and relaxed, head dipping forward ever so slowly. Perilously, the glasses slid down her muzzle, dancing on the tip of her nose for a second before falling free. She watched through lazily lidded eyes as the black frames tumbled to the ground, directly onto the lenses.
Vinyl sighed and closed her eyes. At a painstaking pace, she groped for her glasses with her magic. After a few false starts, she felt her aura secure into them, and she slowly levitated them up to inspect them.
She gave a small, sharp laugh; it was one of relief, however. Somehow, against all odds, her glasses had survived the tumble unharmed.
Thank Celestia’s sweaty teats, too; she felt so exposed without her glasses. Even when nopony was around, the reminder of it all was still too much.
I could feel them reading my thoughts. I could see them weighing my soul with sand.
She gently tried to place the glasses back on her muzzle, missed, and heard them shatter against the floor a moment later.
Vinyl shivered, wanting to cry but instead settling for a crazed jibber. Of course her body wouldn’t even be able to do that simple task. How could she have expected any more?
It was just like then, and that had been just like now.
No matter how it changed it just stayed the same.
Everyone assumed I was mute because I didn’t speak. It’s not like I can’t talk; I don’t talk.
Vinyl opened and closed her mouth, running her tongue along the insides of her cheeks.
I’m afraid that if I opened up my mouth no one would want to be around me after what comes out.
A small glob of spittle had formed on her bottom lip. She slowly let it drip, the viscous and mucousy drool sliding down to make a damp gossamer thread that hung in the air for a moment before dripping sluggishly to saturate into the carpet.
Wouldn’t you all like to know how I really thought of you?
She smiled; that little spark of power felt good. That was a warmth in her gut she couldn’t compare to any drug or home-cooked meal.
Her smile grew wider.
She hated those fake fucks and everything about them that reminded her she was just like them.
She laughed.
She hated the bright lights, the loud sound, the stench of sweat and the thousands of glazed stares in the audience...
And how they still stole all her control from her.
How she was still their slave even though they all looked to her.
Her laughter died.
Don’t you know I despise you all?
She hated that smug bitch who thought she could just do anything with a filly with a little talent. She hated being the forefront of the “death of culture” as those asshole critics put it, she hated her personal opinions being thrown and aped about like they were gospel and stolen from her, she hated being pushed to just do one more show—
But the truth is that it’s myself.
Her mind briefly wandered to the other times she’d felt the hooves of another pony on her. She didn’t often let them touch her. It was so uncomfortable.
She remembered how she’d lain in bed with his snout pressed between her thighs, high as anything. She remembered how she sat against the wall, letting the other mare guide her hoof down to feel her body, warm and soft until it became smooth and damp...
She remembered lying on her side, her back, propped against something or another; she remembered the pressure, the grinding, the rocking, the thrusting; she remembered the complete loss of control, the sickening sensation, the cold shiver that ran through her every time she remembered what she’d let them do to her; and there was quite a lot she didn’t remember.
There was one constant she had identified throughout each time, however.
She was fucked up.
She had never once engaged with another pony sexually without being so intoxicated she couldn’t even feel her face, let alone remember theirs, or their name.
What was her draw to it? Every time was the same, no matter how you scrambled the characters or the setting or the events. She felt sick, she felt trapped, she felt like she was just a—
Stupid cunt.
She took a deep, ragged breath. Her chest didn’t fill all the way, her body tightening momentarily with reflexive anxiety.
It’s what everyone is running for.
Her heart was pounding like she was sprinting from a manticore.
What will take away that loneliness—
She snorted.
—Fuck, I’m so alone—
Because all anyone wants to feel is love.
She was sweating like she was in heat.
Something physical that words can’t satisfy.
Maybe she was in heat.
When it actually happens though you’re just—
She felt up her body with her hooves, gliding them across the curves of her hips and along her belly, moaning softly as she felt the eclectic tingle run about her.
...not enough for them...
Vinyl could hear her cries echoing through the back of her mind as she awkwardly tried to comfort the mare, telling her that they didn’t have to play, that she was not her and she was not there—
You’re never enough for that other pony.
You don't... realize how much of a back and forth it really is and you're
...not going to fit in place.
With the other piece.
So you end up having to comfort somepony crying through their PTSD, or fucked up on heroin and barely able to stay awake, or being pinned down and raped by your ex in a hotel room...
Or jilling your best friend drunk as fuck backstage while trying not to throw up.
Immodest and dishonest.
Vinyl drew herself into the fetal position and screamed. Halfway through, she gagged, hacked, and vomited down her front and forelegs. She briefly inspected the mess, her mind haphazardly and quickly shuffling through her thoughts as she deeply contemplated the spew across her.
Her eyes rolled back, and she slumped like a bag full of wet trash against the floor.
Let me be forgotten.
As if it were distorted through several heavy sheets of water, Vinyl vaguely registered a door opening. Echoing, skipping, distant voices, all speaking slightly off-time from one another but all saying the same thing spoke around her:
“...for Celestia’s sake, Vinyl, why must it be that I always come home to you making such an atrocious mess? One of these days I’m going to—”
There was a horrible, heavy pause.
“—No. Vinyl. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no... Vinyl, you idiot, you know you don’t mix those... even for you, you’re not—Vinyl! VINYL!”
The last shout cut through Vinyl’s head like an off-kilter guillotine. She limply rolled over (or at least attempted to), and gurgled out what may have been a word were it not for her tongue and several saliva-soaked globs of vomit obscuring her mouth.
“Okay. Okay, okay. Vinyl, it’s me, alright? I called the paramedics, we’re going to get you to the hospital—”
Vinyl was letting the words roll off her head like they were pillows lazily thrown at her. In fact, nothing sounded more appealing than a pillow fight at that exact moment. She tried to push herself up, hobble to the couch, and vocalize to this panicking mare that she didn’t have to harsh the buzz and they could just throw some pillows around and laugh—
Apparently, the limp little roll onto her side and the incoherent babbling did not convey this to her. Indeed, she seemed to be getting more distressed.
“How much did you take? Vinyl, you can’t—Vinyl...”
Vinyl closed her eyes.
“Vinyl, please, just say something... you never say a thing, you know how im-important—Vinyl, listen to me this instant! You’re being so—" (She screamed) "—incredibly difficult!”
The warm drone and soft vibration that seemed to envelope the world dragged her deeper and deeper...
“Just talk to me for once... Vinyl, please...”
Deeper in towards a beautiful, fluffy, weightless sleep...
“VINYL!”
As she felt Octavia’s hoof press into her chest, her eyes opened. But Vinyl did not see the sweating, sobbing, shaking form of her friend hunched over her, desperately trying to keep her awake. The excessive amounts of benzos, alcohol, and ketamine working through her system had almost completely shut down all of her organs, her lungs barely shuddering and her veins weakly pushing hardly oxygenated blood to whatever would still accept it. All of this interacted with the many chemicals already swimming around in her brain, and as several final, intense pulses of electric activity flashed across her neurons, this is what Vinyl saw:
A field blanketed out before her, grass up to her belly and waving in wild emerald and topaz ripples. A strong, crisp wind was somehow rushing into the tiny apartment, blowing her mane straight back. She was falling backwards, further, further... until she found that she was twisting and turning around in a backflip. Her hooves slowly pressed against the solid ground once more, and she was galloping forward on the plane now. The sky was a running river, the clouds rippling and changing faster than she could comprehend. It flashed blue, then fuschia, then teal, then a bright neon color she couldn’t even identify.
She stopped.
There was a mare standing there, in the tall grass. Saying nothing.
She was nothing more than an outline, her details fuzzy and distorted as if she were standing behind fogged glass.
She couldn’t recognize the image. But she bet anything she could recognize the touch. When she raised her hoof up to touch the figure, it hopped back before shaking slightly as if it were laughing.
Then, they pressed hooves.
Vinyl could taste iron in her mouth; she could taste bitter grass, thick mud, benzos, fresh baked daisy pudding, moldy oats, watered-down heroin, alcohol. She could smell the burning of rubber, the crackle of ozone before a unicorn cast, the sweaty stench of hundreds of bodies packed together, vomit, cello wax. She could hear laughter. Singing. Hooves clapping against the dance floor, to a thundering beat that she could feel reverberating in her bones. She could feel the rough carpet, the warm feeling of a hoof in hers, the tickle of a quill as it brushed her muzzle.
For a single second there, she felt herself.
In the far off distance, she heard somepony screaming her name, completely unsure of whether it was Octavia or her manager or her mother. They all had their fair share of reasons to scream at her. They were all whom Vinyl wanted to see.
They were the start of many long apologies.
With a rattling, pained breath, Vinyl focused her eyes on the swimming, grey imago above her. Her lips slowly opened and closed, forming weird apertures and hisses as she tried to speak. Every now and then, she shook, and she felt something damp splatter her; the pony holding her was crying.
After a great effort, she lazily forced her eyes open and stared deep into indigo rings, and said:
“You have to believe me, this isn’t what I wanted.”
Vinyl Scratch coughed, hiccuped, and collapsed onto her back as her heart gave out.
