Always On A Monday, Isn't It?
*knock-knock-knock!*
Always three times, Sunset Shimmer thought as she slowly lolled her head towards her front door, her body refusing to shift amidst the navy blue couch it had set itself upon, the inanity of Monday afternoon syndicated television droning in the background, drowned out somewhat by the oscillating fan pointed toward the kitchen, as well as the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof – at least there were no leaks today.
“It’s open!” called out Sunset with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner making his way to the gallows.
The door creaked open to reveal, to Sunset’s utter lack of shock, Rarity.
“Always three times,” Sunset said aloud, but softly.
Rarity entered the apartment, taking care to remove her wet boots, placing them just inside the door, and hung her purple umbrella on a conveniently placed coat-rack next to one of Sunset’s jackets so the remainder of the excess water could drip harmlessly onto the the carpet. She walked up to Sunset and, unbidden, knelt down next to her.
Sunset turned to meet Rarity’s gaze, sidelong. Her piercing aquamarine eyes, while not bloodshot, conveyed a sense of utter weariness. Her mouth seemed frozen in a perpetual frown. She blinked, slowly.
“What can I do for you?” asked Sunset with as little intonation as possible. “Don’t you have work this afternoon?”
Rarity pursed her lips. “Not for over half an hour yet. What’s more important is that you skipped school today.”
“So? It’s not like I’m required to be there.”
“I missed you,” Rarity mumbled, her lips in full pout.
Sunset rolled her head back to its original position: staring straight up at the ceiling. “It’s only been, what?, two, three days since the last time we saw each other.”
“It feels like we haven’t truly spoken in eleven months!” Rarity said emphatically enough Sunset flinched for a second before re-assuming her torpor.
“Always one for drama, you are,” Sunset replied, her tone intentionally as droning as the fan.
Rarity stared at the oscillating floor fan pointed away from them. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.
Sunset shook her head. “I’ve got two blankets here, plus extra support,” she lazily gestured to the pillow she had placed under her head and slowly lifted her legs to reveal the other plus a sofa cushion propping her lower half up. She had also covered the couch in a fitted sheet. “Laying in bed had become tiresome, so I repurposed Old Charley here.”
“Of course you would name your cou—” Rarity suddenly went quiet, her cheeks turning a deep crimson.
“What?” asked Sunset with absolutely no interest.
“Um,” Rarity said, twiddling her thumbs, “I can see your, uh, shoulders are bare. What are you, er, wearing underneath those blankets?”
“Nothing,” replied Sunset matter-of-factly. “Everything’s dirty and I just didn’t feel like dressing. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“But that’s just it,” Rarity said, her blush deepening. “Shouldn’t you?”
“Shouldn’t I what?” inquired Sunset listlessly.
“Get out? Do something? You know they asked about you today.”
Sunset slowly nodded. “No doubt, and I’m sorry for making anyone worry. But I just couldn’t do it today.”
Rarity bore a look of befuddlement. “What do you mean? I thought you had conquered this ‘being afraid of dealing with people’ problem.”
At that, Sunset sighed. “That’s not it at all. I’m not afraid to face people – most of them anyway. I simply can’t physically bring myself to put forth any effort today.”
“…Why?” Rarity asked softly.
Sunset attempted a wan smile but failed. “It’s just part of what I am. Sure, I’m nowhere near the suicidal wreck you encountered a couple months ago, but I’ll be the first to tell you my mind is far from operating at one hundred percent. If my brain is equivalent to an eight-cylinder engine, I have maybe three to five firing, at most. This just happens to be one of my down days.”
Rarity rubbed her chin. “Is it the weather? Spring gloom can bring a lot of people down.”
“No,” Sunset shook her head. “It’s not the rain – I like it actually… so long as the roof doesn’t leak. It’s nothing you or anyone else did. There was no ‘trigger’, as you might call it. It simply is. I feel like this sometimes and, when I do, I just need to be away from others for awhile. This too shall pass and I’ll be back to normal (at least by my standards) soon enough.”
“Perhaps you should see a doctor and try some proper therapy?” Rarity said gently.
Sunset tried to chuckle but it came off as more of a scoff. “Trust me, I’d love to. You may not believe it, but I do have the funds squirrelled away to cover an intake session even without insurance, but…”
“You don’t have…?”
“Illegal immigrant, remember?” Sunset interjected, explaining as if this was the most obvious thing in the multiverse. “No insurance company will cover an Alien – literal in this case – like me. All the laws governing insurance and hospital rights only apply to Citizens… and of all the fake ID’s I have, none are a birth certificate. So, unless I can get into a charity clinic – and boy are the waiting lists long for those places – I’m basically left to my own devices. Huge shift from when I was living with the Princess and had access to the best doctors in Equestria without needing to spend a single Bit. But, you know, this is my reward.”
“Even so, I worry about you so, so much, darling. I wish you would actually open up and talk to me without my having to make the first move.”
Sunset chuckled. “You know, just now you sounded like a young mare I lived near back in the old days: Cadance. She went by Caddy. A couple years older than me. Bunked in the tower just across the palace grounds from me. She’s a Princess too, or was being groomed for possibly taking up a position of authority, which it turns out she finally did. Nicest, sweetest girl in Canterlot. I hated her.”
“Sunset?”
“When one is down and unable to get professional help – or even if one is receiving therapy and/or medication,” Sunset explained, lazily waving her left arm, “it is inevitable one’s mind will sometimes turn to the past to relive all the mistakes made. Not just the big ones. Small things: the should-haves and could-haves that, when added up, compile a multitude of sins.”
“But that’s…” Rarity attempted to say but could not find the words to finish her thought.
“No, that’s not what’s weighing me down; it’s just what I think about when I’m already in a funk.”
“It’s not healthy to dwell,” insisted Rarity.
“No. It’s not,” Sunset agreed. “I can’t really help it. Look over on the table.”
Rarity turned to the upturned wooden cable spool Sunset had stolen from a construction site many years earlier that she had declared her coffee table. On it were a cup of cold tea, a remote control, Sunset’s cellphone, and a leather-bound diary with her personal emblem on the cover.
“Your diary?” she asked.
“I don’t write to Twilight all that often,” Sunset explained. “Partly because she often defaults to lecture mode, partly because she’s not as smart as she thinks she is. But, she has access to resources I don’t, and she was kind enough to do some research for me not too long ago to confirm something I had already suspected.”
“And that is?”
“Recovery is neither an easy process nor a straightforward one,” Sunset said. “It is inevitable there will be backsliding. All the patient (that’d be me) can do is keep working under the assumption that she is, in the long run, continuing to improve, even if it comes in fits and starts sometimes, with hiccups along the way, so…”
Sunset found herself interrupted by Rarity wrapping her in a tight embrace. So tight in fact that Sunset had trouble breathing. Nonetheless, she returned the gesture.
“Whether you’re up or down, high or low, I will always be here for you,” Rarity said softly in her most serious tone. “But, I cannot read minds, you know.”
Sunset smiled as best she could. “I understand, and I appreciate it. I may not be able to show it well right now, but I’m happy you dropped by. It’s made my afternoon a little less boring. More importantly, it’s nice to be reminded I have someone else willing to root for me.”
“We all are,” Rarity corrected.
“I know,” said Sunset. “I don’t deserve you five.”
Rarity, still wrapped around Sunset, retorted. “It’s not about whether you deserve it or not. You don’t get to decide that; we do.”
Sunset nodded. “I can’t exactly say you’ve made me feel better, since this is a chemical imbalance I’m unable to do anything about that will hopefully work itself through. Whether it does or not, I promise I’ll show up at CHS tomorrow. I don’t want anyone else to worry about me. Um, one last thing.”
“What is it, darling?”
“Could you please… let go of me? I think I might… black out. You hug… too hard.”
Rarity considered this for a moment. “…No. Not until I’m satisfied.”
“And when will that be?” asked Sunset, her breathing sounding laboured.
“…Never,” she replied with an audible smirk Sunset could not see.
Sunset sighed, saying “I will never understand y—” before going silent.
Rarity broke the embrace and stared at Sunset, confused. “Sunset?”
The only response Rarity received was a light snoring.
“Well, perhaps I did overdo it a little,” Rarity, blushing again, whispered to Sunset as she patted her head, stroking her long red-and-yellow dual-toned hair a few times. “Take care, my darling. I’ll see myself out.”
With that, Rarity donned her boots, grabbed her umbrella, and headed out the door, making sure to shut it gently behind her. The whole time, unbeknownst to her, Sunset watched her with one eye half-open. By the time Sunset was alone again, her face had contorted into a weary smile.
“She’s a good kid,” Sunset told her cup of cold tea. “Even when everything feels like it’s crashing down around me, she can make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I may not deserve a best friend like her, but I’m glad to have her around. Now, what’s on the next channel?”
Sunset shifted to a sitting position, allowing the blanket to slip and uncover her bare chest, and downed her cup of tea, sticking out her tongue in disgust that she had let it degrade so much. Then, with a grunt, she grabbed her remote control, pressing the button that would take her to the next set of afternoon boredom.
Outside, the rain continued at a steady but not heavy pace. Sunset relished the white noise. She set the alarm on her phone before laying back on Old Charley, allowing the droning of everything to lull her back to sleep.
Recovery isn’t a straight road. I’m hopeful tomorrow my better side can shine through again.
Author's Note
I hope you enjoyed this unexpected (even to me) entry in the Recovery Arc.
Please Read Me.
