Music Therapy

That hug last night was the first physical contact you had in months. You roll over and look at the bloodied tissue on your nightstand. The one he gave you. For your cheek.

That tiny act of kindness, that meant nothing to him, so why does it mean the world to me? Why am I getting so close to him? A human? It's stupid. I don't even feel comfortable telling him anything. Every night it's just been him opening up to me.

Maybe it's better that way. In for a bit, in for a pound. I start talking now and I'll open the floodgates. Why should he bear the burden of my misery?

But I like talking to him. Even if he does most of the talking.

He's a writer. Like me.

Not like you. Probably way better. That's why you didn't say anything, right? Your poetry is shit. It deserves to be hidden away from the world. Away from him. You don't want him to know what a failure you are.

Although...

You reach down and pick up the poem. Future. Giving it his title made all the difference. Now it doesn't feel like yours.

It feels like both of yours.

"Hey, Eri!"

He's already calling me by my nickname. Do I do the same? What's a nickname for him?

He's waiting. Answer him, you dumb bitch.

"Heya... non..." Your greeting comes out all slurred. Because of course you can't even say hello right.

"Anon! I haven't heard that since Earth."

"Sorry, I'll—" you stammer.

"No, no, I actually like it. It's just been a while, that's all."

Look at that. He likes it.

"Come and sit," he motions you inside invitingly. "You ready to chat?"

"Yeah." You go over the couch as usual.

You mean listen to him chat while you clam up like a dumb little filly?

Please stop

"So what do you figure we should talk about today, friend?" Anonymous asks.

"F-Friend?"

"Hey, you're the one calling me Anon. I just figured we're past the whole strangers part."

He thinks he's your friend. That's sweet.

"You have many friends, Eri?"

"No. Not really," you mumble.

"Me neither, I guess. Not since high school."

You wince at the mention of it. "High school?"

"Yeah, high school. Oh boy, what a mess that was. You have fun in high school?"

You scoff sarcastically. "Not at ALL."

Anonymous laughs. "Ha, I feel you,"

He feels me

"it's a bitch if you don't fit in anywhere in particular. At least, I never did." He leans back in his chair and casually crosses his arms.

Look at him. The way he talks. Carefree. Confident. No stutter. You don't deserve to be in the same room as him.

I bet he doesn't have thoughts like you smothering him until he

"You ever see Carrie?" he asks.

"Who?" You have no idea who that is.

"What am I talking about, of course you haven't. It's one of those... stories. From Earth."

"What's it about?"

"Well, there's this girl in high school. She doesn't fit in. At all. She's picked on and tortured. It's a mess. Anyway, one day, these bullies cook up some twisted prank to pull on her..."

Like that time Emerald Rose and her gang told everyone you were a virgin slut because you only took it in the ass? Everyone called you Cherry for two years. Even the teachers started doing it.

Isn't that just like those cunts, sticking you with a name that's juuust harmless enough to get everyone using it. But they made sure you knew what it really meant. Every. Day.

Stop I don't want to think about thi

"...and BAM!" He claps for effect. "They dump the bucket all over her. Drenched head to toe in pig's blood."

blood

"So naturally," he continues, "she flips out and uses her magic to destroy the entire prom."

"I didn't know humans could do magic. You don't have a horn."

"Well, no, we can't," he admits. "It's just a story."

"Does she at least get a happy ending?"

"Not exactly. She kinda... burns down her home with her mom and her inside."

You stare at him blankly. "Then why are you telling me this?"

Yeah, Anon, why the fuck are you telling her this? You think she wants to hear about your fucked-up homeworld horror flicks?

"I don't know," you sigh. "Sorry. I guess my point is that high school can be hell."

"I know what that's like." She absentmindedly scratches one hoof with the other.

"Are those socks itchy or something?" you ask.

Immediately, she tenses up. "N-No."

She's obviously just saying that to be polite. Say something to her, moron.

"You can take them off if you want. I want you to be comfortable here."

You want her to be comfortable? What are you, some kind of pervert? Why would you ever say something like that to anyone?

He... he wants me to be comfortable around him. He wants me to feel safe.

Then go ahead. Get comfortable. Show him just what's under those sleeves, Cherry.

F U C K O F F

"N-No thanks. I'm fine, I promise."

You ass. You think just because ponies walk around naked, it's cool to ask them to take their clothes off? You clearly stressed her out. As if she doesn't already have enough of that. Being a friendless loser for the past year has ruined you. You've forgotten how to talk.

The most fundamental facet of your humanity. Communication.

And it's atrophied from disuse.

"Okay, if you're sure."

Look at him. You hurt him. He wanted you to feel safe. He noticed your strife. These scars, they hurt, but this is not the same. This is the pain of letting him down. He might be the only one who ever gave a shit about you. You don't even fucking care about privacy anymore. You just want to feel something.
You want
to be known
by him

Don't you fucking do it.

"I brought one of my poems," you mumble.

"You did?" He sits up straight, intrigued.

"Yeah. It's not very good."

"Still, I didn't know you wrote. That's great."

You pull the folded-up paper out of your sock.

"Can I read it?" he asks.

He actually wants to see it?

If you show him, you're just going to reveal what a talentless hack you are.

"If it's okay with you, I mean." He smiles at you encouragingly.

You glance down at the paper.

You and I both know that it's nothing more than a page full of pretentious cra

Fuck it.

You toss it over to him.

Here it comes. You catch it. She's trusting you here. She's revealing a deeply personal side of herself.

You unfold the paper. And you read it.

drinks for two
what does that mean to you
if nothing but a missed chance
to meet her strict demands
this is the apathy
you get at 23
you ought to change your tune
or else risk fading too soon
you hate who you are
and it is tearing you apart

drinks for two
but what if both are you?
divided by a muddied line
can't tell who's left or right
you're afraid to find
that you're not so easily defined
but you pick yourself up
only because you know you must
so do whatever you can
anything to feel whole again
too much on your broken plate
take care before it's too late

drinks for two
i can't take care of you
only one is always around
and you fail to make her proud
she's inside of you
those cruel words she croons
l'appel du vide arises
you won't survive this crisis
last call, drinks for two
tell me, are you through?
oh, darling do,
what's to become of you?

Your eyes skim back to the top. The title's been crossed out and replaced with a new one.

You read it aloud. "Future."

"I figured, after our talk yesterday..."

"I love it." You really do. "It's beautiful, Eri."

Better than that lonely heart crap sitting in your own desk drawer.

Your heart's racing.

There's no way he loves it.

He's obviously saying that to spare your feelings.

He cares about my feelings.

You're such a stupid slut.

"I know exactly what you're talking about in here," he says.

"You— you do?"

"I have drinks for two, too. Every fuckin' day."

You can't help but snort in surprised delight. "You're not just saying that, are you?"

"Those thoughts are with me every waking moment."

He's making it up. He's mocking you. Stop kidding yourself.

He shifts in his seat anxiously. "They were there, that night... the night I tried to kill myself."

You can hardly believe it. He knows. He actually knows.

"I thought it was just me," you whisper, awestruck.

This mare. What a tortured life she must live. Surrounded by ponies who take their happiness for granted. Who aren't haunted by their own minds. At least on Earth, you had resources. People understood. They tried to help. You don't think anyone has ever helped her. Not in any real sense of the word.

She must be the loneliest soul in the universe.

...

Not anymore. Not if you have anything to say about it.

"Hey, Eri?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I give you a word of advice? As a friend?"

"Y-Yeah. Of course."

"Don't end up like Carrie."

"I... can't. I'm just an earth pony."

"No," you say. "I mean, she felt powerless. She lost control of her life, and it ended up costing her everything."

"Oh," she whispers.

She's afraid.

"I don't want to have to bury you, Eri."

Tears are welling in her eyes.

"You're far too young to die."