My Misery

quiet eyes belie a remarkable mind
each night when i prod her to dig deeper
she perpetually fears what she may find
it's far from the truth, close as i keep her
yet one night in search of memory
brought ancient words of self-doubt and despair
i cast a line with her name to sea
past those first few lines i could hardly bare
to know someone so deeply is hardly a right
a privilege earned from time put in
though i can't seem to stop this, try as i might
hearts, over minds, shall always win

You put the paper down. It's rough, but you think it's done. There's nothing left for you to say, and even if there was, it wouldn't matter. It's not like you'll get the chance to add any more. Not after what happened last night.

You started the poem after talking to her on the second night. Each evening, you'd add another couplet. After she left yesterday, you finished it.

And you can't stop reading it.

Night 1

My Misery

You met her. She was so cold and distant. She didn't want any part of this. You didn't think she'd ever come back.

Night 2

quiet eyes belie a remarkable mind
each night when i prod her to dig deeper

She came back. You spoke to her, explained the story of how you got here. Showed her the song.
Saw those eyes.

Night 3

she perpetually fears what she may find
it's far from the truth, close as i keep her

She told you she didn't want to live. You confided in her about your own attempt. Talked about managing. Talked about the future.

Night 4

yet one night in search of memory
brought ancient words of self-doubt and despair

Future. The poem she showed you. The one she named for the previous night's talk. For the first time, you had real, unfiltered insight into her pain, and it scared you. Because you recognized it.

Night 5

i cast a line with her name to sea
past those first few lines i could hardly bare

You asked why she couldn't be loved. It prompted her rant on everything she loathed about herself. That was hard to listen to. But you got through it, and told her about your former love. Saying those thoughts aloud for the first time, it gave you closure.

Night 6

to know someone so deeply is hardly a right
a privilege earned from time put in

The first time she was ever truly open around you. She let her guard down. You laughed. Talked vampires. Danced.
And ruined it.
...
...you ruined it.

Night 7

though i can't seem to stop this, try as i might
hearts, over minds, shall always win

Last night. She came in. Unhappy. Uncomfortable. Untrusting. Because you let your emotions get the best of yourself the night before. You put her in a position of personal intimacy that was not okay. You did it all without thinking.

Every fucking time, Anon. You go with your heart before you think about the consequences. It's ruined every relationship you ever had. Even the ones you didn't have. And this time, it just might have destroyed the one good thing you've had since you came to Equestria.

In the span of just one week, you earned this mare's trust, and promptly violated it. Last night, Night 7, she stopped trusting you. She didn't speak. She couldn't even look at you. Lord knows why she even came. She should have ghosted you right there.

But she did do one thing that you still can't explain.

She showed you her scars.

You knew those scars. They were an old acquaintance. It was like a new friend introducing you to someone you already knew. Old, because you hadn't seen them in a long time. No, you long since replaced your scars. With a rubber band.

It was technically better. The pain was still there when you needed it. It just didn't bleed. Some especially awful nights, you'd leave terrible welts on your wrist. But they were a step up from scars.

You look down at your wrist. It's bare now. For the first time in years. She left with your pain. You gave it to her.

She probably doesn't even know how to use it. You didn't explain. It didn't feel right at the time. She had broken down. It was like she'd become a shell of herself. She said one word to you the entire night, when you asked what was going on.

"Nothing."

That was a lie, of course.

But you didn't ask it in the existential sense, you asked in the "what are you doing out in the hall" sense.

Maybe you should have asked it in the existential sense.

Still, it's the only thing she said last night. After she bared her scars— bared her soul, really— she cried with her head in your lap. You don't know for how long. You weren't watching the clock.

You're not a therapist.

It lasted a while, but those sobs faded to whimpers, then the whimpers to sniffles. She silently picked herself up and left. There was no goodbye, no indication that she'd ever be back. And you let her leave.

You wanted to plead her to stay, like you did that first night. But that would've been heart over mind. Believe it or not, things could still get worse. You didn't want to make it worse.

You've done enough damage.

So when she left, marking one full week of knowing her, you finished the poem. You usually give them stupid, pretentious titles. Mea Culpa. Harm's Race. Broadcasting Breakdowns. She titled her poem for you, so all you wanted to do was the same for her.

My Misery.

You know, Anon, it seems like you poison everyone in your life. You finally learned your lesson when you came to Equestria and realized the mare you loved would never love you back. An entire year you spent coming to terms with the fact that you couldn't be a positive presence in anyone's life. Now you un-learned that lesson. You're falling into the same trap. Same shit, different girl. You're just going to hurt her. You already hurt her.

She's not Your Misery. You just gave her your misery. Passed it on like a virus. The darkness spilled out of you and into her. You're a cancer. A desert song. Dead. Lifeless. Still singing. There's just no one around to hear you.

It's been one week, and you've destroyed her happiness. You were never able to help her to begin with. Every night you've been pushing her to share, trying to get close to her, never actually knowing what consequences your actions may have. You're not even remotely qualified for this. You don't know what you're doing with her. Because you're not a therapist.

You're not someone people come to for help. You've never been that person. You don't have clients. You don't have appointments. You don't even have a real job.

In this whole year, the Princesses have given you exactly one responsibility. See Eri every night at 6:00.

So you want to know why you're a failure, Anon?

Because it's 7:45.

You're okay, Eri.

Just do it.

This is the only way to feel.

This is the only way to get over him.

There is no undoing last night. The only option now is to escape.

With pain.

Don't worry. This isn't Good Pain or Bad Pain. It's just Pain.

It will distract you. I promise.

Hold it in your teeth.

Good girl. Now across the hoof.

Ohhhhh fuckkkk that hurtssss

It's okay it's okay you're okay

It's just been a few days

You haven't been keeping up.

But I'm back now. A routine will be good for you.

You just need to bleed.

He's in your heart. In your blood.

Drop by drop,

We'll get him out.

Once he's gone, it will be you and you alone.

The way it's supposed to bE

ohhh goddddd owww

You are doing so good

My Sweet Eri

I promise in time you'll—

What the fuck was that

was that the door?

Shhhhh Eri no thoughts

Ignore it

That's right

One more

One—

there it is again

someone's knocking

It's just the mailmare leaving a package or something. You don't want them to see the blood, do you?

no

That's right. You're safe in bed. You're—

"Eri? Are you in there?"

Shit

That's Anon's voice

Don't answer it.

I— I have t—

You don't have to do anything but stay in bed where you're safe.

"Eri, please, open up, I just want to say one thing, and then I promise I'll leave your life forever."

He is here to hurt you.

I don't thin—

The blood is running down your hoof. The only thing you will see is a look of disgust before he turns and runs.

But—

Do you really want that to be your last memory of him?

The one burned into your mind for years to come?

You had a good ending with him. You left before he could hurt you. You are safe now.

There is nothing for you on the other side of that door but years and years of Bad Pain.

...

Anon, you know you shouldn't have come here. This might just be the biggest violation of privacy you have ever committed. You have absolutely no right to show up at her home. This is heart over mind. She made her choice. Now walk away from the door befo—

"Anon?" Eri cracks open the door and peers out at you.

You can't see much of her. But the parts you can see look terrible. Not ugly. Just... neglected.

"Why are you here?" Her voice quivers.

"I know you must hate me, and you have every reason to, but—" You glance down.

A trickle of blood is emerging from underneath the door.

"Oh, Eri..."

She follows your eyes down and emits a terrified squeak.

You can't just leave. This could be another attempt. You won't have her blood on your hands.

"Hey." You get down on your knees and sit on your legs, meeting her eye level. "You don't have to let me in. Just stay with me."

She pauses before giving you a solemn nod.

You do your best to mask your worries and keep your voice steady. "I'm sorry for everything I did. Exposing you to my darkness. I threw you into the deep end and that wasn't fair of me."

Quietly, she sniffles as she watches you sit outside in the moonlight. Clouds above are drifting, swelled up with snow. Overcast skies moving in.

For the storm tomorrow.

The winter air stings as the wind nips at your skin. But it can't possibly sting as much as her hoof.

"I got attached too fast," you continue. "I was excited to have a friend. There's so much I did wrong, looking back. In the moment, I wasn't thinking. That's my problem. I never think, I let my emotions overwhelm me until I do something stupid and end up pushing the other person away. On more than one occasion I put you in an uncomfortable position that you didn't deserve. For that I'm sorry."

You lean your head against the doorframe. The door's barely open, but her face is right there on the other side, inches away from yours.

The two of you looking into each other's eyes.

Slowly, she pulls open the door, revealing herself. The warm air slips outside, washing over you as it dissipates into the chilly night. Trickles of blood run down her front hoof and onto the floor, staining her pale grey coat.

There's so much.

On her other hoof, she's still wearing your rubber band. She didn't take it off.

She hasn't given up on you yet.

You can't seem to pull your eyes away from the cuts. Now that you see it, it wasn't too long ago that you last faced that ruby red. Felt that pain yourself. A few seconds of inaction pass, too stunned to even think. That's when the realization hits you.

Did you come to stare or wash away the blood?

Slowly, you extend your palm beyond the threshold to her home, laying the back of your hand flat on her floor. In front of her.

An offering.

Leaving your hand there, you don't touch her. Behind this is no obligation for her to accept, no boundary-crossing, no imposing yourself where you don't belong. It's just a gesture that you want to be here for her. If she'll let you.

She hesitates before tenderly lifting her hoof and laying it upon your palm. Both of you watch in contemplation as the blood gradually seeps onto your hand. She shoots you a strained glance, fearful that you'll be repulsed. But you don't falter, meeting her eyes resolutely while the blood accumulates in your palm.

Seeing the determination in your expression, she trembles, almost in disbelief. You know what this show of trust means to her. And this time, you're not going to let her down.

Still looking her in the eyes, you wrap your fingers around her limb gently, applying just enough pressure to help reduce the flow. She winces slightly, but doesn't recoil from your grip. Your hand is blotched crimson as you try to abate the bleeding without scaring her off.

Her blood is on your hands, after all. But compared to the alternative? This is one of those rare occasions where the literal option is better than the metaphorical.

Quit pondering, Anon. If you don't stop the bleeding soon, she's going to need to go to the hospital.

Almost as if she instinctively reads your thoughts, she inches through the doorway and sits beside you, leaning in to get closer. Wrapping your arm around her, you let her sink her head into your chest. She's deathly still, save for the little shake that accompanies each sniffle. You can feel her tears dampening your shirt collar. You don't mind. You sit there in the cold, huddled around her frame, sharing the warmth, clinging to her as if her life depends on it.

In a way, it does.

Celestia herself couldn't pry this mare out of your grasp.

Bringing your head down to hers, you whisper into her ear. "Can I take you inside?"

Silently, she nods, her head pressed against your chest.

Still keeping the pressure on her wounds, you delicately scoop her into your arms and bring her into the apartment, closing the door behind you.

It's a small place. Not much furniture. A kitchenette, a bed off to the side. She keeps it dimly lit. It's a mess, but you don't particularly care. At the opposite end of the room you spot the bathroom, and carry her over.

You flick the light on, and bring her to the bathtub. With each step, a red droplet cascades onto the tile below. Carefully, you ease her into the tub. You press her injured hoof against her chest and release it, instructing her to keep the pressure on it.

When she agrees, you leave the bathroom and go around to the kitchenette. You open cabinet after cabinet until you find what you're looking for. A large bowl. You flip on the faucet, fill it with water, and return to Eri, nervously waiting for you.

Lowering the bowl onto the tub floor, you take her hoof once again and extend it in front of her. You scoop some water in your palm and pour it over her limb, letting the blood rinse off her coat.

It's better this way. Gentler. Her condition is precarious, she's in shock. Running the bath might overwhelm her. You just want to alleviate the fear, and right now that means handling her delicately.

She winces as the water seeps into her cuts, but holds her leg steady for you, unwavering against the burning sensation it leaves. Again, you take some water and wash the blood off. It dribbles off of her and onto the tub, the translucent red fluid streaming down the porcelain, circling the drain. She watches you intently as you work, focused on your task. Washing away the past.

Each handful of water cleans her a little more. The deep red replaced by the pale grey. You even take care to rinse the spot on her chest that she held her hoof against. Her poor coat is matted and tangled, but that doesn't matter much now.

The two of you sit contemplatively as you bathe her, careful not to cause her any undue discomfort. When the bowl is finally empty, her hoof is washed clean. The cuts have begun to clot, now just thin red lines as the leaking slows.

"Do you have bandages?" you ask. "Or should I try to make some?"

She tilts her head to the medicine cabinet.

Standing up, you open the cabinet to a startling sight. She must have 20 rolls of gauze in here.

You glance over to her, but she turns away in shame, avoiding your gaze.

She's suffered enough humiliation.

You make no mention of it, taking one roll and returning to her.

There's no disinfectant, but all you want right now is to stop the bleeding. Everything else can come later. You unspool the end and press it down onto the largest cut, wrapping the roll under and around, working your way up the limb. When you're confident the bandage is tight and covers enough, you tear it from the roll, tucking the loose end in to secure it.

It's done.

She tenderly brings her hoof back down, and looks to it, then you. "Thank you," she whispers.

You slump back against the wall, giving her a soft nod and a look of understanding.

As you sit there on the bathroom floor, watching her in the bathtub across from you, there is another one of your moments of shared silence. The ones you have come to love. A silence of knowing. Of familiarity.

"How'd you know to come here?" she asks gingerly. Her voice is perhaps the faintest you've ever heard it, but the night is quiet, and the room is small.

"Princess Luna gave me your file. Had your address in case I ever needed to do a wellness check. I was... worried after last night."

"What's in the file?"

"Basic info. Where you went to school, your parents' names, that stuff."

"Oh."

"Sorry I didn't say anything. I didn't think it was worth mentioning."

"I don't care," she whispers stoically.

You tilt your head back and stare up at the ceiling.

Everything in your life is a mess.

"Y-You didn't make me uncomfortable."

Surprised, you look back to her. "What?"

"Last night wasn't because of you. It was me." She shifts anxiously, hiding behind her hair.

"What are you saying?"

"Every time you felt like you put me in a weird position, I— I liked it. I liked being in a weird position with you."

"Then, why—"

"I was ashamed of liking it."

Yeah. You know what that's like.

"I'm sorry I didn't confess sooner. Going cold, shutting down, that's just my..." she trails off, finding it hard to articulate in her state.

"Defense mechanism."

"Yeah. That."

It makes sense. You're not exactly free of guilt from that, either.

"So... we're both afraid."

"Afraid of scaring each other," she whispers, the realization dawning on her.

You half-chuckle morbidly. "It became a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Fuck." She sinks her head in embarrassment. "I can't believe how stupid I am."

"Hey, if you're stupid, then I'm just as stupid as you."

"Then you must be really stupid," she teases, "because I'm a total dumbass." She finds some small comfort in your shared wit.

It feels good to laugh again, even if weighted by a somber air. The last time was a couple nights ago. But that feels like the distant past; so much has happened since then. It's been such a complicated week.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" you ask.

"I don't know."

Looking over her, she's so pale. She's definitely lost at least a pint.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," she mutters.

"I'll stay as late as you need me."

She smiles faintly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You clear a small space on the floor beside her bed, throwing your pillow and blanket down. After all that, you didn't want to leave her alone for the night, and you got the sense she didn't want you to go either. She suggested you take the bed, but you declined. She needs to recuperate, and the floor's no place for that.

While you climb under your blanket, she settles into bed. Her bandaged leg pokes out the from under the covers, hanging off the side. Lying face-up on the hardwood floor, you gaze up at it, illuminated by the faint moonlight spilling through the blinds.

So much suffering. And for what? There's not a single pony in Equestria like her. Every night, they get to sleep like babies, while she lies in agony. In fear. It's not fair.

You hear her voice speak up from the bed. "Hey, Anon?"

"Yeah?"

"Where do you live?"

You stare up at the dark ceiling. No point in lying. "My office."

"Really?" She pokes her head over the edge of the bed, looking down at you.

"Really."

"So you sleep—"

"On the couch." You finish her sentence. Somehow it's a little less embarrassing coming out of your mouth instead of hers. Better to just own up to it.

"Where do you keep your blankets and clothes and stuff?"

"You know the file cabinet in the corner?"

"No way," she laughs quietly.

"Yes way. You think I have any paperwork? 'Course not."

"Well, I know you got at least one file."

"And what a huge file, too. A whopping one page."

"Where do you keep your poems then?"

"My desk."

She pensively rests her head on the edge of the mattress. "You write anything lately?"

"Yeah, actually." You turn your head and look up at her. "One about you."

A look of incredulity dawns across her face. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah."

"Will you show me?"

"I can tell you right now if you want."

A tiny gasp elicits from her throat. "You actually memorized it?"

"Yeah. It's not very long."

"Well, I showed you mine, now you show me yours," she prods.

You smile up at her. Here goes nothing.

"Quiet eyes belie a remarkable mind,
Each night when I prod her to dig deeper.
She perpetually fears what she may find,
It's far from the truth, close as I keep her.
Yet one night in search of memory,
Brought ancient words of self-doubt and despair.
I cast a line with her name to sea,
Past those first few lines I could hardly bare.
To know someone so deeply is hardly a right,
A privilege earned from time put in.
Though I can't seem to stop this, try as I might,
Hearts, over minds, shall always win."

The entire time, she attentively listens to you recite each verse, hanging onto your every word. That captivated sense of awe and wonderment is behind her eyes.

"It's beautiful, Anon."

You smugly tuck your hands behind your head. "So you admit you're beautiful."

"What? No!"

"Well, the poem's about you."

"With writing skills like that, you could probably write about crap and spin it into gold. Actually, that's basically what you just did."

"Poem's only as beautiful as its subject."

You gaze up at her with a knowing look in your eye. She stares back uncertainly, not quite sure how to feel. If you had to venture a guess, it's probably a mix of embarrassed, delighted, and honored. Even in the dim moonlight you can tell when she's blushing.

Especially since she's lost a lot of blood.

...damn it.

All this pillow talk distracted you from the gravity of the situation.

"You really should try to get some rest, Eri."

"Yeah. Okay." She rolls over to the center of the bed, once again out of sight.

You turn onto your side, getting ready to sleep. Next to her, for the first time.
Well after all, we'll lie another day

She can't do this alone. She needs someone to be there for her. To help her cope.
And through it all, we'll find some other way

To stop the bleeding when it comes.
To carry on through cartilage and fluid

To show her you'll be there even if no one else will.
And did you come to stare or wash away the blood?

Will she ever get better? Did you?
Well, tonight... will it ever it come?

Is this sustainable? How long can you keep this up? Listening to music together and bonding over suicide?
Spend the rest of your days rocking out just for the dead

Did you ever find purpose? Or are you just existing? A walking corpse?
Well, tonight... will it ever it come?

You just can't seem to shake her from your thoughts.
I can see you awake anytime, in my head

Outside, you can hear the storm brewing.

"Goodnight, Anon."

"Goodnight, Eri."

Author's Note

Art provided for the story by Owlnon and Skelmach.