After Sunset

“So why all the bandages?” Applejack asks as we pull onto the freeway.

Getting out of the hospital had turned out to be less of a hassle than getting out of downtown traffic, but I’d forgotten how deftly Applejack could maneuver the old Apple Family truck. That ancient piece of garbage was built around the same time Stonehenge was being raised, and by any reasonable estimate, I figured it would probably outlast it.

“Just being careful,” I say quietly.

Applejack hasn’t seen the scars yet. I don’t know how much Fluttershy told her, maybe a little, maybe a lot, but I know at least that she hasn’t seen the scars.

She will though, eventually. I’ll be living with her so it’s inevitable. I’d rather not have that conversation come out of nowhere though.

Right now I’m wearing a pair of heavy jeans that I borrowed from Fluttershy and a blue sweater of mine that I’d left at her place a year ago or more and never reclaimed. I have a few more outfits, all long-sleeved, but I can’t exactly wear those while doing farm work, even in autumn. Wearing bandages all the time would look even weirder.

Soon then.

Today, honestly.

I grimace at the thought and lean my head on the cool glass of the window as the city slowly filters by. Ironically, we’re heading east, which means we’re passing exit twenty-nine which would drop us into the East End, or as close to it as you can get from the freeway.

From the raised freeway, I can look over the dilapidated masses of buildings. East End is part of old town Canterlot, and not the chintzy, gentrified part that tourists like to swing through so they can ooh and awe at the stylised architecture.

If Canterlot is a body, then the East End is its rapidly failing, cirrhotic liver.

Even now, I still feel like I belong there. I want to go back to the shitty station office and my worn-out cot. I want to go back to my habits, and I’m a little annoyed that after finally finishing the glove I only got to use it once. I even miss doing my runs every week… skipping through the Fog and traversing the length of Canterlot.

Chase is probably furious, and the thought makes me smile a little. I’m sure he’s heard from Millie by now that I collapsed covered in blood in the Salt’N’Pepper. Hell, maybe he even thinks I’m dead. I’m probably not the first runner to go out like that, but I’m sure he’s pissed.

He knows I live in the East End, but he never figured out where. Wonder if he’ll find my place. Find my stash.

I guess it doesn’t really matter, in the end.

The sound of Applejack's wide, creaking yawn drags me out of my thoughts, and I glance over at her as she rubs at her eyes. She shakes her head like she’s trying to clear cobwebs from her eyes sending her blonde hair falling raggedly around her face. Despite the chill, she rolls down the window and leans back to let the cold air hit her square in the face.

“Hey, AJ?” I say, sitting up, and she glances over at. “Like, I know I said it before but for real, you don’t look so good.”

“Y’all’re one t’talk, sugarcube,” Applejack shoots back with a wry grin. “Lookin’ like one’a them old black’n’white mummy movies over there.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Seriously, AJ, you look dead on your feet.”

“It’s harvest season, Rainbow,” Applejack says, some of the humor fading from her voice as it tightens. “Ah got a lot’a work t’do ‘round the farm and there ain’t enough hands t’do it, ‘specially not with-”

She bites off her last word, but I finish it for her anyway.

“Apple Bloom?”

The lines on her face stand out as her expression hardens and she spits out the window.

“Ain’t none’a your business there, sugarcube,” Applejack says solemnly.

“Kinda is if I’m gonna be living with you,” I counter. “Especially considering that between all of us, I’m the one who went into that place after them.”

Applejack’s hands tighten around the steering wheel until the leather creaks and her knuckles go white. Then she blows out a slow breath, nods, and sags as some of the tension goes out of her.

“Yeah,” Applejack says hollowly. “Ah reckon that’s fair enough.”

“So?”

Silence answers me for a long while before Applejack finally sighs and shoots me a glance.

“Mind if we wait til we get back t’the farm?” She asks.

I meet her eyes, trying to decide if she’s just putting it off hoping I won’t ask again. No, that’s not like her. Applejack, for better or worse, is too straight-forward for that.

“Yeah, I uh, ‘reckon that’s fair enough’,” I reply, and Applejack gives me a narrow eye’d smile as I smirk at her.

As much as I feel drawn back to the East End and Canterlot in general, I’m not sad to see it pass out of view. The distant, distorted spine of the skyline is the only thing still visible as we retreat down the interstate and eventually pull off onto the long country road that goes out to Sweet Apple Acres, and eventually, even that will get swallowed by the forest.

“Fluttershy says she’s gonna come out every couple’a days t’check up on ya,” Applejack says after a long stretch of quiet. “Seems pretty spooked, honestly.”

“Yeah, not surprising,” I say flatly.

“I mean, moreso than usual that is,” Applejack continues.

I close my eyes and thump my head against the window as my hands trail up to my arms. The sweater, and the bandages beneath, means I can’t feel the raised ridges beneath, and for some reason that bothers me. I want to be able to feel them, to run my fingers over them.

One, two, three, four, five…

“It’s complicated,” I say finally.

“Like Apple Bloom?” Applejack asks and I frown.

“Sort of,” I admit.

The old truck bucks underneath us as we pass off of the main country road to the long gravel drive that stretches out to Sweet Apple Acres. The gravel cracks and crunches beneath the wheels of the truck in a nostalgic, grinding fashion that reminds me of all the times I’ve been out here when things weren’t so complicated.

When we were kids and the biggest thing on our minds was playing tag in the orchards or something else equally silly and dumb.

“Mac got the guest room ready yesterday,” Applejack says as we pull under the tall wooden archway that cheerfully reads SWEET APPLE ACRES with the stylised apple symbol of their farm on either side of the words. “He’s probably out in the north orchard today, though, and Granny’s still at the school.”

I nod as we park, and Applejack kills the engine.

The Apple Family homestead looms up in front of me like a disapproving parent. It makes my scars itch and my stomach turn, but at the same time, something else about this place feels welcoming. Maybe just the memories of childhood.

I muscle the passenger door open and slide out of the truck, grabbing my meager belongings with my right hand while babying my left. Aria had told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to strain my arm. The damage had mostly healed, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t reopen them with enough force. Cuts that close together heal messily, if at all.

“I’ll take my crap up to the room,” I say as Applejack steps out of the cab and stretches to the tune of several cracks and pops.

“Dandy, I’m gonna get some more coffee,” Applejack says dryly. “Want any?”

I open my mouth to say no, then pause and realise that actually sounds pretty good. I’ve been so used to the crap coffee Millie serves that I’d almost forgotten how good the stuff Applejack makes is.

“Yeah, that sounds awesome, actually.”

Applejack nods and I follow her inside before splitting off to head upstairs. Despite the discomfort of being here, I’m too familiar with Applejack’s place not to be able to navigate it. I could probably find my way around this place half-asleep and blind. I walk down the hall, and as I do I pass Applejack’s room, which is weirdly tidy.

Next past that is Granny Smith’s, and across from hers is Big Mac’s, then…

Apple Bloom’s door is cracked open, and I pause at it to listen. There’s no sound coming from inside, but then again Applejack did say that Apple Bloom doesn’t spend much time here. Taking a risk, I sidle over to the door and nudge it open to peek inside.

It’s empty, sure enough, but the inside actually surprises me.

“Man, and I thought I was a slob,” I mutter.

There are more clothes on the floor than there are in the closet. The drawers of her dresser are almost all half-open with haphazard piles of clothing piled on, or hanging from, them. The only slightly clear space is around a desk in the corner of the room near the window that looks out over the barn and the orchard beyond, which is covered in a mess of notebooks and scribbled-on paper.

I step out of her room, pull it back to partially closed, and move on to the guest room at the far end of the hall past the bathroom.

It’s the smallest room, but I don’t really need much space. The bed is big enough for me to sprawl out, there’s a small dresser, a desk, and the window faces out north so the sunrise won’t wake my lazy ass up too early.

I toss the backpack that has what few things I’d collected from Fluttershy as I kick the door closed. She’d raided her room to get whatever of my clothes of mine she could find, along with some socks and underwear of hers that fit me. The only thing I bother to take out right away, though, is the picture frame.

The picture of Sunset, me, and everyone else goes on the end table as I sit down on the bed, and I stare at it for a while before reaching out and picking it back up.

“So uh… here I am, I guess,” I say quietly. “It’s not the train office anymore, but I guess you probably hated living there too, huh?”

Sunset just smiles back at me, like always.

“It feels pretty unfair, being here,” I continue as I scoot back on the bed and drag my legs up to tuck my knees under my arms. “Like, we just fucking… we dropped you for some objectively stupid reasons. Now here I am with fucking holes in my arms and…”

Tears trickle down my cheeks as I run my hand over the glass pane.

“It’s not fair,” I whisper. “None of it… it should’ve been me.”

A quiet knock at the door echoes around the room, and I look to see Applejack nudging it open with a mug of coffee in each hand.

“Hey,” she says softly.

Her eyes settle on me, on the tears, then down to the photo, and she sidles around to sit down on the bed beside me and pass me my coffee as she takes a sip of her own.

I take the mug gratefully and take a drink, ignoring the heat and savoring the rich, bitter flavor. Definitely better than Millie’s stuff.

“Ah remember that one,” Applejack says after a moment. “A couple’a weeks after the Battle of the Bands, weren’t it?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It was right after one of Pinkie’s bake sales where we all pitched in…”

“Right,” Applejack chuckles wanly. “You’n… you’n Sunset were competing to sell cupcakes, shoutin’ over each other and gettin’ rowdy while Ah was trying to sell mah pie slices next to Fluttershy.”

“Sold all of’em though,” I say with a laugh of my own that trails off. “But she sold hers first… just a little bit faster, actually.”

“Sunset was always that kinda natural saleswoman, though,” Applejack remarks, gesturing with her mug at the photo. “Even after she turned over a new leaf, Granny always said ‘there’s a lotta snake oil in that’n’.”

I laugh bitterly at Applejack’s croaky impression of her grandmother. Part of me wants to argue the point, but I can’t. Especially not considering that the whole reason we got out of that hell we were trapped in was because Sunset conned a god.

Applejack takes a long pull from her mug before standing and nodding out the door at me. “C’mon, got somewhere to take ya.”

She gets up and nods at the door again, so I put the picture back on the end table, settling it so it’s angled towards the bed, and get up to follow her.

We head downstairs, then out of the house, and then I’m following Applejack all the way out to the east orchard and through it. The trees are still mostly bright and full, and a lot of them are heavy with apples. It looks good, but I know it’s a bad sign. These apples probably should have been harvested already if it’s this late in the season. I’m no farmer, but I’ve helped Applejack in enough harvests to know that much.

Eventually, we come out on the other side of the orchard on a small hill looking out over the open, green pasturelands.

At the crest of the hill is a simple stone plate raised a few inches up out of the ground that reads:

Bright Mac & Pear Butter

Together Forever

Applejack sits down in front of the epitaph and I join her. She cradles her mug of coffee for a while, sipping from it now and again, and I do the same. I’ve never come out here with her, but I knew it was here. She’d told us all at some point that their ashes were buried where they could see the sunrise.

It’s late afternoon now, and it’s cold, but I barely feel it. The sun is far and away behind us, casting our shadows forward like long fishing lures over the green sea of grass.

I think I might’ve met her parents once or twice when I was really small, but I don’t really remember them. I know Applejack does, she just doesn’t like talking about them. It hurts too much, I guess, and a small, bitter smile twitches across my face as I realise that I finally, finally, know what that’s like.

“Ain’t sleepin’ well lately,” Applejack says quietly, apropos of nothing before taking another sip of coffee.

“Is it the farm?” I ask. “There’s… there’s a lot of apples still on the branches.”

Applejack shakes her head. “Nah… I mean, yeah, it ain’t the best situation t’be in, I ain’t gonna lie, but that ain’t the reason. Leastwise, it ain’t the whole reason.”

I finish off my coffee and set the mug on the ground between us and curl up, tucking my knees in and resting my chin on them as I stare out towards the horizon.

“Apple Bloom?”

She chuckles dryly again and shakes her head.

“Probably should be,” Applejack admits. “But nah, Apple Bloom… hell, I ain’t even sure what to think or do ‘bout that one. She’s… Ah, hell, Dashie, Ah don’t know, things’re a mess with’er.”

“What’s up?” I shift a little and turn to face Applejack who’s still sipping at her coffee even though it must’ve gone cold by now.

“The mess that started all this,” Applejack begins. She doesn’t say the name and I’m glad of it. I don’t want to think about it. “It’s clappin’ back on’er real hard.”

“The bullying’s still happening?” I ask, frowning.

“Yeah,” Applejack says. “Apple Bloom an’er friends broke a lotta friendships, hurt a lotta people, and y’all know when it got out that Sunset… that she… y-y’know… well, you saw how things just got a whole lot worse.”

I’d seen the bruises and heard about the bullying, mostly second or third hand though. I’d pretty much cut all ties with Scootaloo after what happened, and lost contact completely after I dropped out.

“Still lots’a bullyin’ at school, accordin’ t’Granny.” Applejack takes another sip, then frowns down at her coffee, grimaces, and sets the empty mug down next to mine. “Bloom’s takin’ t’skippin’ class, even skippin’ school… I even ain’t sure where she goes, only that she comes back real late. Sweetie an’ Scoots’re doin’ the same thing, Ah hear.”

“Not too surprised,” I say, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “They ruined a lot of shit, AJ, that doesn’t just go away.”

“Ain’t arguin’ that,” Applejack replies. “In point’a fact, Ah reckon if Ah were a better sister I’d be tryin’ to help’er through it all, but…”

She trails off and hangs her head, pulling her hat down over her eyes as she does. She only does that when she’s mad or crying. It’s something about the look on her face that she doesn’t want to show anyone, not even her friends if that’s even what we are. It’s odd to think about the fact that I don’t even know where I stand with Applejack anymore.

We’re like sisters, but maybe more like how Applejack and Apple Bloom are sisters. There’s estrangement. Distance.

Pain.

“Ah just… every time the notion comes that I oughta help’er,” Applejack says, grimacing around every word, “it’s always followed up with the thought that she deserves it.”

I snort out a bitter noise adjacent to a laugh, and nod.

“She killed mah friend, Dashie,” Applejack chokes the words out. “Mah baby sister killed mah friend.”

I can’t really deny that. The disaster that was Anon-A-Miss was stupid on a level that very few people reach, and in the end it isolated someone with nowhere to go but down.

Her sobs are painful, wracking things. They sound like they’re being strangled out of her. Applejack isn’t the type of person who opens up often or easily, which I guess is something we have in common. Or at least, maybe it used to be. I don’t know anymore.

It’s kind of hard to pretend everything’s alright after what happened.

“We all killed her, AJ,” I say quietly, and she freezes, her sob cut off, and she looks over at me with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

I don’t bother to look at her. I stare out over the green grass towards the dimming horizon, and for a moment I trace the colours of her hair in the shades of red and gold.

“What?” I say sullenly, flicking my gaze to her. “It’s not like it’s not true. I hate’em too, but it’s not like we didn’t leave her behind when we could’ve stayed, y’know?”

Applejack shudders, a quick, violent motion, and she curls up around herself like someone’s slowly driving a blade into her gut. Her hat topples from her head and onto the ground in front of the epitaph as tears flow silently down her cheeks. Every inch of her is taut and clenched. I can almost hear her jaw creaking and her knuckles cracking as she shakes and buries her face against her knees.

“Yeah…” I turn my eyes back to the horizon to find those familiar colours again. “How do you think I feel? I’m the one who fucked up and left her behind.”

A quiet hiccough and sniffling sounds from beside me, and a moment later I feel Applejack’s hand on my shoulder, gripping tight, then tugging. I frown and turn back to her, and the look on her face-

I’ve never seen pain like that before.

Tears are streaming from blood-shot eyes and mixing with snot as Applejack tries to rub at her face with the heel of her palm.

Then suddenly she’s almost on top of me. The mugs between us clatter as she closes the distance and wraps her arms around me, gingerly, and doing her best to avoid my shoulder and side as she buries and face against my neck and lets out a loud sob.

I don’t know what to do, so I wrap my arms awkwardly around her and hold on while she cries. I’ve never heard Applejack cry like this before. I imagine that, maybe, she might have cried this way when her parents died, but I wasn’t there for that.

When she finally does pull back, it’s to wipe at her nose and eyes and apologise.

“Heh, no biggie,” I say with a wry grin. “At least you’re dealing with it… kinda. I just fuckin’... I dunno… snapped, I guess.”

Went totally batshit fucking loco, more like, but I think I’m getting a little better. I hadn’t heard those rasping fingerblades in almost a week. I haven’t seen her in a while either.

I almost miss it, even though I know it was just me falling apart.

“You did somethin’ none’a the rest’a us did, sugarcube,” Applejack says in a raw voice as she leans her head gently on her shoulder. “Ya went in there. Ya saw’er, and then ya came out… I can’t even…”

She takes a long, slow, shaky breath, and I wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer.

“What… what was she like?”

I grimace at that question, even though I’d been pretty sure it was coming. I want to tell her to forget about it, but I don’t have that right. Applejack was Sunset’s friend, just like me and Pinkie and Fluttershy and Rarity.

“You sure you wanna know, AJ?” I ask, leaning my head to the side so it rested on her warm, blond locks. “It’s not pretty.”

“Yeah,” Applejack says quietly. “Ah just… Ah gotta know, Dashie.”

I take a deep breath, tighten my grip on Applejack, and close my eyes. It’s the easiest way for me to see her now. Too easy, in fact. When I close my eyes, it’s hard to see anything else.

“She was… ruined, I guess,” I say quietly, and Applejack stiffens. “She looked a little like she did back when she turned into a demon. Red skin, only darker. Her veins were blue, like someone was running ice through them, and… and her hands…”

I swallow hard and turn my head to bury my face in Applejack’s hair.

“Rainbow?” Applejack says quietly, a tone of worry underpinning her words. “What’s wrong?”

“They were like knives, AJ,” I say through a throat that feels like it’s closing up. “Each finger ended in a sharp silver knife, and she’d hunt us down through the halls of this, like, nightmare version of the high school over and over, cutting us, killing us… and then doing it all over again.”

One, two, Sunny’s coming for you~

I clench my eyes shut and try to drown out the voice in my head. It’s loud and painful, and it sounds just like her.

“Her hands were weapons,” I choke out. “They cut me, AJ… she cut me. She hurt me over and over, and she kept telling me that… that I was going to remember her.”

“Rainbow stop!” Applejack’s voice comes from somewhere far away. She has me by the shoulders I think, and she’s shaking me gently. “Rainbow!”

I have my hands clapped over my ears. I can hear her singing. She’s so far away and so close that she’s almost on top of me. Her heartbeat is in my ears, and her voice is there too!

Three, four, better lock your door~

“RAINBOW!”

I jerk out of my trance to stare up, wide-eyed at Applejack who at some point had moved from my side to right in front of me. I was curled up rocking forward and back, and she had her arms around me, holding me tight and pressing my face to her shoulder as tears leaked from my eyes.

Tremors run through me like the aftershocks of an earthquake. As soon as they subside, though, I shake Applejack off of me, scoot back, and start running my hands over my arms.

“Ah’m sorry, Dashie,” Applejack says quietly as she kneels next to me. “I ain’t got no right t’ask y’all about that…”

“Nah, it’s… well, not fine, but like, I get it,” I say shakily. “That actually, uhm, brings up something else. Something I should probably show you.”

Applejack watches at me pensively as I pull my sweater over my head and drop it beside me. My whole torso, arms included, are wrapped in bandages, but the ones on my shoulder and around my side are the only ones I’m supposed to have. Aria just sort of indulged me when it came to the rest of them.

“Woah, Rainbow, what’re y’all-?”

“Just gimme a sec,” I grumble.

I shiver a little. All I’m wearing under the sweater is my bra, discounting the bandages, and even with my inner furnace, it’s still pretty stinkin’ cold out here.

Before I start pulling at the ties on the bandages, I run my palms over my arms, feeling the ridges of scar tissue beneath and bracing myself. Do I really want to do this?

No.

Do I have to?

Kinda, yeah.

“She… she hurt me, AJ,” I start again, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Sunset’s hands, they were knives, and she hurt me with them, but…”

I swallow hard as I raise my head to look at her, fully aware of how miserable my expression must be.

“I’m actually kinda thankful,” I say with a sour laugh. “Because it meant at least she touched me again, y’know?” My hand tightens to a grip on my arm. “She touched me, and smiled at me, and talked to me after… after she killed herself, and I’m really thankful!”

“D-Dashie, that’s…” Applejack trails off, and I don’t blame her.

Even I don’t know what to call ‘that’.

“But it wasn’t enough,” I continue. “I wanted to feel her again, but I couldn’t remember how her hands felt… her real ones, I mean. I could only remember the knives.”

And her voice. I remember her singing voice. But I don’t tell Applejack that part.

Five, six, grab your crucifix~

Applejack will understand the scars, even if she hates them. Even if she hates me. She’ll understand it. She won’t understand the voice. Strange how every other part of her was so ragged, but her voice was so clear and strong and warm, just like before.

The blood drains from Applejack’s face as I keep talking, and before I can lose my nerve, I start pulling at the ties keeping the bandages on my forearms in place, and that covers a lot of my right side.

Bandages drop in loose coils away from my arms as they unravel onto the ground.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I uh… I know you probably don’t want to see this shit, but,” I drop away the rest of the bandages except the ones I promised I’d keep. “I f-figure you’ll see’em eventually, so, uh-”

I’m shaking. I didn’t think I’d be shaking this bad. I can’t stop running my hands down my arms. I don’t know if I’m trying to hide the scars even while I’m trying to show them to Applejack.

Maybe if she sees them, she’ll see there’s no point in helping me. She’s not like Fluttershy. Applejack doesn’t waste time on a bad apple if it’s going to poison the whole lot.

If it were possible for Applejack to go paler, I’m positive she would have. She looks poleaxed staring down at my arms and at the bare flesh of my abdomen and the parts of my waist free of bandages. She’s breathing in odd gulps, her eyes wide, and her pupils thinned to pinpricks.

I can’t really blame her. It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting. You can’t look at a single inch of skin without seeing a scar somewhere, and where there’s one scar there are at least three more. Most of the time, there’s even more than that. So many times I crossed new scars over the old ones, and all of them are in a pattern just like her fingers.

Applejack swallows back her gorge.

“AJ?”

“S-Sorry… Ah…” Applejack staggers back from me, suddenly shocked in motion, and she scrambles to her feet. “Ah just… Ah…”

I tighten my grip around myself, wrapping my arms around my chest, my hands around my arms, and I start to rise, but Applejack jerks back again and I stop, fear hardening in the well of my heart.

“A-AJ?”

She swallows again, visibly, then sweeps up her stetson and steps past me into the orchard without looking back. She’s pale, drawn, and looks like she’s about to throw up, and for all I know she does, but I guess she’s kind enough to get out of earshot before she loses it.

I shiver again and slowly wilt in on myself. Quiet laughter leaks out of me as I run my fingers up and down and up and down, feeling the scars like the strings of a guitar.

“Y-Yeah, that was probably inevitable,” I say through a crackle of what I think might be hysterical giggles.

I flop onto my back as the fit of hysterics rolls through me while I stare up at the slowly darkening sky.

“What am I talking about?” I cackle. “Of course that was gonna happen! Fuck! What was I thinking?!”

My laughter echoes off the hill as I drape both arms over my face. Hot, wet tears stain scarred flesh as my laughter cracks and snaps like splintering ice until it turns into sobs, and I roll onto my side to curl up around myself until the last light has gone out of the day.

I don’t know how long I laid there. Long enough for the cold day to turn into a colder evening.

All I know is that I can’t stop laughing and sobbing, because this… this is it. This is how it must have felt. This is how she must have felt.

“I get it.” My voice, when I find it again, is raw. “I get it.”

It’s raw with salt and tears now that whatever strength kept me laughing is gone. I don’t even have the energy to cry.

Grass is plastered to my face, bare arms, and side, and the swathes of bandages are stained green from laying sprawled on the hill. My sweater is close enough to touch, but I don’t know if I have the energy to reach for it. The other bandages… I should probably put them back on. Applejack won’t want to see all of… of this.

I don’t blame her. I really don’t. And maybe it’s better that way. It’s easier if I just pretend they’re not there, and then she can pretend, and we can all pretend it’s fine.

Everything is fine.

I dig my fingers into the meat of my shoulder hard enough for my fingernails to breach the tender scar tissue that’s building up. I want to go back to the station. I need to find the hand. Her hand. I need to.

I need it.

Everything isn’t fine.

…

It’s dark now. The sun is gone completely and I’m freezing but I can barely feel it. The blood from my shoulder is crusted around my fingers. When did that happen? How long was I-?

It’s a titanic effort, but I force myself to sit up. There’s a faint twinge from my shoulder as I peel my fingers away. It’s already healed, though, so it doesn’t matter. A few more scars that size probably won’t even show up past the other ones.

I want to go back to the station. Back to my habits. Back to my ‘not-life’. Back to her. But I can’t even muster the energy I’d need to run. I can barely manage to mechanically gather up my bandages, wrap up my arms and chest in the familiar, rote motions I’ve hammered into myself, and then pull my sweater back on over my head.

My skin itches.

I stare up at the field of stars and before I can lose the impulse, I force myself to stand. I wobble on my feet for a moment, then steady, and laugh. It’s not the high, cracking laugh. It’s just a croaking chuckle as I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the cold, turn around, and start trudging back to the farmhouse.

The east orchard is pitch black. It must be. But I can see just fine. Besides, even if I can’t see it doesn’t matter, because I’ll find my way back to where I’m supposed to be eventually.

All I have to do is follow the sound of rasping blades.