Author's Note
Note - This story isn't...really a story. It's a depressing ramble to get feelings out of my head and some ~~weirdos~~ friends thought it was good enough to publish. That said, if you came here expecting a real story, sorry to disappoint, feel free to leave your dislikes and disparaging comments below.
And to those friends, thanks.
I Can't Sink With You
It’s a funny thing, how relationships change.
The little...quirks that seemed so charming in the beginning suddenly begin to grind on one’s nerves, the glaring differences in lifestyles become louder and harder to ignore, and the comfort once brought by a warm embrace feels choking, near suffocating.
Love dies a slow death indeed.
But what a grand love it was, it simply can’t change or fade away! One might argue. One might even plead, placate, and bargain that sometimes people simply grow apart but it doesn’t matter because at the end of the day you still love them.
Unfortunately, that’s rather far from the truth now, isn’t it Rarity?
Ah yes, such a hopeless romantic we were; swept up by strong arms and dazzling eyes and a simply devilish little smirk.
I didn’t even stop to consider the consequences, didn’t dare entertain the thought that we were too different.
It’s why, now, I find myself in this sticky little situation.
It’s why I remain still under the covers, pretending to sleep even as the bathroom door opens and closes and the muffled sobs of a broken girl echo back, ringing in my still very much awake ears. It’s why I feel tears of my own sliding down my cheeks, the tears of a girl who simply wanted a storybook romance and found out that ‘happily ever after’ doesn’t last.
She’ll calm down soon enough. It’s just another fit, it won’t last long, and when she comes back I can pretend I just woke up and go through the motions of providing comfort again.
The thought is bitter; why on Earth would any loving partner consider the comfort of their love to be a burden? A boring, mindless, numbing routine which one ‘goes through the motions’ for.
Except...that’s exactly what this is.
Oh it started off innocent enough, for all the braveness my former love puts forth, she is a rather scared thing. Terrified of losing, of performing badly, of ‘not being awesome’. For a while, I played along.
I sang to her, brushed her hair, held her close as she cried and sobbed and hiccuped like a babe.
I would delicately wipe her face of snot and tears with a handkerchief, to later be disposed of discreetly, and kiss her puffy red cheeks until it was my lipstick that stained her skin.
She would grumble about the stains and wipe her face, but it stopped the tears and the self loathing and the fear for a while at least. She would laugh and wipe away a stray tear before looking at me and kissing my cheek. She would thank me and then rush off to whatever sporting event she had been panicking about.
I used to follow her immediately, heart fluttering in the knowledge that I, her wonderful, supportive girlfriend had saved her. She was nothing without me and I, in my boundless love and patience, would always be there for her.
I almost laugh at the thought now, but the bathroom door opens again and I hear her soft footsteps. She stands by the bed and I do my best to remain relaxed, asleep.
She hiccups before crawling into bed, under the covers, and, almost hesitantly, snuggles into my back. “I’m sorry Rares.”
Thankfully, my childhood dream of being an actress when I was old enough allowed me to stay perfectly still and not react. It was interesting though, she had never apologized to me; not like this.
In a smooth, natural movement, I grumble softly and tilt my ear towards her, so I might catch every whispered word that escaped from her lips like the softest breath.
She froze for a moment, seeming to fear I had woken up, but relaxed when I didn’t do more. “I’m sorry I can’t be strong. I know, I know I can be a lot sometimes and I just, I’m sorry I put so much on you.”
Her arm drapes around my midsection and pulls me closer as she presses her damp cheek to my shoulder. “I am just so scared all the time and I can’t do anything. You are the only thing that brings me back, that makes me feel like I can be brave and strong.”
I can feel my lips purse into a grimace but I force them to relax into the soft smile I always wear while sleeping.
“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, Rares. But I know I am. I can feel you slipping away and I,” she chokes back a sob and my numb heart breaks a little, a tiny sliver of affection breaking through the walls I’d erected, “I’m so damn sorry. I know you are asleep right now but I, I’m not strong enough to tell you this. Not yet. I am going to fight for you though, I can promise that.”
It is so very tempting to turn to face her, to let loose the grimace that has been tugging at my lips, and let spill the ugly truth of how I feel about her now, that it is too late and she cannot win me back. But I am not cruel enough to do so.
Seemingly spent from her confession, she nuzzles my shoulder before pulling back a bit and soon, her gentle snores fill the air. I finally let loose the long, defeated sigh that has been sitting in my chest.
I am just cruel enough to revel in the thought that, if I had it my way, this would be the last night she holds me like this. You might think me a monster for thinking in such a fashion but I am tired. A few months of melancholy and depression I can handle, possibly even a year of downswings and anxiety attacks. But this has been going on for nearly three years now, and I simply can’t take it anymore.
Tonight would be the last night she holds me like this for earlier today I found a ring. A simple, dashing ring, nestled in a beautiful velvet box. Any girl would be over the moon to find they would be proposed to soon.
To me, that ring was not a ring, but a collar; a yoke for the cattle that bears numerous, heavy burdens for the sake of another.
I am ever so sorry Rainbow Dash, but I simply can’t carry you any longer.
