MOURNING AFTER
I wake up sandwiched between two stallions, and immediately resume feeling awful about my life.
That’s just wrong on every level. By all rights last night was fantastic, even by my standards. A quickie with that one mare who had been looking over at me and blushing whenever our eyes met, and then a few introductions later getting to spend the rest of the night getting hot and heavy with two of her friends? I should be absolutely glowing with satisfaction rather than becoming increasingly aware of the gaping pit in my gut that’s been sucking the color out of my life for the last three days.
I extricate myself from between the two slumbering males and look around the unfamiliar bedroom, ineffectively given how dark it still is. Given the workout they put me through last night, they’ll probably be out cold for a while longer. I should be too given that the sun hasn’t even come up yet, but I’m having trouble sleeping these days.
I miss my bed. My sheets. My room. Haven’t been back there for a couple days now, not since Canterlot. The memory of Mom and how she...
You know what? Shower first, rue the way that stupid changeling has shoved me out of my own life later. If you ever want to torture somepony, just give them exactly what they want. I wanted my family to like Kicky, the way I used to. For her to fit in and be accepted as a proper Kicker. I didn’t want them to love her this much more than they love me, but I guess the universe has a sick sense of humor about these sorts of things.
I bark my shins a few times navigating the unfamiliar room in the dark of night, inventing a series of new and creative curses along the way. The relief at finally stumbling across the threshold into the apartment’s bathroom is as much an indecent amount of pride at getting there as really, really needing to pee.
I spend a good long while sitting there on the toilet in pitch blackness, trying and failing to pull together the shards of my mind into somepony who isn’t a complete mess. I keep coming back to the same place, though. It’s not fair.
On the rare moments when I’m being honest with myself instead of trying to drown myself in lust, sweat, and endorphins, I can’t even bring myself to hate Kicky. This annoyingly rational and empathic bit of my mind just won’t stop pointing out how much worse she’d had it these last few months. How many nights over the years I’ve spent laying awake contemplating the ‘what if?’ of re-joining the Guard. How many times I’ve decided that it would be easier to just give in to what my family expects and become a ‘real’ Kicker and my own satisfaction be damned before coming back to my senses.
I’m glad it’s so dark in here. That way I won’t accidentally catch sight of myself crying in the mirror.
All cried out, I jump into the shower and let the chill icy water distract me from the deeper pain. As I get lathered up with what I hope is body wash, I scrub extra hard with the loofah trying to pull all the filthy, petty, toxic thoughts of inadequacy and regret out through my skin, to little effect. I scrub until the hairs of my coat gleam and shine, but everything underneath that is still as messy as ever. I dry off and leave the damp towel in a heap on the floor, sneaking back into the bedroom like I have something to hide. The first pre-dawn rays are leaking in through the window, and since my eyes have had ample opportunity to adjust to the low light I can make my way back to the bed. I pause and try to decide whether or not to wake what’s-his-face and what’s-his-face #2, ultimately deciding I’d rather just slink away. I’ve been travelling light the last couple of days, just a pair of saddlebags and my winning charm to get by on. Guess that’s all I’ve ever needed, really.
I sneak out and gasp a bit when the first blast of autumnal air hits me. It’ll warm up once the sun is up, but my still-moist coat isn’t the most effective shield against the chill and it cuts right through my meager defenses. As I start to shiver I become aware of another unpleasant reality: I’m starving.
My hooves start to carry me back towards my house before I even realize it, and I freeze for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold weather. No. I’ll go back there eventually, and I know I’m just putting off a confrontation in a way that’s not like me. But not yet.
Instead I turn and head in the other direction, towards the kitchen of a pony I know I can mooch a half-decent meal out of and who’s an early riser herself. Sure enough, three blocks later Bon Bon’s home is coming into sight. The comforting glow of a working kitchen is seeping out from her window, and the smoke from her chimney confirms it. I can’t imagine working as hard as she does; only the Cakes get up earlier. Three raps on her door later, and I hear the hoofsteps of an approaching pony.
“Cloud!” Bon Bon grabs me and pulls me into a hug before the door’s even finished swinging open. “Nopony’s seen you for days! We’ve been really worried. Are you alright?”
I fake a grin. “Never better, Bons. Sorry if I made you worry. Mind if I come in?”
“Of course not. I was just making breakfast.” Music to my ears. I step inside and she gently closes the door behind me. “Try to keep it down. Lyra won’t surface until noon.”
My fake grin gets a whole lot less fake. “Wearing her out, huh? Make-up banging is pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
She goes beet red, but she can’t hide her delight behind embarrassment. I’ve known her for way too long. I’ve also known her in the carnal sense, enough times to know that Lyra’s one lucky mare. “Yeah, we’re... I don’t know if we’re good good, not about everything yet. Those days she spent at your place were some of the hardest I’ve had to deal with for a long time. Just...” she trails off and thinks for a moment before going on. “I don’t know how we’re going to come down on the foal thing, and there have been some very long conversations into the night. Kicky’s...”
She cuts herself off, and I can tell she regrets bringing up the name. The way she’s looking at me right now, I must not seem pleased to hear it. “It’s fine, Bon Bon. I’m glad she could help you.” Even as the little voice in the corner of my mind is screaming that it should have been me helping them figure this stuff out. Is Kicky taking my life from me, or am I abandoning it?
Bon Bon nods to me, and I see her reach some sort of decision. “Can you keep a secret? And I mean from absolutely everypony. Even Kicky.”
I frown a bit, but Bon Bon is as serious as I’ve ever seen her. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’ve been practicing something, and I want to try it on you and see what you think. Would you mind? And again, absolutely secret. You can’t tell a soul.”
“You’ve got it, I swear.”
She takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes. When she speaks up again, it’s not me she’s talking to, not really. “Lyra Heartstrings,” she begins, eyes still closed. “You are the most obnoxious, most adorable, most frustrating, most wonderful, most annoying, most gorgeous mare I have ever had the pleasure of falling in love with. You snore; I can’t imagine ever falling asleep next to anypony else. You sneak candies out of my bags and think that I don’t notice; I make extras so you’ll always have a treat at hoof. You treat my house like it’s yours; that’s what makes it our home. Nothing makes me cry as hard as I do when we fight; nothing makes me happier than when we forgive one another afterwards.” She gasps, and a few tears begin to leak from her still-shut eyes. “I... I... I’m not perfect, and neither are you. We disagree about a lot of things, and we’ve got a lot still to figure out. But I want us to figure them out together. Today, tomorrow, and always. So... um... will you... I mean I want to... if you think I’m not a total screw up...”
I gape at her. Is she really doing what I think she is? “You’re doing great, Bon Bon. Take your time.”
Her eyes snap open. “Oh! Right, almost forgot the most important part.” She pulls open a drawer beneath her oven and carefully moves a few pots and pans around, trying her hardest to keep the clattering down as she does. When she comes up again she’s clutching a little velvet box. “Lyra, will you marry me?” The box opens and a the light gleams off a plain golden hoofband. “I... I wanted to get her a better one than this, but it’s all I could afford. I know she has nicer ones, I’m worried that she won’t think it’s... that I’m...”
“Bon Bon,” I say and pull her into a hug, squeezing tight. She goes quiet as I hold her. “She’ll totally say yes.”
“You think so? I mean... it’s a work in progress, and I’ve already rewritten it like eight times trying to get it right.”
“She’s going to be so floored when you ask her, it wouldn’t matter if you were proposing with a pair of sock puppets,” I reply. “When are you going to ask?”
“Oh I haven’t... not soon.” She hems and haws as she lets go of me and starts pacing across the kitchen. “I mean, I don’t know that we’re really there yet, relationship-wise, and we just had that gigantic fight, and I still have to talk to her parents, but... but...” She sighs, and looks up at me with eyes full of conviction. “She’s the one. I just... I just know she is. And I’m going to grab her up and never, ever let her go.” She pauses. “But not, y’know, in a creepy way.”
“Forget her. With a proposal like that I kind of want to marry you now,” I tease. It’s hard to believe some member of my little clique is even thinking about this. We’re too young!
Well... we’re not that young...
I shake off the thoughts. My little identity crisis doesn’t matter right now, not compared to this. “You’d come to the wedding, right?” she asks, as if she even has to.
“Just try to keep me away.”
“I figured.” She leans into a hug a little more deeply than before, and laughs. “Wow. Now that I’ve actually told somepony, it’s all hitting me. That it’s really real, I mean.”
“Real and amazing,” I reply, polishing off our hug by pecking her cheek with a little kiss. For just a second, I feel great about my life again before my other troubles intrude on my happy state of mind. “I won’t breathe a word of this, I swear. What else have you and the girls been up to these last couple days? I feel like I need to catch up.”
“Oh, mostly the usual stuff,” says Bon Bon, secreting the ring away again as she turns her attention to a bowl of pancake batter. “Azalea got dumped by Corn Row, so she’s been a little mopey too. She’s been hanging out at your place with Kicky a bunch, I think. What happened in Canterlot between you two, anyway? Blossom said that she tried to talk to Kicky about it and got stonewalled.”
“...so Azalea’s single again, huh?”
Bon Bon scoffs at my not-so-graceful dodging of her question. “Fine. Be that way. It’s not like I just shared something important about my life with you.”
I wince as that jab finds its mark. “It’s just stuff with my family, not really important.”
“You both seem awfully pissed off at one another for something ‘not really important.’” Bon Bon missed her true calling as an interrogator, I swear. The mare’s ruthless. “They didn’t like her or something?”
“They did. Liked her a lot, actually. More than me.”
Bon Bon pauses, a measuring cup full of batter above the hot stovetop. “Is that it? Are you jealous of her?” When she puts it that way it sounds really petty and stupid. Funny how that works. I don’t answer, and she just shakes her head. “Unbelievable. Have you seriously been avoiding one another and us for the last couple days because you’re upset over the Guard stuff? You two need to talk to one another and hash this out.” She pours and the batter sizzles away on the griddle, and I can nearly taste them already.
“I’ll get around to it,” I say, noncommittal. Bon Bon obviously just doesn’t get it.
“Fine then,” she replies. “As long as you’re avoiding her. You don’t get pancakes.” She flips the ones that are cooking, taunting me with their golden brown deliciousness as my stomach growls.
“You cannot be serious,” I say, but she just shrugs and turns back to her cooking. By all appearances, she’s not making any for me. Damn, she fights dirty. “Bon Bon, seriously, I’m starving here.”
“Then I guess you’ll be motivated to go talk to Kicky instead of being stupid, then,” she replies. She stacks the pancakes four high on a plate and carries them over to a seat across from me at her kitchen table, pausing only to drizzle them with a glaze of sweet, delicious maple syrup. She locks eyes with me and raises a forkful to her mouth, chewing lazily. I’m pretty sure that I’m drooling by the time she swallows. “Mmm. Yummy.”
“Bonnie, I will literally give you a hundred bits for one of those pancakes right now.”
“But will you talk to Kicky?” she asks. When I don’t reply, she raises a second forkful of pancakes. What she’s doing right now should seriously be considered a war crime. “Oh, no,” she moans, mouth full. “I made so many pancakes. I only hope I can finish them all.”
“You are a terrible pony, Bon Bon,” I say as I glare at her. Whatever minimal intimidation I may possess is quickly undercut by my stomach growling again.
“Get your life together, Cloud,” says Bon Bon. She unfurls a newspaper and proceeds to ignore me, leaving me stewing in my hunger and foul mood. When I suspect she’s not paying attention, I slowly reach for the fruit bowl in the center of the table. “Don’t touch that.”
Busted again, I weigh my options. There’s no sign Bon Bon is kidding, and I know better than to cross her while she’s like this. Looks like I’m going hungry this morning. “If I promise to talk to Kicky later today, can I have something?”
“Sure. After you’ve talked to her,” says Bon Bon. My withering glare has no impact through her newspaper.
“Be that way, then. I have to go to work anyway.” I decide it can’t hurt to ask. “So... if I grabbed something out of your fridge for lunch...”
“Talk. To. Kicky,” is Bon Bon’s only reply. That’d be a no, then. I bid her a fond farewell anyway, though my gambit doesn’t provoke any last-second pity for a hungry pony. Heart of ice, that one. Lyra would totally have given in.
I sigh as Bon Bon’s front door closes behind me. I have a bit of time before I need to get out to clear up the overcast skies over Sweet Apple Acres, but I guess I’m getting an early start. On the flight over, I pass over Applejack pulling her cart towards the market then circle back around to say hi. And possibly try to weasel a morning snack out of her, too. “Hey Applejack.”
She looks up and notices me for the first time. For whatever reason, she’s frowning. “Oh, hey there Cloud Kicker. Sorry, had a bunch on my mind and didn’t notice you. How are ya this morning?”
“Can’t complain,” I reply trying as hard as possible not to stare at the delicious bounty of apples loaded up in the cart she’s pulling as I set down on the dirt road. “Whatcha thinking about?”
“Ah, nothing special,” says Applejack trying to wave me off with a hoof. “Just ah’m no good at playin’ matchmaker, is all. Promised Twilight ah’d find her a blind date by the end of the week, and ah’m runnin’ outta time to pick somepony.”
“You open to suggestions?” I ask, still focused like a laser on the cart’s bounty.
“Ah’m listenin’.”
“Well, don’t tell her you heard it from me, but Azalea would kill for a chance to go out with Twilight. Why don’t you ask her? I heard she and Corn Row split up, so I know she’s single.”
“Hmm....” Applejack taps her chin as she mulls over the suggestion, “...could do a whole lot worse than Az, ah guess. Ah’ll think about it on the walk over. Thanks.”
“No problem,” I reply. Trying to play it off casually proves impossible when my stomach gurgles again.
Applejack shoots me a knowing look. “Care for an apple? It’s on me, for helpin’ me out.”
She doesn’t need to ask twice. I swoop up over the cart and snatch the juiciest one I can, munching on it while I hover there in midair. The instant karmic payoff for helping Azalea takes the edge off of my hunger for the time being. “Thank you,” I say, spraying the ground below me with juice.
Applejack chuckles in reply, and waves as she continues off towards the middle of town. Now that I’ve eaten something, I’m ready to bury myself in weather work for the morning.
Especially if the alternative is thinking about the state my life’s in right now.
--------------------
By lunchtime, I’ve burned through that apple which was hardly a satisfying meal anyway, and I’m desperate enough to bite the bullet and go home again. If seeing Kicky again is the price of accessing my refrigerator again, it’s one I’ll just have to pay. Still, my front door is a good deal more intimidating than it usually would be as I quietly open it.
If I can get in and out without running into Kicky, that’s what I’d prefer to do. The living room is empty, so my luck’s holding so far. I’m creeping past the sofa when I hear two muffled voices coming from behind the closed door to the guest room. I go still, considering my options. One of the voices certainly belongs to Kicky, and I can’t quite place the other one although I know I’ve heard it before. I creep over to listen, even though I know the smart thing to do would be to get to the kitchen, grab lunch, and get out instead of eavesdropping.
“And you’re sure she doesn’t suspect the truth?” asks the voice that’s definitely Kicky.
“Well, she knows something’s up with me. I can tell,” replies the other voice. Its owner sounds younger. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on the agent assigned to watch her, and I don’t think she knows anything about that. I’m covering for him, well, her now, but he’s not taking the adjustment very well.”
“Yeah, drones with abilities like the ones he had are always a little funny in the head. Do you think he might try something drastic? I don’t want Fluttershy getting hurt if we can help it.”
If I had any regrets about spying on these two before, the prospect that some harm might befall Fluttershy obliterates them in the span of a single heartbeat. It’s all I can do not to kick open the door then and there as the conversation continues. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, though. There’s a bunch of paperwork I need to do before the end of the school year, and it’s not like ‘Dad’ can come around anymore, not now that you’re stuck with being Cloud Kicker.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to tell the truth then. What’s the worst that could happen?”
The voice scoffs, and I can practically hear her roll her eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’re a pony who used to exist for real. I got a bunch of half-cobbled together instincts, memories and no past. Just an obnoxious case of hero worship for a mare with an ego the size of Canterlot. I know how full of herself she is, but when I’m around her I get so swept up in just... she’s so amazing! It’s like I can’t even control myself. At least you got to be a pony who can go around mating with them. It’s like being a hatchling all over again.”
“Well, the ponies say youth is wasted on the young right? That’s not a problem for you anymore.”
“Whatever. I gotta get going if I’m going to get back before the others notice I’m missing.” There are hoofsteps from the other side of the door and the voice draws closer. I debate hiding, but the need to know what danger Fluttershy is in wins out. The door opens, and I get a good look at the third of the six Ponyville changelings. It’s hard to say who’s more surprised to see the other standing there.
“...Scootaloo?”
“Cloudy?” asks Kicky from behind her. As it begins to dawn on both of them that I must have overheard what they were talking about, Scootaloo starts to gasp for air while Kicky just grows increasingly pissed off. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I live here, in case you forgot,” I shoot back, “or did you think you could take that from me too? Where’s the real Scootaloo?”
“Don’t... don’t... I don’t...” Scootaloo stammers.
I don’t give her a chance to collect herself. “Who’s the changeling assigned to Fluttershy? Why would she be in danger? Answer me!”
I grab the filly in front of me and shake her to make her focus. “Cloud, stop that. You’re hurting her,” says Kicky.
“Answer me!” Instead of complying Scootaloo just bursts into tears.
“Cloudy!” Kicky shoves me away. I fall backwards and Kicky puts herself between me and the crying filly. “I told you I’m not going to tell you who they are. And what the buck are you doing spying on us anyway?”
“Don’t you dare try to turn this back around on me. And if Fluttershy’s in trouble that deal is off. Where do you think you’re going?” While my attention was fixed on Kicky, Scootaloo must have thought she could slip away unnoticed, but my foreleg bars her avenue of escape. “Now answer my questions. Where’s the original Scootaloo?”
“You don’t get it. There isn’t one.” My anger turns to confusion as Scootaloo’s words sink in. “There wasn’t a filly that we could replace and use to get close to Apple Bloom and her family. So we made one up. Kicky pretended to be my parents when she had to, but otherwise it was just me.”
“By yourself?” I ask.
“I’m a grown changeling. Just because I used the shape of a filly doesn’t mean I actually was one. I can take care of myself.” Her defiant mask slips a bit. “Well, I could then, anyway. Now...”
“Now she’s just a little kid. The Elements didn’t have any template to work off of for her past, so she doesn’t have another set of memories the way Sweetie Drops or I do. Just the basics, as far as we can tell,” finishes Kicky.
That gives me pause for a moment. “Well, you have to tell Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, probably somepony over at City Hall too.”
As I expected, her eyes go wide with alarm at this. “No way. I’m not telling anypony.”
“You aren’t an adult who can take care of themselves like Kicky or Sweetie Drops. If you don’t tell them, I will.”
“Cloudy, come on. It’s not your place to out her like that,” says Kicky.
“The buck it isn’t. She’s a helpless foal.”
“Hey, I’ve been infiltrating pony societies for longer than you’ve been alive,” says Scootaloo, “I can take care of myself.”
“Sleeping in Fluttershy’s chicken coop is taking care of yourself, is it?”
She grows more agitated the longer I sit there looking down on her. “That’s... that was something else.”
I just glare, but she doesn’t go on. “So explain it,” I eventually prompt.
“It’s none of your business, Cloudy,” says Kicky.
“I’m making it my business. And don’t think I’m not mad at you, too. How long have you been holding these little meetings in my house?”
Kicky’s a bit taken aback by that. “It’s our house, not just yours.”
“Isn’t it? Just decided that, did you? Maybe now that you’re such a big shot with the Guard I’d rather not have you hanging around all the time, ever think of that?” It’s possible that this conversation is rapidly becoming about more than just my being worried about Scootaloo.
Kicky’s jaw drops, but her shock becomes anger quickly enough. “Oh, are we doing this now? Are you sure you’d rather not run away again?”
Scootaloo looks back and forth between our two identical glaring faces, confused. “Uh, should I... should I just go?”
She’s ignored. “Wasn’t enough that you took my shape, and my charity, and all my memories. You want all that and to steal my family away from me too?”
“I’m not stealing anypony from anypony, Cloudy. It’s not my fault that they prefer the version of you who isn’t a coward.”
“What did you just call me?”
“You two obviously have a lot to talk about,” says Scootaloo, edging her way over to the door. “I’ll leave you to it and go... be not here right now.” She pulls the door open and takes off outside like a shot. I don’t mind; it’s not like she can hide what she is if I decide to reveal it, and Kicky here has my full attention.
“I think I was clear a second ago. You. Are. A. Coward. And for some reason you’ve gotten it into your head that it’s my fault.”
I growl, and shift into a fighting stance. We never did figure out that first night who would win in a fight, maybe it’s time to correct that. “You’ve got a big mouth for a bug. Maybe once I’ve knocked a couple of your teeth out it’ll be easier for others to tell us apart.”
“You’re welcome to try,” says Kicky, matching my posture with her own.
“I should have tossed you out on your plot the minute I found you. I was doing just fine before you came into my life, and I’ll be doing just fine again once I’ve thrown you out of it.”
“You call this fine?” asks Kicky, gesturing to the living room around her. “You’re happy with a dead-end job pushing weather around? Gonna keep doing this until your mane’s gray and you’re still alone? Nopony kicked you out of the clan, Cloud. You pushed them away and now you’re doing exactly the same thing again with me. Frankly, it’s really annoying.” She pauses to give her next sentence its full effect. “No wonder Mom’s so disappointed by you.”
Had the pounding on my door come even a single second later, I would have been in mid-tackle when I heard it and from there, who knows? But right before I jump her, we’re both distracted by a loud, incessant series of knocks that show no sign of stopping.
“You think that’s Scootaloo again, or did you invite another one of your changeling buddies over?”
Kicky shrugs, a bit of the pre-battle tension seeping away. “No idea. You want to answer it or should I?”
Rather than answer, I trot over and pull the door open. Azalea’s hoof freezes in mid-knock, and she’s grinning wide enough that I think she’s about to explode. “Cloudy!” she cries and pulls me into a powerful hug. “Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy!”
“Uh, yeah Azalea?”
“And Kicky!” she proclaims, sweeping into the room past me. “Kicky Kicky Kicky Kicky guess what?” She’s bouncing on her hooves with each word, much to Kicky’s bemusement. She doesn’t wait for Kicky’s guess before she answers her own question. “I. Have. A date! Not just any date. I’m going on a date with... with...” a fit of giggling steals the last few words away and she collapses with cackling laughter.
“I take it this is good?” asks Kicky, the earlier hostility between us momentarily postponed.
“Not just good, great! It’s with Twilight Sparkle. Twilight Sparkle! Applejack is setting us up this weekend.” Her smile vanishes and panic grasps her. “A dress. I have to pick out a dress. And my mane, should I braid it or wear it loose? What about makeup, do you think I should get all made up, or something a bit subtler?”
I grin. Looks like Applejack took my suggestion from earlier. “I’m sure you’ll look great whatever you decide to do, Az. Don’t worry too much.”
“Just... how is this happening? Things like this don’t happen to ponies like me. I think I might be dreaming but I’ve already checked three times and as far as I can tell I’m not.”
“Azalea, deep breaths, alright?” says Kicky, placing a comforting hoof on her shoulder. She gets wrapped up in another hug for her trouble.
“You too, Cloudy. Get over here.” After a moment of hesitation I comply and find myself pressed uncomfortably close to the mare I had been planning on beating the snot out of about a minute ago. “Cloudy? Kicky? Thank you.”
Now I’m really confused. “For what?”
“Just for being the two of you,” she responds. “It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but the truth is that you two inspire me, each in different ways.” She looks me dead in the eyes, and smiles softly. “Cloudy, you are the most open-hearted pony I have ever known. From the day I met you, you’ve been going out of your way to make others welcome, even Kicky here. You don’t even think about it, it’s just who you are. I don’t think you really appreciate how wonderful that is.”
Kicky looks over and studies me for a moment. “She’s right,” she agrees. “I was ready to give up on Ponyville that first night, run off and never come back. If you hadn’t stopped me and let me stay in your house...” she hangs her head, wallowing in the same shame as I am over what we were about to do to one another. And for what?
“And as for you, Kicky,” continues Azalea, oblivious to our discomfort, “if Cloudy’s the most welcoming, you’re the bravest. Just to live out in the open with what you used to be, it’s honestly something I really admire about you. I wouldn’t have the strength to do that.”
“I’m not sure I would, either,” I add. Kicky looks over at me with a tearful expression and a smile. “Oh, and it isn’t my house. It’s ours."
I hesitate for a moment longer, then slip a wing over her back. It’s the most genuine way for me to tell her that I’m sorry I can think of. When our eyes meet I’m certain she understands and reciprocates. We still have some stuff to talk through, but I don’t feel the urge to tear her throat out whenever I look at her, which must be progress.
The three of us stay there wrapped together in our living room for a moment longer before Kicky clears her throat. “You know, we should all bang just to make sure you’re not rusty at it for your date. That’s just what good friends we are.”
Azalea’s giggle tells me that we’re all going to be okay. All three of us.