My eyelids are like lead weights when I finally lever myself up from the uncomfortable position I’d contorted myself into on the floor beside the couch.
On the one hand, I meant every word of what I’d said to Wallflower last night. On the other, I kind of wish she hadn’t forced me to make good on it.
I mean, I knew she was going to try and sneak out. That was obvious. Just getting Wallflower to accept my couch had been the equivalent of pulling teeth out of an angry cragadile’s maw while it was trying to eat you. The odds of her not trying to renege on her acceptance of a place to sleep out of sheer stubborn self-hatred was practically a given.
That doesn’t mean I like sleeping on the floor of my own apartment, though.
“Ugh.” I smack my lips as I get to my feet. Wallflower is still dead to the world on the couch, and I’m not surprised. I feel bad that I’ll have to wake her up in a little while.
My eyes are burning behind my eyelids as I trudge over to the stairs going to the loft to retrieve my phone from the charging port. I turn it over and grimace.
Seven in the morning. We’ll have to get ready to go pretty quickly if I want to make it to the social services offices in the Commons by eight. Half-past eight is probably our last window, any further than that and I doubt we’ll have time to get any kind of meaningful meeting.
I unplug my phone and open up a text to Vice Principal Luna.
Back when I’d started to reform, she’d given me her number in the hopes I’d reach out rather than backslide or do something stupid. Something about understanding what I’d gone through. I never really made use of the offer, but we exchanged texts every now and again which rarely amounted to more than off-colour jokes and variations on the latest memes.
Turns out VP Luna is kind of a dork.
//I’m not coming to school today. Long story. Short - Wallflower Blush is homeless, and I’m trying to get her on the housing program I use, but I gotta move fast. Can I get my absence covered? If not, it’s okay.//
I grimace as I send the text. Playing truant is a great way to lose a lot of my standing in the programs that keep me housed and fed, but Luna will understand. She’ll have to, and if not? I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.
Trotting down the stairs, I go to the bathroom to wash up as quickly and efficiently as possible before pulling on a pair of jeans, a bra, and a long-sleeve top. I come out of the bathroom as I belt my jeans, and kneel by the couch to prod Wallflower awake.
She swats at me grumpily a few times before giving a squeaky little yawn and rolling over on the couch to go back to sleep.
“Adorable,” I say flatly. “But seriously Wallie, I need you to wake up.”
“Mmm…” Her only real response is to curl up in the covers.
I don’t blame her. I remember my first night in a decent bed after being homeless for a long stretch, and I hadn’t wanted to get out of it either. This is just a couch, but it’s miles better than sleeping on the concrete or on one of the stiff, unpleasant shelter beds.
“I’m not joking,” I continue, prodding her a few more times. “Look, I’ll make us some tea and some food, and then you’re going to have to get up, okay?”
No squeaky yawns come out, nor does she mumble or swat at me. Instead, she just starts to snore. It’s a small, wheezy noise that only comes out of one nostril, and despite myself, I start to laugh a little.
It’s probably the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Whatever.” I stand and walk over to the kitchen, and as I do, the phone chimes with Luna's understanding reply.
I owe her explanation after I get things settled, but she'll have to wait until after breakfast.
The electric kettle comes on first, mostly full since I’m making tea for two. I think I remember her mentioning that she liked green tea once while we were hanging out. I pull out a matcha teabag, one of four left in a box that had been a gift from Rarity and ended up shoved into the back of my tea drawer. Along with the matcha I draw out my own favorite, oolong, and take out two mugs for them.
Hash browns come next, frozen since it’s all I have the patience for, and then eggs which are scrambled for similar reasons. Halfway through those, I pour the tea to start it steeping, and by the time I’m plating the eggs, they smell mostly ready.
“Wallie!” I shout. “Breakfast!”
Wallflower sits up slowly, rising from the tangle of the blanket she’d been cocooned in like a vampire from her coffin at the scent of food. Her green hair is sticking out like the points of a wildly inaccurate compass, and she’s somehow contrived to look like she hasn’t slept at all and for far too long at the same time.
She slowly turns her head left, then right, like her brain is trying to geolocate and failing miserably. It only lasts a moment before the panic starts to reel her back in and her eyes go from an exhausted daze to a sharp, animal wariness as the tension that had finally leaked out of her comes slithering back in.
I finish plating out the hash browns so they don’t burn, crank off the heat, and move to Wallflower’s side carrying the two mugs of tea and kneel, setting them both on the table before reaching out to take Wallflower’s hands
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say softly. “You’re at my place, remember? You’re safe here, but we gotta eat quick, okay? Otherwise we’re not going to have time to see my guy.”
Wallflower swallows hard, then takes a deep breath and nods before shaking her legs free of the blanket and sitting up properly on the couch and picking up her tea to start blowing on it.
“Okay,” I say as I stand. “Want anything on your eggs and hashbrowns?”
For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, but just as I’m about to turn and go back to the kitchen she speaks up in a tiny, tired, slightly croaky voice.
“Do… Do you have any Prench Dressing?” She asks quietly.
I raise an eyebrow as I turn back to her
“Like, the orange salad dressing?” I ask. “I think so, why?”
She shuffles her feet for a few minutes before blowing out a breath and looking up at me. “I uhm… I used to have it on my hash browns… I like it.”
Well, that’s a little weird, but it’s still progress in my book.
“Sure, why not?” I say with a shrug.
Prench Dressing on potatoes isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen someone eat, I’m friends with Pinkie Pie, and that’s not counting the weird crap that Rainbow Dash and Applejack will dare each other to try.
As I’m walking the two plates of food over, I see Wallflower take a sip of the tea and wince.
“Too hot?” I ask as I set down the plate.
“Oh, uhm, no.” Wallflower shakes her head and stares down the tea, then, without looking up, smiles softly. “It’s good.”
We eat breakfast as quickly as we can manage, and I try not to dwell on the fact that Wallflower only vaguely picked at hers, not eating nearly enough to satisfy me, but there isn’t time to confront that.
Fortunately, she doesn’t have to do much in the way of getting ready to go beyond taming her hair enough to fit under the hood of her new(ish) canvas jacket, and washing her face.
Outside the apartment, it’s still freezing, and we both shiver violently at the same time as a cutting breeze slices around us.
“Good old Canterlot,” I say with a thin-lipped smile. “The miserable old goon.”
Wallflower laughs. It’s a small, quiet sound, but pretty. She shivers again as another gust hits us, and I frown as I look her up and down again. She’s thinner than she should be, even given her petite frame, and I’m worried.
There’s nothing I can do for the time being, though. As much as it rankles I have to prioritise. She’s alive and… if not healthy at least stable, and the blind leviathan of bureaucracy can take weeks or longer to get moving so the sooner we start her on the paperwork the sooner she can get a place of her own.
Assuming she’s eligible. I can’t imagine she isn’t given that I am.
Wallflower shivers again.
No, she’s not shivering. She’s just shaking. In fact, now it comes to it I’d be surprised if she was producing much heat at all.
“Hey, c’mere,” I move closer and raise an arm, hovering it near her shoulders. “You’re gonna fall over.”
“I’m fine,” Wallflower says, wilting in on herself briefly.
“No, you’re not, you’re freezing,” I counter. “Just come here.”
I can feel the brief moment of stubbornness take hold of her, but another gust of wind slices between us before she can say no, and she jolts as her muscles seize up in the cold.
Instinct pushes her towards heat, towards me, and a moment later she’s pressed up against my side where I can drape my arm over her and start to rub some warmth into her arm and shoulders.
We walk the rest of the way to the offices, and as we do something else settles unpleasantly in my chest like a cold chunk of lead shot underneath all of my worry and concern for Wallflower.
I’m maybe a little too comfortable holding on to her like this.
I ignore it the best that I can and just do it. Whatever the situation, I highly doubt that me pushing her away after she willingly came into physical contact with me on her own would do her any good. She wants to be a little closer and that’s fine. It’s not uncomfortable, and she’s definitely cold.
That’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
We make it to the social services office a few minutes before my internal cutoff. I’d have liked to get here earlier but Wallflower is moving slowly and I don’t want to hurry her along. Best case scenario I think she’ll just feel bad, worst case scenario I make this whole upcoming conversation harder since I’m pretty sure if she could be moving faster she would be, if only so she didn’t feel like she was slowing me down.
“Okay, so, this guy,” I start out quietly as I put a hand on the door and start pulling it open. Wallflower stiffens under my arm as I say the last word. “He’s one of the good ones, Wallie, I promise.”
I look down at her and she’s staring at the ground. I can feel her heart starting to race, it’s beating with the staccato speed of a captured rabbit’s. I pull her inside the lobby and let the door close as I turn and put a hand on either shoulder, holding her in place as I look her in the eyes.
“Wallie, it’s okay,” I say. “Breathe, alright? Can you do that for me? Just swallow, and take one, long, deep breath, then blow it out slowly.”
She nods and follows my instructions to the letter, and although her breath comes out a little shakily, I can feel the tension leaking out of her, at least a little bit. I do my best to smile mostly to avoid pressing my lips into a grimace at how close Wallflower had just come to having a full-blown panic attack.
“Feel better?” I ask.
Wallflower nods and brushes her hair from her face with a shaky hand.
“Alright.” I let go carefully and smile again. “So, my friend is a social worker, and he’s pretty much the best at this stuff, okay? His name is Sticky Note, and he gets all the… problem cases.”
I bite my tongue as I see Wallflower start to wilt back but I hold up a hand and force a laugh that I hope sounds genuine.
“No, Wallie, I…” I shake my head. “I meant me, okay? Remember? This guy got stuck with me.”
“But you’re not…” Wallflower starts, then grimaces. I can only assume she’s recalling exactly what I used to be like. “You’re better now.”
“Yeah, now,” I agree, crossing my arms and chuckling. “Note is part of the reason for that, though. He’s a good person, Wallie, and I trust him, and I don’t say that about many people. So let me ask you this,” I hold out a hand to her and give her my best smile, “do you trust me?”
I watch the process happen behind Wallflower’s eyes. I see the million and one thoughts, worries, and paranoias, but I also see them losing, which gives me hope.
Eventually, she lets out another small breath, nods, and puts her hand in mine.
I try to ignore how nice it feels there.
Not the time, Shimmer. Really not the time. I shove those feelings into a little cardboard box and FedEx it somewhere deep into my mental warehouse. I can deal with whatever’s going on in there once I’ve got Wallflower with a stable roof over her head and I can be at least passingly certain she’s not starving to death.
Taking her hand and gripping it tightly, I turn and walk her towards the back. I nod to the front receptionist. Magnolia is a matronly woman with a chartreuse complexion, and she smirks at me as I pull Wallflower up to the desk.
“Hey Mags, I need to talk to Note,” I say, putting a note of pleading into my voice. “Please?”
“Sunset, you know the rules,” Magnolia says flatly.
But I see her eyes flick to the stretch of hallway going into the offices, then back and past me to Wallflower, and she sighs.
“His first meeting is in forty-five minutes, and I might be able to buy you another five,” Magnolia says after a moment, and my face splits into a broad smile. Before I can thank her, she puts a single finger up to my face “Be quick, alright? You know how busy we get, and I ain’t puttin’ someone else out, okay? A lotta people need help.”
“I know, thank you so much.” I lean in and wrap an arm around Magnolia who chuckles and pats my back before nodding her head sharply towards the hallway and sitting back down at her desk.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say quickly, moving towards the back.
“What are… are we breaking rules?” Wallflower asks, glancing back worriedly before looking over at me.
“Uh… technically?” I say weakly, then blow out a breath and wave a hand. “Look, this city’s service system is a mess, okay? It could take a month to get a meeting with Sticky Note the normal way, and this shit only takes like, half an hour at most!”
“I don’t want to—!” Wallie stalls, stopping cold in the hallway, and I bite my lip to keep back a retort. My temper has served me well— okay, decently— in the past, but it’s not gonna help here.
“Wallie, look,” I say, stopping as I turn to face her. “Either we do this and get you fast-tracked, or you crash at my place for a month or two while we do it the ‘right’ way, your call.”
Wallflower stares at me for a long moment, her hand still gripping mine tightly although at this point I’m not even sure she’s aware of it. Once more, that unpleasant pang of guilt hits me over aiming for that particular sore spot. Those grinding gears in her head are going at full chat again, her various complexes slamming into one another as her desire not to be a burden on me, which she isn’t, fights in extremis with her desire not to put Sticky Note in a compromising position.
“I’ll wait,” I say calmly. “If we’re here too long it’s a settled point anyway.”
“I can just stay at the shelter!” Wallflower says sharply, her voice quavering and cracking as she gives a weak, half-hearted tug on her hand. “It’s… it’s fine!”
Rather than answer, I just meet her eyes for a moment, then put on my hardest, most certain expression, and repeat the same words that I told her last night.
“Where you sleep, I sleep,” I say quietly.
The blood drains from Wallflower’s face, and she sags, and I swear I hear her cuss under her breath, but it’s so quiet I’m not sure. When she looks back up she just looks exhausted.
“Fine.”
“Okay,” I say, not feeling good about what I just did. I didn’t see any other way though. “Let’s go.”
I lead her back to the rearmost office, knock twice, then let myself in.
Sticky Note isn’t the type of person who stands out, and he likes it that way. He’s not particularly tall, but he still manages to look stooped when he sits and types at his computer. He’s rail-thin, with a dark red complexion and hair the colour of soot shot through with a lone streak of purple, and a pair of square glasses sit perched on his nose in front of grey, slightly watery eyes.
“Sticky!” I say cheerfully, then, through my toothy grin: “I need some help.”
He sighs quietly, his dexterous fingers pausing mid-type for a heartbeat before he continues whatever it is he’s doing, finishes, then taps the save key, and turns to me.
“Miss Shimmer,” he says wearily. “Why do I get the feeling this unscheduled meeting is going to double my workload this month?”
“It’s not that bad,” I say with a weak chuckle. “I just uh… need some help for my friend here, okay?”
I pull Wallflower up and put an arm over her shoulder. Sticky Note has been doing this a while, and I watch him assess her with a quick glance, and his mouth immediately presses to a frown.
“Homeless?” he asks, and I nod.
Note steeples his fingers, then frowns again and turns back to Wallflower and looks her up and down once more. Then he turns to his computer and gestures for us to sit down.
“You know the drill, Sunset, start talking,” Note says as he taps away at his computer.
I know most of Wallflower’s relevant information; name, birthdate, and things like that, and rattle them off. I have to get a few things from Wallie, which is like trying to drag a single mortared brick out of a mason wall, but I get it. Sticky Note is building her profile, and pulling information from his various sources. He’s faster than anyone would guess, and almost frustratingly good at his job, but that’s why I like him.
While I’m not sure I’d classify Sticky Note as nice, he’s a good man with a good heart, and he does genuinely want to help. He’s rough around the edges, but I guess anyone working in the social services sector of a city like Canterlot would have to end up that way or just burn out.
“Parents?” he asks, finally, turning his gaze to Wallflower who visibly withers back. “Right-” he pauses, taps a button, and his printer chugs for a moment and pops out a paper- “here, I need you to sign and date this, Miss Blush.”
He hands her a two-page form and a pen, then leans forward and takes up his own.
“Initial here, and here…” he says quickly, tapping the paper, “and sign here…” he taps another spot. I’m a little surprised at how easily he’s getting Wallflower to do it. Something in the timbre of his voice and his professional demeanor, I think. “And then sign here, and date.”
He moves quickly enough that I doubt she even had a chance to read it, and Note sweeps the paper back the moment she has the date down to fill in a few other points.
“Alright, I need to ask you a question Miss Blush, and it is an unpleasant one,” Note says as he sets the paper down and turns to her. “You… experienced a form of domestic abuse, correct?”
Wallflower freezes, but after a moment she gives a shaky nod, which Sticky Note mimics carefully. I’ve seen him do this before. Hell, he did it to me, and I didn’t even realise it until after the fact. The way he softens his expression and mimics the movements and posture of the person in front of him disarms them. It makes him almost like a mirror, and that’s a lot easier to talk to.
It’s a little galling that he got me with that trick.
“Now, the unpleasant part,” Note says, as much as I hate this line of questioning I have to admire him. His voice is modulated softly, but every syllable is carefully spoken to be as gentle and insistent as possible. “Was the nature of the abuse emotional?” A nod from Wallflower. “Verbal?” Another nod. “Physical?” She’s shaking now, and her hand finds mine again and grips.
A nod.
Note’s mouth cuts to a fine line.
“Sexual?”
The whole of my insides clench up and freeze for a moment as I stare over at Wallflower, silently praying harder than I’ve ever prayed for anything in my entire life.
She shakes her head.
I can’t help it. I go slack and let out a slow, trembling sigh of relief.
“Alright,” Note says, his relief evident only in the slight relaxation of the muscles around his jaw and in his hands. “Then we move to the next step.”