//------------------------------// // 1 - Donated // Story: Secondhand Laughter // by thedarkprep //------------------------------// Secondhand Laughter Chapter One Donated “Hello… You’ve reached the um…the Great and Powerful Trixie. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. Please text me with your contact information and a brief message of what you need, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.” So she did change it. Pinkie smiled in spite of herself as she made her way up the damp wooden stairs, hanging up the phone and placing it in her jacket pocket along the way. Sure, Trixie was still missing her usual confidence, but the fact that she had taken Pinkie’s advice and was trying to use her old nickname again, awkward as her attempts might be, warmed Pinkie against the chilly autumn wind.  At least temporarily.  As she reached Trixie’s door, the warmth seemed to seep from Pinkie’s body with each steadying breath taken in preparation for the task ahead—the cool air in her lungs a heavy syrup in want of water. There were no illusions as to what she would find on the other side of the door or why she had decided to come over tonight. It had been a bad night after all. A bad day really. A series of bad days. And Pinkie had been there for them all. Through phone calls, text messages, and impromptu visits during Trixie’s lunchtime, Pinkie had definitely been kept up to date on Trixie’s mental state. She had known Trixie was not going to pick up the phone before she had begun dialing her number, just as she knew that knocking now would prove to be equally pointless, just as she knew the type of conversation she was likely to have once she stepped through the door. Pinkie dug into her pocket, pulling out her keyring and selecting a light blue key with a white “T” inscribed on it with some fancy font, one of her most prized possessions. She put it into the lock and then hesitated. The worst part, Pinkie figured, wasn’t even that Trixie was having such a rough time. That was bad, sure, but… She’d been talking to Trixie for hours about her problems, for days now. She should feel tired, or upset, right? Instead, Pinkie felt the most “well” she’d felt in a while. Suddenly, she had found herself with someone to help again. Someone who needed her. Someone who relied on her. Every time her phone vibrated, every time it rang, a jolt of sugar coursed through her veins and her heart would find itself drumming to a relentless beat. And all it took was someone else being unhappy, she thought, trying hard to swallow the guilt at the implication, spitting out over the balcony and into the gentle drizzle when the thoughts became too bitter. No… Don’t be silly, Pinkie. You just get happy that she’s texting you, no matter what the message is. You don’t always know it’s going to be bad. You like it when Caramel messages you too. It’s normal to get excited. Right? She threw open the door before she could contradict herself, stepping into the entryway and flipping on the switch. Immediately, the warm air of the apartment brushed the chill off her skin, like dust struck with a feather duster. After closing the door behind herself, she took off her jacket and shoes to make sure she wouldn’t drip as she moved through the room. Not that she needed to have bothered.   As she looked around, she couldn’t help but be shocked at the mess that overtaken Trixie’s apartment. Dishes and empty containers of drinks and food littered everywhere the eye could see. Likewise, clothes were draped over all the furniture and were scattered all over the floor, to the point that any rainwater that did drip off of Pinkie would have more than likely been absorbed by the fabric before ever getting the chance to sink into the carpet flooring. Pinkie had been to Trixie’s apartment plenty of times, especially recently, and had long since learnt that despite her polished presentation, Trixie was kind of a slob when it came to keeping a home. The food, the clothes, these sights had become common elements of Pinkie’s visits, especially on the various times where Pinkie had come in unannounced to check up on her, much like that night, where it was clear that Trixie would be in desperate need of help she’d be too proud to ask for. This though… This was something else. I didn’t even know she owned this many shirts. Pinkie began walking through the room, silently collecting food containers as she made her way towards the kitchen where the biggest trash can was. By the time she arrived, she was balancing two big armfulls, thankful that Trixie had one of those bins with the pedal-opening tops. She pressed down the pedal and was about to dump the trash when she noticed something. Is that cinnamon? Pinkie dropped the containers into the nearly empty trash can, now three quarters full, a small smile on her lips again. It had been two weeks since the last time she’d spent the night and, as she did every time she visited, she had started by helping clean up then too. She’d made a passing comment, hadn’t she? About how the lemon scented trash bags hurt her nose? “Don’t be ridiculous,” Trixie had said. “Lemon is the scent of cleanliness, and the stronger it is the cleaner everything smells. Besides, what scent would you even choose instead, anyway?” “Cinnamon,” Pinkie answered at the memory, looking past the spot where Trixie had stood and into the hallway where the real one was likely resting. She glanced at the living room again and took note of all the clothing that still needed to be taken care of but, with the scent of cinnamon at her nose and an even sweeter sentiment on her mind, she decided those could wait. No more dilly-dallying, she thought to herself, taking two steps out of the kitchen before stopping in her tracks. Sitting on the counter, at the far back and almost out of sight, were multiple containers of Trixie’s Citalopram—far more than should have been there at one time. Pinkie did a quick count and came to the one plausible explanation. She’s stockpiling them again. A heavy pit formed in her stomach, her nice thoughts crumbling away like too-dry pie crusts at the memory of the last time Trixie had stockpiled medication and her reasoning behind it. No more dilly-dallying, Pinkie repeated, decisive steps carrying her forwards past the bathroom and towards the bedroom, where she could hear Trixie despite the mostly closed door. She was sobbing. Pushing the door open without knocking, light from the hallway spilled into the room, flooding the area in a dim glow. Pinkie could make out more scattered clothing, some drawers, a vanity with a mirror, and the outline of the bed. She, however, would not have been able to make out Trixie in the darkness had the girl she’d been looking for not turned around at the intrusion, a flurry of movement within the sheets as she sought out the intruder in her home. Tearful eyes shined in the light, meeting Pinkie’s gaze. They seemed to relax once they recognized the visitor, but then Trixie’s glare returned, rolling onto her side to face into the darkness once again with Pinkie at her back. Throughout all this, the tears never stopped flowing. Oh Trix, Pinkie sighed, taking soundless steps until she reached the side of the bed. At first she merely sat on the bed, her weight causing the mattress to shift as it adjusted. Trixie however, did not stir from her position. Pinkie then fully lay down next to her, covering herself with the blankets despite feeling quite warm in her clothing. Trixie still did not react. In fact, it wasn’t until Pinkie put an arm around her that Trixie startled, making a small attempt at moving further from the girl holding her.  “Nope,” Pinkie whispered, holding her in place. “If you really don’t want a hug say so and I will let go but, otherwise, you are getting a hug for as long as I see fit. Got it, missy?” Pinkie pulled on Trixie’s shoulder, turning her back around to where she could face her. Trixie resisted at first, a stubborn whine accompanying her efforts to remain facing away, but eventually gave in and it wasn’t long at all before she found herself with her face pressed against Pinkie’s chest. Pinkie began to stroke her hair. The sobbing got louder. Pinkie shushed her gently as she continued to gently play with her hair, tightening the embrace of her other arm around Trixie’s back. “That’s ok, let it out. We’ll talk about it soon. Get it out first.” “Soon” turned out to be around twenty minutes or so, as that’s how much time passed before Trixie’s wailing began to sputter out and her tears began to slowly come to an end. Pinkie felt Trixie deflate in her embrace and responded by giving her a gentle kiss upon her forehead. “Are you feeling any better?” “I guess.” Trixie shrugged. Her voice hollow and strained, a bit rough after all her crying. Pinkie made a note to get her a glass of water at the first opportunity, some tissues as well. Trixie looked up at her as best as she could from their awkward angle, her bloodshot eyes piercing in the low light. “You shouldn’t have come. I would’ve been fine.” “I wanted to see you,” Pinkie said. “And just because you would have been fine on your own, doesn’t mean you still couldn’t be better with an assistant. Or are you saying that you actually needed help at that party you had me be your assistant for? I really can’t imagine any other reason for it, can you?” Trixie pointedly rolled her eyes, but the blush spreading through her tear stained cheeks did not escape Pinkie’s notice. “Fine,” Trixie huffed. “Well I’m sorry you had to see that. I’ll be okay now though. Are you thinking about staying the night? I could get food started?” “I don’t know yet,” Pinkie lied, closing her eyes and breathing in the flowery scent of Trixie’s hair. It was a sweet refreshing smell compared to the incense Trixie liked to burn in her room, which she savored for a second or so before speaking again, as she readied herself for the task ahead. “But we’re not really done talking about this, are we?” “Pinkie… I told you I’m f—” “You don’t always have to be brave,” Pinkie interrupted. “You know I love that about you. I heard the voicemail by the way. I love when you’re confident. And funny. And above-it-all. But not tonight. You don’t have to be ‘great and powerful’ tonight.” Pinkie never opened her eyes, but she could feel Trixie begin to shake in her arms right before the sniffling started again. Jokes and words of comfort alike began to cruise through her head at rapid speeds. The impulse to do anything to stop the girl in her arms from hurting any further grew to an uncomfortable degree. And yet, Pinkie clenched her eyelids tighter instead. She needs this. “Fine!” Trixie eventually snarled. “Not that it matters anyway. It’s the same bullshit as always. I was doing some thinking of where to go next with my career. Whether to start touring like you said, try to open a magic shop, do the party planning thing with you, or just quit everything and focus on the music store like I’d planned months ago.” “And what did you decide?” “That none of it matters!” Trixie yelled, pushing away from Pinkie in order to properly talk to her. “I was getting really frustrated and I had the thought of ‘calm down, it’s not like this matters too much,’ and guess what? It really doesn’t. Who cares if I tour or not? If I open a business or not? At the end of the day I’m just some worthless, insignificant, side-character in the stories of those who actually matter.” The sound of Trixie’s heavy breathing mixed with the muffled sound of the downpour outside as the rain came down in earnest. Pinkie licked her lips before responding. “I don’t think you’re worthless.” Pinkie felt the impulse to close the distance, to hold the girl in front of her, but she resisted. She needed to be able to face Trixie directly, needed to make sure she was understood. And so, despite the hurt in Trixie’s eyes, the emptiness and weariness apparent in her voice, Pinkie did not immediately go to her. Fighting the impulse to cry alongside her was a lot harder, but she somehow managed that as well. “You’re not insignificant. Not to me,” she said softly. “And Trixie is not a side-character to anybody, that’s for sure. You matter. You matter so much, and I really wish you could see that—especially how much you matter to me.” “Do I matter because of me? Or because I’m the one that hasn’t left?” “You’d matter to me even if you did leave.” “Tch,” Trixie mumbled. “At least until the next charity case could keep you company, right?” The distant boom of thunder filled the silence. She’s just lashing out, Pinkie thought, swallowing the hurt. Change the topic. “Speaking of leaving,” she said, keeping her voice from wavering. “I noticed you’re stockpiling meds again. Should I be worried?” Now it was Trixie’s turn to think through her response. The bed creaked in the silence. “It’s just insurance,” she said after a time. “In case things don’t work out. I’ve… I’ve been feeling really tired lately. Not to the point of doing anything but—I don’t know. It just makes me feel a lot less anxious knowing that in the event of a really really really bad day, it won’t—it won’t be messy.” “But you’re not planning anything right now?” “No, you know I’d tell you,” Trixie said, averting her gaze. “I told you last time, didn’t I?” “Yeah, you did,” Pinkie nodded. “And you promise you’ll tell me again and that you’ll let your therapist know how things are going?” “I promise to tell you,” Trixie agreed, voice still thin. “And I promise to tell her I’m having my thoughts. I’m obviously not going to tell her I’m stockpiling meds but… I’ll be honest about everything else. As much as I can be. Again, like last time.” Pinkie looked at the girl in front of her for a minute, her eyes searching for deception but seeing only heartbreak. She sighed. “Fine,” she said with a solemn nod. “Please don’t break your promise. It would really hurt me if you did. You know that, right?” Trixie nodded slowly. “Good,” Pinkie took a deep breath, the flowery scent from the pillow giving her some comfort despite the distance. “I still think you should be taking your medication. It can’t be good for you to not be taking it, right?” “It’s not like it’s really doing much,” Trixie whispered. “You know what my real problem is, and it isn’t depression. It’s what I’ve seen. What I’ve experienced. Compared to that, it’s only natural to feel like I do. Meds aren’t going to change that. Nothing in this world can compare, is all.” Not even me? Pinkie thought, before shaking her head violently. Not the point. Not the time. Focus. Pinkamena. Focus. “I know!” Pinkie exclaimed, forcing as much brightness into her voice as possible. “How about I tell you more about Equestria? That always cheers you up. AJ just got a letter from Sunset so there’s some news, but also there’s some stuff I don’t think I’ve told you yet about how their mail system works there. If I remember right, they use dragon fire and spells! Wanna hear about it?” She then waited for Trixie’s questions, for her speculation, for her wonderment. Pinkie looked on, unwilling to miss the moment where Trixie’s frown turned into a curious grin as it had done countless times before. She longed for her to finally close the distance. Instead, she watched as Trixie seemed to collapse further into herself, eyes downcast. Her eyes watered again, before closing altogether, before finally turning to face away from her. And then, something inside Pinkie broke as Trixie spoke again in a fractured vacant voice. “No. That’s alright. It’s not like I’ll ever get to see it anyway. I’ll die and be forgotten in this magicless world. Heh. Fitting. Don’t you think?” Don’t cry. The muffled rain. Don’t you dare cry. A noise from next door. Don’t make this about you. If Trixie found the lack of response odd, she did not say so. She simply stared at the wall, unaware of the tearful girl behind her. Pinkie meanwhile struggled with knowing what to do next. Every impulse told her to hug the girl in front of her and never let go.  But what will that fix? No, Trixie was breaking. She was losing her. She would lose her. Pinkie thought back to the medication in the kitchen. A ticking time clock. She needed to do something, but what? What could she possibly do to make this situation any better?  And really, when have I done something that actually helped someone? Shy, Sunset, Dash, Rarity, they’d done so much better since they’d left. When they’d been around for her to help, how much had she actually been able to do for them? Parties. Planning. Events, she listed. Nothing that matters. And now I have to fix Trixie? Pull her out of this hole? And if I mess it up? No. She couldn’t think like that. The bed frame began to creak again with movement and Pinkie wasn’t sure which of the two of them was shuddering. Maybe both? I need to do something, she thought desperately. But what? It’s not like I can— She sat upright, eyes wide.  I could.  She had even considered it before, but had decided against ever bringing it up because it would mean losing Trixie forever. Even now, looking at Trixie’s still form, she knew that to be the only possible outcome. But I’m going to lose her anyway. She had a choice to make and from where Pinkie was sitting, it was a rather simple one. Time to stop being selfish. Scooting closer, she placed one more kiss on the back of Trixie’s head. Trixie did not react, and Pinkie tried not to be hurt by that. Pinkie then got off the bed and walked to the doorframe. She looked back one last time and made to say something, anything, before leaving. However, the sight of Trixie, her back turned to her was all it took to make her lose her nerve. Instead, she voicelessly turned around and stepped back through the living room, leaving the apartment and walking into the now pouring rain.  If I’m going to lose her, it’s going to be on my terms, Pinkie thought, taking out her cellphone as she descended the steps. No matter what, Trixie is going to be happy at the end of this. Even if I can’t be.