//------------------------------// // Chapter Three - Uncomfortable Questions Are Asked // Story: Gynophobia // by Discombobulated Soul //------------------------------// Hate is strong. Anger, I've found, empowers the body, mind, and soul. When one allows fury at the unfairness of existence to fuel their every move and thought, they become able to do things never before considered possible. I've strived for rage, for ire to consume me and let me fight back against the horrors in my life. The strength one can obtain from this course of action is equally exponential and incalculable. Sadly, I know none of this from personal experience. Though I have tried desperately, I can never hold on to anger for long enough. All too quickly, I am always overcome with another emotion. Fear, I've found, weakens the spirit, will, and wits. When one is forced to live life frightened at every corner, they begin to break down as a person. Existing in a constant state of terror hurts. Your psyche frays like old rope stretched too tight for too long. Your faculties fail you one by one until you're left useless, hopeless, and unloved by any mortal being that might have--should have--taken care of you. I know this from experience and I pray you never get to do the same. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. It's natural, then, to want--need--an escape. Some way to leave, get away from it all. If one can't fight a problem directly, naturally one must then flee from it. If not physically, then mentally. Sequestering myself in my own reflections has proven quite effective over the years. But I'm sure you know that by now. Again, I do think you'd like to do the same if you tried. You strike me as the sort of person who'd enjoy something like this. Do you think that, if we tried really hard and practiced often, we could phase out together? I don't even know what that'd look like, to be honest, but I feel it could be very interesting and informative, if nothing else. Maybe you'd actually be able to talk to me for once? Ah, but now isn't the time for such things. Maybe later, once I get myself out of this mess. Look at me, slipping into present tense accidentally. Whoops. There I was, shaking like the world's least aerodynamic leaf in the arms--legs?--of Thunderlane and dreading the events to follow. I thought he might have been muttering some other things, presumably reassurances, into my ears, but I was far too distressed to care all that much. At some point or another he stood, letting me back to my hooves, and made for the door. Of course, I trailed along right behind, probably resembling a lost puppy. Not my proudest moment, but we do what we have to, yeah? Anyway, I didn't--couldn't--pay much attention to our surroundings as we walked in silence. As far as I passively observed, they were only the typical hospital fare. At least, from what I knew without being in one before. I was mainly focused on looking out for any mares, as well as losing myself in memories of being human. Between that and following the near-black stallion, I had a full plate, so to speak. I think we descended some stairs at one point and we made a bunch of turns, winding through the labyrinthine building just like Pac-Man in that old arcade game. When we ground to a halt and I came to accordingly, I recognized the room of choice as that of a well-stocked kitchen. "Let me getcha some grub, Heath. What's a hungry bro like you feeling?" I blinked, confused by Thunderlane's question, before a rumble from below caught my attention. I jumped and glanced down, not a little startled by this, and the stallion started chortling to himself. Flushing red, I realized too late that the noise was in fact my stomach and I felt absolutely starved. "Aren't you just a patient? Why would they force you to make food, too?" I asked this with as much incredulity as I could manage, even while eagerly watching the dark grey pegasus set to work. He chuckled again, though whether it was from my question or the hungry look in my oversized pony eyes I didn't know. "Those mares'd be hard-pressed to keep a stallion like me from the kitchen. And they aren't 'forcing' me to do anything." He paused in filling a glass with water from the sink long enough to glance back at me with a strange twinkle in his golden eyes. "This is my way of giving back. With how often I end up in here and how well they always take care of me, I feel like I owe 'em something, y'know? And what's better than a homecooked meal, made with love?" My muzzle formed a wry grin as I settled on the floor and wiggled my eyebrows. "Oh, I can think of a few things..." To my moderate surprise, though, Thunderlane didn't blush and chastise me like I was expecting. Instead, he merely gave a sad little smile and crouched to hold the glass of water out to me. Instinctively, I reached out with a foreleg and curled nonexistent fingers around the cup, which to my further shock stuck to my hoof instead of falling to the floor when the stallion pulled away. "You remind me of my little brother Rumble," Thunderlane said as I opted not to question it and instead guzzled the contents with all the gusto of a fish in the Sahara. I couldn't remember the last time I had tasted water this pure; despite coming straight from the tap, this was the most refreshing and clean H2O I'd had in quite a while. It seemed Ponyland had some upsides, small though they were. "He's got a dirty sense of humor, just like you. Around the same age, too, I'd guess." This piqued my interest and I peeked up at him as my ears peaked to show my attention. Heh, English sucks. Gotta love it, though. "And what age is that?" The stallion gave me an odd look over his shoulder, but eventually shrugged to himself and returned to whatever dish he was making. I was too short to see over the counter, but I doubted I would recognize it if I could, anyway. "Around nine or ten, I'd say. Maybe a year or two younger; you're pretty small." I mulled this over, chewing softly on the inside of my cheek with my new flat horse teeth. "Not twenty-six, then." Thunderlane shook his head but didn't question my words, evidently not taking them seriously. In fact, he seemed to zone out a little as he continued to work, focusing almost entirely on making food. This left the small kitchen in near-total silence, but I wasn't much bothered and in fact quite content with it. Nine years, give or take a few. When this body was born, I'd been rushing to finish my senior project in time to graduate from high school. That year had been one stress-inducing event after another, and at the time I'd thought I would never be as anxious again. Boy, was I wrong. Poor little seventeen-year-old me had no idea of the hardships to come. Sometimes I look back and yearn for those simpler times, when it feels like my only pressing worry was completing school and getting an acceptance letter from college. I yearn, that is, until I remember returning late at night to a 'home' that... ...well... I won't bore you with the details. Something tells me you don't have need of them, anyway. I feel a sort of kinship with you, despite your silence. I think, perhaps, that you've been through some rough stuff, just like me. Maybe that's why we understand each other so well, despite the one-way communication. I want to thank you for letting me narrate what's happening like this. It really helps me process everything when I have that degree of separation, especially when I use past tense. "There you go, bro. Go ahead and eat up while I make more for the staff." All too suddenly, a wooden bowl filled with steaming, fragrant stew was placed on the floor in front of me. My eyes ballooned to the size of literal dinnerplates when I registered the scent. I know not where the unholy frenzy I devolved into came from, but the abominations I proceeded to enact upon that poor bowl were as unmentionable as they were undeserved. The very instant I smelled Thunderlane's cooking, some demon of ravenous destruction possessed my body and by the time I regained control, it was far too late to save any remnants of dignity. I found myself licking greedily at what droplets of stew had escaped the purge and gotten stuck in my fur. I ceased this action as soon as I could, but the damage had already been done. The bowl, having clattered to the floor, came to a stop and practically shone for how cleanly it was polished. The stallion could only openly stare at me with both eyebrows raised as I smiled sheepishly up at him. "You...uh...cook really well." Having lived off microwavable dinners and fast food for a good portion of my life, I'm sure you can understand why I was so caught by surprise. Moreover, while this new body apparently felt pain stronger than before, the same could evidently be said about taste. Pony food tasted incredible and for just a few moments, I'll admit, I was reconsidering my plan to escape. Thunderlane didn't reply. Instead, he crept forward and placed another bowl of stew in front of me. I eyed it with an expression much like that of a lioness stalking an antelope, but waited for his nod before partaking. Only then did I realize I was quivering in place and my gaze was flickering between the food and the stallion's face as if anticipating retaliation. So all-consuming (heh) was the stew, though, that I ended up not paying this very much attention. With only slightly less gusto than before, I dug in. Again, my hooves proved strangely effective at holding things as they lifted the bowl to my muzzle and idly I wondered what else they could accomplish. "You good, bro?" Thunderlane asked as he stirred something on the counter with a bandaged wing and looked at me with an expression halfway between 'worried parent' and 'disturbed spectator.' I waved him off, equally transfixed on both enjoying the stew and holding back tears. "Yeah. Fine," I muttered once finished. I declined a third bowl, much to the stallion's confusion. Better not to take risks, right? The kitchen was once more drenched in silence as I waited for him to be done. I curled up on the floor, still weakly shivering while he resumed, obviously quite perturbed by my actions. Whatever. It wasn't like I could change what he did. Best to just let it all wash over me. I startled at a hoof on my withers and the stallion flinched backwards. Only after I expectantly stared up at him for several moments did he cough awkwardly and give me the sort of look a nervous teenager might give a ticking pipe bomb. "It's...uh...time to go, Heath. I'm all done with the stew, and an orderly just came in to say they're ready for you." Really? I was honestly surprised I'd missed all of that, my phasing out notwithstanding. You'd have thought a whole other pony entering would draw my attention, but I suppose that's just how out of it I was. Even so, a question bubbled to the surface of my mind and I could feel my face scrunch as I asked it: "Who?" A deeply-unpleasant feeling was brewing within me and I didn't like it one bit. It felt like when I'd utterly flunked a test and just gotten the grade or turned in a badly-written paper that I knew wouldn't perform well. I was about to receive an undesirable answer to a question I hadn't even wanted to ask. "What do you mean?" Thunderlane's golden eyes flittered about every which way and he rubbed one foreleg with another, so I guessed he knew the answer to his own inquiry. This stallion was utterly befuddling me; he'd started out so confidant and reassuring, but now he seemed anxious and evasive. Was he somehow thrown off by my actions? I probably should've known better than to expect correction--he wasn't a female, after all, and thus wouldn't punish me for acting out of turn. "Who's ready for me?" He grimaced, strode towards the door, and replied: "The social worker. Now come on, Heath. Let's get you to her." Her. Reluctantly, I followed behind him. Contrary to before, I kept my distance from Thunderlane as we traveled through the sterile halls. Through his more-than-occasional glances back to me and utter silence, I gathered he'd become lost as to how to treat me; it seemed my antics had been alienating rather than endearing like I'd hoped. In efforts to avoid further confusion on his part I kept myself away, even when various nurses passed by and every instinct screamed at me to duck between his legs. I needed to gain every ally I could get in this strange place and to that effect I attempted to make conversation. "So, she sure came quickly, huh?" Unfortunately, I couldn't help but let my anxieties manifest as the subject of my opener. Ah, well, I'd just have to kill two birds with one stone; my many burning questions and making small talk! Look how efficient! "Yup. They prioritize colts quite heavily. Same-day response is just par for the course." Thunderlane's reply was curt and to the point. He didn't so much as look back at me as he spoke, but that might very well have been because we were approaching our destination: a nondescript pale door among many in a hallway just as forgettable. I hesitated outside when the other pegasus walked in, peering after him at the room beyond: A simple lounge, from what I could tell, complete with a few garish couches, abstract paintings, a wooden coffee table-- And two mares waiting patiently within. I dragged myself inside, a prisoner on death row marching to the courtyard where I'd serve my final sentence. The executioners eyed me as I entered. I didn't know the unicorn holding a clipboard in her hooves, but I did recognize Doctor Redheart seated on a recliner to the left. "Why're you here?" She blinked, obviously puzzled by my question, but was ready with an answer soon after. "It's F.P.S. protocol. No one mare can be alone with stallions at any given time. I...volunteered." There was something odd on her face at the end there, but otherwise it was completely emotionless. The point was, I couldn't see any traces of dishonesty, so my attention then returned to Thunderlane. Poor sop. He looked like he couldn't want to be there any less and kept eyeing the door. The unicorn had put on what I would guess was a pleading expression as she gestured for him to sit. Finally and with great trepidation, he did so and I followed suit after stalking a few feet closer. "Hello, Heath," began the clipboard-clutching mare. "How are you today?" I grunted and huddled closer to both myself and Thunderlane, expecting a consoling wing to settle itself around my shoulders. Was it just me, or did the stallion scoot away from my shivering body? "Fine," was my curt reply. I strove to keep all emotion from my visage and become as closed-off as possible. I couldn't let either mare have anything to work with. The moment I gave something away, they would win and I'd suffer that much more pain in the future. I don't expect you to follow along with my logic here. Something tells me you don't have the same experiences with females as me. I'm glad for that--really, I am. Somehow, you understand me anyway and that's a wonderful thing. "Do you know where you live, Heath?" I stifled a giggle. Heck yeah, I knew where I lived. This was one thing I could tell her that wouldn't aid her machinations in the slightest; wherever Ponyland was, I could assume with reasonable accuracy that Earth was not anywhere nearby. "Crestview Apartments, Manhattan, New York, U.S. of A. Planet Earth, third rock from the sun," I rattled off with a cheeky grin. The worker pretended to write stuff down, but I was onto her. That must've sounded like complete nonsense and there was no way any of it helped her. "Which room?" She asked. Mine wasn't the only confused look; both Thunderlane and Doctor Redheart joined me in staring at the unicorn as though she'd sprouted a second head. So off-put by this was I that I forgot to hide my reaction and left myself vulnerable. "Uh...five-oh-nine, fifth floor." Again, she proceeded to write something down and I spent the scant seconds I was allotted trying to recompose my poker face. I was met with mixed results, my efforts cut off with another question: "Do you know where you are?" Not in Kansas anymore, Toto. I didn't bother to voice the joke, though; something told me it wouldn't exactly be appreciated. At least you get it, so my wit doesn't go completely to waste. I opened my mouth to spew out something clever and spiteful, perhaps to the effect of: 'no ma'am, no clue other than some pony hospital with pervert nurses.' Yeah, that'd be good. Maybe let her know I'm onto her, too, and she can't fool me with the weird questions and fake scribbling. "Ponyville, Equestria. Second-largest country on planet Equus." ...what. Do you know where that came from? No, don't look at me like that. I'm genuinely asking because I have no idea. Actually, now I'm freaking out because that information came from nowhere and that means I don't know where it came from and if that's true then how much else can I just randomly come up with and wait, what if that means I've actually just come up with everything and nothing matters any more so I might as well just-- No, you're right. I should calm down and think about this. I phased out while we were walking to and from the kitchen, so I could have easily overheard it then. Or maybe this pony body just comes with some knowledge built-in about my whereabouts? I honestly don't know which explanation is more likely, but the fact that they exist should be enough for now. "...should talk about fostering. Thunderlane, he seems to like you. Would you and your herd be willing to take Heath in?" My gaze shoots straight to the stallion as I tune back in. He looks deeply uncomfortable and hesitates to answer. It seems like he's purposefully avoiding my hope-filled eyes. He coughs, bows his head a little and... ...he rejected me. Something hurt, deep inside. I won't be so cliche as to say my heart broke, but it stung to have my only ally turn on me like that. Worse, I didn't understand why and none of his cited reasons made any sense. Something about 'too much responsibility' and 'he wouldn't want to mess up' and 'too young for foals yet anyhow.' All bullcrap. Didn't he know that messing up would be leaving me behind? And I wasn't a foal; we'd only be the equivalent of roommates while I stayed. Sure, the system wouldn't see it that way but he'd figure out I was an adult like him and then he wouldn't have to worry about the responsibility! I could take care of myself! Heaven knows I've had to! Ah, but I was showing too much emotion. Growing too attached. It wouldn't matter in the end; I would get out of here and back to my average life soon enough. Perhaps it was better that Thunderlane stayed distant and saved himself the heartache of watching me leave. I should have done the same. Instead I'm a blubbering mess as he bolts out the door. Ugh, present tense again. Sorry about that. "We can foster Heath." I startle at the sound of Redheart's voice and realize-- Wait, no. Give me a second. ... Abruptly, I startled at the sound of Redheart's voice and realized she'd come a few steps closer, ducking low to be about eye level with me as she held out a hoof. I offered the doctor my finest stink eye, but couldn't make myself shuffle back away from her. It was like all the energy in me had decided to take a trip to the Bahamas, leaving my pony body to lie there in a pathetic puddle of tears. Jeez, that's just sad. Despite my best efforts, I was reduced to tears by the slightest betrayal. Some man I am. Can't even defend that. Anyway, it didn't much matter what expression I gave the earth pony; she wasn't looking at me in the first place and instead appeared to be in a staring contest with the social worker. "My herd and I, that is. We already have two foals to our name. And he's at least somewhat familiar with me." I just realized I said 'earth pony.' Where'd I get that phrase? More built-in horse knowledge? Or did I simply eavesdrop without knowing? "That sounds like the next best option. Would your husband be okay with it?" What else have I been saying? I'm thinking back to all my descriptions and finding a worrying amount of suspicious knowledge. Did I know the term 'withers' before? What about 'pegasus?' I feel like that one's pretty mainstream so maybe it's passable, but there must be more that I'm forgetting. "I'll ask once I head home tonight, but I doubt he'll have any issues. Same with the other mares." That seemed to be the end of it, judging by how both ponies stood and headed for the door. I took a few steps after, but it wasn't long before rebellion blossomed and I planted my hooves in the carpet. Clearly, I'd done enough blind following and I needed to be more proactive. I wouldn't let these mares push me around everywhere, no matter how big, strong and scary they were. Doctor Redheart opened the door and glanced back at me, quirking a brow at my disobedience. A question blazed to the forefront of my mind, one fused with enough impudence that I couldn't help but voice it: "What if I don't want to be fostered?" Okay, that came out far more petulant than I'd intended, but it still felt good to fight back. The social worker who still hadn't bothered to share her name paused, tapping her muzzle with a hoof. When she responded, her sugary 'talking to a kid' voice hid the threat about as effectively as a whale taking cover behind a single strand of kelp. "Well, we'd have to track down any living family you have and hoof you over. From what you've told us about your herd, something tells me you wouldn't like that very much." I blinked, contemplating, while Redheart shot the unicorn an incredulous expression. She seemed dead serious and the message couldn't be more overt: Defy us, and we'll return you to suffering. "Can't you just leave me alone? I can take care of myself." She actually burst out in giggles at that, waving dismissively at my unamused visage. "Oh, definitely not. A foal, making it by themselves in the big world? What's more, a colt? I'd be fired in minutes! Burned at the stake!" The worker gave one last chuckle before making one last comment, "you're a riot, kiddo," and striding out the door without so much as looking back. Both Redheart and I stood there, one in a shocked stupor and the other in silent consideration. Alright, so it looked like rebelling wouldn't get me very far. It was about this point when I realized I didn't exactly have a plan of action. Granted, I hadn't done much, but that was exactly the problem. Blindly following ponies everywhere like a sheep wouldn't lead to my escape--and yes, I did need to escape. Sticking around for much longer would only lead to pain, the nurse had shown me that. The question, then, was how to get out. I glanced over at my tiny chartreuse wings. Anyone with a lick of sense could tell they'd never support my weight--those primaries were five inches long, max--but maybe, if magic really was real here, they could help me out. I tried clenching various muscles on my back, but they remained stubbornly clamped to my barrel for now. Fruitlessly, I bit my lip and continued, straining with the effort. Gosh, flying would be worth everything. Can you imagine? Just soaring high above the earth without a care in the world, every conceivable problem far, far below, unable to reach you. "Well, Heath, it's time to get back to your room." To her credit, the doctor seemed genuinely remorseful about it, so I didn't hold it against her all too much. Her. I had to be more wary. I couldn't trust Redheart, no matter what she did or how safe she seemed. Any minute now she'd turn on me, pin me to the wall and take what I knew she wanted. I opted not to reply and simply trailed behind her when she turned to go, disgusted by my obedience. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about that. I have no idea why she acted that way." I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I practically galloped to keep up with the doctor. Seeing this, she thankfully slowed her pace, but that only ensured my scornful glare into her oversized icy blue orbs reached full effect. "I do: She's a female." That was answer enough, but Redheart still seemed confused as she led the way through the maze-like hallways. I cleared my throat and oh-so-matter-of-factly finished. "They love to scare people and make them suffer. You're all the same." She blinked and abruptly turned a corner, to which I struggled to catch up. "I don't love making people suffer. I'm a doctor. Isn't that kind of the opposite?" I tensed and froze when we passed a nurse, but thankfully Redheart waited for me and even gestured for the other mare to hurry up when she hesitated. I was silent for a while, thinking the doctor's words over, but eventually came to a conclusion: "No. It's probably just a cover so you can hurt even more people. You probably have to harm even more to make up for the ones you heal every day." Somehow, I meant every word despite the frankly-illogical nature of the argument. She saw this and fell silent, unable to come up with a good response. Probably because there wasn't one. I was tired, scared, and indescribably wary of what the next day would bring. My only consolation was the hope that Redheart's husband would take pity on me and help me get out of here. Let's cross our fingers, yeah?