I wake up from my fourth nap today to the sound of a phone ringing. My joints are unbearably stiff, but I manage to grab my cell off the nightstand.
Twilight’s calling.
I stare at her photo for a few seconds, squinting at the too-bright screen. She’s smiling with her teeth, putting up double peace signs. I reject the call, then close my eyes and press my face into the pillow until it’s hard to breathe.
She shouldn’t see me like this. I just want to lay here. Do nothing. Think about nothing.
The phone rings again. This time I just let it go to voicemail.
A minute later, it rings again.
I almost start screaming. Instead I spit a few curses at my pillow, then take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face. I grab the phone and, as brightly as I can, say, “Hello?”
“Sunset? It’s Twilight.”
I rub my eyes. “Twi! What’s up?”
“Are you okay?”
I made her cry the first time we met.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just feeling a little under the weather, y’know? Allergies and all that.”
“Okay. It’s just — no one’s heard from you since yesterday. We got worried.”
It was during the Friendship Games. I screamed at her until she ran away sobbing.
No, no, no. I swallow the memory. “Yeah.”
“Can I come over?”
I want to hang up. “I told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to come all this way.”
“I’m already outside, actually,” she says. “I’ve been here for ten minutes.”
I look at the time. She must have come here as soon as school let out. Did she tell any of the other girls?
“It’s just you out there?” I ask.
“Just me.”
There’s still a part of me that wants to tell her to leave, hang up, and flush my phone down the toilet. Instead I sigh and say, “Ring the bell.”
She hangs up, and my apartment’s doorbell shrieks. Groaning, I lift myself out of bed, down the ladder, and limp over to the ringer box to let her in.
This is the first time I’ve gotten out of bed today, and my legs are jelly under me. I’ve got at least a minute before Twilight makes it up the stairs to my apartment on the fifth floor, and that gives me barely enough time to squeeze into a pair of jeans that I grab off the floor. With the lights off and the shades drawn, it takes me a good twenty seconds just to find them.
I lift my arm and sniff — not that bad, considering I haven’t showered since getting back from Equestria. But I’ve got a headache pounding in the back of my skull, and scrambling out of bed was enough to make me lightheaded, so who knows how reliable my senses are right now.
Goddess I don’t want Twilight to see me like this. She saved me, and now I’m a disgusting mess. What a way to repay her.
Footsteps, getting louder. Then a knock. I open the door — the light from the hallway burns out my retinas.
Through my squinting, I see Twilight recoil away, either from the smell or my pure disgustingness. Then she grips her backpack straps and stomps her way into the apartment like a soldier through a jungle.
“Hey, Twi!” I say, closing the door behind her. We’re plunged into shadow again, but I do my best to keep grinning as wide as I can.
She looks around, notices she’s standing on a pair of my leggings, and frowns. “It’s very dark in here.”
“Oh, sorry!” I scramble over to the wall and flick on a lightswitch. My headache goes from pounding to stabbing. “Just wanted to get some decent shuteye. I’ve been feeling sorta under the weather, y’know?”
Twilight nods slowly. “Yeah. You said that on the phone.”
Shit.
“Right, right.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and look away. “So... You were outside for ten minutes?”
She heads over to the couch and drops her backpack. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. I got a bit nervous.”
That’s genuinely the last thing I want to hear right now. My chest hurts from the effort it takes to force out a laugh. “What? C’mon, Twi. You know I love hanging out with you!”
She frowns at me again and I want to stick my hand down the garbage disposal. Why am I lying to her? She’s my friend. Right?
“We finished putting the yearbook together,” she says, crossing her arms tight. “We even got Wallflower’s picture. Do you want to check it out?”
I can still hear Wallflower screaming that she hates me.
“Nah." I wave my hand. “I trust you guys. I’m sure you did a great job.”
“Mm.” Twilight motions to her bag. “Finals start on Thursday. Do you want to study together?”
I’d rather stick my head down the garbage disposal.
“Maybe later.” I step back over to the ladder up to my bed. “I’m really not feeling great, Twi. Probably not the best time to hang out. I’m just gonna be napping the whole time.”
She’s quiet as I climb up, pull the covers off, and settle back into the corpse-shaped indent in my mattress. When I close my eyes, she calls out to me: “Have you eaten today?”
“Yep!” I turn away from where she’s standing.
“What did you eat?”
Water.
“A bunch of stuff!”
No response. I bury my face into the blanket. With my eyes closed, I can see her crying, sprinting away from me as fast as she can. I made a lot of people do that.
No, no, no! Stop thinking! Stop remembering things!
I hear the thunking sound of my refrigerator opening and closing, and the clink of silverware against ceramic.
“I’m fine, really!” I shout through my blanket. The sounds stop for a second, then start again. I shove my head under my pillow, but even that can’t block out everything. The sharp clinking sounds stab into my brain like syringes, pumping my headache into a migraine.
I sit up fast enough to tweak my back. I can’t stop myself from glaring at Twilight, but she’s not looking. She’s over in my kitchen, spreading grape jelly on two slices of (probably stale) bread. She’s got a knife in hand and a stick of butter next to her.
There’s something missing from this picture.
I cross my legs under me. “Where’s the peanut butter?”
She jumps a bit and looks up. “Huh?”
“Peanut butter. You’re making a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, yeah?”
“Oh. Um.” She looks down at the bread, then back to me. “No. I’m making a butter & jelly sandwich.”
“Why?”
She blinks. “I don’t like peanut butter. Sorry. This is really good, though! Really.”
It looks sort of dumb, to be honest. And I still want her to leave. But I can smell the grape jelly from my bed, and just the first sniff is enough to make my stomach roar in delight. And watching her make a sandwich, knife sliding against bread with the precision of a master swordsman, is more interesting than any murky nap-dream I’ve trudged through today.
So I just lean against the loft railing and stare as she stacks two sandwiches on a plate and floats them over to my coffee table, along with a glass of apple juice.
“What, I don’t get breakfast in bed?” I ask.
“It’s more like dinner,” she says, sitting down on the couch. “And that’s how you attract ants.”
“I thought you loved ants.”
“Yeah, but I prefer to keep them in a formicarium, not my bed.”
Damn, she’s good.
I try not to groan as loudly this time as I haul myself out of bed, down the ladder, and over to Twi. When I sit, she floats the plate onto my lap. I ask, “Aren’t you going to have one?”
“Nope. They’re both for you.”
“Twi, I—”
“Eat. Please.”
My stomach is still growling loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but I put on a pouty face and take a bite. Then another. Then another. Then the entire sandwich is gone, and I’m left licking sweet flecks of jelly off my fingers. Goddess, this is so much better than chewing my fingernails. And Twilight doesn’t look disgusted at all. I guess once you watch Rainbow Dash eat, nothing compares.
“This is amazing.” I tear into the second sandwich, and already my lightheadedness is fading. It’s like a PB&J, but unhealthier — absolutely my jam. No pun intended.
Twilight finally smiles. “The secret is to spread the jelly as evenly as possible. You don’t want any big globs.”
“You’re a big glob,” I say through a mouthful of bread.
“And you’re buttery smooth.” Twilight scoots closer to me. “Now can we talk?”
In my sandwich splendor, I’d almost forgotten what was making me so upset. But it all comes back into focus, and now I’m too nauseous to take another bite. I put my sandwich down. “Talk about what?”
“I know something’s wrong,” she says in a quiet voice. “I came over because I was worried about you.”
I’m a practiced liar. Until Princess Twilight came, I’d never met a situation I couldn’t talk my way out of. And all those old instincts are sparking back to life now as Twilight’s words bounce around my head. I need to hide. I need a way to escape this, escape her.
She’s gonna try to make me feel better. And that terrifies me. There’s nothing I deserve less.
I take in a breath, ready for another excuse. I turn to her. But when I look into her eyes, my mind goes blank.
I let the breath go and hang my head. “Can’t hide anything from you, huh?”
“What Wallflower did was awful. Even she admits that.” She reaches out, touches my shoulder. I can’t tell whether the anxiety I feel is hers or mine. “It’s okay to be upset.”
“I’m not mad at Wallflower."
That’s not true. Just hearing the scrawny green bitch’s name sends my blood pressure skyrocketing. But she apologized. And we forgave her. So I can’t be mad. And anyway, everything she did — it was all my fault for not noticing her. So.
Twilight moves closer. “What is it, then?”
“When you got your memories back, what did you see?”
“A lot,” she says. “It only lasted a few seconds. But it felt like completely rewatching every memory I had of you, all at once.”
“Sounds about right.” I’ve got my eyes focused on the sandwich crumbs. “When I got my memories back, I remembered every single horrible thing I’ve done since coming to Earth. Even some stuff I’d forgotten on my own.”
“Oh, gosh.” Twilight takes her hand off my shoulder and holds it to her chest. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. I mean, nothing bad actually happened to me, right?” I chuckle, way too loud. “All Wallflower did was jog my memories. And after all the awful stuff I did, the least I can do is remember everyone I hurt.”
Twilight shakes her head. “Don’t talk like that. Everyone—”
“I know.” Don’t clench your fists. “That’s all in the past. It doesn't define me. Everyone — everyone’s forgiven me.”
Saying those words feels like drinking mud. We both know it’s a lie, especially after this past weekend. But it’s an accepted lie.
“I can handle the memories." I think that’s true. “It’s just, having to relive them all at once like that — I wasn’t ready. It really shook me. And I took the day off to rest, but laying here alone with my thoughts… I just feel worse than ever.”
Even now, the memories are swirling like a storm inside my brain. All the rumors I spread, the insults I slung, the hate I stoked. How many people were scared to come to school because of me? Too beaten down to even get out of bed? And how many more Wallflowers are out there, ready to show me exactly how much I hurt them?
My head feels as heavy as wet sand, and even less stable. I want Twilight to leave. I want to lay down again, stop thinking, and go completely numb—
Twilight leans forward and hugs me.
The storm stalls for a moment as I look down at her short arms. She can’t even reach all the way around me. But she’s got her cheek pressed to my shoulder, eyes closed. She’s warmer than anything in this apartment.
Slowly she starts to rock back-and-forth, carrying me with her. I don’t resist. And eventually I even lean into it, letting her grip tighten around me until it’s near suffocating. It’s like we’re at Camp Everfree again —- she even starts running her hand in circles across my back.
A year ago, I would have kicked anyone grabbing me like this in the stomach. But I’m so touch-starved that even this, a sad and sweaty embrace in my dim studio, is as lush as a five-star spa treatment.
“I wish you’d told me sooner,” she says, barely louder than a breath. “Instead of sitting here in the dark — I know how crummy you must feel.”
I don’t think she does. The hug still feels good, though.
I rest my chin on top of her head. “I thought I needed some alone time. But after a weekend of being forgotten, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”
I make it sound like a joke. But I’ve got no family, no caretaker. And no matter how many plants I hang up, or video games I buy, there are days when this apartment becomes as lonely as a locked prison cell.
Twilight pulls away. “Have you tried crying?”
The question ricochets off my brain like a dodgeball, and it takes a second to understand what she just said. “What?”
“When I’m really upset, I try to cry,” she says with a smile somehow. “I can’t do it on command, obviously. But when the feeling comes, I just let it take me. And it always helps me feel better.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t cry.”
“Everyone cries sometimes, don’t they?”
I shrug. “That’s just not how I express myself. Sorry.”
It’s true, I don’t. Not at sad movies, not at animal shelter ads, not during period cramps. Not even when all my friends completely forget who I am.
I only remember crying once since I was a filly. And it was the Fall Formal, the worst night of my life, so it doesn’t even count.
“That’s okay.” Twilight folds her hands in her lap. “What can I do for you, then?”
I already miss the warmth and security of Twilight’s hug. Briefly, I consider asking for another. But instead, I say, “Stay with me? Just for a little while?”
My voice cracks as I speak. I’m a foal again, begging someone to care about me. Twilight should laugh in my face, spend her free time doing anything else.
And yet, she doesn’t. She nods. She says, “Wanna play a few rounds of Death Dance? And maybe later, we can go for a walk and get dinner?”
I cross my arms tight enough to feel my own sweaty armpits. “Sure. I think I’ll need to take a shower first, though.”
“Whatever you need, I’m here,” she says. As I rise from the couch, she looks up at me. “‘Whatever happens, we stick together.’ Remember?”
Staring back at her, it takes a second for me to stop gaping and say, “Right.”
She turns on the TV, and I go pull a clean set of clothes from my closet. I walk over to the bathroom, but before I can go in, I’m frozen still by her voice, calling my name. I turn.
She’s smiling, face soft. “I just wanna say: When Wallflower gave me back all my memories of you, it was one of the happiest moments of my life.”
No words. There’s nothing I can say to explain the hot twist in my chest, the static in my brain, the shocked expression on my face. I just give the most awkward peace sign of my life and head into the bathroom.