I sat alone on the desolate, dusty emptiness of the catwalk. The rafters made excellent company for a troubled mind. I kicked my feet aimlessly in the air, as they dangled from my perch into the open space of the fifty foot drop to the stage below. Leaning back on my hands, I heaved a massive sigh. Why do I let Octavia get to me like this?
I suppose, it’s because it’s so difficult not to. Especially when she suddenly started flirting with me, but then decided to be all bipolar about it. What was up with that? One minute, she was coming on quite strong, and then the next, she just seemed like she wanted to be fifty leagues away from me.
Was it something I did? Something I said? I realize she’s been sending majorly mixed-up signals, but maybe I’ve been doing the same. I've never been particularly skilled when it comes to courtship, and really, it's not like I've ever tried to get better at it. I laughed bitterly and hung my head low, shaking it sadly back and forth. As if I've ever had the opportunity to get better. There weren't a whole lot of people I ever let myself get close to, especially not back in school. I had Ly, and that was about it.
Not that I don't immensely appreciate that mint-haired goober, but it would have been nice to be a little more liked. Everyone secretly wants to be accepted. Everybody wants love. Some of us just aren't very good at finding it. Of course, it doesn't help that I'm not into guys. That little fine print clause severely limits my dating pool. And it caused quite a stir when I was unwillingly booted out of the closet by one particular bitch that I made the mistake of trusting.
Dear sweet Luna, Shimmer was a bitch. Captain of the cheer squad, straight A's and B's, personal protégé of Celestia, flawlessly gorgeous kind of girl. The Equestrian Dream, if there ever was one. And of course, she deigned to be my friend. I felt so honored and lucky. Used to being an outcast, I was then becoming part of the intense social circles of the upper class high school scene.
It was strange being popular, well-liked, and admired, and it was all because of Sunset Shimmer. Of course, it was all purely superficial, because anyone the Queen Bee deems worthy of being her close friend obviously is somehow better than everyone, and quickly earns an unhealthy amount of equal parts admiration, envy, and ire. And I was oblivious to all of this. I just thought I was lucky, and Shimmer was wonderful. A little too wonderful, actually.
Celestia, I fell hard. Sophomore year, and I discovered that I was attracted to girls. It was new, and strange. I had "relationships" with guys before, in middle school. But it never felt like anything more than a rather intense friendship. I just naturally assumed that everyone felt this way about their significant other. And then, one night, at a party hosted by a friend of an acquaintance of Shimmer's that she deemed necessary to go to, I started to piece things together, in my clumsy and sluggish fashion.
Shimmer dragged me home with her, after school, saying that she needed my help finding the perfect outfit. Naturally, as her only artistic friend, I had a better idea of color scheme than most, and a secret passion for fashion. So I did what any loyal friend would do, and we whiled away the hours until the party with several different outfit choices and a healthy dose of gossip. I loved every minute of it. But the problem with this night all happened much later.
We arrived at the party, a necessary fifteen minutes fashionably late, and got into the swing of things. I don't remember much of that night, because it doesn't matter. The big event of that night occurred when, predictably cliché and totally expected, someone had the bright idea to play spin the bottle. We had a fantastic time with that, a bunch of barely-adolescents crowded in a small, mildly sweaty circle around a mesmerizingly rotating bottle. There was a relatively equal number of both genders present, and most of the time, the bottle landed on someone of the opposite sex. Occasionally, someone had the misfortune of spinning a same-sex kiss, but the discomfort meant nothing to the rules of the game, and the excited, barbaric chanting of our peers soon had our blood boiling enough that we wouldn't back down from the challenge. It was exciting, and tense, a roulette of lips. And naturally, it all had to come crashing down.
It was Shimmer's turn, and sitting right next to me in a show of solidarity to our peers like we usually did, we were the picture perfect pair of best friends. She giggled lightly, the adrenaline rush of the game finally getting to her. She reached forward and flicked the bottle around. Every teen in the group watched the spinning glass hungrily, animalistic joy painted on our faces. And eventually, as inertia reasserted itself over the silicate bottle, it came to rest. And it was pointed directly at me. I stared at the soda bottle, wide-eyed. It's funny how something so insignificant and ordinarily powerless could ruin my life. Or at least, my reputation, which is basically the same thing in high school, anyway. Shimmer inhaled sharply, and I still felt numb. This was cruel. Eventually, she tapped me on the shoulder lightly.
"We... We don't have to, you know. It's just a dumb game." The waiting crowd held its breath. She was the Queen Bee, and her word was law. If we decided not to go through with this, they wouldn't disagree, and we would move on to some other game. I thought for a minute, and then my stupid sense of pride decided to rear its ugly head.
"Why? You chicken? It's just a dumb game, so why does it matter? Rules are rules for a reason. It's not like anyone else backed out. Shining and Mac went with it, earlier. You saying you're not as good as some boys?" Shimmer stared at me, shocked. In the whole time we had been friends, I had never once gone against one of her commands-worded-as-suggestions. She couldn't believe it, and I knew it. A collective gasp went through the group, and then they started chanting.
"Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!" Someone started imitating the fowl in question, in the background, and as their lusty cries reached a fever pitch, Shimmer tackled me to the ground. Fantastic. I was caught, like a bear in a trap, and now the huntress was coming to get me. She pushed on my shoulders forcefully, as if to say, 'You think you can get away with being an ass?' I merely grinned lazily in response, and the shouting continued around us. The hounds were baying for fresh blood.
I sat back up, cross-legged, and grinned wolfishly at Shimmer. I had provoked the beast. She stared intently at me, and then crawled onto her knees and made her way over to me. I found my lips pressing into a thin, nervous line, as if they were scared of contact with this predatory female. Suddenly, Shimmer had reached her goal. Still on hands and knees, she gave me a reassuring smile, and then gently pressed her lips to mine. It felt strange. And that feeling only persisted as she began pressing more insistently against my mouth, practically crushing my nose into her cheek. The crowd around us jeered as I finally began kissing back, knocked out of my initial daze. This was a new feeling, almost entirely different from kissing boys. It was... good. Shimmer slowly walked her hands forward and began pressing me backwards until I had to put my hands to the floor behind me for support. I wasn't sure where this was heading, but I was starting to enjoy it. Shimmer began to crawl onto me and straddle my waist in some sort of hormone-fueled desperation, and then, thankfully, someone coughed. Incredibly loudly.
I freaked, and pushed Shimmer off of me, standing up fast enough to send even more of the blood in my veins rushing toward my lower body to add to what was already there, even as it tried to fight its way back up to form a blush. The people seated around us wore various looks along the spectrum of awe to disgust, and some looked absolutely embarrassed. I felt my face turn bright red, and I quickly stumbled over to where my jacket lay, and snatched it up as I hurried out the door. I fumbled around in my pockets for my phone, and called my mother to come pick me up. She showed up fifteen minutes later, as I was still pacing around outside and scuffing the grass under my feet. Thankfully, Shimmer had stayed inside. My mother knew that I was distressed over something, but she didn't push it. And I didn't talk to Shimmer again for the next two weeks. That was when she invited me over to her house to talk. Sparing the sordid details, we ended up in a sort-of-happy, five month relationship. And then, she absolutely betrayed me.
It was the last week of school, and I was looking forward to summer. I had plans to take Shimmer out on a few nice dates, and even invite her to the beach with my family. And then I actually walked into the building, and everything changed. Students snickered when they saw me, and some glared, while others gave looks of the utmost sympathy. I didn't get it. Well, until I saw what was splattered all over the walls. Someone had printed out hundreds of pictures of me, plastered them all over the school, and written in bright red marker in the neat and pretty handwriting I recognized immediately, things like "Vinyl is the Fag Queen," "Superdyke," "Lady Lover," and "Lock Up Your Daughters." I was stunned. Even as I realized who had written those awful things, my heart denied it. I stood stock-still in the middle of the main entrance concourse, hands hanging limp by my sides, and feet spread in an automatic, defensive, shoulder-width stance. Eventually, one of the guidance counselors alerted the administrators, and then took me to her office. I was still numb. There was no way that Shimmer had done that. She cared about me, right?
The counselor that brought me in called in my counselor, and shut the door gently behind them. I was sprawled in a chair in front of the desk, my feet and legs still spread out like I was trying to keep myself grounded, and my elbows rested on my knees while I held my face in my hands. All I could focus on was the worn, faded denim skinny jeans covering my legs, and the small sliver of twenty-year-old utilitarian gray office carpeting. My counselor spoke my name in a soft, kind, motherly tone, with a kind of questioning lilt at the end. I faded back into reality, rubbing my face vigorously with my hands, and eventually looking up to meet her kind, brown eyes. All that the two middle-aged women did was try to comfort me, knowing that this kind of thing had driven kids to suicide before. I never contemplated that, but it wasn't like they could see inside my head. Eventually, a few hours into the day, after they had talked to me and brought me out of my mostly catatonic state, and I finished the cup of coffee I had requested, they let me go on to class, but not until they had gotten the admission out of me that Shimmer had likely done this, and once they were sure that the janitors had torn down all the hateful posters. But the damage was done. After that, Shimmer admitted that she only dated me because she wanted to watch someone so good and kind break. I nearly strangled her after that. The rest of the school started bullying me, and no matter how hard the staff tried to stop it, the behavior persisted. Ly was the only person who stuck by me, even as I was officially considered a disgrace by the rest of high school society. And mostly, it was because she was attracted to women, too, even though she never came out, and she felt like she couldn't just let me suffer all on my own, when she easily could have been in my place.
So, lesson learned, I was wary of dating anyone. Even in college, where everything was a bit more progressive because it was a technical institute in Mane. Finally, I made my way down to New Yorkshire, and Ly tagged along because she hadn't left my side since sophomore year. And we both found a job with the Black Rose theater company, on Broadneigh. It was an amazing stroke of luck. They needed a harpist, and I had been the only qualified professional who applied for the open audio tech position. And then we met Bon on our first day, and the rest is history.
But now that Octavia is acting so strangely, I'm starting to possibly rethink my decision to keep to the shadows and not go after the girl I want. I've had my share of troubles with dating, and mostly I just go after one night stands, though I'm a tad ashamed to admit it. I just never really connect with anyone like I want to. But something about Octavia just brings back all those memories from the first serious relationship I ever had, no matter how bitterly it ended. I remember the joy of it all. And Octavia makes me want that sort of butterflies-in-the-stomach commitment again. I would be content with a woman like her for eons, really. What's not to like? She's absolutely ravishing, for one. Long, dark, silky hair that hangs down just perfectly to the small of her back, vibrant amaranthine eyes that pierce beautifully right into the heart of me, a heart-shaped face dusted with just the right amount of freckles, and goodness, if she didn't just have a pair of hips and a backside that anyone would kill for. Oftentimes, I couldn't tell if I was lusting after them, or intensely jealous of them. She struck an imposing figure, and branded herself on my mind the first second I met her.
Her appearance wasn't even the best part of her. We weren't anything like close friends, yet, but from what I had heard from our mutual friends, and what I had observed myself, Octavia was a genuinely kind individual. She was highly intelligent, creative, and passionate. Especially for the arts. She was quite literally the definition of my type.
The clang and click of an industrial stage door jarred me out of my thoughts. Who would be here at this hour, on a day we didn't have practice? It was well after ten p.m., and I was only here because my apartment hadn't been a suitable place to dispel my thoughts about Octavia after this morning, and I made my way here after several long hours.
I heard footsteps treading lightly onto the stage, and a familiar silhouette arrived at the edge of the stage, arms crossed tightly and feet spread shoulder-width apart in an irritated stance. The harsh glow of the fluorescent work lights I had turned on earlier cast sharp shadows on her body, turning her into a living work of art made of contrasts between shadows and light. I couldn't help but admire the sight. She was a striking individual.
Octavia began to pace, in apparent aggravation, before eventually throwing her arms up and aggressively ruffling her own hair. What's going on with her? She huffed loudly, and continued to stalk across the stage. Almost as if she had heard my silent question, she began to muse aloud.
"Luna-damned directors! Why would they put this on me now, of all times? Just when I was starting to grow attached, they're trying to drag me away. Dammit! Why? Maybe I don't want to go! Maybe I'll tell them that. Might damage my career a bit, but some things are more important than a career. I'm doing just fine here, with who and what I love. Celestia, they're so arrogant and full of themselves. Sometimes I just want to... Raaah!" With that, she punched the stage wall, and then cried out in pain. I couldn't take it any longer, she was too distressed. She began cursing out loud, and then she punched the wall again.
"Shit! Shitshitshitshitshitshit... dammit! Damn wall!" My eyes widened at the display, and then I watched as Octavia cradled her hand to her chest and crumpled to the ground. I hurriedly slid back from the railing, stood up, and began walking quickly across the catwalk. I reached the ladder, and without my usual moment of hesitation and slight fear, I immediately began clambering down as fast I could. Chances are, the idiot just hurt herself pretty badly.
As I skipped the last five rungs and let myself fall to the stage, I felt my knees buckle for a second under the force of gravity, and then I forced myself back up. My noisy climbing had alerted Octavia that someone else was in the building, and she had looked up from the stage to stare at me pitifully. Now was not the time for explanations as to why either of us was there, and I strode over quickly and dropped to my knees beside her. I nearly barked commands at her, my required first aid training taking over.
"Hand, now. Let me see." She whimpered, and shook her head.
"N-no. It hurts, but I'll be fine. P-promise." The already-bruising knuckles spoke to the contrary. Could be a fracture, at the very least, a bad sprain and bruises.
"No. Give me your hand. Don't be any more stupid than you already were." She glared at me silently. "Come on, dammit, I've been trained in first aid, and mom is a nurse. I know what I'm doing. You can trust me. Please." I spoke the last bit in a softer tone, hoping she would respond better to that. And she did, eventually.
She gingerly extracted her injured hand from where it was wrapped tightly up in her hunched-over form. I delicately placed her thin hand into my own, and began examining it to find the extent of the injury. I gently traced my fingers over her knuckles, enveloping them in the soft white glow of my magic, and as I reached the second, she hissed in pain. Okay, so that finger was injured. I continued my inspection of the last two knuckles, and when she didn't respond to anymore prodding, I returned my attention to her second knuckle. I softly tapped the knuckle again, to be sure that it wasn't just her response to the scrapes all over her hand. I barely touched my finger to the bone connected to the knuckle before she groaned. So, probably broken. I turned over her whole arm, careful not to twist her wrist, and inspected her palm. She grimaced as I straightened out her arm, and began examining both sides of her wrist. I only found bruising on her hand, so if there's a fracture, it's confined to to the metacarpals, and not the carpals. Good. That's a less complex injury.
I let Octavia retract her arm and place it cradled against her middle again. I didn't necessarily see any breaks, but as I'm not anyone in a medical career, my magic wasn't fine-tuned enough to detect anything more than obvious injuries. I looked her in the eye, and shook my head angrily.
"What in Tartarus were you thinking, Octy? Why would you go and punch a wall? That is the least constructive outlet for anger that I've ever heard of." She glanced down, ashamed. I felt a little guilty, for adding insult to injury, in a literal sense. But she needed to hear it.
"Look, I just... I got angry, okay? I've always had kind of a short temper, and it just got the best of me. Back off, okay?" She glared angrily at me, but it still felt like the aggression of a wounded animal. I need to get her to the ER, but I would like to get the reasoning behind her idiocy, if I can.
"Okay, fine, if you back off on hitting solid concrete. You've likely fractured your hand, Octy. Come on. What's gotten you that upset in the first place?" She grimaced, and looked away from me. I could be patient ordinarily, but we don't have time with an injury like that. "Fine. Don't tell me. But we need to get you to the ER. Did you drive here? I need to know if I need to call someone to come get your car. Ly is just a couple blocks from here."
"Look, I'm not asking for your help. I'll be fine. Just leave me alone." That was rather offensive. Who would refuse help when they need medical attention?
"Look, dammit. I don't care that you don't want my help, and I don't care about whatever's gotten your panties in a twist. But you need help, whether you like it or not, because you broke your damn hand. Now, you're either coming willingly, or so help me Luna, I will pick you up and carry you out to my car and lock you inside so I can take you to the hospital. And here I thought you were always so sensible." Octavia glared up at me, and I met her gaze with equal fire, strong, solid carmine pushing back at icy, cutting amethyst. Finally, in a staring contest for the ages, her gaze softened, and she nodded. I knelt down and wrapped my arms under her chest, lifting her to her feet as I stood.
"I'm glad you finally saw sense. I've never seen someone with as destructive of a temper as you." A small, white lie. "Are you some new breed of stupid? You're usually so calm. What's up?" Octavia whipped around with rage in her eyes as I accidentally insulted her. Dammit, I need to stop just saying whatever I'm thinking.
"No, I'm not just 'some new breed of stupid.' I have a valid reason for being upset, and my temper just got the best of me. You have no reason to mock me. I'm sure that you're not as perfect as you seem, Miss Staccato." Her viper tongue threw words at me with deadly accuracy. "Here you are, offering 'help', but all you're doing is making things worse! Why can't you just leave me alone? I can't believe I ever thought you cared, even for a second. You're just the type to go and act sweet, and turn around and hurt someone when they're down. What's wrong with you?" Octavia stepped forward and poked me firmly in the chest with her uninjured hand. Alright, I couldn't take it anymore.
"I don't even know what in Tartarus you're talking about! All I've offered is help, and all you've done is been a bitch! You've just broken your Luna-damned hand, being an idiot, and apparently it was all over something you won't even tell me about! What's wrong with me? How about what's wrong with you?" I stepped closer and glared into her eyes in the inches separating us. I was so done with this girl. All I ever did was help her and dote on her, and this is the thanks I get? Fuck that.
"You really want to know what's wrong with me? This is what's wrong with me!" She stepped closer, until we were separated by centimeters, and raised her uninjured hand. Expecting a physical blow, I began to step back, but instead, I felt a hand pulling my head forward, until a pair of lips collided with my own. Wait. Hang on. No. No, this is not seriously happening.
But it was. Even as my brain struggled to process the soft, obviously feminine pair of lips against my own, it was becoming reality. Every night that I had lain awake, torturing myself with thoughts I didn't want, but did want. Every time I had felt a swelling of pride after a wonderful performance by Octavia. Every time that I waited just a heartbeat too long after trying to tell her, and changed my mind entirely, saving myself infinitesimal heartache. All of it was crashing in on me as I felt Octavia disengage and step back. I slowly opened my eyes, and blinked, lips still slightly parted. What was going on?
"...You... Octy? What? No. Nononononononono. Wait. Hang on. Why would you..." I trailed off, as I realized that my discombobulated thoughts were creating more anxiety as I voiced them. And then Octavia turned to walk away, and I knew I had to stop her.
"Octy! Wait! It's not what you think! Hey, come back, dammit!" I jogged toward the exit and managed to slide in front of her, just as she reached the door.
"Hey. Look, I'm not upset. Please..." She had her head turned down, and wouldn't look at me. I stepped closer, and put my hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Octy."
"What? What do you want? Look, it was a mistake, I'm sorry. I just, I couldn't take it anymore, not knowing. I took a chance, and I'm sorry. I'm sure you probably don't even want to be friends with me anymore, and that's fine. I just had to try. It hurt too much not to." I laughed. If only she knew.
"Well, the only thing around here that should hurt too much is your hand. Look, it's fine. We'll talk this over later, but right now, we need to get you to the hospital, okay? You're fine. I'm not mad. And I think that we both need some time to think this over, so why don't we take the ride to the ER as the perfect opportunity?" It was partially a lie. I didn't need time to think it over, I needed time to process that fantasy had finally become reality. But I figured that she might want time to reconsider. People do crazy things in the heat of the moment, and I wanted her to be sure. It was a dangerous gamble I was taking, as she might assume I meant for it to be time for her to realize that she had made a mistake, but it was a chance I had to take, because until she was taken care of, I wasn't going to be able to focus on any serious conversation.
"I suppose so. Shall we go? The pain is starting to seep back in, and I'm starting to realize you were right." She grinned sheepishly at me, and I nodded, and helped her out the door, shutting off the lights and locking up the entrance before I headed to the parking lot.
She was already waiting at the passenger door of my Jeep, and I unlocked the car and helped her in. She blushed and mumbled her thanks, and I shut the door and trotted around to the driver's side. I hopped in and started the car in a practiced motion. I looked over at Octavia in the dim light cast from the street lights on the main drag, and grinned.
"Okay, Octy, where to? Any specific hospital preference?"
"Not really. I'd just like to get my hand checked out, because I think you were right about a fracture." She grimaced a little, and I saw that she had her arm pressed tightly to her abdomen and covered by her other arm. I hated seeing her injured. So I put the car in drive and started off for the nearest hospital.
"Hey, Vinyl?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you keep calling me Octy?"
"Because I nickname every one of my friends, eventually."
"Oh. Well, I like it."
"I like it, too, Octy." And with that, we both resumed our mutual silence, and I sped away to the ER.