“Leave the money on the table,” Sweetie said as she rolled to her belly on the soft motel bed.
The stallion dropped a small bag of bits on his way out without looking back at her. A mare of her own now, too ashamed to go home after the whole ‘pregnancy’ misunderstanding.
Sweetie went to the restroom and quickly turned on the shower, damn the temperature, she had to wash herself off, wash away what he’d done, wash away who she was. She wept under the cold water as it caused her to tremble, biting at the soft flesh below her white coat.
After a time she collected herself and warmed the shower, beginning to wash herself properly with soap and a scrub brush, held firmly in her magic. She often thought, during her ‘after’ showers, of how proud Twilight and Rarity would be to see how well she’d mastered her magic over the past few years.
She always made sure to clean extra well under her tail, as well as any other places on her body that her ‘dates’ would want to go.
Finishing her shower she always felt a little better about how her life had turned out since that day of youthful ignorance. Oh, to go back to then and make the choice to tell anypony, then she’d have been teased by her closest friends for a little while and life would have gone back to normal.
She looked in the mirror at the unicorn. She looked so much like her sister, Rarity, except for the tired look on her face, the tip of her horn was broken off, a scar across the left side of her muzzle, and a hollowness in her eyes. Her gaze traveled to her flanks, where her cutie marks were marred by two heavy scars in the shape of an ‘X’.
She couldn’t remove them, but she didn’t want to remember them and what they represented. She cried for so many nights after her ‘dates’ would be done with her, and they’d congratulate her on her unique mark.
She didn’t cry at her reflection anymore, it was who she was now. She didn’t yell at her reflection to go back to Ponyville and live again, to get over her shame: That her friends and family would welcome her back with open hearts. The shame of what she’d done, and let others do to her, so that she could merely survive was too much to bear.
What would she tell her old friends, that she’d run away six years ago just because?
The scars were from when she ‘tripped down a flight of stairs’, her submissiveness to any stallion was because of what? What could she say? She felt a stir of emotions ebb slightly before she pushed them back down.
Picking up a large array of mane care tools, gels, and sprays she styled her mane into something that made her smile and remember Fluttershy. She took the brush and then frazzled her mane giving it a final spray to hold it in place.
With how she was surviving she couldn’t look like her friends. She chose a wavy curl that rolled down her neck and smiled at herself and the work she’d done so quickly.
“If Rarity could see me now,” she said in a soft, mature voice, devoid of and foalish tones and squeaking, “she’d be proud to know I at least know how to take care of my mane.”
She stayed in the bathroom for what felt like hours. Time between her dates didn’t matter, only the last one so she’d get a certain few hours of sleep at the cost of a separate room, free of the scents and memories of what she’d had endured through the day.
She held her smile as a knock came to the motel room door and she turned, reentering the bedroom and, using her magic, made the bed quickly, collected the bits and placed them in her saddlebags under the dresser as she trotted through the room, like she had so many times she didn’t even have to think where everything was and she let her mind wander.
She kept her smile, thinking of her life as an innocent filly; playing with her friends and learning magic. The days spent crusading, the nights spent giggling as they had sleepovers, playing hide and seek in the apple orchard, flying through town behind Scootaloo and her scooter.
She opened the door to meet her next ‘date’ and looked her in the eyes. She broke down and fell to her chest, bawling more than she had since she was first introduced to the oldest profession, shortly after entering the Everfree forest by a group of stallions.
The years of memories flashed through her mind as she was taken by the stallions and sold to a brothel and made to work at such a young age. All it took was her cutie mark to make her legal enough. The escape from the brothel and being found and beaten, her horn being broken on the cobblestone streets of Trottingham.
The wife of a stallion that had taken a knife to her face.
The loss of what she felt was her very soul to an underworld that she had never imagined existed below the utopian existence she’d believed in.
She finally cried for her freedom, years of begging for death were pushed aside.
She cried and trembled at the hooves of Princess Twilight Sparkle; who had finally found her.
Choose your ending.
More endings to come