Vinyl tries to keep herself together while recounting her relationship with Octavia.
Life is hard. Breakups don't help.
Vinyl talks to some of her friends about what happened with Octavia, and how it all happened. Holding herself together without the support she once had from Octavia is now even harder.
She sat down staring off into space through two walls, a door, a window, and a seventeen-foot thick cloud. She couldn't see past that first wall, but she could still feel the empty void she stared into clawing at her heart and mind. She'd lost the love of her life and all she could think about was how empty she felt. Why wasn't she crying? Why wasn't she screaming into her pillow about how it wasn't fair? Was Octavia right?
Vinyl picked herself off of her bed and walked out into her apartment's pseudo kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee, not even bothering to add her usual hot cocoa mix, or even milk or sugar. She just poured black coffee into a ceramic mug. She didn't use magic like she normally did. Unfortunately for her, this deviance from her routine made her spill a great deal of the precious black liquid over the counter and floor, some of which ended up on her. There were a few curses let out under her breath, but aside from that, no fucks were given. How could she give a fuck anymore? The only pony who genuinely made her feel like caring about anything was worth it was gone now. She wasn't going to come back ever. And the words she said to Vinyl made that point far too clear.
I hate you!
Did you ever really care at all?
You're a fucking psychopath! How are you not crying right now?!
Vinyl shook the echoes of Octavia's voice from her mind and tried to refocus her senses on the coffee. She brought the mug to her lips and took a sip of her drink and tried to focus on the taste. But the coffee passed over her lips and tongue without leaving the slightest hint of bitterness behind. The taste was dulled in her mouth, and the warmth was nullified. Her inability to feel any sort of emotion amplified itself with the echoes in her mind of Octavia's voice, manifesting as true numbness.
When did you actually give up?
Stop lying. I need the truth, Vinyl.
She set her mug back down on the counter and walked away, heading back into her room and closing the door behind her. Normally, there would be some sort of music playing. She always had some record playing, filling her small studio with sound and magic and life. She'd turned it off just an hour ago to talk to Octavia through video chat, and the will to turn it back on had yet to return.
Fuck you! You're just like my ex!
Vinyl plopped back on her bed, staring out the window at the night sky and realizing for the first time that it was black without stars, and the moon was nowhere to be seen. She wished she could take it all back, unsay everything and just start over. She wished she could go back and make sure that Octavia knew just how much she cared, and how much she loved her. But she knew that would never happen. It couldn't happen. The past couldn't be changed, and consequences had to be borne in silence and solemnity.
As of that moment, with the off silence coming from her apartment, no one knew the real Vinyl Scratch. They didn't know what she cared about, or what she wanted out of life, or what she thought about things, or what she felt. No one in the world truly understood her pain, and for the first time in years, Vinyl felt truly alone and hopeless.
It was then that she felt her eyes well up with the pressure of tears, but she couldn't let them out. She curled up into a tight ball, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in the gap to hide herself.
For a while, all she could do was lie there in her bed, staring off into space, wondering when her mind would finally finish processing the pain and let her cry, or even if it would. Such wounds don't heal until they've been closed, and they can't close until the mind truly understands the wound is there.
------
She woke up late. She didn't usually wear pajamas to bed because she tended to overheat in them. But last night, she'd simply forgotten to take them off before falling asleep. She wasn't even sure it was even sleep. It just seemed more like she forgot a few hours and finally regained lucidity.
She woke up late. The bell tower tolled three and the sun began peeking through the blinds and stabbing her eyes with knives of light. The sun also heated up her room enough to wake her up drenched in sweat, making her normally loose and comfortable pajamas feel like an ill-fitting swimsuit. She pulled herself from her bed and arched her back, listening to it crack and pop like a drummer was hitting the rims of his drums with the sticks. She then took a step forward and immediately stubbed her toe on something on her messy floor. She cursed a bit and stepped over the offending object, which just so happened to be a cello case.
"Hurting me physically too? Fuck me, I guess..." she mumble to herself. She wanted nothing more than to just walk off a bridge or something, but her pride refused to allow her. She was, after all, a survivalist. She'd survived countless years of her depression. What was this but another wave on a beach? She'd been through worse. She'd stood on the metaphorical bridge and looked down but didn't jump. She'd put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger knowing the chamber was empty. She was a survivor.
But survival wasn't always a victory. While she hid away, trying to gather her strength to go on living, the depression grew.
She woke up late, and walked to the kitchen after stubbing her pinkie toe on a cello case and poured herself a cup of coffee, this time adhering to her normal routine. That was the thing about her. Her mind was in a sense too stable to falter, too grounded in her illness for anything to break her. She couldn't get her head in the clouds because she was stuck on the ground, and she couldn't get off the ground because she was the ground. Even the harshest trauma could only crack her, but she could never break.
She woke up late and walked into the kitchen after stubbing her toe on a cello case and poured herself a makeshift mocha in her insulated metal travel mug. She put a spoonful of hot cocoa mix in the bottom of the cup and poured the coffee over it before adding milk, and stirred it all together with a butter knife because her spoons were too short to reach the bottom of the mug. As she stirred, her mind wandered back to the echoes of Octavia's voice.
I love you so much Vinyl...
I hate you! How could you do this‽
Say something...
"Get out of my head... It's crowded enough with just me..." Vinyl muttered as she took her first sip of her coffee. She proceeded to set her mug down and head into her pantry, grabbing a pack of Pop Tarts from the box and putting them into her toaster. For about a minute, she just sat and sipped at her coffee, listening to the echoes of Octavia, wishing she could go back and fix everything.
The toaster popped. She didn't notice at first, but then the smell of warm cinnamon turned her head to look at the food waiting for her.
"Fucking hell, Vinyl," she murmured to herself, taking another sip, "wasting Po-tarts again... Why the fuck do I even bother cooking when I know I'm not hungry?"
A glance at the clock on her microwave told her that it was eleven thirty-five in the morning. She'd planned on going to Sunbucks with her friends while they were in town at twelve, but in her head she debated canceling under the cover of illness and going back to bed. She wanted to see her friends and knew that their company would be good for her, that talking to them would help her clear the echoes of her now-ex from her mind. But she would have to actually shower and put on clothes and shoes and walk over to Sunbucks and put on a fake smile and pretend she was fine. And she knew that she didn't have to do those last two in front of her friends, but at the same time, she did. She was always the resilient one in the group. She was the strong one. She was always the rock her friends depended on to keep stable. Why show weakness now?
After ten minutes of debating, she finally decided to get ready to go get coffee with her friends. She grabbed a sweater from a chair in her room, and a matching pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a bra or underwear simply because she didn't have the energy to deal with either of these things. She then checked to make sure she had the key to her apartment and her phone and wallet, and most importantly, her signature shades.
Outside the sun was shining, and Vinyl hated how the warmth felt on her face. She pulled up the hood on her jacket and stuffed her hands in her pockets, tilting her head down to prevent the light from touching her. Usually, she wasn't so averse to the sun. She'd just keep her glasses on and tolerate it. But now it felt like a beacon of happiness and hope, taunting her with its light. Now it just hurt to think about anything, but happiness hurt more.
She arrived at Sunbucks right on time, walking in and ordering her coffee with her face without saying a word even before she'd taken her place in the near nonexistent line. Every barista who worked this particular Sunbucks knew Vinyl by name, face, and order, and so they started her drink upon seeing her enter. She stepped up to the counter, offering the barista a quick "good morning" and disguising her pain as a lack of caffeine in her system. And it certainly tricked the barista. The pink-maned pony in question bid her a good day and a wish for her coffee to help her feel better.
She grabbed her coffee from the counter and sat down at a table on the outside patio, waving to her friends as she noticed them approaching. They waved back, wordlessly letting her know that they were going to get their own coffee before sitting down with her. In the meantime, she sat and listened to the echoes...
She faked a smile as her friends sat down with their respective coffee-based beverages. They all greeted each other, asking the same boring questions about how life was, how family was, and Vinyl did her best to tolerate it. It was just small talk. It was a social norm she didn't understand, but it was a norm nonetheless.
They sat at a metal table, with Vinyl sitting in one of the two spots within the shade provided by the table's umbrella. Derpy took the other spot in the shade to Vinyl's left, while Lyra and Bon Bon sat in the sunny spots. Vinyl pulled her hood down as her friends sat down, but only because she had the shade. Derpy had forgone coffee, and had gotten herself a blueberry muffin instead. Lyra had gotten a regular black coffee with no cream or sugar, and Bon Bon had gotten herself a smaller version of Vinyl's drink.
Bon Bon turned to Vinyl and asked something that Vinyl assumed to be a simple "how are you?" She answered that she was fine and slipped back into her thoughts, sipping absently at her mocha frap. One by one, the rest of the group turned to stare at her. All of them had looks of curiosity and concern, and it took a minute or two for Vinyl to finally notice.
"What?" she asked.
"I asked when your anniversary with Octavia is," Bon Bon said, pursing her lips and looking away awkwardly.
"Oh. Sorry, I was a bit zoned out. Octy and I broke up," Vinyl answered, turning away and sipping at her coffee in hopes that she would get a lethal case of brain freeze.
"Wait what?" the entire group responded.
"What happened?" Derpy asked.
"Yeah," Lyra concurred. "What the fuck?"
"Guys, give her some space. Breakups are hard enough without you badgers," Bon Bon said, trying to calm the other two down.
Vinyl just sighed, her head faltering and tilting down, and her gaze falling down to the ground beneath her. Her mind began to spin but failed to move. She tried her hardest to minimize herself and get the gazes off of her, but her friends stared on.
"Are you okay?" Derpy asked softly, placing a hand on Vinyl's shoulder.
The DJ didn't answer, and everyone understood. At least, they understood the meaning of the action of not answering. They didn't understand the pain. They couldn't. How could they know? How could they comprehend having someone so important to her very existence, her very soul, tear herself out of her life? How could they even begin to understand that? How could she put that kind of pain to words? To music? The loneliest piano solo, nor the saddest violin, nor the most angry screamo rock could convey what she was feeling.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Derpy asked. She set her muffin down on the paper bag it had come in and shifted her attention in its entirety to Vinyl. Such a gesture, though small, was not lost on the DJ.
"Not actively," Vinyl answered. "Just the usual. Coffee, company, conversation."
Derpy and the others nodded.
"So what's the latest musical project of yours, Vinyl?" Bon Bon took it upon herself to ask. "How big is your stack of projects?"
Vinyl shook her head a bit and sipped, "Still around seventy projects in total. Don't have any new ones aside from the album I've been working on since last April."
Lyra chimed back in, "How close to done are you with that?"
"Just reached half," the DJ replied.
And so the conversation continued in such a fashion, and for a brief couple of hours, Vinyl was glad to be numb.
"Truth is, I lied to her," Vinyl murmured. She knew no one but Lyra could hear her, but it was still a private and painful conversation. "I told her I stopped caring when in truth I never stopped. I still care about her so much and it feels like I'm missing three legs."
It was give-or-take midnight and the streets of Canterlot were empty, save for the cats and wild mice. The crickets were chirping and the moon was out, shining down on the pair of ponies with its usual silvery glow. As the two approached a park, they turned their route into it, straying away from the open windows and unintentional eavesdroppers.
"But why? You two were near inseparable. What happened that made you do that?" Lyra asked.
"I couldn't give her the attention and love she needed. I couldn't get my head out of my ass and kept slipping up with words. You know how much I suck at words," Vinyl said. Her voice was restrained, suffocating on her throat tightening up in response to the feeling of almost crying. She looked away towards a lamp on the path, holding the words Octavia said to her like arrows in her chest. "I couldn't convince her that I was still in love with her. That I still am in love with her. She asked why I wasn't crying if I was scared of breaking up."
Lyra could only listen in silence. Now was not her time to speak. Her words were meant for later, after Vinyl had spilled her guts about the wounds in her heart and mind. All she could do in that moment was wait for Vinyl to continue.
"I was too paralyzed in panic that I couldn't cry. It was basically shock. I—" She paused, wiping away the first signs of a tear. "—couldn't find the words to explain it at the time... Clear as night now... Luna I'm so fucking pathetic... Why do I even try anymore, Lyra? Why do I insist on finding my fairytale romance when I know it'll end with me hurting someone and getting hurt in the process? Why do I have to have feelings?"
"Feelings are rough, my mare. But it's not really my place to say whether or not they're worth having. I think of them as neutral, making ponies do things they normally wouldn't to resolve or seek a particular feeling. Ponies sometimes fight each other to resolve anger. You sometimes go seeking love. Feelings are just motivating forces," Lyra responded. "And I probably should have started with this, but you're not pathetic. And you never said it but I know you're thinking it, but you're not a horrible pony either. You're a good pony, Vinyl, and I'll keep saying that until it's not true or I die."
"How the fuck do I move forward from this?" Vinyl murmured, more to herself than her friend, but still aloud nonetheless.
"One hoofstep at a time, like everything else," Lyra said, stopping just in front of Vinyl and giving her a hug.
"I told her that I stopped loving her a while ago, back when we'd first had sex. She was so insistent that that was the time, I just... went with it. I knew I couldn't convince her and I was too emotionally exhausted to fight anymore... I just... lied... And it came out so easily..." Vinyl broke the hug and sat down on the cobbles, her head held down by the hand of sadness trying to drown her. "I wonder if that was actually the truth..."
"It can't have been. The way you loved her was so blatantly obvious to the outside observer it made me feel like puking from how sweet it was," Lyra said. "Those thoughts are wrong, no matter how much they may seem true now. You're hurt, and you're not thinking right. But you'll be okay with time, and your three Cs."
"Speaking of which, I think there's still a Sunbucks open... Mind if we stop for a coffee?"
I know you'll never open this message. You'll see who it's from within seconds and you'll just delete it or block me if you haven't already. But on the off chance you do, I just want you to know the truth. I'm not recording this to convince you to take me back, or to make you feel like you were wrong to leave me. You deserve the truth.
I lied. That night we broke up, you asked me when I really gave up; when I stopped caring. I told you it was after the winter music festival. But, that was a lie. I never, actually, gave up until that very night, the moment you asked me that question. The way you asked it was just so... aggressive, I just knew you wouldn't accept the truth. You wouldn't accept me telling you that I hadn't given up and that I still cared and still loved you. I knew you well enough to see that. They say truth is where you seek it, and I guess I finally understand what they meant by that. There are different truths, all dependent on perspective. There's not one objective truth that accounts for every possible variable, there's infinitely many truths. But you were seeking truth from within yourself about me, not seeking the truth from me about me. My words didn't matter, my truth didn't matter.
I gave you everything I had. I gave you my virginity, and my time, and my love and support and it just wasn't enough. I told you things about myself that I wouldn't tell other people. I told you about the first time I attempted suicide and... I've never told anyone about that to this day. I don't think I ever will tell anyone else. In a way... I guess you helped me commit suicide. That night, you were hell-bent on your truth and finding out when I'd "actually given up" that I lied and told you what you wanted to hear. I gave you something to confirm your truth so that you could free yourself and move on. I gave up for you. I gave up on you in that little moment, even though you were the last of the light I had. I sacrificed myself by making you believe that I was selfish and a psychopath, and all those other things you called me. I won't list any more of them but I'm certain you remember.
I used to think of you every day with... wonder and joy... and hope. I used to dream about how a life with you would be... how happy that would make me... make us... I used to think of you and think about how blessed I was to be with you how... with you I felt like I mattered. I used to think about how stupidly in love with you I was, and how I was so happy that way. I still think about you pretty much every day. But now all I feel when I do is pain and sadness. I used to love just thinking about you but now I have to avoid thinking at all... because I keep thinking about you and feeling this horrible wound in my heart open back up again... It hurts enough to make me want to die to make it stop.
But I'm still here. I've told you before, but I'm a survivalist. Above all else, I survive. I've already commit suicide. You helped. And, as painful as it was, I've been through lower lows, and if that's what suicide feels like then I'm no longer afraid to die. I could handle suicide again. I'd even do it right now if I gave enough of a shit. After you hung up, I cried for three hours, and then I went numb, and I'm still numb. But I'm not going to kill myself. I'm not going to go out of my way to end my life, but neither am I going to go out of my way to preserve it. I'm just going to keep doing what I always do: be sad, play music, survive another day.
And now the last of it comes down to you. The truth is where you seek it. Are you going to stick with the truth you have? More than likely. But if you, for whatever reason, listened this whole time, then maybe you'll finally see my truth.
Goodbye, Octavia Melody Philharmonica. I loved you...
Vinyl rewatched her video message for what felt like the thousandth time. She had the words down to memory to the point that if she met Octavia in the street, she would be able to recite it perfectly. Though she hated her own voice and how it sounded, she was judging her words, not her voice. To her, those words were as close as she could get to expressing the pain she felt. As she hovered her finger over the button that would send the message, she paused, thinking about it all; the pain, the sadness, the heartache, the darkness that surrounded her, and her desire to end that pain. She could do it one of two ways, in her mind. She could either send the message and hope it brought closure, or send a message. She looked back down at her knife and remembered the inscription she'd scratched into it.
You know how this goes. Take the knife, set yourself free. You've rehearsed it so many times now.
That's not how I work. I'm a survivalist, remember?
You can't survive this.
I've seen worse.
She picked up her pen and began writing:
This isn’t about you. This is for my own peace of mind; my own sanity. I just figured you deserved to know the parts involving you.
I don’t hate you. Even after you hurt me the way you did, I can’t blame you for a damned thing. I should be mad about something, anything, but I’m not. Maybe it’s because I’m too naive, or too jaded. I can’t tell anymore. But that’s beside the point.
I never stopped loving you, or caring about you. When last we spoke, and I told you I stopped caring, that was a lie. I still cared. But I couldn’t keep fighting anymore. I was too tired, to preoccupied with the issues in my own world. I was trying so hard just to keep myself alive, I couldn’t handle keeping us alive as well. I wasn’t strong enough for that. For my lie and for my failure, I apologize.
I thought about what could have made you start feeling like I stopped caring a lot for a while now. Hell, it might be years before this ever surfaces. I thought about my own reactions to things, and I think I found an answer. It’s probably wrong for all kinds of reasons, but here it is, I guess. My first reaction to pain is to avoid it if I can, and just take it if I can’t. I don’t mitigate it by expelling it elsewhere, I just bottle it up and absorb it. All of my pain remains. It always has and always will. That’s just how I am, I guess.
But I think that’s why you started feeling like I didn’t care anymore. I just kept taking all of the pain and never sinking it elsewhere. You never got to see me in pain, and I think you forgot that I can still feel. Maybe you were trying to cause me pain so that you could see that I feel it the way you do, but I doubt you’re cruel enough to do such a thing. I’m sorry I couldn’t show you that I was in pain. I can’t show anyone that I’m in pain. If I catch even the slightest hint of pain showing on me, I do everything to hide it.
Or maybe it was my constant self-doubt. I never could accept compliments or praise. If I can’t see why people like me or the things I do, how could I see why someone would love me? How would I ever be able to comprehend that? Maybe all those little things that upset you were actually my fault? What if my mind was trying to subconsciously test you to make sure you really thought I was worth it? It wouldn’t be the first time my brain pushed friends away subconsciously. I wouldn’t put it past my mind to fuck me over like that. I don’t know.
Regardless of what made this happen, it happened. The wounds will remain, as will the consequences. At the time I’m writing this, I still care deeply about you and your happiness, so I won’t send this to you for a long time. But if I ever do, just know I finally managed to stop loving you. Maybe I’ll forgive myself, but I highly doubt it. You know I always take the blame.
Goodbye, Octavia. May you find happiness in your time ahead.
She picked a lighter up from atop her desk, and placed it on the page. Slowly, she wrapped the lighter into the page like a scroll, tying it up with string before writing the words "Burn when ready" on the outside of the scroll. And with that, she placed the scroll in her desk drawer, towards the back where she wouldn't find it for another year at least, and closed it.
