Music Therapy, C3: Future

>You wake up around 3 PM.
>You couldn't really sleep last night.
>Echoes that haunted you.
>That Earth song.
>You liked music, you really did.
>But nothing in Equestria compared to that song Anonymous showed you.
>And what he said about beauty?
>It made you feel something else.
>An emotion you didn't know exis—
>A sharp pain down your hooves and it comes back to you.
>You relapsed last night.
>You groan and roll out of bed, feeling the crunch of paper beneath your hoof.
>The poem you wrote.
>"Drinks for Two."
>You don't like it.
>You never like it.
>You crumple the page beneath your hoof and stumble to the bathroom.
>You look in a mirror and you don't know the mare who looks back.
>She's tired, her mane is greasy, and her eyes are puffy from crying.
<Hey, Eri. Why the fuck do you cry so much?
<It's not like you have any real problems.
<What stallion is gonna want you when you look like that?
<Oh, that's right, you don't even like stallions. You're into mares.
<Because you think being a muff-muncher's a substitute for having a personality.
<Stop fucking deluding yourself, you bitch.
<You might as well be celibate because nopony's touching you with a ten foot rod.
"JUST SHUT UP!"
>You slam your head into the sink. It stings sharply and knocks the living daylights out of you.
>You're seeing stars, you can't stand up straight, you're
>Aaand you're down.

>You wake up and it's dark.
>It's dark?
>FUCK.
>You pull your socks on to mask last night's cuts and run out the door.

>She's definitely not showing tonight.
>This sucks.
>You stupid creep, you just had to go and cross a line last night.
>You hope she's alright.
>Fuck it. If she's not coming, you might as well try to enjoy yourse—
>The door bursts open as she charges through it. "Shit, sorry I'm late! I was asleep, and, I— fuck—"
>You leap off the couch, throwing your hands to your sides.
"Miss Eri! I— I didn't think you'd show."
>You both stare at each other for a moment, looking equally exasperated with yourselves.
"Right. Well, come on in, please sit down."
>She obliges while you take your desk chair.
>The two of you sit in silence hesitantly.
"Listen, about last night—"
>"I don't really want to talk about it."
"Oh. Okay, sorry."
>You look at her. She's much more disheveled than she was the last couple of nights, and...
"Did you cut yourself?"
>Her eyes go wide. "What?" she yelps out.
"Your cheek is bleeding. I think you might have accidentally nicked yourself somewhere.
>She lifts her hoof up to her cheek, wiping away a tiny drop of blood.
>"Oh, yeah. It's... an old cut," she mutters. "I think it reopened when I hit the door."
>You pull out a tissue and hand it to her.
"Sorry I don't have a band-aid or anything, I hope this is enough."
>Slowly, she takes it from you, and presses it against her cheek. "Thanks."
>You nod to the hoof you handed the tissue to.
"I like the socks. What's the occasion?"
>She looks down at her hooves.
>"I-I just sleep in them. Forgot to take them off in my rush to get here."
"Aw, and here I was secretly hoping you got dressed up for me."
>Have you learned NOTHING?
>Still looking away, she cracks a faint smile.
>A positive reaction?
>Maybe this is an opportunity. Don't waste it.
"Can we talk about what landed you here?"
>Please don't storm out, please don't storm out, please don't
>"Okay," she mumbles.
>This is going to be rough.

"Do— Do you want to die?"
>She bites her lip, trying to suppress her emotions, and hesitantly nods.
"Can you tell me why?"
>She takes a few seconds before answering.
>"I don't want to live."
>That's not an answer. That's restating the question, that's
>Hang on.
>You know what she means.
>You know exactly what that means.
"You know, I tried once before."
>She stops avoiding your eyes. She's looking straight at you now.
>"You have?"
"Back on Earth. When I was 19."
>"Why?"
"If you can believe it, it was because of a girl."
>She's watching you intently. Now it's you who can't meet her eyes.
"That's not to blame her, it's just—"
>You sigh.
"I was younger then. I thought that's what love was. She didn't love me. And that was just the straw that broke the camel's back. My head was a mess, and that was what finally made me decide to kill myself."
>"How'd you do it?"
"I'm not going to give you suggestions!"
>Did she just chuckle? You barely caught it, but you think she did.
"Anyway, it obviously didn't work. It landed me in the psych ward, where they keep people who want to hurt themselves. I was there for just a few days, but it was grueling hell. Every second I spent in there was a reminder of how broken I was."
>"So what happened?"
"Nothing. Life went on. I didn't get better. I don't think you ever really come back from something like that. The past haunts the present. You just learn to manage. Some days you manage worse than others. But you do whatever you have to in order to get by."
>She stares at the ground in front of her. It's obvious she's choosing her next words very carefully.

>"What do you do when you feel like you can't manage?"
>It was a feeling you knew all too well.
"I guess... you distract yourself with whatever you can. No matter how stupid. I showed you yesterday, I have music, and, sometimes I write—"
>"You write?"
"Yeah. Stupid stuff. Stories, poems. But it distracts me long enough. Because before I know it, I've made it to the one thing that matters."
>"What's that?"
"The future."
>Deep in thought, she doesn't respond.
>You're okay just sitting in silence for as long as she wanted. Quiet company beats the usual none.
>After a few minutes, she gets off the couch.
>"Thanks for talking to me tonight."
"Yeah, of course."
>You open the door for her to leave. Before she goes, she parts you with one last gift.
>A hug.
>You're taken by surprise. She wraps her hooves around your legs, locking them in place.
>You debate whether you should kneel down to reciprocate, but with her squeezing your legs it's not like you have the option.
>You stand there awkwardly a few seconds until she releases and whispers a quiet goodbye.
>As she leaves, you return to your desk, pick up your pen, and start writing.
>You hope she comes back.

>Walking home, thinking about the things he said.
>Those familiar thoughts, that well-known pain.
>Should you have said something?
>Of course not. You never say anything good.
>All you do is make things worse.
>He wanted to talk about the song.
>He was going to ask what you thought of it, and you shut him down.
<Like the cold-hearted bitch that you are.
>No. Please. Not tonight.
>You push it from your mind.
>There's one thing you want to do.
>When you get home, you pull out the crumpled paper from under your bed.
>You scribble out the title.
>In its place, you write one word.
>Future
>You don't know why, but the poem looks better now.
>You...
>You actually like it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oScRBsOV6I