A stranger picked up. He had a tired yet subtly intrusive voice. I asked him if Pearl was around and he passed the phone along. I immediately had to wonder why some stallion was the one to answer.

I let the thought drift away when Pearl responded.

“Hi, Pearl?” I assured.

She moaned, sleepy. “Hold on,” she grumbled. “Let me check my birth certificate.”

I roll my eyes, “Just chug some espresso and get over here. Please. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” the sleep has left her voice. “Sure thing. What’s up?”

I pause for a second, deciding whether or not to actually give her the desired context. “I’d rather tell you in person.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll be there quick.”

“Thanks.” I hold onto the pay-phone for a moment longer and hear her tell the stallion in her room about her emergency. I didn’t hear his name, and she hung up before I could hear anything he said. After replacing the hoofset I lean the top of my head against the glass wall of the booth. My hair is kind of long and makes for a good cushion. I think about trimming it before work tomorrow. Are there any barbers open on Sundays?

While I’m distracted with thoughts of my mane I exit the phone booth. I need to think about what to tell Pearl. What could I tell her? Who was the other guy?

I shake my head: obviously her colt-friend, and not my business. He didn’t even sound like I’d like him. Why would I even think about that? Who cares? Pearl will be over soon, I should think about what to tell her. Or, should I?

I would obviously tell her the truth, at the start. Wait, no… yeah. I’ll definitely tell her the whole truth. I was raped. Or, almost raped, right? It doesn’t count if he didn’t penetrate me, right?

So, I was sexually assaulted by a pegasus and it was super scary. Then, he stopped. That was the truth. Would she believe me? It doesn’t sound believable, does it?

Back inside I saw my open box of cereal on the counter, beside an empty bowl and spoon. I had thought about eating something earlier this morning. I knew it was important to eat and all, but I couldn’t even bring myself to pour the cereal. Looking at it now my stomach growls. I don’t actually feel hungry, but I can hear my stomach growl. I think hard about finally pouring the Wheaty Oats and fueling my body for the day. I still don’t feel hungry, no matter how much I tell myself how important it is.

(Pearl will probably bring something for you to eat.)

“Yeah, she usually does that.”

You remember Aura right? Of course you do. I mean, probably. You do right? I only assume you would because it hasn’t actually been a whole year for you. You’ve probably been reading this on a regular basis. If you were reading this at all. Of course…

I’m distracting myself. Writing now, it’s easy to get lost when trying to talk about then. I’m in a much different mood. I’m not entirely sure I’d say I’m happier, but I’m definitely much more comfortable.

“But,” I complain to Aura. “What if she doesn’t bring food this time?”

(Then she’ll probably make something.)

“With the zero food in my apartment?”

(You’ve got, some food. At the very least let her pour the cereal for you.)

“You’re right,” I give in. “It’s easier to eat when you’ve got someone to pressure you into it.”

But that’s true for anything. I don’t remember if Aura and I were still talking, but I remember thinking. Peer pressure makes doing almost anything easier, because at the very least you can blame someone else if you’re not pleased with the outcome. Having someone else to convince you to do something—or even to not do something—almost always makes decisions easier. At least, for me it does. Does it have something to do with my anxiety, or depression?

I never got officially diagnosed, but Stitches is an adequate nurse and he gave me a basic prognosis based on my “symptoms.” Plus, Pearl knows some stuff about sociology and tells me it’s possible but not to get worried. I could just be an extreme introvert. I don’t know how an actual psychologist would go about diagnosing me, so I don’t know how to go about writing all of this, but it’s not even important.

I started thinking about the possibility of a mysterious third party pressuring the actions of my attacker. Could it have been possible that somepony else was behind his motives? Could that be why he stopped, that he didn’t actually want to be that kind of pony? That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? If he didn’t want to be that kind of pony he wouldn’t have tried in the first place.

I argue a few more possibilities to myself and finish with the idea that he realized I wasn’t a mare, and so stopped himself. Then I hear wheels skid on the pavement outside and a taxi driver shout at a pedestrian in the street. Looking out the window I see Pearl sprint the final few meters to the other end of the cross-walk. She shakes a hoof at the driver and he speeds away. She had the right-of-way, being on hoof. Then again, taxi drivers are technically on hoof too, pulling the cabs and all. He didn’t even have a passenger. I often ponder about the solidity of our Equestrian laws.

I notice Pearl’s got something in her mouth as she trots through the front door of the building. I have to wonder why she wasn’t just holding it with her magic. I let her in and she leaves the cardboard cup tray, complete with two capped coffee cups and muffins, on the counter beside my cereal box. She sees the box but doesn’t say anything.

She turns to me with curiosity in her eyes. For a split second I’m surprised at myself for being able to notice such a miniscule distinction and attribute it to my literary senses. Another example could be from some time ago, I noticed my knees actually get weak and I found it hard to stand. The best way I could possibly describe it was that my knees felt like jelly. I thought it was silly, since I had read it so many times in fiction novels when a character is in a similar situation involving anxiety.

Anyhow, she gave me that look. It was a look of curiosity, but not any concern like I anticipated. She gets comfortable on my bed with her coffee. I take a bite of my muffin. It’s apple-cinnamon flavored.

She takes a loud sip, then gasps at the heat of the drink. I sniff the opening in the lid of my drink and smell the rich hot chocolate, since I don’t like coffee. Pearl had been trusted with keys to the café and was allowed in whenever she wanted. She was trustworthy enough to only take what the boss let her take, and each of us that worked there was allowed one free drink a day. She must have left some kind of note for the muffins.

After recovering from her tongue burn, Pearl finally asks the question that brought her here, “So what’s up?”

I sit on the floor after taking another deep breath of chocolate, then sigh it back out. I had thought so carefully of how to tell her, but now it wasn’t there. Not like I wanted, anyway. For some reason I tried making it some kind of big life-changing deal, which, it kind of was. “You ever get the feeling the universe is out to get you?”

She purses her lips. I can tell she knows where I’m going with this, but she’s polite enough to let me finish.

“Like, when your life is going well, something has to happen to make everything bad again?”

“What happened?” Pearl asks, skeptically. She placed her drink on the night stand and slipped off the bed toward me.

I take a deep breath. “I wish you would take this seriously,” I complain.

“I am taking this seriously,” she promises. It didn’t sound like she was, but I still believed her. “I just want to know why you’re thinking like this all of a sudden.”

I breathe more slowly. “Well,” I pause. “It isn’t all of a sudden, but…”

She notices me taking my time. “Well?” She urges, and when I hesitate more she continues, “I already know pretty much all of your secrets. It’s not like you’re coming out to me again.” I remember when I actually did that.

I tricked myself into it, because I knew she had to know sooner or later. We were walking to work together and she said something about a colt-friend she had and why she dated him and I took the opportunity without thinking to say “Yeah I’d like a guy like that.” It was completely voluntary, I know it was. I’m too careful to actually let such dreadful information slip. It made her happy, though. She had already guessed, like I said, and loved the apparently accidental confirmation. I promise I did it on purpose, but whatever. It was easier to trust ponies again, after that. I’m really good friends with Stitches, but he’s pretty sure he’s straight.

Anyway, Pearl’s been boring into my soul for a couple seconds trying to get me to spill the beans. I don’t know why I’m hesitating, it has to be said.

I clench my teeth for a second, then sigh. It’ll be so much easier to just blurt it out, “I was raped.”

I’ve never seen her eyes go so wide. She’s about to say something before I blurt some more, “Well, not really. I was assaulted, almost raped, but he… stopped.” She’s looking at me wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

After a few seconds, “He stopped.” She confirms. I nod. Her mind is all over the place, I can see it in her eyes. She can’t focus on one thing, looking all around like she’s surrounded by bats. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My jaw drops at that. “How should I know?!”

She puts a hoof up to stop me. “I’m sorry,” she says. Then she steps up and hugs me. “I get it now, that’s why you called me.” I hug her back and feel like crying. I want to cry, but for some reason I can’t. I’m still too confused. But I really do feel better now. I felt better since the hug.

I told her everything that happened once we parted ways last night. I told her how scared I was, how big and strong the pegasus was.

At the end I guess I was feeling well enough, and she could tell because she joked that I’d probably be going out with him if I weren’t almost raped by him. I roll my eyes, but agree. We ponder together for a short while, wondering why he stopped.

We enjoy more of our drinks and muffins and she tells me she’s going to go do something. I ask what and she says “The after-birthday party.” As she heads for the door I insist once again on what she’s talking about. “I’m gonna go get Patches and we’re going to the salon. You need a haircut.”