Pearl and Patches shared the bill for the day at the salon, and the two of them decided to spend just a little more time with me today. I got a chance to talk to Pearl when Patches decided to take a moment to call her brother. While she was in a phone booth, Pearl pulled me over to the curb.

Yeah, she was technically the one that brought it back up, but I would have eventually. Probably.

Anyhow, she pulled me aside and got straight to the point, “Ok, we need to talk about that.”

I think about playing dumb, like I didn’t notice her looking at me any time I said anything while we were in the sauna. I decide to go along, because I really want to know why she gave me those looks. So I agree, “I know.” She’s quiet for a second and I know she’s waiting for an explanation. Even though that’s exactly what I’m waiting for. We don’t have a lot of time, so I try to hurry. “So, why did you keep giving me those looks?”

She seems taken aback for a split second, trips over her tongue for another, but then sighs. Instead of arguing, she answers. “Because I was confused by what you were saying, about the stallion you think you’re looking for.”

“How were you confused?” I demand. “All I did was say things about the kind of pony I might like to be with.”

She holds her breath, looking at me. Her eyes are the same as before, and I finally notice that they’re sympathetic. The difference now is in her lips. Before they were straight with skeptical confusion, now they were pursed, concerned. She releases her breath with my name, in a way that sounds judgmental and impatient. “Timber… You described yourself.”

I did not, I think. But, of course think again. I act shocked, offended by the idea, then accept it. For some reason, I know. And, I guess, I know why. “I guess I did,” I offer, then pause. The truth hit me almost immediately after what she said. She looks at me with cautious urgency, and I continue. “I want somepony like me because I know what I can handle.” I see Patches leave the phone booth from the corner of my eye, blurry from being outside my lens, but clear just the same. I ignore her. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been that pony. I’ve always tried to be the one ponies come to for comfort when they’re having troubles. I’ve never put all of my troubles on others for fear of hurting them, or driving them away. I just… want somepony…” I feel a lump swell in my throat. I refuse to cry in public, so I harden my heart and finish. “Somepony like me.”

Pearl’s forehead creases and she looks at me with wrath. “Somepony like you?” She raises her voice slightly and ponies glance. I do my best to ignore them, maintaining a stoic face. Patches finds us, we ignore her too. “As long as I’ve known you, you haven’t kept anything from me. And if you have you’re an idiot. What kind of friend am I that you don’t share everything with me that’s troubling you?! Are you seriously just waiting for Mister Right to come along so you can finally vent all your problems and then never have another thing to worry about? Or did you mean you’re looking for somepony to cry on? Because if that’s true then…” She pauses and takes a few labored breaths, then finishes, “Then why not me?”

I’m speechless for a long moment. I really don’t know what to say. I know there’s plenty on my mind that would set her straight and stop her from asking any more questions, but I’m afraid of saying any of it. I don’t know if she can handle it. This thought is running through my mind in that pause, and inspires me to clarify.

“I’ve cried so much,” I begin slowly, carefully choosing my words. “I’ve hurt myself trying to ignore the stress and anxiety that plagues me.” I take a few breaths to calm myself some more and think ahead again. “I just want somepony I feel safe with. Someone I can comfortably lie on and not feel anything but happy.” I realize I’m looking down, and so realign my eyes with hers. “Does wanting happiness make me a bad friend?” How could I ask that? Of course it doesn’t! Asking that question, being so judgmental of my friend’s curiosity is what makes me horrible.

“No,” Pearl says. “But what makes you think I’m not good enough?”

Now what do I say? Do I lie, tell her she is good enough? That I’ve been neglecting her for whatever reason until now? Then I’d have to let her in, play along with that pretense just to keep her satisfied with this idea.

I could tell her the truth; that she is not good enough. That I’ve only been keeping her around to ease tension until the right guy came along. But then she’d think that as soon as that did happen I’d cut her loose. She’s wrong, but in her current state…

I have to play my words perfectly, so I don’t lose her. (Here goes.)

“Nothing.” It’s a simple answer to her question, vague enough that she has to keep listening. A tear glistens in the corner of each of her eyes. My eyes sting empathetically. “Nothing makes me think that you aren’t good enough, but there’s nothing that makes me think you are and that’s my fault.” I step closer to her, but she looks away. She’s acting like our relationship is deeper than it should be, than I intended. I kind of hate her for that, but it’s not her fault. “I don’t let my emotions out, no matter who I’m with. The last pony I did that with left me and sold me out.” I had almost forgotten, but in a way, Minty Swirl had taken me for granted. I had also taken her for granted, but she gave everything she knew about me as a funny story to some of her new friends. Churner told me. Another tear threatens to drip, but I will it back. “I’m afraid to lose my grip, afraid of being taken advantage of again. I just want someone who makes me feel… not afraid. Someone I can feel, safe with.” I pause and try to think some more. I’m thinking too much, but I can’t give up on her. “I feel… comfortable with you, and with Patches and everyone at the café, but it’s not the security I want. I need…”

I suddenly think back to the assault in the park. “When I was almost raped,” I offer, “I felt so vulnerable. This morning, I thought about it, I know what I want to be for others; I want to be their shield when they’re vulnerable. When I was exposed and being held down by some stranger, I had no one. I told you, but I care too much about you to give you the pain of what I’m truly feeling.” My face feels like stone. I hate it, but I have to keep it up or she’ll be gone. I almost look back into her eyes, she’s still looking away. I stop myself from pleading for her attention. Another thought; “When he stopped, I felt safe. At least, more safe than before. Even before he showed up.” Where is this coming from? Why am I not stopping myself? “He did something, of his own accord, just so I wouldn’t feel sad…”

I’m looking at the sidewalk, deep in thought. A renegade tear streaks across my left cheek, even though I hadn’t blinked. I hadn’t thought of it before, so why did I already believe it so fully? Why did I suddenly know, without any kind of surety, that that invader stopped himself for my own wellbeing?

A hoof wipes the tear from my face and I look back into the eyes of Pearl. I’m startled when she says “I’m sorry.” My mouth opens, but I don’t say anything. I’ve already said so much, my thoughts don’t let me speak anymore. She continues, “At first I thought you were just messing with us, describing yourself like that. I wanted to know why. I didn’t mean to get so offended.”

I nod. I know she did, and I want to say it’s just because she’s a mare, but that’d be sexist. There are stallions that can get that worked up. I might have, but I never would have said anything. And that’s not me praising myself, I don’t think. It’s a habit, keeping things in like that. I’m not the only one who does it. I don’t need to explain any of this.

I did believe that, no matter what, if she was offended she’d overreact. She was curious as to why I only described aspects of myself during Patches’ little game, and at first thought I was toying with them, for whatever reason. When I explained myself, I said something else that offended her, made her think she wasn’t a good friend just because she couldn’t do what she may have thought she was doing all along. That’s my fault, though. I never told her what I really wanted, because I knew she wasn’t what I really wanted. And it was because she was female. She might eventually be able to make me feel safe, but she’ll never be the strong security I really want. Not to mention her sex organs.

I really didn’t want to bring it up, but to say it isn’t at least 90% because of that is a flat out lie.

Patches speaks up suddenly, making my ears twitch and my glasses slide partly out of position. She says, “I was only playing around back there.” We both look at her. She looks embarrassed. “I never meant for either of you to take it so seriously.”

I have a thought about how she’s not the psychiatrist her brother is, and smile. He’s not really a psychiatrist, but whatever, I needed the smile. “It’s okay,” I tell her. I want to say “it’s not your fault,” but I can’t. Maybe because that would just put the blame back on Pearl, and start this whole thing over again. Whatever the reason, I can’t bring myself to say it.

Pearl says it, “It’s not your fault.”

I immediately think that part of her believes it’s my fault, but ignore the would-be resentment; I can handle the blame, I deserve it. Otherwise, she believes that it was her fault and just wants everything to be over with, and for our day to continue. She might say it was her fault, but then we’d be in the middle of a pity-party. I stop her, to save us from the extra drama, “So what did Stitches have to say?”

Patches takes a second to process the question, being such an abrupt mood swing. “Oh, he said he’d love to spend some time on the town.”

I smile. “You think he’d be up for another lap dance?”