These chapters are getting pretty long. Anyway…

The next thing I know Stitches is shaking me awake. The smell of lemon lingers on my skin as I rub my eyes to full attention. A stinging sensation occurs and I regret having fallen asleep. Stitches hoofs me my glasses and I take them wearily, placing them on my snout carefully. Then he shows me a small slip of paper with an easily-recognizable pattern of numbers. “You got his number?”

He nods excitedly. “He told me to let you know. Wanted to give you a fair chance, but still let you sleep.”

“That’s nice,” I stretch, “but you can have him. No offense, but you saw him first.”

“If you say so,” he smirks. “I mean, he touched your butt.”

I let out a quick little laugh, then sigh. Why couldn’t I have stayed awake to enjoy the massage? At least I felt incredibly relaxed now. “You think they’ll let us into the mud bath with the oils in our coats?” I assumed they use an especially clean mixture of mud in the baths and liked to keep it that way. I’ve never had aromatherapy, or a mud bath before and wasn’t sure if the same rules applied to them as most treated swimming pools.

“I’m sure they will,” he guesses. “The oils usually soak into your skin pretty quick, which really helps calm you down.” He’s quietly pondering while we turn another corner back to the relaxation room to wait for the mud baths. Then, “We’ll still have to rinse off first, anyway.”

“That’s right,” I didn’t know about that step. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Everypony’s waiting for us in reclined seats, and I’m a little embarrassed that our massage took the longest. Noh spots us first and waves.

“Hey,” Stitches calls. The girls look over from their conversation and smile. “Sorry it took so long.”

“That’s not your fault,” Pearl assures.

“Right,” he shrugs. Then to Noh, “By the way, how was your hooficure?”

We all turn to him expecting him to deflect. “Not half bad,” he admires his front left hoof. “I might have to come back for another one some time.”

We all laugh, though I notice he looks as drowsy as I feel. I wonder if his hot stone massage had the same effects as aromatherapy. Obviously not exactly the same, but it was clearly just as relaxing if not more so.

Stitches and I sit down in chairs that complete a circle with the rest of our friends. I see Pearl’s face and know she’s about to ask how I feel. I answer before she has the chance, which was probably kind of rude. “I absolutely loved the massage,” I state. “How about you, girls?”

“I enjoyed mine as well,” Pearl chirps. “Though the mare who gave it to me was a little weak.” She wiggles her right shoulder like it’s a poorly-oiled hinge. “Still got a tight knot right up here.”

“Mine was great, too,” Noh yawns. “Though I’m pretty sure I slept through most of it.”

“You too huh?” I smile. (He’s faking.) What? What makes you so sure? “Those oils they use get real deep and just make you lose it.” Really, why would you say that? (He’s just trying to sympathize with you. He wasn’t the least bit tired before.) Say whatever you want. I’m having a good time.

“Mmm,” Noh moans, “and those hot stones really loosen up your muscles. I thought my lungs would stop breathing with how peaceful it was.”

“Mine was good too,” Patches interrupts. Though, not really, I guess. Noh and I were finished. Anyway, “My mare was really hardcore, had me moaning and groaning into that pillow non-stop.”

We all laugh awkwardly, “Oh come on, sis!” Stitches commands.

I smirk at him, “Oh, like you didn’t love your massage just as much.”

“Hm,” he grunts, “I would’ve liked it more with your masseuse.”

“Oh really?” Pearl intercedes. “And how did you like the male masseuse you requested, Timber?”

I smile, a bit embarrassed. “Well, I actually slept through most of it, but maybe that’s because of how great it was…? Stitches had a good time with him, though.”

“Ooo,” both the girls sing. Then Patches adds, “Do tell.”

He starts by pulling out the small piece of paper to show them. He waves it around with his wing and says, “Timber kindly gave me free reign with his masseuse.”

They turn to me looking offended. “Timber!” Pearl squeaks.

“What?” I question. “It’s not like he touched my butt…” I trail off.

She laughs despairingly, “Oh come on.”

“Plus… It’s not like Stitches isn’t just as deserving,” I argue.

She comes back, “You should have had first pick, anyway.”

“I did,” I tell her. “I just turned it down due to lack of interest.”

“How could you not be interested?”

“He didn’t even really see the stallion,” Stitches defends me.

I notice I’m getting rather defensive myself and before I can stop myself add, “Besides, you know I’m not just waiting for the first stallion who walks up.” Did I just offend Stitches? Shit, I hope not.

“I bet you didn’t even ask him,” Patches smirks as she sips a cup of tea that wasn’t there a minute ago.

My jaw tightens. “What does it matter? Stitches was the one who showed interest, all right? The point is I said no, and that’s final! Now can we drop it?”

With perfect timing, a filly walks in and announces the mud baths are almost ready. Stitches, Patches and I make our way back to the locker rooms to shower off. While under the running water, Stitches asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to ask him?”

I bite my tongue, trying to keep calm, take my time, then respond, “No, ok? I’m not sure. I just don’t want to think about something like this right now.”

“Ok,” he mumbles, “sorry.”

I nod, then turn my shower off and shake off. Stitches follows suit and we canter out to where Patches and the worker filly are waiting, still damp. The bath house is just across the hall but we wait as Pearl and Noh cross our path, on their way to the hair salon. I really am going to miss that ponytail. Pearl smiles, as does Noh. He has concern in his eyes, which is sweet. Then I notice he’s absolutely wide awake. Dammit.

I try to ignore the thought as we’re led to our mud baths. As we enter the room, I’m surprised to see another patron already in a bath at the end, leaving only three open tubs. Stitches takes the first and before I can his sister steps into the second. I’m slightly offended, but figure it might be for the best. I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for chatting anyway and this way would decrease my chances. (You’re being really pissy all of a sudden.) Yes, thank you. Try to ignore it. Celestia knows I will.

I leave my glasses on another table near the door before sliding into the bath beside the stranger, trying not to look at him. Well, I only assume it’s a stallion by the shape of his face. The pony’s got a towel covering their mane, a bucket of mud caked on their face, and cucumber slices over their eyes. You know, I’m still not sure if “their” is the right word to use. It sounds plural to me, but it’s still right as far as I know.

The filly from before steps up and smears a mask of mud on my face, then offers a steaming towel for my head. I accept and she wraps my mane into it. Finally she places two cold cucumber slices over my closed eyelids.

“I read somewhere,” Patches says, “that cucumbers don’t actually do anything to your eyes.”

“Who cares,” Stitches moans. “It feels nice.”

I have to agree. I especially love the cold darkness they provide. I think it contrasts perfectly with the hot towel resting above my brow. I sink deeper into the mud and let my mind wander. I should have requested music for this part. Music usually narrows my river of thoughts to a brook and lets me relax more easily. It also silences conversations with Aura, which isn’t always preferred, but would have been in this situation. (I told you he was faking.) I try to ignore him, and almost wish the others would keep talking just so I didn’t have to listen to the voice in my head. (And what’s going to happen when we leave the spa? Stitches has a date, and you’ll have to get ready for work again.) Shit, that’s right. We’re still supposed to work today. Noh and I never told the theater we weren’t going to be there. But, he was the one who planned for karaoke. Maybe he already did?

I groan out loud without thinking and Patches asks what’s wrong. I take a deep breath and respond, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Uh-uh,” she denies. “If I’ve learned anything from Pearl, it’s that I’m not allowed to let you fester. What is it?”

I hesitate some more when Stitches comes in, “Come on, Timber. What is it?”

I take a deep breath. There’s really no reason to keep them in the dark. I should have just stayed quiet. Then again, the conversation with them is welcome respite from the one with Aura. I decide to tell them, “I was just thinking about work tonight. Noh and I still have to get to the theater.”

“Pssh,” Patches scoffs. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Oh?” I question. “And why not?”

“Think about it,” she begins. “Our good friend Noguki, I assume, is an upstanding employee at that stage on Bridleway, never missed a practice. Am I right?”

That doesn’t seem to prove her point. Besides; “How should I know?”

She continues, “And he’s the one whose great idea it was to go out for karaoke, anyway. He’s obviously made arrangements to miss a night of work at the theater. Am I right?”

A thought comes to mind – Actually it might have come from Aura, but I’m not sure. I thought about the fact that Noh planned for karaoke much earlier in the day. We only came to the spa because karaoke doesn’t start until eight. We had to be at the theater by eight. I don’t say anything though, trying to let the thought drift away. Instead, the thought of this morning’s mail comes to mind; the letter I got from home. I have to wonder who sent it, what it was about. Would it be good news or bad? Was it even family? I have trouble remembering the address exactly, only that it was from Green Stables. It could be from home, or from Churner, or even Sawdust. There’s no telling which of them sent it, or what it contains.

“Timber?” Patches asks again. I was hoping the topic had died.

“I think he might be out,” the voice comes from my left; the stranger in the last tub. A stallion, with a very powerful voice. It cracks a little, like a cold throat on a hot morning, but very deep and piercing regardless.

I smile suddenly. “Not yet,” I comment. “Almost though.”

“Yeah right,” Stitches calls out. “After the nap you just took? I don’t buy it one bit.”

I would have rolled my eyes were they not closed and covered in green vegetable slices.

The stranger speaks again. “Let the guy have his rest. Not much longer before he has to check with his coworker about tonight.”

I inhale slowly, wanting to thank the stallion for defending me, but I revel in the following silence. Then a little bell sounds, and I hear the stallion rise from his tub and begin wiping the mud from his body. He leaves, though I notice it’s not through the door from earlier, which would have led beck to the showers. He’s leaving through the other side. I don’t remember seeing a door there.

His hoof steps fade and I go back to relaxing, trying to focus solely on the mud bath, rather than Aura or anything else. I focus on how I would describe the sensation, the warm mixture of minerals suspending me in an infinite space. Darkness leads and follows every breath and heartbeat, pulses of life ebb and flow through the water that binds every molecule of dirt and filth to saturate my being in a blanket of cleanliness. A fresh start, new hope. As I float in the abyss, and with every beat of my heart, an old part of me is left behind to be replaced with something newer, better.

Lights dance through my brain and I’m sure I hear music. I know it’s impossible, that I’m likely just hallucinating from exhaustion. Still, I don’t fight it. The feeling of heaven cradling me sinks into my skin and I wonder if this is what death is like; complete emptiness. But it isn’t all emptiness is it? With the colors of my mind singing to my eyes as I fall into a surreal fantasy of death. It holds me, loves me by taking me away from my body. I don’t feel it, my body. My skin, limbs, even my head are just aspects of thought that I have to remind myself about as darkness swims and my heart pounds. I don’t have legs, or a mane, or tail. I remind myself of every body part just so I know I’m still alive: fore legs, check; hind legs, check; torso, check; penis, scrotum, rectum, all check.

I laugh at myself, a sound lost to time. I think I want to squirm, like I’ve been laying still in this position for too long, but space holds me still. I want to moan, sigh, sing, something, but death traps my voice. It’s an eerie peace, I realize, but peace nonetheless. If I can have this emptiness instead of fear, this cradle in place of stress, I’ll have it as long as I can. I won’t give it up, as long as I can help it.

A tiny bell sounds and I’m torn from space to reality. I hear my friends being eased out of their tombs and remember. The cucumber is lifted from my eyelids and an attendant assists me from the mud. We’re each given damp towels to wipe ourselves off. Patches and Stitches chat with each other, I’m still lost in a daze. I wonder how I could get lost so easily, but not be able to recover nearly as quickly. I look at the mud bath and grin. An old me lies there, I hope. Beneath the blanket of mud is the filth I don’t need, don’t want. I wonder what the new me will be like.