Long Way Home: Family Mattersby PonyJosiah13
Chapters
Part 1: Somnabulism
The black silk sheets smelled of rose and morning dew, contrasting horribly with the odor of his sweat. The ropes binding his hooves to the bedposts creaked as he struggled, the coarse cord rubbing his skin raw.
“Mmm...there...does that feel good?”
The unicorn’s breath reeked of Saddle Arabian tobacco, hot and rapid in his ear. The heavy weight pinning him down shifted, and he let out what little breath he was allowed in a scream: it felt as though a hot poker was piercing his innards. He clamped his jaws together in an attempt to hold back his cries, futilely fighting back as the hot poker was slammed into him with greater and greater force. But the weight pinning him down was too great, the ropes tied too securely.
An intense heat and pressure was stirring in the pit of his belly, growing and growing with every thrust, crushing the breath out of him, boiling his blood. His ears were ringing, his head was spinning, and his stomach was heaving like he was on the deck of a ship in the storm. He felt like he was going to burst...and then the floods washed over him, and he knew nothing except that he was drowning, and he was screaming…
With a gasp, Phillip Finder snapped awake. The first thing he was aware of was that he was in a bed. With a cry, he tore himself out of the bed and tumbled onto the floor; this led him to realize that he wasn’t tied down. Panting, he looked around to examine his surroundings.
The walls around him were not stone and brick: they were wood, painted pale brown, and sunlight streamed through a curtained window to his right. The bed wasn’t a grand four-poster with crimson and black sheets, but a simple double bed with pale blue sheets that were currently laying in a tangle at the foot of a bed from his panicked flight. The clock on the bedside table told him that it was almost nine thirty in the morning. A pair of dressers stood before the far wall, one older and scratched, the other newer, the stain on the wood still glossy. An old and dented but brightly polished saxophone lay in an open carrying case in the corner, surrounded by several pages of hoofwritten sheet music.
Phillip sucked in several deep breaths, commanding his pounding heart to settle. Home. He was in his home, 221 B Boulevard, Ponyville, and not held captive in an abbey in Canterlot. He was safe here...he wasn’t being…
He coughed in an attempt to get the taste of bile out of his throat and shook his head. Looking around the room once more, he realized that there was something missing. Sitting on one of the dressers was a golden ring, polished and bright, attached to a golden chain. The opposite dresser should have had a ring of its own atop it.
A knot of panic formed itself in his gut, but Phillip forced it down. Sniffing, he detected the odor of coffee. Taking his own ring off his dresser and placing it over his head, he followed the trail out of his room and into the kitchen.
A mare was sitting at the table, her back to him, nursing a pot of jet black coffee. Her grayscale mane was in the disarray that came from a late morning, but it still seemed to shine like gossamer threads in the midmorning sunlight that filtered through the window. Hearing his hoofsteps, she turned around to greet him. Her rose-colored eyes lit up with pleasure as they focused on him, and Phillip felt his spirits rise.
“I thought you were going to sleep later,” Daring Do commented, standing up. The engagement ring around the chain bounced against her chest, blending wonderfully with her golden coat.
Phillip smiled and greeted her with a kiss. She started in surprise, then kissed him back, reaching up to run a hoof through his mane. Her lips tasted of coffee and milk.
“Can’t stay in bed all day,” he smiled.
“We could if you wanted to,” Daring smirked, wiggling her hips.
The sight would normally send heat rushing up to Phillip’s face and give him cause to squirm. Instead, he felt a cold clenching in between his hind legs, and his stomach twisted once more. He forced a smile onto his face and walked around her. “What’s for brekkie?”
The flirtatious smile vanished instantly from Daring’s face and she reached out, stopping him. “You had another dream, didn’t you?” she asked.
A denial rose to his lips immediately, but was paused by the logic that he should be able and willing to trust his future wife...as well as the years of experience having taught him that trying to lie to her was an exercise in futility.
“Yes,” he admitted without looking at her.
Daring sighed. “Are you going to that therapist?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
Daring sucked in a breath like she was about to say something, but remained quiet. “Well...I hope that she helps.”
“She does,” Phil nodded, plucking a loaf of bread from the pantry and loading three slices into the toaster. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Don’t you have PT today?”
“You trying to get rid of me?” Daring asked with a trace of her old smile again.
Phillip turned around and reached out towards her, placing his hoof on a scar on Daring’s chest. Amidst the virtual map of dull red marks on her body, this small, roughly circular spot of stippled black and burnished red-bronze might have gone unnoticed. But this bullet mark was the most recent of her wounds. And the most serious.
“Daring, you almost died,” Phillip said quietly.
She took his hoof and squeezed it firmly. “You don’t have to remind me of that,” she replied seriously.
Phillip swallowed, his mouth convulsing as he tried to think of something else to say. Daring silenced him by pulling his hoof up to her cheek. He stroked her cheek and leaned in close, pressing his forehead against hers. They simply stood there for a few moments, listening to each other’s breathing.
“Hey, you’re not gonna lose me, okay, Phil?” Daring reassured him softly, softly rubbing her cheek against his. “I got shot, and I still came home to you. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“It’s a habit,” Phil replied quietly. “Somepony had to worry about you in the past.”
She drew back and gave him a light punch in the shoulder in mock offense. He flinched away from her, half-smiling, relishing this feeling of being...normal, of being at ease.
“Hey, Phil?” Daring asked.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Your toast is burning.”
Phillip turned around and noticed wisps of smoke rising from the toaster. He leapt forward and turned the toaster off, causing his partially burnt toast to pop up. Sighing, he spread some raspberry jam on his bread and set to breakfast as Daring exited the room. She returned a minute later, her hair and tail both done up in a tight bun, her eyes hidden behind her red-rimmed reading glasses, wearing a long pale green jacket that hid her wings and covered her flanks. The disguise made her seem older than she really was, and more importantly, much more forgettable.
“Okay,” ‘Irene Alibi’ declared. “I have PT, and you have that therapy appointment.” She smiled at him. “Somepony has to worry about you, too.”
Phillip bit down on his toast and grimaced slightly at the clash of sweet raspberry and crunchy, burnt wheat on his tongue. “Right.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and exited. He heard the door open, and his heart suddenly cried out in his chest for her to come back, to not leave him alone again...yet, as soon as the moment came, the door closed to announce her departure.
He looked down at his breakfast, suddenly no longer hungry. Years ago, empty homes and hours of silence hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. Now, the quietness ached, as though a part of him had been cut out without him initially noticing. Despite his lack of appetite, he finished off his breakfast, washed it down with a glass of milk, then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his mane.
When he came out, he realized that it was almost time for him to leave for his own appointment with Doctor Breeze. Which necessitated his putting on clothes. He walked back into his bedroom and over to his dresser. Opening up the top drawer, he pulled out a simple pale blue short-sleeved shirt and put it on, ensuring that it covered all of the scars that crisscrossed his own torso.
Walking over to the closet, he opened it up and searched amidst the few suits and coats he owned for his vest and his hat. He frowned as they failed to reveal themselves. Where did he put—?
With a jolt like a sledgehammer impact, he remembered. He had lost them both. Zugzwang had thrown them into the fire...right before he...he…
His heart rate accelerated in moments and the room spun violently beneath his hooves. Leaning against the wall, he struggled to keep his footing as the wave of fragmented memories and terrible sensations washed over him.
Breathe. Breathe. You’re not there anymore.
He sucked in air, closing his eyes to try to reduce the spinning. Slowly, the flood receded and he resurfaced in the present. Trying not to vomit his breakfast back up, he selected a hooded green jacket and put it on as he exited the house.
Outside, Ponyville was enjoying early spring. Warm, sun-kissed air danced through his mane and tail, and bird song rang in his ears. A few ponies milled about the streets, all of them in groups of two or more, all of them with bright smiles upon their faces. Phillip checked carefully to ensure that none of them paid him any heed before beginning his journey. He walked quickly and quietly down the street, casting his awareness ever about for any sign of anypony attempting to get too close.
The whole time, his stomach continued to churn, but now from more than mere nausea.
Part 2: Tortured
“Phillip? You’ve been quiet for a while. What’s on your mind?”
Phillip blinked up at the heliotrope ceiling and sighed, selecting a random thought from the streams of consciousness that were all running across the forefront of his mind. “I’m thinking about Irene,” he admitted with a wane smile. “How lucky I am to have her.”
“Irene?” Rain Breeze smiled. “She sounds like such a nice pony; I’d love to meet her one day.”
“She’s a bit of a loner,” Phil replied, turning his head to look sideways at her. “It takes her a while to learn to trust ponies.”
“Well, she’s obviously learned to trust you,” Rain commented, her eyes falling to the engagement ring around his neck. “I think it’s wonderful that you’ve found a special somepony in your life.”
“Thank you, Rain,” Phillip nodded.
“On a related note, I’d like to mention that I’ve seen how much you’ve developed since you first starting coming here,” Rain continued, giving him a glowing look. “I really think that being here in Ponyville and being with your friends has done you a lot of good.” She smiled for a moment longer, then her face fell into more serious lines.
“Which is partly why I’m worried for you,” she added, looking down at her clipboard. “You say that these nightmares are getting worse?”
Phillip turned and looked back up at the ceiling. He didn’t answer for almost half a minute, then slowly nodded. “Nothing I do is helping,” he said. “There are some nights I’m even afraid to go to sleep because of the dreams.”
“What are you doing to deal with them?” Rain asked.
“Trying to forget,” Phillip grunted.
Rain frowned. “Phillip, I thought we’d gone over this. Trying to avoid your problems isn’t going to help you with them.”
Phillip turned and glared at her. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one there.”
Rain set her clipboard down and gave him a measured look. “You’re right, I wasn’t there. So help me understand what happened.”
Phillip’s heart dropped into his suddenly icy stomach. He looked away, suddenly wishing for the couch to swallow him whole, to hide him from the world. He folded his arms across his chest.
“Zugzwang captured us,” he stated in a flat tone with a bite of anger around the edges. “While we were being held, he drugged me, tied me to a bed, and raped me until I blacked out.”
The color drained from Rain’s face and she closed her eyes. Her quill shuddered in her magical grip. She had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself down before opening her eyes and continuing. “That’s nothing that I didn’t already know.”
“That’s what happened,” Phillip replied, still refusing to look at her.
“I’m not denying that,” Rain said gently. “But I’m not sure that’s all there is to it.”
Phil closed his eyes for several seconds. “I’ve dealt with more rape victims than I’d like to remember,” he said in a low voice. “They react in all different ways. Some ponies go numb. Some deny it. Some cry. Some get angry.” He opened his eyes and huffed through his nostrils. “I’m dealing with this my way. I’m trying to stick to the facts. Not be emotional.”
“That’s how you dealt with it when other ponies were the victims,” Rain cut in. “But here, you’re the victim.”
“You think I don’t bloody know that?!” he snapped at her, sitting up. Rain’s body stiffened, but she kept her face calm. Phillip sighed and laid back down on the couch, wiping his face off with his hoof. “I’m sorry, Rain.”
“I understand,” Rain replied quietly. She looked up at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid we’re out of time for now. Phillip, I’d like you to think about what it is that’s really bothering you, and how you can deal with this in an effective way.”
“Thank you, Rain,” Phillip said, getting up off the couch and exiting the room. He closed the door behind him and walked down the tile hallway towards the exit. Exiting her home, he stepped off the patio and onto the familiar dirt road of Ponyville. Looking up, he observed the clear blue sky above him, painted with white streaks of clouds and the shimmering golden circle of the sun. Birds sang over his head and the scent of spring flowers tantalized his nostrils.
Yet the icy nausea remained in his stomach. His head lowered to avoid looking at others, he wandered forward, allowing his hooves to control where he was going while his mind took a break. He attempted, as he had done so many times in the past, to set himself aside and review the streams of thoughts from a neutral standpoint, but they refused to release him, entangling around him like the threads of a spider’s web.
Rationally, he knew he had no reason to hide the truth from Rain Breeze; she was only trying to help him heal. But, as much as he wanted to, as much as he wanted to view the events from a dispassionate, neutral standpoint, he could not separate his emotions. Merely thinking about his torture made his stomach twist; to remember Zugzwang’s voice in his ear, his hot, heavy weight pinning him down made him shiver.
He abruptly realized that he had wandered into Ponyville Park. The gravel path crunching beneath his hooves, and the quiet background chatter was instantly soothing to him. He walked past the stone chess tables, where an elderly couple sat playing checkers.
Vaguely, he recalled his old weekly chess games with Time Turner. The memory summoned a brief twinge of emotion, but the feeling faded almost immediately. He continued past to the old, faded brown bench that sat in front of the duck pond. He paused for a moment, then climbed up onto the bench. The wood creaked in its own, familiar way as his weight settled down onto it.
Busking upon this bench in between cases had been one of his favorite pastimes; aside from the money it brought in, there had been a freedom in the music, to think of nothing but the sax in his hooves and the melody he summoned. And it was also upon this bench that he first met Twilight and his friends…
He shuddered as more memories burst unbidden into the forefront of his mind. For a moment, he was back in the snow-covered streets of Canterlot, his heart pounding in his chest as they ran for their lives, slipping and skidding in the ice…
Calm. Calm. You’re not there anymore. You’re back in Ponyville.
He gripped the wood of the bench as if trying to anchor himself in the present time, sucking in the spring air. Slowly, his heart rate settled and his breathing slowed, and he allowed the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations of the moment to wash over him.
“You planning on just watching me all day, Pinkie?” he called out.
“Aww!” a small bush a few feet behind him groaned in disappointment. A familiar, bushy pink mane popped out. “How’d you know it was me?” Pinkie asked, shaking off her crude disguise in a whirlwind of leaves.
“You’re the only mare I know that smells like flower, chocolate and cotton candy,” Phillip replied without looking at her.
“You are a great detective!” Pinkie giggled, bouncing up onto the bench next to him. “How have you been?”
Phillip shrugged, trying to ignore his churning innards. “Fine.”
“Hey, did you hear?” Pinkie asked. “Twilight’s planning for the seven of us to just have a night out tomorrow!” She grinned and let out a happy squeal. “I’m gonna bake some special treats for it, all of everypony’s favorites!” She tapped her chin in thought. “But do you think Rarity will like the almond oat swirl or the cinnamon sugar delight? She does like both, but I’m not sure which one she likes more. Maybe I should make both, except there might be too much and—”
“Pinkie,” Phillip cut in, still not looking at her. “I’m sorry, I...I’m really not in the mood right now.”
Pinkie’s ears folded back and she wilted slightly. “Oh. Oh, that’s okay,” she said quietly. She shuffled her hooves. “I...I have a lot of baking to do, so...see you later.” She got up off the bench and walked away, her head held low.
Phillip could not bring himself to watch her leave; his heart had sunk even lower, and the nausea had increased. The combined shame and self-anger burned in the back of his throat like stomach bile.
He remained there on the bench, completely unaware of time passing around him. It was only when he noticed the falling temperature and that he could no longer see very far that he realized that night had fallen. Slowly getting up off the bench, he trudged out of the park, through the weaving roads and back up B Boulevard to his home.
Even before he pushed the door open, he was greeted by the odors of potato stew with onions, carrots, and mushrooms. Daring was in the kitchen, stirring a bubbling pot on the stove.
“There you are,” she admonished as he entered. “I was wondering when you’d show up. Where have you been?”
“Out,” he replied.
Daring rolled her eyes. “I noticed. Out where?”
“Out,” he repeated with no change in tone. “How was PT?”
Daring’s expression did not change. “I’m getting better. You’re not.”
“I’m not the one got shot,” Phillip replied curtly.
Daring rolled her eyes again and put out a hoof, blocking him from trying to leave. “I bucking noticed, and you’re not going to keep pulling that out every time I try to talk about you.” She scooped up his chin and scooped his head up so he was forced to look her in the eyes.
“Phil, if this relationship is going to work, you need to be honest with me,” she stated flatly, pointedly poking the ring around his neck. “I can tell you’re not okay, and you have to know you’re not okay either.” She glared at him for a moment longer, then her eyes softened slightly. “Phil, I love you. I hate seeing you like this.”
Phil stared at her for a few moments, then closed his eyes and sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re right. But...I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?”
Daring sighed and nuzzled him back. “At least eat something,” she ordered.
Despite his still twisting stomach, Phillip managed to eat a bowlful of stew, which surprisingly lifted his spirits somewhat. While Daring took care of the cleanup, Phil carried himself into the bedroom, not even bothering to turn the lights on as he entered. The bedsheets gladly embraced him as he collapsed into them, closing his eyes.
But even though slumber was already beckoning to him, he resisted its siren call, knowing that nothing good awaited him in the sea of dreams. For a long time, he simply lay beneath the sheets, his eyes closed, hovering on the edge of sleep and wakefulness.
He didn’t notice the quiet hoofsteps approaching. Suddenly, he felt the mattress shift beneath somepony’s weight, and a pair of hooves snaked around his chest.
Then the ropes started biting into his hooves, and the crushing weight pinned him down. On instinct, he gave a terrified yell and shoved his attacker off him. Seizing what felt like a shoulder, he lashed out with a powerful punch and was rewarded with a heavy impact and the distinctive crunching of a breaking nose.
“Ow!” the other pony cried out as they tumbled to the floor, the feminine voice familiar.
Phillip froze and reached out for the bedtable lamp, turning it on. Daring was sprawled across the floor, clutching her face with both hooves. Blood and tears trickled down her face.
Phillip could only stare at her, trembling, his nausea rushing back . “Daring...I...I’m sorry…”
She flinched away from him, unable to even look at him. Slowly and silently, Phillip got up off the bed and slipped out into the living room. He flopped down onto the sofa, knowing that he would not be getting any sleep that night.