My Little Pinkie Pie - MLP Fanfic

Chapter 11 - Smile Because It Happened

At first, I am taken aback by Pinkie's words. I try to process them.

I love you.

Nobody has ever said that to me and meant it. Pinkie meant it. I'm pretty sure I can tell. Wait... can I?

No.

Yes.

I honestly don't know.

Aw, shit. I'm taking too long to reply! Come on, answer her!

"I love you, too, Pinkie."

She pulls away and smiles, though I detect worry in her eyes. "Don't worry about it," I assure her, "I'm sure those people at BronyCon wouldn't dob on us. In fact, I think they might treat us like celebrities!"

Okay, I know what you're thinking. My words of encouragement suck. You thought right.

"Yeah," is what she replies with half heartedly.

I sigh. "Look, Pinkie, I'm sorry. We can still go?"

"No, never mind," Pinkie says, "I think I'll go paint or something."

I nod as she turns and walks slowly away with her head down. Oh, no. What have I done? "Pinkie, if we're careful, it won't happen!" I call.

No reply.

Dammit! Why do I have to be such a downer? Pinkie was probably looking forward to going. I poke at my cereal with a spoon. I've suddenly lost my appetite.

I pick my laptop up, carry it into the living room and dump myself on the purple couch. I'm sprawled out on the damn thing in a relaxed manner with my legs over one of the arms and type whatever comes into my mind.
Crap, I just wrote that.

I sigh and press backspace. Before I know it, I'm on Wikipedia. How the hell did I get on here? I sigh in frustration and slap my laptop closed. I strum my fingers on the computer and look around, now restless. What to do, what to do?

I haven't cleaned the house in a week. Good God, a week? No wonder this place is a pig sty! There's like, four dishes in the sink, and two grains of sand on the couch! And don't even get me started on the shocking state of the bathroom.

I dash upstairs to find my cleaning supplies. Hm... running a bit low on sink wax...

A few hours later, I'm scrubbing profusely at the brown roof tiles. God dammit, why is it so hard for the pigeons to poop somewhere else? Suddenly, I accidentally knock the silver bucket containing soapy water. It topples over, spilling water everywhere as it rolls down the slope and crashes into the garden bush, making loud and annoying clattering noises on the way. I growl in frustration, running a hand through my hair and pulling it. I finally take a moment to look around.

Wow, okay. I guess I am as OCD as I suspected. I mean, if I wasn't, I wouldn't be on the roof right now scrubbing at the tiles. Well, I know you saw it coming, so don't laugh!

A warm, spring breeze flows through my hair and I lean my face into the wind. This is the season I like best. Spring. It reminds me of happier days, the weekends I spent with my old boyfriend just lazily sketching with him in our hidden treehouse which used to overlook a big, beautiful lake, not a care in the world. That was before everything else happened. My eyes fill with tears as I remember when everything went downhill. I shake my head, rubbing my eyes in hopes of rubbing the tears away.

No. I am not going to cry. I have Pinkie. I know nothing will ever be the same as it used to be. When he died, a part of me died, too. My thoughts are interrupted by a shout below. "Hey!"

I look down. "Pinkie?" I call.

She's bouncing around with the tin bucket, the handle in her mouth. "What are you doing?" She asks through clenched teeth.