The Truth about Trixie, Chapter 2

>Be Great and Powerful.
>Be feeling Small and Weak.
>And starving.
>There was nothing to eat in the fridge yesterday. Again.
>No money to buy lunch at the cafeteria. Again.
>A single bit to your name left from busking last weekend, unspent, in your pocket.
>In your backpack, the in school suspension slip that unspent bit had earned you.
>You needed your parents to sign it, of course.
>Of course.
>Of course you were being forced to talk to them about what happened.
>You're going to be lucky if all you get is a concussion from this.
>You might get a concussion and jail time.
>You became a sobbing wreck when Principal Celestia said that Vomit Comet's dad wanted to sue.
>You don't want to go to jail.
>Dad said you'd get raped if you went to jail.
>He'd seen it happen.
>He told you about it.
>He had a very, very good memory.
>Thankfully, hunger forces those thoughts from your mind.
>You dismount your bike and lean against the sign at the entrance to your neighborhood.
>Fairhope Village, the shame of Canterlot.
>It's not the only bad neighborhood in the city, but it's the worst by far.
>A collection of three hundred run-down mobile homes filled with drug dealers, thieves, prostitutes, each having at least three times their numbers in clients as neighbors.
>Your mom was one of those clients.
>She paid with the food stamps this time.
>You lean against your bicycle, stomach cramping, head throbbing.
>Gritting your teeth, you wheel yourself to your fate.

***

>You make it, finally, to your house.
>Mustard yellow, small, and littered with crushed cans and broken glass.
>Your room's window is open.
>Isabella's hopping at the windowsill, barking her tiny head off at your arrival
>There's a loud crash from inside, like glass shattering, and Isabella gets louder.
>"SHUT UP, FUCKING RAT!"
>Before she can do any more damage, you stagger over to your window.
>You hold your hand up so Bella can sniff it.


>The cramping dulls when she sniffs then licks your hand through the screen.
"Shhh. Quiet, Isabella. Mama Trixie's back."
>A soft giggle escapes your lips as she continues licking your fingers. She settles down enough to sit.
"Just give mama a second. She'll be right there."
>Bella yips and hops out of sight onto your night stand. 
>You fish out your keys, climb the steps, and unlock the door. You pull your bike inside with you.
>Your precious little blue fluffball is sitting beneath an upturned chair, overjoyed to see you back.
>You scoop her up off the mottled carpet and bring her to your chest. She fully extends, paws pressed to your clavicle, licking your chin.
>A fluttery warmth fills you. You squeeze Bella tight and survey the living room for clues.
>Looks like the same mess as before. 
>The coffee table doesn't have any new bottles of Popov, no fresh cigarette burns on the couch.
>Your mother didn't put her spoon in the sink this morning, so you pick it up for her.
>The chair being knocked over must've been an accident.
>You weave your bike through the living room onto the curling linoleum floor of the kitchen and deposit the paraphenalia into the flooded sink. You'll have to clean that soon.
>Your nose wrinkles. Clean it with bleach. And empty the trash.
>Your stomach roars in protest when you leave the kitchen for the hallway. 
>Check the fridge. 
>Check the cabinets.
>You know better than to listen to it.
>You ignore the growing water stains, the peeling of the wood around the back door, the dirty clothes and dust beneath your feet.
>Your bedroom is the first door, left side of the hallway. After it is the bathroom, and then your parent's room.
>You push your bike in and close the door behind you, bolting it at the top.
>Mom sounded like she'd need some rest before you interrupted her with the I.S.S. slip.
>You weren't delaying the inevitable, you tell yourself.


>You lie down on the bed, setting Bella beside you. You make a pillow with your arm and smile at her.
"Mama Trixie loves you!"
>Bella waddles to your face and licks your nose. 'I love mama more!', you imagine her saying.
>You giggle, booping her on the nose.
"No, mama loves *you* more!"
>Uh oh, you picked a fight you can't win. Bella smothers your face with tiny doggy kisses, her pink tongue lapping everywhere she can reach.
>You scoop her up and hold her high. Her tail is wagging hard and fast, tongue out and panting.
"Time out! Mama admits defeat!"
>You set her on your chest and she plops down, energetic black eyes staring at your smile.
>You reach up, fix the pink bow in her hair, then scratch both floppy, green ears.
"Bella, were you a good girl today for mama?"
>Yip!
"Mama wasn't a good girl today."
>Whine...
"She got into a lot of trouble."
>Bella rests her head, paws creeping forward. You stroke her from tip to tail and give a weak smile.
>She doesn't buy it.
>You turn your head away from Bella, distracting yourself from your guilt and hunger by looking around your room.
>It's tiny, the narrow strip of carpet between your bed and the opposite wall's furniture completely taken up by your bike.
>The walls, where possible, are covered by posters of the greats and shelves of your personal affects.
>Penn & Teller, Lafayette. How-to guides on magic, acting, and charisma.
>In your closet hangs your hand-sewn performance attire and hats, making up over 30% of your entire wardrobe.
>The floor of the closet has Isabella's bathroom pad, so far unused.
>You should take her for her walk soon.
>Somewhere with vending so you can get something to eat.
>But you feel exhausted.
>Today's been the worst day since last week.
>Freaking Vomit Comet.
>You hug Bella, turning to face the wall as your eyes begin to mist over.
>You're tired of everything being your fault.
>It was all his fault, but because you hurt him, you're taking all the blame.


>He did get a concussion...
>But he provoked you!
>You relax your hug when Bella whines.
"Mama's sorry, baby. She had a bad day."
>It wasn't right, no, but... but he made you do it!
>Just like he made you b-break the law with tresspassing, and made you cry when he puked all over your boots.
>It's like he's out to get you.
>As if you didn't have enough problems already.
>Your face is hot. Your eyes feel heavy. The tears spill as you close them.
>Your stomach hurts so bad.
>And you knew if you fell asleep, if you didn't get mom to sign your slip before dad got home...
>You're just so tired. Tired of this life.
>There's no justice in this world.
>You curl up around your only friend and fall asleep.