The Cost of Strength

by Flutterpriest

Rating: mature
Tags: Apple Bloom, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Granny Smith, Sad, Bon-Bon, Big Macintosh, Sex, Applejack
Length: 1041

Behind every person is an event that defines who they are. They may never share that event, suffering in silence. Or they may help others to show they are not alone. This is what lies behind Big McIntosh's silence.

Behind every person is an event that defines who they are. They may never share that event, suffering in silence. Or they may help others to show they are not alone.

This is what lies behind Big McIntosh's silence.

Warning: This story contains episodes of PTSD and rape.

Published 2017-05-17 17:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-05-17 17:10:01 UTC

Silence

The barn door is closed. I can smell the scent of freshly tossed hay filling the barn, mixed with a certain tartness. A familiar, erotic tartness that builds a tickle in the bottom of my throat. She grabs me, stroking up and down with a gentle touch. My body trembles in her grasp, as I know words won't stop her. Her eyes are locked with mine as she moves my protesting hooves aside.

"This will make us better," she says softly. "Just let me do this."

I bite my lip and look away, seeing no other option. Just let it happen. It'll be over soon.

And then I wake up. Light pours through the window of my bedroom as I can feel my bedsheets once again covered in sweat. I stare at the ceiling, trying to control my breathing and shaking form. It was the dream again. That accursed memory. In perfect clarity, despite it being so very, very long ago.

I close my eyes and let the covers envelop me for a moment, relishing it's warmth like a soft embrace of a loved one or a dear friend. I wonder to myself if I could allow myself the day to simply lie here and rest. The tremors in my muscles begin to slow and fade. I release a resentful puff of air, knowing if I let a simple dream impact me from living my life, then she won. I can't give her that power. Not again. I step out of my bed, and rise to my hooves, catching a passing glance of myself in the dresser mirror.

I look at my toned, muscular, red hooves, and try to remind myself that I'm strong. I have the power to change things. I'm a different stallion now. While I may still be called Big McIntosh, I've changed. I've grown. I've put what happened behind me.

At least, I thought I did.

I grab my yoke and holster it on. I try to shake my thoughts away for a moment. There's no time to spend thinking about things that cannot be changed. What's done has been done. There's no use wasting breath at this point. Yet, as I turn to my bedroom door to join my family for breakfast, I feel a presence hang behind me. I feel weights attached to my limbs. I feel a chill flow through my limbs and breathe against the back of my mane.

I open the door and focus my entire attention to the little things. I trot down the hall, looking at the loving pictures of my family. I nod to Apple Bloom, who brushes her teeth in the bathroom, eyes still fresh with sleep-crud. I walk down the steps, smelling the morning aroma of fresh breakfast, coffee, and morning air. I trot into the kitchen where AJ and Granny prepare a hearty breakfast for a morning full of work.

"Mornin, Big Mac," Applejack says. "Is Apple Bloom out of bed yet? She's gotta help Granny today with the applesauce jarring."

"Eeyup," I say, reflexively moving to the cupboards to grab plates and silverware.

"Good! Then can you set the table? We're just about done," she says, her attention still on the full pan of eggs in front of her.

"Eeyup," I respond once more. I consider myself lucky that today is turning out to be a fairly routine day. I set the table. Applebloom comes down and sits at the table, her eyes barely half open. Applejack dishes the food, and Granny begins to tell a story that I half listen to as I toss eggs into my mouth.

Why in the world am I having that dream again?

No. Stop. There's no point in hashing that out again. It was a different time.

But my mind moves back to the barn. I remember her breath on my fur as she pressed her lips against mine. I remember the forceful nature. And I find my mind drifting...

"Listen. I've just... I've had it, Bon Bon," I said.

The sun was moving down towards the horizon on that day. And it just barely peeked in through the crack in the barn door. I stood resolute, as the mare sat, staring at the ground. She remained silent. Her face was... neutral. Maybe there was a hint of remorse, a pinch of anger, but that wasn't how I saw it then. Back then, I saw my words as daggers that repeatedly slashed at her throat with each syllable. I was the bad one.

"If you don't want to be together anymore, just say it," I said.

"No," she said, her voice quiet and soft. "I love you."

I feel a lump caught in my throat as I stepped away. I know what I saw. I knew what I saw. It was her and a stallion. I heard the moans. I heard their sweet nothings. I heard every dirty remark.

It would have been easier if she just ended it then and there. If I ended it then and there.

"Then why would you do something like that," I asked, unsure if I truly wanted the answer.

I hear the smack of her lips as if she opened her mouth to say something, but closed it.

"We've been together for so long," I said, turning back around. "Just... why?"

I sigh and sit down on a pile of unbaled hay, looking through the crack of the doors to the sunset outside.

"I'll make it better," she said, her tearful eyes... I think they were tearful, looking back up at me. "I didn't mean to hurt us."

"What did you think it was going to do?"

She smiled, and bit her bottom lip.

The breakfast table is silent, and I look up from my plate. I realize I've been absentmindedly running my fork across the plate, making a frictional sound as it drug across. My family stares at me.

"Uh, sorry? I wasn't paying attention."

"Granny wanted to know if you would pack the wagon in the barn so AJ could go into town this afternoon," Apple Bloom says.

"Eeyup," I say reflexively, rising from the table and walking outside.

Author's Note

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