Memory Foam

Scootaloo had long since stopped resisting her father. All it did was make him angry, and when he got angry, he beat her. So she put up with it. She would never enjoy it, no matter what he said. But she still knew better than to resist.

She knew what it was. At first, when she was younger, she hadn't understood why her father did such things. She had even thought it was a game, even though she hated playing it. Over time, she had come to realize what he was doing, and that it was wrong. But she still didn't do anything about it. Partly because she was worried about being homeless, but mostly because she didn't want anypony to know what had happened. What she had done.

Either way, her father didn't get fancy over the affair, and wasted little time in pinning her to the sofa, using his own weight to hold her down. All the while, he slobbered a stream of vile utterances into her ear, belittling her mother for leaving him and denying him a mare's touch, all the while crooning about how much he loved her in gorish detail.

Scootaloo said nothing. If she said nothing, it was all over sooner, something she had learnt from experience. Sure enough, her father quickly tired of his leering and pulled back.

Scootaloo braced herself, but she was never quite able to prepare herself for the utter revulsion she felt when her father penetrated her. The first couple of times, she had been physically sick, a sight that had at first amused her father, but quickly made him merely irritable and violent, so she had had to learn how to control herself quickly. She quickly assumed her default posture - head facing downwards, arms limp. That way, she felt less like a pony, more like a doll.

This routine continued for several more minutes, until eventually her father's movements grew faster, and she heard him begin to grunt and wheeze. She knew what came next, and stiffened upon feeling a warm sensation spread through her. Her father grunted in satisfaction, and collapsed on the sofa beside her. Scootaloo collapsed beside him, only to be shoved off the sofa by her father.

'DON'T GET ANY ON MY FUCKING COUCH!'

Scootaloo flinched, and nodded quickly. 'Yes daddy. Sorry daddy.'

Her father looked disgusted, and a little guilty too. But then, he always looked guilty afterwards. It never stopped him doing it again. 'Clean yourself up. I left some hayfries in the mircowave.'

In the safety of the bathroom, Scootaloo stared at herself in the mirror. A soulless, dead pony stared back. If this was the face Sweetie Belle and Applebloom had to look at all day, no wonder they got sick of her.

Scootaloo wondered if her father knew what he was doing to her, or if he even cared. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, he did love her. Sometimes, he would break down and cry, beg for forgiveness, promise to never, ever hurt her again.

Of course, he would still do it again, but the fact, just the fact that he apologized, meant he must love her, right? Otherwise he wouldn't care at all! If only he wasn't so lonely, if only her mother hadn't left...

But then her mother would be in the same position she was now. Scootaloo didn't blame her for leaving, if that was the case.

Scootaloo reached over and turned the shower knob. A stream of ice cold water shot out. No hot water. Great.

It took her less than a few minutes to clean herself. Once she was done, she crept out of the shower, and crossed the kitchen. There were indeed a plate of hayfries in the microwave. Her father fed her too. Surely that must mean he cared for her. Surely...

Surely there must be somepony out there who loved her.

She took her food into the living room, where her father lay sprawled across the sofa, watching TV. She ate in silence for a few minutes, plucking up her courage. Finally, she spoke up.

'D-d-daddy?'

Her father snorted. 'What?'

Scootaloo couldn't believe she was about to say this. 'Do you love me?'

Her father stopped channel-surfing, and turned to face her. 'What does that mean?'

Scootaloo said nothing, letting out the tiniest squeak. Her father rose to his hooves and grabbed her by the shoulders.

'Am I not good enough for you? Do you know how much I've invested in this family, you stupid cunt?'

Scootaloo felt fresh tears roll down her cheeks, and she shook her head repeatedly. 'P-p-pleease,,,'

Her father snorted, and raised a hoof. Instinctively, she flinched and braced herself for the inevitable blow. When no such strike came, she tentatively opened her eyes to see her father pointing at the stairs.

'Room. Now.'

Merciful for her escape, Scootaloo scrambled upstairs, fled into her room, and slammed the door. Downstairs, she heard her father grumbling, a brief pause, and then the TV blaring again.

She shouldn't have provoked him. He worked hard to feed them both. She should just try to be a better daughter. He really did love her. Right?

Right.

Right.

Scootaloo wasn't sure who she was talking to any more.