Bottom of the Bottle

by Crystal Wishes

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Berry Punch
Length: 1278

Berry Punch isn't an alcoholic. But she could be.

Berry Punch isn't an alcoholic.

But she could be.

Published 2018-06-02 01:30:07 UTC
Last updated 2018-06-02 01:30:07 UTC

And yet I still keep falling

Berry Punch didn't know who she had offended to end up this way. Maybe in a previous life, she'd stepped on Princess Celestia's tail. Or maybe she'd been a court jester a long time ago and didn't make the nobility laugh.

Now, at least, she made ponies laugh. Everypony thought it was funny that the daughter of the two most notorious alcoholics in Ponyville had a speech impediment that made her sound drunk.

It was kind of funny, though, wasn't it? Berry thought so. She liked the fact that her friends thought it was cool that she was cool with herself. It made them feel more comfortable around her, and that was more important than worrying over getting her feelings hurt.

So she made sure to be the first one to crack a joke about it. She gave herself the nickname Pinot Noir. She never took offense. She never saw a reason to.

After all, her parents had made sure she never thought she was weird or different or strange. They just accepted her for who she was.

Of course, it was easy to accept anything when they were constantly sloshed. As a filly, she thought they were the silliest ponies, that she had the most fun parents of all her friends.

The memory of when she discovered otherwise washed over her as she stared at the white tiles beneath her hooves.

° ｡

She was a big girl now. With her flank freshly minted with her brand new cutie mark, she was a filly no more: she was a full-grown mare, ready to take on the world!

So, of course, the first thing a big girl did was wake up early. No more sleeping in for Berry Punch!

As she trotted toward her bedroom door, she noticed the light seeping into her room. Her lips pursed in a pout at the thought that she'd have to get up even earlier to match her parents, but she pushed the thought aside to burst into the living room.

"G'mornin'!" she chimed, then stopped and tilted her head at the sight in front of her.

Mom and Dad were sitting at the dining table, glasses of wine and a half-empty bottle between them. They looked back at her with bleary-eyed surprise.

Berry knew they made wine. And they sold wine. And, of course, they enjoyed wine with customers on special occasions.

But here they were, first thing in the morning, drinking—no, they were drunk. The sun wasn't even up yet and they were drunk!

Her head spun with a cascade of realizations. Ponies acted silly when they were drunk. Her parents acted silly all the time. Were they drunk all the time, then? Were her parents not actually fun, silly ponies?

She didn't like knowing this. It made her feel weird and uncomfortable, knowing that everything she knew about her parents wasn't them, but alcohol.

She wished she hadn't gotten her cutie mark after all. Then she'd still be a filly, still be in bed.

｡°ﾟ

Berry shook her head and looked up at the door across the hall from where she sat. It was still closed.

A part of her wanted to get angry, to punch the wall, to swear off alcohol and close the family business. But she knew that wouldn't change anything, past, present, or future.

Besides, it wasn't the alcohol's fault. Lots of ponies enjoyed hard cider and margaritas and whiskey without doing stupid stuff like this. Without becoming raging alcoholics who couldn't go a few hours sober before going into withdrawal.

Blaming the alcohol was just an excuse. Still, she wasn't sure she could drink ever again, especially since she knew, deep down, she was just as bad as them.

When she spent a year down in Prance to learn from a grand vintner, she drank. A lot. She went to every lesson like a good little mare, but when she was alone in her room, there was always a bottle nearby.

She wasn't an alcoholic, though. No. As soon as she moved back in with her parents, she stopped. She just... needed the help, back then, to dull the pain of loneliness. The boredom of loneliness. The emptiness.

Berry bit her lip and got up from the chair to start walking down the hall. Her hoofsteps echoed against the narrow walls that were a little too close.

Maybe she was worse than them, actually. They drank for fun. They drank because it made the world fuzzy and happy.

She punished herself by picking something that would burn all the way down.

That was going to change, though. If her friends wanted to go drinking, she wouldn't stop herself from a martini or two. But she wasn't going to end up like her dad. She refused to end up like her mom.

Where even was Mom? She was supposed to be here. Piña Colada was staying with a friend, so Mom didn't have the excuse of watching her.

Berry stomped a hoof and pivoted to go back the way she came. Who was she fooling? She knew exactly where her mom was.

Another memory crashed down, followed by an undercurrent of anger that almost knocked her legs out from under her.

°ﾟ❍｡

"Mom, can y'help me in the chellar? I wanna do somethin' for Horshey."

Peaches looked up from her cross-stitching with a raised brow. "Horsey? That round little mare who just moved here?"

Berry's eyes went so wide it hurt. "Mom! D—Don' call'r that!"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Peaches's lips pushed out in a pout. "Why is it my fault that she's fat?"

"She's not—" Berry's tongue felt large and clumsy in her mouth as she accidentally bit it. "Mom!"

With a huff, Peaches set down her needlework. Her hoof rested on the arm of her chair, right by a half-drunk bottle of cider that sat innocently on the side table. "If this is how you're going to act, then I'm not going to want to help you."

"Maybe I don' wan' your help anymore," Berry spat.

Peaches gasped and put a hoof to her chest while her lower lip trembled. "Berrums, why are you picking on me?"

She always did this. She always played the victim. Nothing was ever her fault.

Berry hated it when she almost felt bad for her, too.

𐩑｡ ❍° ｡

There was a quick apology from a nurse who nearly bumped into her, but Berry didn't respond. She just kept staring at the door, waiting.

Waiting for it to open, for him to come out and laugh, for this to all be just another bad memory to add to the pile.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the time when he went too far, drank too much, fell down too many steps, hit his head too hard.

Her last memory of him would be the sight of him lying on the hospital bed, as motionless as he was when she found him on the floor with red in his mane.

Sadness threatened to suffocate her by manifesting as a lump in her throat, but she quickly swallowed it down.

Her throat felt suddenly dry, and the pain in her chest couldn't be quenched with water. Something hard and heavy—whatever her mother was drinking right then to avoid what Berry was forced to deal with.

She wanted a drink. Oh, she wanted several drinks.

She wasn't an alcoholic, though.

But she could be.

It would be so easy.

Just one drink, then two, then more...

And then the pain would go away, be replaced by warm fuzzies.