Close Bonds: Chapter Twenty-Eight

You walk back to the middle of the room, limping slightly every time you put weight on your right forehoof.

Your can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You’re sweating, you’re so damn hot… Every time you exhale, you can feel flames licking at the edges of your throat.

Celestia… That didn’t go nearly the way you wanted it to.

Nowhere close.

Your muscles tense up as a wave of adrenaline and rage rushes through you.

Celestia… Fucking…

“Stupid! Fucking! Stallions!” You scream, pronouncing each word with a punch to the rug.

Why couldn’t he just listen? Why won’t he understand?

You just wanted to help him. You were just trying to be nice for once.

If anything, his suspicion is what hurt you the most. You know you’re not the nicest mare. You know you have a volcanic temper at times…

...as evidenced by your two throbbing hooves.

Oh, Celestia. Oh, fucking hell. Tartarus.

You hit him. You hit him.

That’s assault. That’s illegal. Hell, it might even be considered domestic violence.

He… he wouldn’t turn you in… would he?

No. He wouldn’t do that. You’ve done it before.

Fuck, that just makes it worse. You’ve done this twice now. You actually, really, physically hurt him. Twice.

He was being a jerk. You were just trying to be nice. He didn’t have to act that way just because he’s irritated, and… something’s bothering him…

You never intended for this to happen. Why did you fly off the handle like that?

Because you always do, stupid. Stupid.

Why didn’t he just listen? Why didn’t he just tell you what was wrong? Instead, he got mad at you, and then he started acting like that to Scootaloo…

You didn’t want him to scare off Scootaloo again. If he yelled at her or did anything to make her upset with him, he’d be back on the rocks. You just wanted to help him… to protect this family...

He just wouldn’t fucking listen!

Still, that doesn’t give you the right to go and punch him like that.

Damn it…

You collapse in the middle of the room, burying your head in your forelegs.

Damn it all…

Your ears perk up at the sound of the front door opening. A howling wind rushes in, audible even all the way in this room. It’s really windy right now.

Wait, is he actually going outside?

Sure enough, the door closes, followed by a faint click.

Again, you hear your own heartbeat.

He couldn’t have actually taken what you said seriously… could he?

You just meant for him to get out of the room. You needed some separation before things got out of hoof.

Well, more than they did, at least.

He didn’t pack any clothes, right? He didn’t pack anything. His suitcase is in the closet.

Just to make sure, you trot on up to the still-open closet. Sure enough, his suitcase is there, up high in one of the shelves above the clothes rack.

Stupid. This is his house. Why would he leave? If anything, he would have kicked you out.

…

Okay, then. He probably just went for a walk.

He’ll be back later. At the latest, tonight.

He’ll be back.

“Hey. Scootaloo? You awake?”

You crack the door ajar just enough so you can peek inside the room. A thin sliver of light etches its way across the dark room, running along the floor until it hits the wall and makes its ascent upwards.

“Yeah.”

You open it up a little wider, taking a step inside. The streak of white widens, soon illuminating the little orange filly lying on her back in the middle of room. She doesn’t look up, only squints her eyes at the bright light.

“Why’s it so dark in here, kid?” You walk inside, leaving the door open behind you.

“Didn’t know how to turn on the light.”

You clap your hooves twice and the candles flicker to life. “There. Better?”

She doesn’t say anything.

You stand there for a moment. A pause. “Well, dinner’s ready. Ivan’s not home yet, so… more for us, I guess.”

“‘Kay.”

Again, you wait for a moment, thinking of something else to say. Not able to think of anything, you turn and exit the room, shutting the door behind you.

The two of you sit at the table, full plates in front of you, although you’re not sure either of you have done anything more than idly dab at your dinner.

You made spaghetti tonight, one of Ivan’s favorite meals. He’s not home yet though, and it’s already dark.

You’ll just save it for later.

You continue to stare at your food. Normally, you would have wolfed down a plateful by now, and probably be going for seconds. You don’t have much of an appetite tonight, however.

“Was it my fault?”

You look up from your meal. Across the table, tears brim the edges of Scootaloo’s eyes. Nevertheless, she looks intent on getting her answer, her eyes having a fierce look to them.

“No, Scootaloo… This isn’t your fault. Me and Ivan just fight sometimes.” You give her your best comforting smile. “It happens.”

The look doesn’t leave her; if anything, it only grows more intense. She opens her mouth, ready to say something, but stops.

Another silence passes by. The dull clinking of silverware against glass resounds about the kitchen.

You haven’t eaten anything. Sighing inwardly, you move to rise from your spot, planning on saving what’s on your plate for later and just cleaning up.

Before you can leave, however, Scootaloo suddenly slams both forehooves on the table, rattling the diningware. “Don’t lie to me! I’m not a little filly anymore!”

This stops you. You shift back into your original position. You listen attentively.

“I’m not stupid! I saw him walk in! He was coming for me, not you! He was mad at me!”

Several things flash through your mind. For one, you now know for sure that she’s blaming herself for what happened. She knows that his anger was originally directed towards her, before you stepped in and directed it to yourself. But, first and foremost, she has to have a reason for believing this.

You may get your answer, after all.

You watch her from across the table. She clenches her teeth together in a look that radiates firmness, seemingly without the anger that normally accompanies it. It reminds you of a few people in your life.

At long last, you pop the question. “And why was he mad at you, Scoots?”

At this, her resolve begins to falter. Again, she’s found herself in a situation where her unwillingness to step down has led her into the iron clasp of a trap. A low, quiet groan barely escapes her lips, as she’s now become acutely aware of this fact.

You glare at her intently, now showing the very same tenacity. Her eyes turn downcast, and she begins to fiddle with her hooves.

“Well?” you demand impatiently.

“I… Am I not allowed to go see my dad, or something?” she says shrilly in a sudden, but weak, turn of tone.

Her sudden passive-aggressiveness does her little good, however. She shrinks under your glare, suddenly finding the grooves in the wooden table very interesting.

So, that’s what happened.

Is that really all that put Ivan in such a bad mood?

You suppose that after all that’s happened, he really doesn’t like the idea of her being near him… Celestia knows you don’t. Still, in your mind at least, she has a right to see him, even if she should have asked one of you or at least said something afterward. He is still her father after all, and she probably loves him no matter how screwed up he is.

Maybe that’s it? Maybe Ivan’s jealous? Does he even think of Scootaloo in that way? During the time that Scootaloo has been with the two of you, he hasn’t really acted like the ‘fatherly’ type towards her. More of an older brother, really.

Damn. Just this morning, you heard the two of them laughing in the kitchen. He was in such a good mood when he came into the room, too. Does it really bother him that much?

It must be the stress. So much has happened these past few months… He needs an outlet, and it just so happens that all the emotional frustration and anxiety that’s been building up in him caused him to blow up in that moment.

And maybe you, too…

By now, Scootaloo is half-consciously rhythmically tapping her hoof on the table. The long drawn-out silence is making her extremely uncomfortable.

You decide to break the tension. “Nopony said you weren’t allowed to.”

Those words would normally earn you a sigh of relief from the filly; your tone, however, betrays a catch.

“Still, you should have said something to us.”

She mulls over your words for a bit, considering their worth. After a few seconds pass, she comes up with a genuine inquisition. “Why, though? If none of you ever found out, nothing would have changed.”

“Well, he found out somehow, Scoots,” you say, sighing. “And that just makes it worse. You didn’t tell him, somepony else did. It’s kind of a trust thing, it’s–it’s hard to explain.”

“I still don’t see why going to see my dad is so bad,” she mutters.

“It’s not that it’s bad, it’s that you didn’t say anything. Usually, me and Ivan tell each other these kinds of things; not everything, but the important stuff. Again, it’s hard to explain, but it’s just trust. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“So, he doesn’t trust me anymore?”

It takes you a moment for you to come up with an answer for that. “I–I really don’t know what he’s thinking. I just hope that when he comes back, he’ll have thought it over and come to his senses.”

“It’s dinner time, and he still isn’t back.”

You look out the window at the darkening sky. You’re very aware of this.

Dust. Dust and wind everywhere. You try to cover up your face with your shirt, but that combined with the extraordinary amounts of dust only serves to blind you.

Not that you wouldn’t have been blinded anyway from all the dirt collecting in your eyes.

You stumble through Ponyville, not a pony in sight. Unlike you, nobody else is crazy enough to stay outside in this weather. They’re smart enough to stay indoors.

Then again, what you face out here seems almost preferable to what you might encounter indoors.

From what you can see of the sky, it’s starting to get dark. No matter how much you might loathe having to face Rainbow again, it would be dangerous to get caught outside in the dark during this storm. Finding your way around would be nigh impossible.

Not that it isn’t already, with this limp you’ve developed. Fuck, she really hit you hard…

Where the fuck are you? Seriously. You would start heading home right now, but you really have no reference points to tell you in what direction you should go. All the buildings are silhouettes, the lampposts tall shadows with faint, dying lights at the ends of them.

Everything looks the same. Nothing is familiar. You push your way through the storm to the nearest lamppost, merely desperate for something to cling onto so you have some support in fighting the storm.

It’s difficult to breathe. Even without the dust, the wind itself makes it difficult for your diaphragm to work properly. You try to quell a rising panic in your chest. It’s hard to breathe. Fuck. I can’t see anything. I don’t know where I am. Will I get out of this storm? I don’t want to have to go the whole night like this. What if–”

Suddenly, you see it. Salvation in the form of a street sign. Unreadable from here, you make your way over to it, desperate to have some clue of where you are.

You’re on Elm Avenue, near the schoolhouse. Intersecting this is Third Street.

Fuck that. You’re on the outskirts out town. That’s… pretty far from where you live.

While you could take Third Street pretty much all the way through town to the mane street, you’d be going directly against the wind. Factoring that in, the walk from here to there could take hours, and then you wouldn’t even be at home by then, either.

Shit. Maybe some nice and trusting pony would let a giant bipedal into their house for the night?

No, wait. You don’t need to go knocking on random doors. Fluttershy lives fairly close to here! She’ll let you in!

And, if not, she keeps a spare key under the mat.

It takes awhile to get there. You’re tripped up several times by random objects thrown about by the wind, and have all but completely shut your eyes to keep the dirt out. Your eyes sting, your shin aches, and the blood on your hands is starting to cake.

Damn you to hell if the outline of Fluttershy’s cottage doesn’t seem like the holy grail.

You bang on the door loudly, trying to outdo the roaring wind. The aching in your shin has reached an all-time high, and you’re ready to drop.

Unfortunately, no one answers. You hammerfist the wooden door, harder this time, hoping to get her attention.

Nothing.

Sighing, you reach down and lift the mat, revealing the glinting key. No, several keys. Why would she keep more than one key?

A little dustless rectangle underneath the mat has been protected from the storm. From it you grab a random key–a brown, faded one–and attempt to unlock the door with it.

It’s a little bit difficult, considering the wind is blowing the key around and making you a little unsteady, but you manage to push it in and turn the latch.

You step inside–no, stepping isn’t the right word. You nearly fall flat on your face as soon as the door opens. It’s relatively nice, though; at least this time you hit rug instead of cement or hard-packed dirt.

“Ivan?” you hear from not too far away. You don’t look up, since the light of the brightly-lit house already stings your eyes. You remain on your hands and knees, taking in tremendous gulps of fresh air.

Sweet Celestia… Your throat is literally caked in mud.

At this, you begin retching. Little bits of dirt spew forth from your mouth, dotting the rug underneath you.

God, if you don’t end up with pneumonia or something…

You feel a wet rag wipe your forehead. You close your eyes as it runs over your face, cleaning off all the dust that’s collected there.

A soft voice reaches your ears as you continue to cough and sputter. “My, my… You look terrible.”

As if you didn’t already know. You give one last dry heave before licking your lips, only to find that your tongue sucks off all the moisture that the wet rag left behind.

“Water…?” you croak. Immediately, a glass of water is at the ready. You take it and chug it down ravenously.

“Slow down,” Fluttershy warns, rubbing your back, “we don’t want you to choke right now…”

You ignore her completely. After emptying the cup you set it down, feeling much better.

“God… That storm…”

“What were you doing out there?” Fluttershy asks in the most demanding tone she can–which really isn’t saying much. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous outside? You could have gotten seriously hurt!”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” you say, crunching a grain of sand still in your mouth. “More water please?”

“Of course,” she says, attempting to help you up. “Here, come sit on the couch.”

You lean on her a little bit, but feel as if you might knock her over if you put too much weight on her. For the most part, you stand on your own, using the ground for support.

Once you get to your feet, you let out a loud hiss. You’d forgotten about the bruise on your right leg, and the pain it brings takes you by surprise.

Fluttershy cringes. “Wh-What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head. “No, no, not you…”

Slowly, she guides you over to the couch. Once you’re there, you plop down on it, thankful for not having to walk anymore. As soon as you’re seated Fluttershy disappears into the kitchen, promptly returning with another full glass of water. She hands it to you, and like the last one, you proceed to gulp it down. Satisfied that you won’t drown yourself, she immediately sets to work rolling up your pant leg, having noticed your limp while she was assisting you to the couch.

Partway up she stops. “O-Oh, wow…”

No. That’s never a good sign. You place your now-empty glass off to the side, and curiously bend over to get a look at what surprised Fluttershy.

“Oh… shit.”

A dark purple knot sticks out of your shin like a discolored tumor. You estimate that it’s about as large as a sliced lemon, but looks more like a black eye swollen shut.

Goddammit, Rainbow.

Fluttershy rushes off into the kitchen again and returns with another rag, this one filled with ice. “Here, hold this against your bruise while I go look for some tape.”

“Alright.” You place the ice against your shin, hissing again when the cold material makes contact with the sensitive area. Fluttershy soon returns again with some medical tape and pre-wrap, and proceeds to wrap the latter around your leg.

“How did you manage to hurt yourself this badly?” she asks, still fussing over your current condition. She moves the rag out of the way for a moment to finish applying the pre-wrap to your leg, before breaking it off and moving to pick up the tape. “I’ve never seen a bruise like this before, except on some of my animal friends.”

This really isn’t any worse than some of the injuries you got as a kid while biking, hunting, what have you. In fact, there was this time your foot got caught in the chain of your bike, and you ended up directly hitting a sidewalk curb with your shin. Yeah, that hurt like hell too.

Still, Fluttershy likely isn’t one to be into ‘extreme sports’ like you were. It’s only natural that she acts like this. “I… I hit my shin on the way here.”

“Hit your shin? On what, a deer’s antlers?”

One of the few times you’ve heard Fluttershy use sarcasm.

“No. I think if it were that, it would have been a lot less painful.”

She doesn’t seem to hear your comment as she nibbles a small incision on the edge of the tape, before grabbing the roll with her teeth and tearing it off. “There. Now just stay put while I put these things away. I’ll be back to check your breathing.”

Now that she mentions it, your lungs feel a little tingly. You cough into your hand, nodding. “Okay.”

She scurries off, leaving you a few moments to yourself to think. Do you tell her what happened between you and Rainbow? You know that she’s wondering why you were out there during that storm in the first place; she already asked earlier, and will undoubtedly ask again.

She’s always been a great mediator. Whenever you’ve needed it, she’s always been there to offer herself. Maybe she can even help counsel you a bit.

Still, her making the connection between the fight and the bruise on your shin is something that feels a little… risky to you. Fluttershy may take it upon herself to take some sort of action and, despite everything, you don’t want to see Rainbow get into trouble.

No, Fluttershy wouldn’t do that. She’s always been extremely confidential, she wouldn’t say anything unless you asked her to. Besides, she’s known Rainbow since they were both fillies in flight camp; much longer than she’s known you. You think you know where her loyalties lie.

Fluttershy returns with another glass of water, placing it on the table and sitting down next to you. “Here you go. In case you get thirsty again,” she says, making herself comfortable.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a few peckish sips. You put the half-empty cup back in its place beside you and watch as Fluttershy places her ear to your chest.

“Breathe in.”

You don’t know what she hears when she does this, but you comply.

“Breathe out.”

Again, you do as she says. Something about her expression says that she’s confirmed something, and she goes back to sitting in her spot.

“So?” you ask.

“You sound okay,” she says, nodding, “but I would take it easy if I were you. And make sure to go to the hospital to be checked by a real doctor if you start to feel funny.”

You smile. “Thanks, Fluttershy.”

“Mm-hm. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

“‘Kay.”

...

“H-Hey, Fluttershy,” you say, your voice breaking the silence.

She looks up, an ‘eager-to-please’ attentiveness in her eyes as her ears perk up. “Yes, Ivan?”

“I, um…” Well, here it goes. Once you say it, there’s no return. “I… I wasn’t being completely honest with you earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… I know exactly how I got that bruise, and it wasn’t from hitting my shin.”

She doesn’t look too surprised. “I know. Hooves make very distinct markings.”

You’re a little unsettled by this. She knew you were lying, but didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t want to cause trouble, and just left it alone.

Or maybe she knew that you would admit it.

Again, silence.

“It was Rainbow.”

She only sighs. “I had a feeling…”

You would’ve expected anything but this. Surprise, anger, worry, concern… But she seems almost unfazed. She expected this.

Only one word exits your mouth. “Wha…”

“She’s always had anger problems, Ivan. You know this. She’s exploded and hit ponies when she was a filly, and I know she’s freaked out on you. It was only a matter of time before this happened…”

“‘A matter of time?’ She’s hit me before, you know,” you mention. Fluttershy’s eyes widen, making you realize just how bad that sounded. “It wasn’t as hard then though, and she was in her cycle.”

“I can see how she would be more irritable then, but most mares don’t use their heat as an excuse to hit ponies.” She frowns. “And even so, this has happened twice. Something needs to be done about this, Ivan.”

Panic begins welling up within you as ideas of what she’s implying begin to fill your head. “Please don’t say anything to anyone, Fluttershy.”

“I won’t. But she needs to realize that she can’t keep doing this. She gave you a limp with a single punch, but what if that turned into two punches, or three or four? She’s really quick, and no offense, but I don’t think you could defend yourself.”

You’ve heard stories about her and Applejack taking down monsters with their bare hooves. The thought is kind of scary, really… What she did to you today was controlled. She held back. What could happen if she was really angry?

Beating the shit out of you is one possibility.

“What do I do then?” you ask, desperate for some advice.

“Well, I’ve been trying to get her to take anger management classes for years, but she always just gets mad at me when I bring it up.”

You cock your head. “So you’re saying I should…?”

“Only if you get the chance,” she stresses. “And be subtle. She’s probably still a bit upset about the whole thing, of course, but in any case, I’ll be coming by at some point to have a chat with her.”

You sigh, leaning back and tilting your head up towards the ceiling. “Good luck with that. Last I checked she was in a blind fury, and is probably even more pissed at me for not being back by now. Fuck, I’m gonna have a hell of a tomorrow when I get home.”

Fluttershy rests a hoof on your shoulder. “She’s probably worried sick about you right now. I’m sure that by tomorrow she’ll have cooled off, and will be just ecstatic to know you’re safe and sound.”

You close your eyes, exhaling loudly through your nostrils. One can only hope.

You lie on the bed of your room. Ivan’s room. Your room. A string attached to a metal device brings the flow of a melody to your ears, one that carries along with it bittersweet emotions and melancholy.

We’ll do it all

Everything

On our own

You’ve forgotten how many times you’ve played this song tonight. It’s one of your favorites, particularly because it reminds you of a certain someone close to you.

We don’t need

Anything

Or anyone

With him, you always feel so free. So independent, in control.

The irony.

If I lay here

If I just lay here

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

You’re alone.

Nobody lies with you tonight.

You feel so horribly empty.

The iPod dies and powers off, leaving you in silence. Your only company now is your pillow and the pale moonlight shining through the window.

Tears well up in your eyes. They pool up and run down your cheeks, following the dry, matted paths of many that came before them.

Author's Note

So today, I checked Google Docs to see if the chapter had been proofread. The first thing I noticed was the title, which looked like this:

"Haha. Real mature," I thought to myself. I then proceeded to scroll down a bit, checking for any real notes. For awhile, nothing appeared on the sidebar, and I was starting to feel good about myself. My proofreaders checked it, and didn't find anything wrong. I must be getting good at this.

And then I see this.

At first, the notes were all I could see. Noticing that they were completely filling up the sidebar, I thought, "Shit, that's what I get for writing half-asleep."
Then words such as 'tootsie roll' and 'scat' came into focus.

And then I actually began reading what they wrote. All I could think was

What.

wat

what

These fuckers did this for 6 pages straight, I kid you not. Oh, and guess what else I discovered at the bottom of the screen?

Oh, and thanks to Jazzaman and the other guy who wishes to remain anonymous for the wonderful proofreading job. I would have been lost had you not pointed out that one error where I forgot to add the "-ed" at the end of a word.