It always happens on nights like this.
Outside, the rain pounds so hard that I can’t tell it from the thunder. We… we live on one of the lower clouds, below the rain. We can’t afford any better.
Mom and Dad work so hard. I know they do, but Dad still finds time to take me to hoofball games or Junior Speedsters or Wonderbolts shows. He even comes over to school on his lunch breaks so he can eat with me. Mom can’t. She works days and evenings, long shifts, and she does it for me. I know she does. She says so. But…
It always happens on nights like this.
I can’t see. It’s too dark in here, and my eyes haven’t adjusted yet. Dad told me to stay in the closet, no matter what. He said not to make a sound, not to open the door for anypony, not to cry.
That wouldn’t happen, anyway. I never cry.
I rub the bruise on my cheek from last time, only three days ago. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I can take it. The weather service usually goes months between storms this hard, but only three days…
I know she’s sorry. She says so. She cries, but I don’t. I never cry. Every time, the next morning, before she goes to work, she’ll apologize, and she says it to Dad, too, but not bruises—he g-gets… a swollen eye. Once, a broken collarbone. He tells her it’s not my fault. I can hear him. It only makes her madder.
It always happens on nights like this.
The front door slams, and I jump, but I hold a hoof over my mouth. I’m supposed to stay quiet. “Hi, honey,” Dad says. “I have some soup almost ready. Why don’t you go lie down on the couch, and I’ll give you a neck rub while it simmers.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Mom says. Why won’t she ever let him do something nice for her? She always twists it. I do hear the sound of her flopping onto the couch. Maybe this time. This time will be different. “Where’s Scootaloo?”
My wings twitch, and I huddle into the pile of winter coats. “At the neighbor’s.”
“It’s dinnertime,” Mom growls. “She knows she’s supposed to be home when I have to work late. These storms don’t make themselves.” I used to stay overnight with my friends or have dinner with them. That was a long time ago. I have to watch the clock now.
“It’s okay. It can just be us tonight.”
It always happens on nights like this.
A loud bang, and I grit my teeth. Water sloshes on the floor, glass breaks, somepony cries out. “You think I slave at work so my daughter can ignore the rules?” she roars.
“No, no! It’s okay, please. Just calm down.”
I clench my jaw and cover my ears. It doesn’t help. It never helps. I have to hold still or she’ll hear me. Maybe if she hears me, she won’t be so angry with Dad. It’s… it’s not fair. It’s not fair for him. I’m here, not at the neighbor’s and I’ll just tell her, say that I wanted to surprise her, that… that I love her. It was a little prank, and I made Dad do it, and I’m sorry.
“This is my home! I pay the bills around here, and I won’t have you undermining my authority with Scootaloo!” More glass, then a cabinet slams shut, and there’s a loud thump.
“Alright, alright! Just… I’ll go get her. I’ll go get her, and we’ll have dinner. I’ll cook some more soup. Just please, don’t… don’t be mad with her. It’s not her fault.”
My h-hooves, they’re sh-shaking, and… I can see a little in here now. From the slit of light under the door, I can just make out my hooves, trembling. But I can’t feel it. I can’t feel it.
No more words, just harsh screams, like a wolverine, over and over. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop. It’s never been this bad before. Dull thuds, slowing now, then… silence. Except…
Hoofsteps, sometimes limping, sometimes sliding, coming toward the closet. Dad didn’t know. I didn’t want him to know, but I got a knife from the kitchen, in case he needed my help. He’d never think I would have done that, that I could, but it’s not fair for him. Somepony needs to look out for him. I don’t cry. I never cry.
The dying light glints off its blade. Don’t come out, he said. For anything.
I tighten my grip on the handle, brace it with the other hoof. The doorknob turns. My breath catches in my throat. Slowly, the door opens. And I lunge.
It always happens on nights like this.
I can’t tell the rain from the thunder, and I huddle in my closet. It’s my own room, anyway. None of the other kids in the group home ever come in here. The social workers made sure I had a room to myself.
None of them know.
A knock sounds at the bedroom door, and a shiver buckles my knees. “You in there, Scoots? It’s me, Rainbow Dash. I had to work late, but I figured we might get some popcorn and watch a movie. Sound good?” My hooves won’t hold still. “Scootaloo?”
No, no, he doesn’t deserve this. Leave Dad alone!
Hoofsteps. I have to keep quiet, but I can’t!
“You here? The receptionist hadn’t signed you out.”
I grip my pocketknife. The hoofsteps get closer, and I whimper. I… I miss Dad. Dammit, I miss Mom.
“Oh, yeah, I… I guess you weird out a little on stormy nights. You okay? Just some rain. Nothin’ to worry about.”
I have to help Dad. My whole body tenses.
The doorknob turns.
She doesn’t ask, and I don’t know what made her figure I needed it, but she just hugs me, and I love her for it.
She doesn’t ask, but I tell her anyway. And I cry. Finally.