//------------------------------// // Owning Up // Story: Rotten Apple // by Arwhale //------------------------------// As soon as she and Applejack had walked through the front door, they could already smell dinner cooking. The incident at Sugarcube Corner had delayed them considerably, which meant that it was almost dinnertime. Applejack closed her eyes and inhaled. “Ahh. Ain’t nothin’ quite like comin’ home to the smell o’ one of Granny’s veggie pot pies,” said Applejack. She shed her hat and placed it on a hook beside the door. “Really gets the stomach growlin’, don’t it, sis?” Apple Bloom nodded. A thin smile accompanied a nervous laugh, and she took a step away from Applejack and toward the stairs. “Y-Yeah… like a Timberwolf…” Truth was, her stomach had been growling since they’d left Sugarcube Corner. In fact, ever since she’d stepped in the house, her entire gut felt like it was doing its own acrobatic routine, performing stationary flips, somersaults, and cartwheels inside her. She swallowed hard, tasting bile, and took another step toward the stairs. “Ah, uh… Ah gotta go to the bathroom…” The moment the declaration left her lips, Apple Bloom raced away, rocketing up the stairs and leaving Applejack by herself in the living room. Her big sister reared her head back at the sudden exodus, raising an eyebrow. As if on cue, her brother Big Mac walked into the room from the kitchen, missing the work collar he usually wore and sporting a damp towel draped over one shoulder. The sound of Apple Bloom’s footsteps receded down the second floor hallway, and when he turned to look at Applejack, his puzzled expression soon matched hers. “Ever’thing alright?” he asked. Applejack’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded slowly. “Yeah… Everything’s fine,” she replied. “Somethin’ happened at Sugarcube Corner that made us late in getting back… Pinkie’s runnin’ the place, and the smoke alarm went off, and… well, you know. But other than that, we’re fine…” She trailed off, staring down at the carpet. When she looked back up, Big Mac was still imploring her silently, wiping the damp rag over his sweaty forehead. Not a word needed to be spoken for her to know that he knew something else was up. She sighed. “Well… sort of,” she admitted. “Apple Bloom’s been actin’ a little funny ever since Ah picked her up from school today. Ah asked her if anything was wrong, but she wouldn’t talk to me, and Ah’m a little worried that something’s… Oh, don’t you give me that look!” she interrupted herself. Unfortunately, Big Mac’s knowing smirk only widened, a tinge of pink flushing onto his cheeks. When Applejack’s best efforts in intimidation failed, her face softened, and she sighed once again. “Bah… maybe you’re right. Maybe Ah am just bein’ a mother hen again, getting’ worried over nothing…” she reasoned. Big Mac remained quiet, wiping his face again with the rag and letting her talk with herself. “But even so… Ah dunno. Ah guess Ah just got this gut feelin’ something ain’t right. And you know how it is when that happens…” Oh, he knew very well. Big Mac nodded fervently, suppressing a laugh. He sauntered over to the kitchen with rag in tow. “Eeyup.” … Apple Bloom wasted no time. She scampered into her bedroom, closing the door shut behind her. The coast now clear, she loosened the strap of her saddlebag and tossed it onto the bedcovers. Despite knowing that nopony else was in the room with her, she still peered over her shoulder to double-check that the door was indeed closed before she jumped onto the bed, seating herself right beside the bag. She leaned in closer, undid the flap on the rightmost side, and peeled it open, peeking inside. Sure enough, her stolen treasure was still right where she had left it. It was no longer steaming, but that did not stop the sweet, buttery aroma from assaulting her senses as she stuck her face into the bag. For a reason she could not quite explain, she was only able to leave her head there for a second. As though she were reeling away from something unpleasant, she jerked her face away and scooted back a bit, wrinkling the covers in the process. The flap fell back over the opening, hiding the pecan bun from the outside world once more. Swallowing anxiety, Apple Bloom slid back down, hooves landing with a clop on the wooden floor. She took a sequence of deep breaths whilst keeping her eyes closed to slow her quickening heart rate. She’d wait until after dinner to eat it. If she tried to taste it before and it spoiled her appetite, she’d totally give herself away. Applejack would find out everything, and she’d be done for. She had to be extra careful, watch her back, or… “Hey, AB! Dinner’s ready!” Applejack’s voice carried through her bedroom door. She whipped her head around, thankfully startled out of her thoughts of doom and gloom. “Oh! Okay, Ah-Ah’ll be right down!” she called back, opening the door and cantering out of the room. However, when she was almost halfway down the hall, she stopped suddenly, and at the last second, backtracked, closing the bedroom door behind her. … “And then, won’t y’all believe it, after Ah told ‘em the price, that little varmint accused me o’ riggin’ the scale!” Granny Smith lightly rapped her hoof down on the table to punctuate her outrage. Applejack and Big Macintosh listened intently, eyes widening with shock. “He did what?” Applejack asked, incredulous. “Why would ‘e think you’d do somethin’ slimy like that? We ain’t never swindled or stolen from anypony!” Across from Big Macintosh, Apple Bloom was also listening, but she did so while poking at the food on her plate. She’d hardly even touched the piece of pot pie, and had barely dug her fork into the butternut squash on the side, either. She swallowed hard at Applejack’s last statement, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. “Meh, he was just a customer who wanted t’ get out o’ payin’ the money ‘e owed.” Granny Smith shook her head. “It was a good thing Ah was able to prove ‘im wrong when Ah brought out a few o’ them shiny weights with the labels on ‘em and tested ‘em on the scale. Ohoho, ya shoulda seen ‘is face turn all red. Ya could almost see the steam comin’ out o’ his ears. Good thing there was this real big fella right behind ‘im in the line, or Ah think ‘e might’ve tried to flip the whole stand over.” She laughed, showing her white dentures in a wide smile. “Feller stormed off after that from embarassin’ himself, but Ah just went on doin’ business as usual with the rest o’ the townfolk in line.” Applejack chuckled. “Heh, serves ‘im right for tryin’ to tarnish the Apple Family name like that just to get outta payin’ a few extra bits. Who does he think he is?” Apple Bloom did not look up from the tablecloth, pretending to be mesmerized by the food on her plate. But rest assured, she heard every word. Suddenly, the hoof holding her fork began to tremble, accidentally rattling the metal utensil against the porcelain surface of the dish. In an irrational panic, she ended up dropping the fork onto the plate, creating a loud noise that made everyone else do a little jump in their seats. Horrified, Apple Bloom sat up in her chair and stiffened like a board as everyone’s attention immediately became directed at her. Granny Smith’s already wrinkled brow furrowed with concern. “Err… you alright there, Half-Pint?” she asked. Apple Bloom wilted under her family’s collective scrutiny, ears flopping back. “Uhh, uhhh… yeah, Ah-Ah’m fine…” she stammered, a bit too hastily. Predictably, none of the rest of her family appeared to believe her, riveting her to the chair with their eyes. That was when she began to feel panic gripping hold of her chest, constricting her windpipes and forcing her to take bigger gulps of air. They could see right through her. They were going to find out. And when they did, they’d… Apple Bloom tactfully shoved the images out of her mind. She needed to think of something to get out of here, something they would believe, something that wouldn’t make them suspicious… “C-Can Ah be excused?” …But that was all she came up with. The simple phrase leaving her mouth felt like sandpaper had given the lining of her throat a massage. She cringed. Applejack spent a moment exchanging worried glances with Big Mac and Granny Smith. She pointed to the plate in front of Apple Bloom. “It don’t look like you’ve hardly eaten anything, sis…” Apple Bloom winced, and looked down at her plate. The lukewarm piece of pie and sweet mound of butternut squash gazed back up at her; the thought of them being wasted made the churning sensation in her tummy intensify. She shook her head. “Y-Yeah, Ah know, Ah just… ain’t feelin’ so good right now,” she explained. Her hoof twiddled the fork on the table. “Ah ain’t hungry. S-Sorry…” Once she was done speaking, Apple Bloom aimed her eyes upward. Applejack’s lips creased down into a frown, and she looked over to Granny Smith. The elderly mare was fast to nod her head. “O’course, hun,” she gave her approval, the tone of her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. “Ah don’t think none of us ‘re gonna stop ya if you’re feelin’ ill…” No sooner had she given her stamp of approval than Apple Bloom had gotten up, pushed her chair into the table with a slight thud, and left the room with a hasty farewell and thanks. She didn’t look back, sucking in a breath from between clenched teeth and swallowing a knot of fear that had risen up in her throat. For what seemed to her like the first time that day, Apple Bloom actually hadn’t told a lie. She made a beeline for the bathroom and shut the door. Behind her, Applejack had already turned around to face Big Mac, locking her eyes with her big brother’s. She raised her eyebrows. His coy smirk from before had fled the premises. … After hovering in front of the toilet for several minutes, she’d only manage to achieve a couple of gagging dry heaves before the nausea and anxiety had at last leached away from her body. Head held in one hoof, she’d left the bathroom with an obligatory flush and moved into her bedroom. And then, there it had been again. She could smell it: the evidence of her heinous crime. It had almost been enough to make her do a return trip to the bathroom, but she’d resisted the urge with teeth clenched. Giving her head a rough shake, she’s stepped through the threshold and closed the door shut behind her. You’re just imagining it, Apple Bloom, the farm filly had told herself. Get a dang hold of yourself and calm the hay down! And now, nearly an hour later, here she was still, sitting on the edge of her bed and reviewing all of the day’s past events endlessly in her mind. And unfortunately, her self-admonition had not stopped the wiggling worm of guilt and anxiety from burrowing further into her gut, churning her insides like butter. Breathing heavily through her nose, she tried a different tactic, lying down flat on her back with her head rested on the pillow. She closed her eyes, but each time she tried to make herself relax, something else would pop into her head and force them back open. The process repeated itself several times until she at last gave up, a low groan escaping her. “Aw, consarn it…” She sat up, propping her elbows onto her upper thighs and resting her head in her hooves. In the process, she noticed from the top left corner of her vision that her saddlebag had still not gone anywhere. The little apple insignia designed on the side, the unofficial trademark of Sweet Apple Acres, seemed to glow in the darkening room as the sun beginning to set on the horizon. The insignia of her family, the insignia of honesty. It mocked her. Apple Bloom adjusted her position, wrapping a hoof around her stomach as it did yet another somersault in her tummy, forcing bile up into her esophagus. An attempt to clear her throat only made the acidic burn worse, and a film of cold sweat developed on her hairline, forming into beads as they trickled down the sides of her head. Hatefully, she shot the bag yet another stare from the opposite end of the bed. And, like every other time so far that day, Apple Bloom lost the contest miserably. She hung her head. No matter how hard she tried to focus on something else, a slew of things she’d heard throughout the day continued to taunt her to the point of torment. Applejack’s voice, clear as day. …Serves ‘im right for tryin’ to tarnish the Apple Family name like that… Her forehead throbbed so badly she could feel it thumping through her skull. Tarnish… yeah. Like Ah did… Her sister again. It was like she was seated right beside her, hollering into her ear. We ain’t never swindled or stolen from anypony! A chill settled over the room, making Apple Bloom shiver. She gazed at the window, eyeing the colorful sunset. Its beauty was lost on her. Yeah… everypony except Pinkie Pie… and Zecora… Poor girl’s got a lot on her plate, lately, running the store while the Cakes are gone… This time, her own thoughts came at her in a torrent, angry and unrelenting. She did nothing to censor them, to hold them back from lambasting her with everything they had. And this time, they came to her from her own mouth. Aloud. “Yeah, and then what do ya do, huh? She sticks up for you and takes your side, tries to do something nice for you out of the bottom of ‘er heart, and what do you?” She started off in a whisper, but her voice didn’t stay that way for long. “What do you do? You walk right on up and steal it right off the shelf when she ain’t lookin’ like a dirty. Rotten. Thief!” Apple Bloom punctuated the last three words with a slam of her hoof against the comforter, saving the hardest strike for last. She was shivering again, but it was more from anger than anything else. Anger at herself, like a trail of fire ants crawling up her spine and working their way out to all of her other extremities, tingling and burning incessantly. Her jaw clenched, her head throbbed, and her eyes darted all around the room, as if trying to find something to lash out at. It was inevitable that, as they made a complete revolution, they came to focus in on one object in particular. The source of all of her hardships: the tan saddlebag, perched on the edge of the bed like a bird. A mockingbird. The apple insignia beamed brighter, illuminated by the rays of setting sun flowing through the window. The girl’s hooves curled inward, grasping the comforter so tight that the wrinkles formed all the way down the bedsheets. She bared her teeth, sneering with contempt. The bag did not flinch. Anger boiled into fury, and her sneer turned into a bestial snarl. She planted her front hooves into the bed and stood up on a set of shaky legs. The bag remained unaware of its plight. She lowered herself like a cat stalking its prey, flickering flames of rage reflecting off the tears that were forming in her eyes, and took a single, galloping step forward with a hoof reared behind her head. And then, with a vicious swing, she clobbered the bag. Her hoof connected right with the dead center of the mocking red apple; right where she’d been aiming. The offending object careened from the foot of the bed, flying until it rammed into the dresser against the far wall. Like a dead thing, it slumped back down to the floor. Apple Bloom knees shook so hard they were knocking together. She exhaled heavily through tightly clenched teeth, her breaths sounding like the hissing of a snake as she stared at the pitiful looking bag, slumped over as though knocked unconscious. Then, she looked up. A wide mirror sat above the dresser, reflecting the entire width of the room back at her from corner to corner. But Apple Bloom noticed nothing in the reflection. Nothing, that is, but the image of another filly glaring back at her. A filly whose eyes were unblinking, the whites of each one tinted red and filled with fury. Hatred. A filly whose jaw was clenched so tight that the veins of her neck bulged at the seams. A filly who looked ready to kill. A filly that couldn’t have been her, but was. For a few seconds, she did not move a muscle. Not a sound in the room but the lingering, empty echo of stale air. Then, she collapsed onto the bed, hiding her head in her forelegs. She began to cry. Knock knock knock. A hoof rapped against her bedroom door. The sudden sound made her head shoot up. A muffled voice sounded from the other side. “Hey, Apple Bloom? It’s me. Can Ah come in?” Oh, no. It was Applejack. Fueled by panic, Apple Bloom shot up to her hooves and scampered over to the head of her bed, laying her head down on the pillow, all while trying to avoid making noise. She dug her hooves into each of her eyes and swiped the tears away in a near-frenzy. “Uhh, uh…” She paused, her mind racing. She wanted to say no, to play it safe. But if she did, then that was sure to make her sister even more worried… “Y-Yeah,” she called back, making her decision. She bunched her hooves up underneath her and laid on her side in an effort to make it look like she’d been sleeping. “Sure…” In that instant, Apple Bloom’s eyes shot open wide as she remembered, too late, the pecan bun in the saddlebag, which was lying against the dresser on the other side of her room. It was right in front of the door, in plain sight… The doorknob turned with a click, and Apple Bloom held her breath, dropping her eyelids on purpose to make it look like she was tired. Applejack walked into the room. She wore a melancholy smile, and in her left hoof was a small glass bottle filled halfway with a dark-colored liquid. A little spoon was clipped onto the side. “Hey, sis,” Applejack greeted. Thankfully, she did not appear to see the saddlebag on the floor and made her way over to her bedside. “How ya feelin?” Apple Bloom kept her breathing steady and under control. She shrugged her shoulders. “Not too great… feelin’ kinda sick.” Applejack pursed her lips in sympathy. She set the bottle down on the floor. “Aw. Ah’m sorry, Sugarcube. What kind of sick?” For once, Apple Bloom was telling the full truth when she replied, “My stomach. A little…” Applejack nodded her head in understanding. She pointed to the bottle she’d brought in with her and craned her neck a bit. “You think you need some medicine? Ah brought it up here just in case you thought it’d help. Ah mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to…” Applejack took her hat off and fanned herself with it. The room was nowhere close to hot. Apple Bloom eyed the bottle on the floor, and her lips curled down into a frown. She remembered the last time she’d taken some of the medicine from that bottle, and it hadn’t been pleasant. She shook her head. “Err… Ah think Ah’ll pass...” “Ya sure?” asked Applejack. She donned the hat once more, cocking her head back toward the door. “Ah know it ain’t the best tasting thing in the world, but Ah can getcha a spoonful o’ sugar if that’ll help it go down easier…” Apple Bloom shook her head again, a little more emphatic this time. “No, Ah’m good… thanks, though.” On the outside, Apple Bloom was calm as could be. But in her mind, the filly was begging her older sister to leave. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the act… “Well, alright, then,” said Applejack. She picked the bottle back up in her hoof and, for a second, peered down at it with a blank expression written on her muzzle. Then, she placed it on Apple Bloom’s beside table. “Ah’ll leave it here just in case you change your mind. And remember, just one spoonful,” she added in. Apple Bloom’s legs and ear twitched. Every second her sister was spending in the room with her only compounded the nervous feeling in her gut. She swallowed hard. “Yeah. Got it.” She nodded to indicate that she understood. Applejack gave her a thin smile. “Good. Don’t wanna overdose, now.” She forced a chuckle. Apple Bloom put forth no such effort. Quite frankly, she would have given anything for her sister to just leave right then and there. In her paranoid, anxiety-ridden mind, every second Applejack spent in this room with her only compounded her chances of being discovered. But Applejack was not finished. “And… Ah also came up here for another reason.” Apple Bloom’s ears perked up, suddenly on high alert. Applejack turned her face away, slowly taking the Stetson hat off her head and holding it against her chest. “It’s about what happened at Sugarcube Corner…” The very mention of the sweet shop’s name made Apple Bloom’s heart go into convulsions in her chest. Another knot of warm phlegm formed in her throat, almost making her gag. Pupils wide, her hooves gripped the pillow tighter and tighter as she waited for Applejack to keep talking. “…Ah’ve just been thinkin’ about it ever since we got home, and… Ah just wanted to say that… Ah’m sorry. Ya know, about the whole ‘cinnamon pecan bun’ thing and not havin’ enough money…” A stabbing pain in her chest made Apple Bloom wince. She squeezed the pillow tighter to her body. Applejack continued, not seeming to notice. “…Ah know Ah might just be makin’ a big deal about somethin’ that don’t need to be, but… that wasn’t right. Ah know ya told me nothin’ was wrong an’ all, but… Ah shoulda just been able to tell ya Ah didn’t have enough money before Ah made ya a promise Ah couldn’t keep.” She grimaced, denting the felt of her hat as she pressed it in tighter against her chest. “It wasn’t right to get your hopes up like that. Ah’m… real sorry, sis.” For a time, neither pony said a word. Applejack focused on the wall next to the bed, face partially hidden behind the brim of her hat. Meanwhile, Apple Bloom had to bite her quivering bottom lip so hard it nearly drew blood. “Can you forgive me, AB?” Applejack said in a near-whisper. Apple Bloom opened her mouth to reply, but let it fall shut when a shuddering breath escaped her. She pushed her face deeper into the pillow and slid a hoof up to act as a wall between her and Applejack. “Uh-huh…” She shook her head yes. Relieved, Applejack smiled and reached her hoof over the side of the bed. She brushed it over Apple Bloom’s mane, making the filly tense up like a coiled spring. Her soft voice cooed in the girl’s ear. “Thanks, Sugarcube.” At last, after feeling as though she’d been imprisoned in her own room, Applejack withdrew her caressing hoof, donned her hat, and headed for the open door. Apple Bloom, however, remained motionless, staring at her bedroom wall. “Good,” she said, walking until she was in front of the door frame. “And if ya need anything, just holler, ‘kay?” Apple Bloom nodded again. She adjusted the pillow under her head, wiping a stray tear streak she’d been hiding from Applejack in the process. “Okay…” All Ah need is for you to leave… please, please, PLEASE just go already… Applejack was almost out the door. Her hoof was on the doorknob. The hinges emitted a slight squeak as the door closed until it was just a crack. Apple Bloom shivered as a cool wave of relief washed over her body. Then, just as her tail and back hind hoof were all that were visible, Applejack stopped dead in her tracks without warning. Lazily, the door swung into her croup, emitting a slight, dull thud. The air caught in Apple Bloom’s lungs mid-breath. Oh, horseapples… To her horror, Applejack did a one-eighty, walking right back in. Replacing the smile that had been on her face was a pained expression, brow furrowed with both ears folded back. “And… you know, if ya want, we could…” She paused to clear her throat. “…we could drop by there tomorrow after school. Ah could get you one then, if ya want.” she suggested. Silence from the bed. “Or… you know, if ya still ain’t feelin’ good enough to go to school, Ah could just stop by and bring one back for ya…” Silence, still. The room was going dark as sun’s lower edge made contact with the horizon. Applejack titled her head. “AB? That sound good with you, hun?” She stretched her neck up, trying to get a glimpse of Apple Bloom’s face. She did not budge. Applejack waited for a moment or two before, at last, Apple Bloom responded, barely audible. “Y-Yeah…” It was enough for Applejack. She eased herself out the door by taking a few backward steps until only her front half was inside the room. “Okay. Well, Ah guess Ah’ll just be headin’ out, now…” All of a sudden, she froze mid-step. She held her front hoof up above the ground, her head directed toward the center of the room. Over at the dresser. Apple Bloom could tell right away that something wasn’t right. She thought her sister had left already. She chanced raising her head from the pillow to see what was going on, and just as she suspected, Applejack was still there. But it was where Applejack was looking that made Apple Bloom’s blood thicken into syrup in her veins. Her saddlebag, still lying next to the dresser. Applejack was looking right at it. Terror wrapped its cold claws around her throat and dug into the flesh. “Oh, sis…” Applejack shook her head, tsk-tsking. “Ya gotta stop just leavin’ all your stuff lyin’ around willy nilly. Just ain’t the way it’s s’posed to be done.” By the time she finished her sentence, she was only a couple of steps away from the discarded saddlebag. Apple Bloom pressed her foreleg over her mouth to suppress a cry. Oh my gosh oh my gosh… Applejack gently wrapped her foreleg around one of the straps and lifted the whole thing up from the floor. Apple Bloom felt like choking on her own tongue. Five seconds stretched into an immeasurable length of time in her mind. The bag made a light thud as Applejack lightly tossed it onto the floor beside Apple Bloom’s bed. Mercifully, the flaps remained closed, allowing none of the contents to spill out or be revealed. Apple Bloom inhaled sharply, but muffled it with the pillow. Applejack tilted her hat toward her in farewell, her body sliced in half by the waning rays of sunlight beaming in through the window. “G’night, Apple Bloom,” she said. “Ah’ll be here if you need me. Hope you feel better, Sugarcube.” The sun made an odd sort of path on the wooden floor, a street of gold forged by the waning stream of light coming through the glass. Applejack treated it as if it were an actual road, her entire body glowing as she left the room. She grabbed the knob, stepped out, and the door began to swing shut once again. What happened next, Apple Bloom was not entirely sure. But it was something she would never forget. Time itself ground to a standstill. Illuminated by the light, tiny particles of dust hovered in midair, frozen in space. Even the air in her lungs went stale, as though she were inhaling raw flour. She felt her own pulse pounding against the artery in her neck, drumming a steady rhythm inside her skull, and sweat seeped through her pores, forming marbles that trickled onto the pillowcase. Her forelegs trembled, her shoulders quaked, and her whole body shivered… And, just as the door had nearly clicked shut, just as the wish for her sister to leave was about to come true… “Applejack!” What are you doing? The name had come out as a mix between a cough and a shout. Without hesitation, Applejack flung the door back open and poked her head inside. “Yeah, sis?” Silence hung over the room. Apple Bloom did not speak a word. Instead, she stabbed a hoof into the comforter and pushed herself up onto a set of visibly shaking legs. She looked ready to fall over. Applejack raised her eyebrows. “Uhh… what’re you d—” Applejack began to ask, but stopped in the middle of the question. She noticed the shimmering in Apple Bloom’s eyes immediately, as well as heard the short, suppressed sobs coming from her throat. “What’s wrong?” Apple Bloom ignored her. She dragged herself over to the edge of the bed, already crying freely as she did. Oh, no you don’t! Don’t you dare! She leaned over the bedside and snatched the saddlebag in her right hoof, tossing it up onto the bed. The faintest stench of cinnamon assaulted her nostrils. Don’t! She loosened the strap. Ah said DON’T! She flipped it open, reached into the bag with her mouth, and tasted the pastry on her tongue. “Apple Bloom, what in tarnation are you…” She took out the bun and, half by accident, let it fall onto the blanket. Daring to look up, she saw Applejack’s jaw flap for a second with unspoken words, and then go slack. Apple Bloom was only able to say one last thing before she broke down into a fit of sobs. “Ah’m… a thief.”