When We Break

by CommissarAJ

Chapter 6

“Quiet! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell I will! I’m not some damn housecat you can just toss into another room when I get too inconvenient!”

“Just leave me alone.”

“I’m not going away! Whether you like it or not, I’m still here. You need to grow up, and take responsibility for once in your damn life!”

“…what’s the point…”

“Because I’m your daughter, dammit!”

Tempest Shadow checked her watch for the hundredth time, but despite her persistence, the clock refused to move more than a few minutes since the last time she checked. Growing impatient, she looked over to her business partner, Grubber, who sat on her couch. The short, rotund man was still humming and hawing as he counted up each pill in the plastic bag. The two had gathered at Tempest’s apartment, though her visible annoyance hid what gratitude she felt about him coming over on such short notice.

“Must you hum so loud?” Tempest remarked, followed by a low, audible growl. “You sound like a high voltage tower when you do that.” She folded her arms across her chest to try and keep calm, but her tapping foot betrayed her sense of urgency and anxiety.

For his part, Grubber just ignored the hostility in her words and kept counting. “Listen, if you want a fair price for this, I need to make sure exactly how many I’ve got,” he explained. “Though I have to warn you, I don’t really handle drugs that much. I don’t like the stuff.”

“Didn’t picture you for a puritan.”

Grubber just rolled his eyes. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Tempest. I’m in this business for an easy buck, and drugs ain’t ever easy: they attract the worst kind of cops and competition, both of which tend to be hazardous to my health. And that ain’t including what might happen if King catches me with this stuff.” Once he had finished and was satisfied with the count, he set the bag down on the coffee table and slid it back over towards Tempest. “How much did you say you wanted for it?”

“Five hundred should suffice.”

Unfortunately, the initial reaction was exactly what she expected, as Grubber went wide-eyed like she had just pulled out a badge and gun. “Five hundred? That’s practically the street value! You know I am in this business to make money, right? I can’t do that if I’m buying stuff from you at the same price as the people I supply sell it at.”

“I know, but I need the money so I can get King off my back!” Tempest snapped.

She was taking a risk openly declaring her defiance of King, but she was running out of options. At the very least, she knew that Grubber was more of an independent fencer who didn’t offer any loyalties one way or the other. The only problem was, if he only cared about money, then Tempest had her work cut out for her if she wanted to convince him to part with a large sum of it. Now she could’ve been a bit more forceful, even threatening, but she knew if she broke away from King, she’d have a very short list of people who’d be willing to deal with her. She wanted to preserve what ‘friends’ she had.

And maybe—just maybe—she was getting tired of the violence.

“Please, Grubber,” she pleaded her case once again, her voice losing all hints of hostility and irritation. “You know King isn’t the sort you can just say no to. If I can at least convince him that I did the job, then at least he won’t get angry and do something reckless.” She hated the idea of begging for charity, but what choice did she have? Her gaze drifted to the ground as her shoulders slumped under the weight of her conscience. “H-how about an advance then? I can pay you back later—maybe run some jobs for you as freebies, or I could pay you back in… other ways.”

Before she could say anything further, Grubber held up his chubby little fingers. “Why are you doing this, Tempest?” he asked. “Throwing yourself at me like some kinda two-bit junkie? That ain’t like you.”

It wasn’t, and Tempest knew it, but she found herself unable or unwilling to admit to that. She stayed silent, and stewed in her ever-growing desperation.

“It’s about that girl, ain’t it?”

“Wh—you know?” Tempest blurted out. “H-how?”

“Come on, Tempest, it’s a small world out here,” Grubber explained as he let out a playful chuckle. “A cute, well-dressed gal comin’ in and out of your apartment is gonna be noticed, and people are gonna talk.”

“When you phrase it like that, you make it sound like some cheesy romance novel.” Tempest had to turn away for a moment as she felt a faint heat rising to her face.

“But it’s true, though, ain’t it? You going to high school and all that.”

Tempest nodded. “This is going to sound dumb, but… being with Twilight reminded me of something I’d forgotten.” She paused and sighed, longingly and with a slight curl at the corner of her lip. “I remembered what it was like to have a dream.”

She expected an uproar of laughter, but instead Grubber just followed up the remark with something less obvious. “And what dream is that?”

“To be me again,” she answered, though her brief moment of hope soon turned into lamentations. “Not that it matters, though; that dream’s dead now. They’ll never let me back in Canterlot High after today.”

There was a tense, prolonged silence in the apartment. Tempest waited for some sort of reaction, though she couldn’t bring herself to even look at Grubber just in case his expression gave the answer she was afraid of. Even she thought she sounded a bit foolish, and the Tempest from only a few weeks back would have had a laughing fit from hearing such wide-eyed naivety.

What she heard instead was, “Okay, here’s your five hundred.”

Tempest spun about, unable to hide her surprise when she saw the small stack of bills that now sat on her coffee table.

“And don’t worry about paying me back until you can afford to,” Grubber added.

She stared in disbelief at both Grubber and the money, and she took a cautious, furtive step towards the table, as if expecting everything to vanish if she were noticed. “Are… are you really just giving this to me? But why?”

“What can I say? I’m a bit of a softie,” Grubber said as he offered a half-hearted shrug. “Plus, I remember when I was younger and had a chance to get out of this life. But I was dumb and greedy, so now I’m kinda stuck here. Just promise me you won’t give up. You’re still young: there’s still hope for you getting out.”

Tempest thought an answer would give her more clarity, but Grubber’s words just left her even more speechless than before. A part of her was still in disbelief, as though the world and everything in it would disappear in a heartbeat and she would find herself alone in bed. It was all real, even as she stepped up to her long-time associate; but rather than take the money, she reached out and hugged the man.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Grubber returned the gesture in kind, patting her on the back as he chortled under his breath. “This is nice,” he cooed. “So much better than you threatening to break my jaw.”

Being reminded of her how she’d treated him in the past didn’t help Tempest’s guilt, but she figured he wasn’t bringing that up to be critical or to put her down. It didn’t even sound like he took any of her past threats personally.

“Is it too late to apologize for everything I’ve said?”

“Toss in some of that lasagna on the counter over there, and you’ve got a deal.”

Tempest fell into a much needed bout of cathartic laughter. It felt as though her stress spilled out and evaporated with every chuckle, until she finally felt at ease for the first time that day. She knew this wouldn’t fix all of her problems, but if she gave King the money and lied about getting found out, then at least she could protect Twilight. Before she could ruminate further on her fate, a knocking came from the apartment door.

“It couldn’t be,” she muttered under her breath as she went to see who it was. Her instincts have an inclination, but she had trouble believing it. Her gut proved to be right, though, as she opened the door and she found herself staring face-to-face with Twilight Sparkle. All of the leveity she felt became a tight knot in her chest: she wasn’t ready yet to face her friend again, but that was about to be unavoidable. “A-aren’t you supposed to be at school?” she stammered.

“I should be asking you the same,” Twilight shot back. “May I come in?”

“Right, uh… come in,” Tempest said as she stepped aside.

After stashing away the bag of drugs, and a sizeable helping of the lasagna, Grubber headed for the exit. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he said with a quick nod good-bye.

Shutting the door, Tempest watched in silence as her friend meandered through the apartment. Why did this girl have to be so damn persistent? Why couldn’t she just leave? Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Tempest knew what she had to do: she couldn’t stay a part of Twilight’s life without endangering her. It would only be a matter of time before King used her as some form of leverage.

“You shouldn’t be here, Twilight.”

“Not until you tell me the truth,” Twilight declared. Despite folding her arms and taking a defensive posture, her eyes still betrayed her concern towards her friend. “Sunset told me that you were sent to sell drugs. That’s not true, right?”

“I’m afraid it’s just as she said,” Tempest answered. It wasn’t quite the truth, but lies were more convenient to her cause. Wanting to keep her distance, she wandered over to the kitchenette and leaned against a counter. “High school kids have lots of money and little sense, after all.”

Twilight’s expression began to waiver as a sense of betrayal and confusion sank in. “But… but why would you agree to that? Y-you’re better than this.”

“No, I’m not!” Tempest accentuated her words by slamming her fist on the counter, which made her friend jump back an inch. “Open up your eyes and look around you, Twilight. This is my world, not yours. People like me… we prey upon idiots like you.”

Twilight fell silent for a moment. Disbelief continued to swirl inside her as she tried to make sense as to why her friend would suddenly discard everything from the past several days and regress back to the cold and isolated teenager she met in the alley. She couldn’t let Tempest win, however; she wouldn’t abandon her friend, no matter the cost.

Taking a breath to calm her thoughts and renew her determination, Twilight took a defiant step towards her friend. From her straight, rigid posture to the furrowed, focused look on her face, she wanted her friend to know that she was prepared to make her stand here and now.

“I don’t believe you,” Twilight declared.

“Well I don’t give a shit what you believe: this is who I am,” Tempest growled back. “Go back to your school where you belong.”

“Not without you! You belong at Canterlot High just as much as I do.”

“Like hell I do. I’ve seen what your friends think of me, so I can venture a guess what the rest of the school’s opinion is.”

“T-they just need a little time to adjust. I’m sure they never intended to—”

“Fuck intentions!” Tempest snarled. Her stoicism began to fall to the wayside as a new ire began to spark inside her. “Do you think I care about those? I’m sure they didn’t intend to remind me about the things I hate about myself just as much as I’m sure that asshole didn’t intend to get drunk and swerve into oncoming traffic and put me into hospital for four months!” She turned away as she didn’t want to lose control of her temper. A little bit of rage could push her friend away, but too much and she was liable to do something she’d regret later. “Intentions don’t change the results. People make their choices: to hurt others, to ruin their lives, to profit from their suffering. Stop making excuses for them!”

Twilight didn’t flinch despite her friend’s fury, and the more Tempest lashed out, the more pity she felt for her. “Because life’s not simple like that,” she replied. “Intentions are important: it’s what separate people like King from your father.”

The brief flinch of tension didn’t escape Twilight’s notice, though she knew she was making a calculated risk bringing the subject up. She mentally braced herself just to be on the safe side, and kept an eye on the apartment door in case she needed to make a quick escape.

“Don’t ever mention my father,” Tempest warned, punctuating every word with an angered inflection.

“Why not? It was important enough for you to lie about him being in the accident.”

“Don’t act like you understand, Twilight!” Tempest snapped as she spun about. “He doesn’t deserve to be remembered, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you defending him!”

“Then help me understand: tell me what happened.”

“He broke!” As the words flew from her lips, they carried with them more hate and contempt than Twilight had ever heard from her before. “Not everybody becomes strong and brave after a tragedy; sometimes they become sniveling worms who lock themselves away and hide in their bottles!” Beneath all the hate, however, there was something else: something that bubbled in the swirling cauldron of emotions inside the teen. “I was a child with two broken legs and one hand: I needed him, and he abandoned me.”

“He was hurting, too. What he did was wrong, but you need to forgive him.”

“Why should I? He’s done nothing to deserve it!”

Twilight pressed her assault, even as the other girl became more enraged. “Because you’re suffering just like he did.”

“Shut up!” Tempest barked, pointing a finger back at her friend. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You’re hurting, but you’re hiding from it, just as he did!”

“Fuck you!”

As her rage boiled over, Tempest reached for the nearest thing at hand, her old Crystal Prep Academy mug, and hurled it at Twilight with a furious cry. Thankfully, quick thinking meant the cup just sailed over a crouching teen’s head and smashed into pieces against the far wall. That wasn’t the end of the tirade, either, as Tempest rushed over and grabbed the offending teen by the collar.

“I’m stronger than he ever was. When things got tough, I got tougher!” she continued shouting into her friend’s face. There was a hint of desperation in her voice though, like a growing crack in the foundation. “I’m nothing like him! Nothing! Don’t you compare me to him! He threw away his job to drink, we threw away all our money to drink, he threw me away to drink, and then… and then he… he…”

---

Canterlot

Two years ago

The front door slammed open, accompanied by the rumbling of the torrential rainfall outside and the quiet grumblings of a young Fizzlepop as she hobbled into the relative shelter of her home. She balanced herself on the crutch under her good arm as she wiggled out of her rain boots and kicked them to the side. After wringing some of the excess water from her hair, she limped her way through the hallways of her dimly-lit home until she reached the living room.

She stopped in the doorway, a tired and contemptful look on her face as she regarded the semi-conscious form of the man sprawled across the couch. Judging by how he was surrounded by an assortment of empty bottles and cans, and how he was still wearing the same clothes he fell asleep in the night before, Fizzlepop safely assumed he hadn’t moved much since she last saw him.

Clearing her throat loudly, the man was startled awake with a groggy murmuring. He only lifted his head a little, turning his gaze towards the young teen as he scratched at the ill-kept scruff across his face.

“Wh—oh, it’s just you,” he mumbled, almost sounding disheartened by the fact.

“It’s Tuesday, Dad,” Fizzlepop commented. “You know what that means, right?”

All she got was a blank, confused stare in response.

“My physio was today: you said you were going to pick me up afterwards.”

“Wh—oh! Oh, right. Sorry, I, uh, lost track of time.” With a weary groan, the man pulled himself up so he was sitting now, though he looked no more ready to get up than he had a second ago. “Well, looks like you got back fine on your own, at least.”

“After waiting for two hours and begging the nursing staff for bus fare,” Fizzlepop snapped back. “I had to walk three blocks from the bus stop on this damn crutch, which I wouldn’t have had to use if somebody hadn’t pawned off my wheelchair.”

Her father slumped back against the couch as he waved off her complaints. “You barely used that thing anymore. Besides, you hated it,” he scoffed. When he glanced up again at his irate child, he noticed that Fizzlepop was sporting some new bandages on her elbows and forehead. “W-what happened to you, Fizzle?”

The girl looked away, a shame-filled scowl on her expression. “I tried to take the stairs and… I fell…”

“Are you nuts? You know you’re not ready for that,” her father exclaimed. After a prolonged sigh, as if being tasked with a menial chore, he rose to his feet. “Just—come on, we need to get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t touch me!” Fizzlepop snapped when he drew too close. “I can take care of this myself.” She tried to hobble away towards her bedroom, but she was taken hold of by the arm before she could get far.

“Don’t take that tone with me, missy,” the man warned. “Whether you like it or not, I’m still your father.”

With a disgruntled snort, Fizzlepop pulled her arm away. “You’re not fooling anybody by trying to pretend to be a parent when it suits you. There’s only one adult in this household, and it certainly ain’t you.”

Her father’s face contorted in anger, and he raised his hand as if about to strike, but stopped himself and just waved a disparaging finger at her. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. Now go to your room.”

“Yeah, I’m the one not thinking straight,” Fizzlepop scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “I should totally be taking advice from the man who wastes his days sulking on the couch while throwing back another bottle of—” She stopped to sniff the air. “—guess it’s a whiskey day.”

“Quiet! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell I will!” Fizzlepop spat. Deciding that she wasn’t as finished with the conversation as she had once thought, she adjusted her crutches so she could face her father again. “I’m not some damn housecat you can just toss into another room when I get too inconvenient!”

However, while she was willing to throw down the gauntlet then and there, her opposition clearly decided that it was too much work to bother with. Her father just shuffled back towards the couch and collapsed into a heap just as he had been when Fizzle entered.

“Just leave me alone,” he groaned.

“I’m not going away!” Fizzlepop said as she hobbled a few steps after him. “Whether you like it or not, I’m still here. You need to grow up, and take responsibility for once in your damn life!”

His only response was a murmured, “…what’s the point…”

“Because I’m your daughter, dammit!” Reaching the limits of her frustration, Fizzlepop loosed one last outburst. “Stupid old man! I wish you had been in the car instead! Nobody would’ve given a shit if you had died!”

With that, she stormed off with as much speed and grace as one could while limping on crutches. She retreated to her bedroom, where at least she would have the sanctuary offered by the solitude. With a tired groan, she collapsed at a small desk tucked into the corner of the room. Despite how long of a day it had been, she still had to finish her assignments for her homeschooling, though it was less ‘schooling’ and more self-taught, which was fine by her. Most of the subjects were easy enough for her to understand on her own. Pulling out her books, she opened up to a fresh page and started on some math questions. At least school work was reliable: it wouldn’t pull any sudden surprises or leave her stranded outside a hospital in the middle of a rainstorm.

As the evening drew darker, Fizzlepop was still engrossed in her work, albeit having grown increasingly tired. Her chin rested in her hand, a pen still wedged between her fingers that twitched with every weary fidget and silent mouthing of the next passage.

The tranquility of the silence was suddenly shattered by the loud, piercing crack of a gunshot that echoed from elsewhere in the house.

Her pen fell from her grasp as Fizzlepop turned in the direction of the noise, a slow, sinking sense of dread beginning to form on her face.

“...Dad?”

---

There was a painful silence in the apartment as Twilight absorbed what her friend revealed, her mind putting together the pieces of the puzzle that was Tempest Shadow. As for the once-raging teenager, recounting the last moments she had with her father appeared to have sapped whatever anger she had been feeling. Her hate had burnt away, and left only bitter ashes behind. Tears had formed in the corners of her eyes, and she was trembling, as if trying to keep the last vestiges of her sanity together.

“I… I didn’t mean to…I just…” she mumbled. Though she had clung to Twilight earlier in anger, she now held onto her as if for support, leaning forward until her head rested against her friend’s chest. After another bout of silent rumination, Tempest let out a whimper, “Twilight?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m broken.”

Twilight drew her arms around her friend, and pulled her into a gentle embrace. “That’s okay,” she whispered back. “Being strong doesn’t mean you have to be unbreakable. Honestly, I think being unbreakable would be kind of sad. If nothing can ever hurt you, then does anything really matter to you?”

Slowly, Tempest steadied herself and backed away, standing fully upright again, though still visibly shaken. Twilight’s gaze met with her friend’s, and for the first time she was perhaps able to see the truest expression the teenager has worn since they met in the alley. No bravado, no forced confidence, no contemptful gaze; just a girl, lost and broken by a world that had all but forgotten about her. Even if no words were spoken, she could see the cries for help in her friend’s tear-filled, turquoise eyes.

No more lies.

No more hiding.

“Please, Twilight, I don’t want to be like this anymore,” she pleaded as her grasp tightened on the other girl’s shoulder. “I’m… I’m not strong enough.”

“Then I’ll help you,” Twilight reassured her. Taking her hand, Twilight guided her friend back to the couch and gestured for her to take a seat, following in kind afterwards. “Would you be willing to come back to school with me?”

As much as she wanted to give an enthusiastic yes, Tempest fell silent again under the weight of her lingering shame. “But… I hit you, and I got caught with the drugs. Who’d accept me back after that?”

“They will,” Twilight said while giving the other teen a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’s a pretty forgiving school. You’d be surprised by some of the things that Sunset and I have done there.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I once got overwhelmed by magic powers I couldn’t control and blew up the statue out in front of the school.”

She was right about one thing: Tempest was surprised. There was a brief lull in the tension as the emotionally-drained teenager just stared wide-eyed at her friend, as if waiting for the punchline to drop. Any other person telling her such a tale would’ve been dismissed outright, but if Twilight was going to lie to her, she would’ve told something a bit more realistic.

Eventually, after mulling her words over again, Tempest answered with a subtle nod. “Okay, I’ll give Canterlot High another try, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“No gym class.”

Twilight nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to switch it for something else, though. Are there any other subjects you’d be interested in taking? Statistics? English Literature? World History?”

“Well…” Tempest trailed off for a spell with a sheepish aversion in her gaze. “I was thinking maybe an art class?”

Now it was Twilight’s turn to experience surprise. She almost felt a little embarrassed than she hadn’t event considered an art course. It was, arguably, her worst subject, and nothing about her friend suggested an eye for artistry. And judging by how self-conscious Tempest looked when making the suggestion, there probably weren’t many people who knew of this interest.

“If I had known you were interested in that, I would’ve suggested it from the start,” Twilight admitted. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

Tempest continued averting her eyes as she offered a half-hearted shrug as an initial explanation. “People don’t usually associate toughness with being artsy-fartsy. Besides, I didn’t exactly think I’d be around long enough for it to really matter.” When she finally managed to work up the nerve to face Twilight again, she noticed her friend still looked a little puzzled by the revelation. “It was suggested to me as part of my physiotherapy. You know, to help me adjust to using my left hand for everything.”

“Do you still have any of your work? I’m a little curious to see it.”

Even though Tempest knew she should’ve seen the request coming, her expression still tightened up under a wave of instant regret, as if an album of her baby pictures had just been uncovered.

Through a forced smile, however, all she could muster was a wary, “Sure. I… uh, think I have them stuffed in a box around here.”

“May I…?” Twilight gestured towards the nearest stack of boxes, waiting for permission, and once she got it, she couldn’t help but let out an excited little squeak.

So great was her curiosity, she used her magic to scour through the contents of the apartment, which resulted in a parade of Tempest’s belongings floating through the air. After sorting through a box of old magazines, she was finally able to uncover one labelled ‘physio’, which contained several sketchbooks, and an assortment of old paints and charcoals. She grabbed the first book in the pile, but before she could turn the first page, it was snatched from her grasp.

“Not that one!” Tempest insisted. “The ones in this book are awful. Like, total garbage.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about that,” Twilight replied. “Come on, let me see! I promise I won’t laugh.”

Faced with pleading eyes and an already guilty conscience, Tempest soon acquiesced and shoved the book back into her friend’s grasp. “Just… I warned you, okay?”

Ignoring the remark, Twilight began to flip through the pages. Inside was page after page of simple pencil and charcoal sketches, and while it was true that most of the early pieces were so crude that somebody could’ve mistaken the artist for a recovering alcoholic, every few pages saw a steady progression in technique. By about half way through the back, what were once oblong or slanted were now clean circles and sharp edges. Most of the pieces were of people and places, likely seen as a casual observer. She even recognized a few of the buildings featured, including the local hospital and Crystal Prep Academy.

“These are beautiful,” Twilight remarked. “I thought you said you had bad handwriting.”

“I do! Look at that signature.” Tempest pointed to the series of disfigured swirls and loops in the corner of the page, which looked more like the output of a seismograph during an earthquake than a name. “When I try to write, it’s like my brain is trying to translate it from right-hand to left-hand. With drawing though, I never really learned how to before the accident, so learning it was all new to me. There were no… crossed-wires, if that makes any sense.”

Though she lacked any relevant experience, Twilight nonetheless nodded in agreement. “Either way, I can tell you’ve really put a lot of heart into this,” she said. As she finished the first notebook, she reached for a second, only to be interrupted when Tempest grabbed her by the wrist.

“Um, maybe not that one,” she cautioned. “That one has… life models.”

“So? I know I’m a little sheltered compared to you, but I can handle nudity in art.”

“I was sixteen, and I had just spent several months in a hospital with no privacy. Use your imagination.”

“Oh. Oooooohhhh.”

Comments

[Nali]

...

.
.

Correction:

After ringing some

wringing

[Boltstrike58]

“He broke!” As the words flew from her lips, they carried with them more hate and contempt than Twilight had ever heard from her before. “Not everybody becomes strong and brave after a tragedy; sometimes they become sniveling worms who lock themselves away and hide in their bottles!” Beneath all the hate, however, there was something else: something that bubbled in the swirling cauldron of emotions inside the teen. “I was a child with two broken legs and one hand: I needed him, and he abandoned me.”

Whoa. Didn't see that coming. I-

The tranquility of the silence was suddenly shattered by the loud, piercing crack of a gunshot that echoed from elsewhere in the house.

Her pen fell from her grasp as Fizzlepop turned in the direction of the noise, a slow, sinking sense of dread beginning to form on her face.

“...Dad?”

...oh my goodness.

[Centurion Pike-Wall]

I don't get the last little bit of dialogue.

[Vaguely Demented]

8955705
Guessing it’s self portraits.

[Cynical_Optimist]

“I think I’m broken.”

Yeah sure, I didn't need my heart anyways.