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Storyline folder "Breaking Point"
Previously | Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Music.

Henry | April

“Dear Mr Crosby,

the Admissions Committee has carefully reviewed your application to Queens College of New York. However, I regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to the class of 2019. The quality of applicants… best of luck... future plans...”

Tears blurred the rest of the text, but Henry had read those letters so often, he already knew what it said. He had failed. He wasn’t going to study. This had been the last open application, the last chance to escape this shithole of a life, but it was foiled. Now, every door was shut, the water was rising and he had forgotten how to swim.

“HENRY!” a voice downstairs bellowed. “In the saddle in 10 minutes!”

Henry put his head back, blinking at the ceiling. He couldn’t ride today, not after these devastating news. He’d already dreaded the lesson when he’d seen Kurt’s name next to his on the blackboard his morning - the grey was his least favourite horse to ride, especially since that elimination in Pemberley. Henry could feel the familiar nausea rise inside him, and fought hard to keep it in check. Sickness wasn’t something he would get away with. In fact, nothing was. Dad accepted no excuses.

His mind raced with the rejected application as well as the upcoming lesson as he slipped out of his pants and into the breeches that were always wrapped over the back of his chair. I swear, Kurt, if you have rolled in your own shit again, he thought. A cat bath will have to do. Hope Dad doesn’t make me run laps again for a dirty horse. Running down the stairs nearly made him trip over his own long legs, but there was no time to lose.

When Henry finally pulled his antsy grey into the field, he felt everybody’s eyes on him. They all had experienced at one point or another how much Peter disliked tardiness, and seemed anxious on his behalf. Even James, lateness personified, made a cut-throat gesture and nodded towards their dad with a playful grin. Henry shot him the deadliest look.

“About time---!”

Henry instinctively pulled his shoulders up and ducked his head when he heard his father’s voice. Peter seemed irritated, his tone hostile; surely he was still cross with him because of that blasted letter. Great, what a lesson this will be now, Henry thought grimly. He never should’ve applied to college in the first place. No doubt his father wanted to make him feel that painfully.

The usual squad had trooped up for the daily training: Vitoria, who tried to keep Caddy from tearing the field apart, Dick, about to take off his jacket from Francis’ back and Remy, who circled the field with Mike in a relaxed trot. And then there was also Georgie, who’d just steered her black gelding Allan onto the center line to readjust her girth and stirrup next to him. Henry felt his heart skip a beat. Tucking his shirt into his pants, he brushed a piece of straw off his arm. I look like a mess, he thought. Way to go to make a good impression.

Georgie hadn’t been working at Crosby’s for very long. She had joined shortly after James’ accident in March, as a replacement for their previous show groom Carlotta; but Peter had quickly decided she wouldn’t stay a groom very long. He had recognized what a talent she was in the saddle, so instead of preparing everybody’s horses for the training sessions, she was to join as well; and was soon accepted as a part of the team.

Having been so harshly cured of his previous crush, Henry had fallen for her in an instant. Georgie was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, with hazel eyes and wavy hair, and a shy elegance to her mannerisms. In awe, he watched her fumble with her stirrup leathers for a while - until it dawned on him that he was being very ungentlemanlike, sitting like that and not helping at all. He was just about to dismount, when in the very moment, his brother James beat him to it. The young man broke away from the fence and hobbled over with his crutches to give Georgie a hand - and Henry could only grind his teeth at the missed opportunity.

He stared at Jim’s hand on her heel as he slipped her foot into the stirrup, saw the look he gave her and the shy smile he received for it, the deep red on Georgie’s cheeks and Jim’s hand crawling up her calf. Henry couldn’t help feeling his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. No doubt; once again the girl of his dreams had only eyes for his brother. One of many who’d worked here and fallen for him, not knowing their dumb little crush would soon be ground to dust by the man they admired so much. Get away from her, Henry thought, anger and disappointment bubbling up inside him. She deserves better. Oh, how he hated him right now, James with his charms and good looks, his success, his status... Could this day get any worse?

“We’ll start with the grid,” Peter’s commanding voice sounded from the middle of the field. “Two strides, bounce, one stride, one stride. Aim for a steady rhythm, settle your horses on their asses, Remy goes first.”

Henry felt anxiety rise in his guts - only adding to the roaring flood of self-doubt that filled him to the brim. He hadn’t even started warming up yet, and the others were already setting their horses up for the exercise. He urged Kurt into a rising trot, nervous to make up for the lost time - but the stallion read him well and threw his head as he bucked and pulled his rider out of the tack. Henry was too late to react, and was flung onto the grey’s neck.

“Don’t let him intimidate you again, Henry!” Peter’s voice bellowed across the field. “You know he needs a firm hand!”

Of course he knew. Henry knew how he was supposed to ride this horse, but that didn’t change the fact he couldn’t even go near it without shaking like a leaf in the wind. Half-heartedly, he pulled Kurt into a wide circle.

Eventually, everybody had jumped the grid and it was Henry’s turn. Directing his horse towards the first obstacle, he clicked his tongue and set the grey up for the exercise as well as he could - but Kurt didn’t feel like cooperating today. He didn’t want to settle on his hindquarters or listen to any of his rider’s commands for that matter. Locking onto the first jump, he ran out of the tack and jumped the bounce like it was a single obstacle. Henry tried to adjust his seat, but was flung far out of the saddle anyway. Upon landing, he lost reins and stirrups and only barely managed to cling to the grey as he raced through the rest of the grid.

Peter shook his head. “Once again-” he said, and the group started again.

The second time wasn’t much better. Kurt took the bounce like it was supposed to be jumped, but Henry was too preoccupied holding him back that he ended up behind the motion and the last two rails fell.

Peter shouted corrections. Then, a loud “Again!”

The third time, Henry tried to keep the rhythm consistent but again, Kurt refused all communication. He threw his head out of contact and after jumping the second cross-rail, ran out of the grid altogether.

Peter was not amused. “FOR ---’S SAKE, HENRY!” he roared. “Do it again. ONLY YOU.”

Henry bit his lip to stop it from trembling. Everyone’s eyes were on him as he steered his horse towards the grid one more time. Kurt behaved a little better and actually got to the other side without knocking a rail - but again, Peter wasn’t satisfied.

“AGAIN!”

Henry couldn’t hear it anymore. He was swallowing back tears by now; a thick lump sat in his throat and threatened to take his breath away. Once more, he attempted the exercise - but before Kurt could take the first jump, his rider slumped in the saddle and the grey, suddenly missing all support, stopped.

“I can’t.” Henry wheezed.

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. “What was that?”

Henry vibrated with pent-up tension. He stared down on his knuckles, watching them turn white as his hands clenched the reins.

“Henry Michael Crosby -” Peter begun, his voice razor-sharp and warning, but before he could finish his thought, Henry snapped.

“I CAN’T! Just ---ing leave it, okay?” he shouted.

Peter made a step backwards, his eyes wide in disbelief. But his confusion lasted but a moment - immediately, he crossed his arms and puffed himself up until Henry felt like his father was towering over him, even though he was the one sitting on the horse. A deep crease across his forehead and his nostrils flared, Peter had no trouble making his son break in cold sweat. Henry realized his mistake.

“I - I -” he stammered, trying to paddle back, “I dunno. Just continue. Or something. He isn’t gonna do it, not today. I’ll try some other tack, maybe he needs a stronger bit or-”

“If this horse needs anything, it’s a better rider!” Peter barked.

Henry winced. This had been aimed at a sore spot - and it hit the mark perfectly. His father had a point: the problem was not the horse, not the tack, not the weather. As always, it was the rider. Henry pulled his shoulders up defensively. “Yeah, he probably does-!” he sobbed. “Go on, what else am I doing wrong?”

Peter was taken aback. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his son wouldn’t let him.

“And by the way, I got rejected anyway, so I failed that too--!” Tears welled in Henry’s eyes as hysteria overtook his voice. “Are you happy now?”

“You don’t make any sense, Henry -” Peter shot back.

“Of course I don’t! I never do anything right, I’m never enough for you! I wanted to go to college because I can’t deal with this shit anymore --!” Henry shouted. “You made me hate all this, so, so much…!”

“Feel free to leave, then,” Peter spat out. “If you hate it so much. I don’t care. I don’t need this kinda childish behavior in my lesson.”

Silence. Henry felt the piercing gazes of the others, the second-hand embarrassment on behalf of the scene he was making. In a last search for help and support, he cast a glance to Remy, but the man sat frozen, watching the situation with an open mouth and the helplessness of somebody who wants to say something, but for the life of him can’t figure out what. Henry averted his eyes. “Aight,” he eventually said, and jumped off his horse. Without another word, he pulled it towards the gate, not bothering to loosen the girth or take the martingale off. He could hardly see straight as he dragged himself across the yard - his whole body was numb. Sobs choked him.

Henry didn’t care if his horse was still sweaty or if the tack wasn’t stashed away properly. He flung helmet and equipment into the tack room and left without closing the door. Dad would be furious, but that didn’t matter anymore. Not at this point.

Where cracks had marred his soul and heart, he’d given in. He crumbled. Crushed, thrown into the dirt by everybody and everything around him.

This was it.

The final straw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Featuring: Henry and Peter Crosby | Viti (Aliyska ) and Caddy | Dick (Fibonacho ) and Francis | Remy and Mike | Georgie and Allan (decors ) | Kurt

Art (c) by me, some inspiration used (googled "reflection in broken mirror" to see how this worked) but drawn without a ref
DIN A5 Pencil sketch, coloured with Clip Studio Paint

Description

Complete Storyline Previously | Next

Storyline folder "Breaking Point"
Previously | Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Music.

Henry | April

“Dear Mr Crosby,

the Admissions Committee has carefully reviewed your application to Queens College of New York. However, I regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to the class of 2019. The quality of applicants… best of luck... future plans...”

Tears blurred the rest of the text, but Henry had read those letters so often, he already knew what it said. He had failed. He wasn’t going to study. This had been the last open application, the last chance to escape this shithole of a life, but it was foiled. Now, every door was shut, the water was rising and he had forgotten how to swim.

“HENRY!” a voice downstairs bellowed. “In the saddle in 10 minutes!”

Henry put his head back, blinking at the ceiling. He couldn’t ride today, not after these devastating news. He’d already dreaded the lesson when he’d seen Kurt’s name next to his on the blackboard his morning - the grey was his least favourite horse to ride, especially since that elimination in Pemberley. Henry could feel the familiar nausea rise inside him, and fought hard to keep it in check. Sickness wasn’t something he would get away with. In fact, nothing was. Dad accepted no excuses.

His mind raced with the rejected application as well as the upcoming lesson as he slipped out of his pants and into the breeches that were always wrapped over the back of his chair. I swear, Kurt, if you have rolled in your own shit again, he thought. A cat bath will have to do. Hope Dad doesn’t make me run laps again for a dirty horse. Running down the stairs nearly made him trip over his own long legs, but there was no time to lose.

When Henry finally pulled his antsy grey into the field, he felt everybody’s eyes on him. They all had experienced at one point or another how much Peter disliked tardiness, and seemed anxious on his behalf. Even James, lateness personified, made a cut-throat gesture and nodded towards their dad with a playful grin. Henry shot him the deadliest look.

“About time---!”

Henry instinctively pulled his shoulders up and ducked his head when he heard his father’s voice. Peter seemed irritated, his tone hostile; surely he was still cross with him because of that blasted letter. Great, what a lesson this will be now, Henry thought grimly. He never should’ve applied to college in the first place. No doubt his father wanted to make him feel that painfully.

The usual squad had trooped up for the daily training: Vitoria, who tried to keep Caddy from tearing the field apart, Dick, about to take off his jacket from Francis’ back and Remy, who circled the field with Mike in a relaxed trot. And then there was also Georgie, who’d just steered her black gelding Allan onto the center line to readjust her girth and stirrup next to him. Henry felt his heart skip a beat. Tucking his shirt into his pants, he brushed a piece of straw off his arm. I look like a mess, he thought. Way to go to make a good impression.

Georgie hadn’t been working at Crosby’s for very long. She had joined shortly after James’ accident in March, as a replacement for their previous show groom Carlotta; but Peter had quickly decided she wouldn’t stay a groom very long. He had recognized what a talent she was in the saddle, so instead of preparing everybody’s horses for the training sessions, she was to join as well; and was soon accepted as a part of the team.

Having been so harshly cured of his previous crush, Henry had fallen for her in an instant. Georgie was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, with hazel eyes and wavy hair, and a shy elegance to her mannerisms. In awe, he watched her fumble with her stirrup leathers for a while - until it dawned on him that he was being very ungentlemanlike, sitting like that and not helping at all. He was just about to dismount, when in the very moment, his brother James beat him to it. The young man broke away from the fence and hobbled over with his crutches to give Georgie a hand - and Henry could only grind his teeth at the missed opportunity.

He stared at Jim’s hand on her heel as he slipped her foot into the stirrup, saw the look he gave her and the shy smile he received for it, the deep red on Georgie’s cheeks and Jim’s hand crawling up her calf. Henry couldn’t help feeling his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. No doubt; once again the girl of his dreams had only eyes for his brother. One of many who’d worked here and fallen for him, not knowing their dumb little crush would soon be ground to dust by the man they admired so much. Get away from her, Henry thought, anger and disappointment bubbling up inside him. She deserves better. Oh, how he hated him right now, James with his charms and good looks, his success, his status... Could this day get any worse?

“We’ll start with the grid,” Peter’s commanding voice sounded from the middle of the field. “Two strides, bounce, one stride, one stride. Aim for a steady rhythm, settle your horses on their asses, Remy goes first.”

Henry felt anxiety rise in his guts - only adding to the roaring flood of self-doubt that filled him to the brim. He hadn’t even started warming up yet, and the others were already setting their horses up for the exercise. He urged Kurt into a rising trot, nervous to make up for the lost time - but the stallion read him well and threw his head as he bucked and pulled his rider out of the tack. Henry was too late to react, and was flung onto the grey’s neck.

“Don’t let him intimidate you again, Henry!” Peter’s voice bellowed across the field. “You know he needs a firm hand!”

Of course he knew. Henry knew how he was supposed to ride this horse, but that didn’t change the fact he couldn’t even go near it without shaking like a leaf in the wind. Half-heartedly, he pulled Kurt into a wide circle.

Eventually, everybody had jumped the grid and it was Henry’s turn. Directing his horse towards the first obstacle, he clicked his tongue and set the grey up for the exercise as well as he could - but Kurt didn’t feel like cooperating today. He didn’t want to settle on his hindquarters or listen to any of his rider’s commands for that matter. Locking onto the first jump, he ran out of the tack and jumped the bounce like it was a single obstacle. Henry tried to adjust his seat, but was flung far out of the saddle anyway. Upon landing, he lost reins and stirrups and only barely managed to cling to the grey as he raced through the rest of the grid.

Peter shook his head. “Once again-” he said, and the group started again.

The second time wasn’t much better. Kurt took the bounce like it was supposed to be jumped, but Henry was too preoccupied holding him back that he ended up behind the motion and the last two rails fell.

Peter shouted corrections. Then, a loud “Again!”

The third time, Henry tried to keep the rhythm consistent but again, Kurt refused all communication. He threw his head out of contact and after jumping the second cross-rail, ran out of the grid altogether.

Peter was not amused. “FOR ---’S SAKE, HENRY!” he roared. “Do it again. ONLY YOU.”

Henry bit his lip to stop it from trembling. Everyone’s eyes were on him as he steered his horse towards the grid one more time. Kurt behaved a little better and actually got to the other side without knocking a rail - but again, Peter wasn’t satisfied.

“AGAIN!”

Henry couldn’t hear it anymore. He was swallowing back tears by now; a thick lump sat in his throat and threatened to take his breath away. Once more, he attempted the exercise - but before Kurt could take the first jump, his rider slumped in the saddle and the grey, suddenly missing all support, stopped.

“I can’t.” Henry wheezed.

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. “What was that?”

Henry vibrated with pent-up tension. He stared down on his knuckles, watching them turn white as his hands clenched the reins.

“Henry Michael Crosby -” Peter begun, his voice razor-sharp and warning, but before he could finish his thought, Henry snapped.

“I CAN’T! Just ---ing leave it, okay?” he shouted.

Peter made a step backwards, his eyes wide in disbelief. But his confusion lasted but a moment - immediately, he crossed his arms and puffed himself up until Henry felt like his father was towering over him, even though he was the one sitting on the horse. A deep crease across his forehead and his nostrils flared, Peter had no trouble making his son break in cold sweat. Henry realized his mistake.

“I - I -” he stammered, trying to paddle back, “I dunno. Just continue. Or something. He isn’t gonna do it, not today. I’ll try some other tack, maybe he needs a stronger bit or-”

“If this horse needs anything, it’s a better rider!” Peter barked.

Henry winced. This had been aimed at a sore spot - and it hit the mark perfectly. His father had a point: the problem was not the horse, not the tack, not the weather. As always, it was the rider. Henry pulled his shoulders up defensively. “Yeah, he probably does-!” he sobbed. “Go on, what else am I doing wrong?”

Peter was taken aback. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his son wouldn’t let him.

“And by the way, I got rejected anyway, so I failed that too--!” Tears welled in Henry’s eyes as hysteria overtook his voice. “Are you happy now?”

“You don’t make any sense, Henry -” Peter shot back.

“Of course I don’t! I never do anything right, I’m never enough for you! I wanted to go to college because I can’t deal with this shit anymore --!” Henry shouted. “You made me hate all this, so, so much…!”

“Feel free to leave, then,” Peter spat out. “If you hate it so much. I don’t care. I don’t need this kinda childish behavior in my lesson.”

Silence. Henry felt the piercing gazes of the others, the second-hand embarrassment on behalf of the scene he was making. In a last search for help and support, he cast a glance to Remy, but the man sat frozen, watching the situation with an open mouth and the helplessness of somebody who wants to say something, but for the life of him can’t figure out what. Henry averted his eyes. “Aight,” he eventually said, and jumped off his horse. Without another word, he pulled it towards the gate, not bothering to loosen the girth or take the martingale off. He could hardly see straight as he dragged himself across the yard - his whole body was numb. Sobs choked him.

Henry didn’t care if his horse was still sweaty or if the tack wasn’t stashed away properly. He flung helmet and equipment into the tack room and left without closing the door. Dad would be furious, but that didn’t matter anymore. Not at this point.

Where cracks had marred his soul and heart, he’d given in. He crumbled. Crushed, thrown into the dirt by everybody and everything around him.

This was it.

The final straw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Featuring: Henry and Peter Crosby | Viti (Aliyska ) and Caddy | Dick (Fibonacho ) and Francis | Remy and Mike | Georgie and Allan (decors ) | Kurt

Art (c) by me, some inspiration used (googled "reflection in broken mirror" to see how this worked) but drawn without a ref
DIN A5 Pencil sketch, coloured with Clip Studio Paint