Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT.

One Night

by MutantMj23

1

The lights of the dingy corner store flickered momentarily as the storm raged outside and thunder boomed overhead. I sighed as, for a split second, the store was engulfed in total darkness. Then the light was back and I resumed my search heedlessly. What had I come in here for?

"Hey, girly!" the obese, greasy-haired man behind the counter barked at me. "Either buy something or get the hell out."

Oh, right, that's what. I smiled as I grabbed a loaf of bread off the shelf. "You should be more polite," I said, walking to the counter. "You need the business."

It was true. I was the only person in the shop and the goods on the shelves looked like they hadn't been touched in years.

The store owner ignored me as I threw the bread on the counter. He rang it up and asked simply, "Anything else?"

"Nope," I said, grabbing my wallet out of my coat pocket.

"Alright then," the owner said. "Your total comes to $4.56."

I scoffed as I pulled a five-dollar bill out of my wallet. "That better be some good bread."

"Don't like it, don't shop here," the owner said, snatching the bill away from me.

"Whatever." I grabbed the bread off the counter and turned to leave without waiting for my change or receipt.

As I pulled open the door of the shop, the owner called out to me. "Hey, kid, be careful out there. That's one hell of a storm."

I smiled as thunder boomed once again. Only in New York. "Thanks," I said, pulling my hood up and stepping outside.

I pulled my keys out of my pocket and turned on the mini flashlight that dangled from them, praying the storm would end by the time I got home.

Five minutes later, I was back at my dad's loft, drenched. The loft was warm. It smelled of leather and must. Books covered nearly every inch of floorspace of the small, square living room. There were two bedrooms in the very back, opposite the only restroom in the place and one of them was mine. Until about a month ago, though, I'd only had use it during the summers.

My dad stood in the kitchen, which was opposite the living room, lighting what seemed to be about a million candles. He had closely cropped, graying brown hair, hazel eyes and wore thin wire-rimmed glasses. Next to him stood his tall, thin ginger-haired girlfriend – AKA the woman who had destroyed our family.

"Hey, Dani," Camille smiled at me brightly, her voice brimming with false sweetness. "Did you enjoy the storm?"

I bit my tongue to keep from saying something snarky. Instead, I forced myself to smile at her. "It was lovely, Camille. Just lovely."

Lightning flashed across the sky outside.

"Did you get the bread we sent you out for?" Dad intervened quickly.

"Yeah." I crossed the living room, stepping over books carefully as I went, and set the bread down on the table in the equally small, rectangular kitchen. I moved some of the candles off the table and set them on the granite counter-top beside the sink. Then I sat down at the table. "What's with all the candles?" I gestured to the ones I'd left untouched.

"In case the power goes out," Dad said.

I nodded as I watched Camille grab the bread off the table. I knew it wasn't the kind she'd asked me for. The corner store didn't carry the good, Italian kind she had wanted. "Dani," she said, sighing. "I asked for Italian because we're having spaghetti for dinner." Irritation was creeping into her voice as she spoke.

"What, is this the wrong kind?" Dad took the bread from her.

"Yes," Camille said, moving over to the stove to stir the pasta. "And it went bad two days ago. We can't even use it."

"Daniella." Dad turned to me. "Where did you get this?" He threw the bread down on the table carelessly, knocking over a large bottle of wine as he did so.

I watched the red liquid pour out of the bottle and flood the table in disgust. To avoid getting any of it on me, I pushed my chair away from the table. I looked up at my dad as Camille rushed over to clean up the mess with a washcloth. "I got it from the corner store down the street."

"Why the hell would you go there?" Dad said, ignoring the fact that a highly flammable liquid had engulfed his candle-lit kitchen table. "The fat jackass who runs that place can't be trusted – you know that."

"He's fine, Dad," I said, shaking my head. "Honestly, the store is fine and I went there because everything else is closed because of the storm. It was the only place open."

"Yeah, except for the supermarket," Dad scoffed. "You should have just gone there like we told you to."

I groaned loudly. "The supermarket is two streets over and you wanted me to walk there – in this!" I gestured to the rain-streaked windows.

This time it was Camille's turn to interject. She stood at the sink, wringing out her washcloth, her face a stony mask and her voice angry. "If you had just gone after school like we had asked you to, you could have avoided the storm and we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

"I had track try-outs after school," I reminded her quickly. "I had to take the late bus and it was already storming by the time I got home."

"It doesn't matter!" Camille said, her voice rising to an angry shriek. She turned to face me, panting heavily the way she always did when she got angry. "We asked you to do it, so you should have done it."

"Look, I'm sorry," I said, "but I have other things to worry about other than your guys' stupid diner date – I need extracurriculars for college." Which was honestly something I had never given much thought to before, but before I hadn't cared about going. Now I did.

Camille moved across the kitchen to stand in front of me, her face an emotionless mask. "Get up," she said firmly.

I scoffed. As if I was about to take orders from her.

"Just do as she says, Dani," Dad said with a sigh from his spot in the corner of the room.

I glanced at him. He looked stressed but serious like he was being forced to deal with something he didn't want to do, even though he knew it had to be done. I wondered what it was.

I stood up silently without looking at Camille. Then before I knew what was happening, she had reached out and slapped me across the face. Hard.

I stumbled backwards and tripped over a pile of books. I stared up at her in disbelief. She had never hit me before. She didn't even believe in violence.

Camille stared down at me as tears brimmed at her eyes. "Thank you for ruining my engagement party." She turned and ran to my father's bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I looked up at Dad, who sighed and shook his head. "You're just going to have learn, Dani," he said, "to treat her with respect. She is your mother, after all."

I stared at him, gaping now. What did he just say?

He sighed again as lightning flashed by the window of the living room and looked down at me. It was then that I realized it: I was the thing that needed to dealt with.