|The Dark Within You
Author: YogaForever PM
What if she was at the edge? What if he couldn't bring her back? *Sonamy*Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Romance - Amy & Sonic - Chapters: 3 - Words: 10,368 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 14 - Follows: 13 - Updated: 11-10-09 - Published: 09-13-09 - id: 5375510
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I do not own Sonic the Hedgehog and all related characters and titles. They are © of SEGA corporation. The following piece is a work of fan-fiction, written out of a love and abiding respect for the characters and their creators, published on this site for the enjoyment of other fans. Thank you.
This story takes place four years from the video-game-universe time line.
Amy Rose is sixteen years old, and Sonic is nineteen.
The rest of the characters follow this suit.
Thank you for everything, Alex.
Thanks for always staying up til 2:30 in the morning to read
the first, second and tenth draft, Cooro.
And thanks for challenging me to do this, Matt, you jerk
This piece is for you three.
The Dark Within You
Everything was blurring around the edges. My heart was frantic in my chest, and my tongue was way too big for my mouth all of a sudden. I was crying. I was in hysterics. It was a really bad trip. I knew because all I could hear was my father's cold laughter in my head. They were falling away from me, all my pills were falling away from me.
It didn't start as an addiction. It wasn't supposed to be an addiction. Just another attempt to add to my roster of all the things that I thought would ease the pain. It was supposed to let me forget about everyone's faces for a few hours. No more friends to smile for when all I wanted to do was huddle under the blankets, sleep, and never wake up. No more Cream and her mother trying to coddle me.
And no more of my father. I don't understand why I love him still, after all these years, after all the things Dad has put me through.
So I let myself slide down the wall I'd been pressed against for the last hour, and my sweating, overheated thighs were pleased by the cold linoleum. I was beside the toilet. All my pills were dumped in there, while I silently prayed for the strength to flush them down.
Naturally, my thoughts went back to the other important man in my life. My heart's personal home-wrecker.
Sonic the Hedgehog.
Dad's laughter melted into Sonic's. Sonic's voice used to crack so much, but four years do a lot for a guy. Oh, how his laughter warmed me right up. Smooth and warm, like a blanket around my shaking shoulders.
I thought he could save me from my life. I thought I could make him understand that if I could make him mine. Of course, he couldn't actually save me. And, of course, I couldn't actually flush the toilet.
How did I get so pathetic?
Two years ago, I'd never be stuck in the bathroom, wondering how I could fish out my pills without getting my hands wet. I wouldn't have blacked out. I wouldn't have fallen sideways, hitting the floor as hard as my pills hit the water. I wouldn't be drowning in my own hopelessness, waiting to see who would finally come to flush me down.
"Stop," I whispered into the blackness. I couldn't even remember what I wanted to stop. "Just stop."
* * * * *
Seconds later (or what felt like seconds later), I was opening up my stinging eyes. They were probably bloodshot. I felt terrible. Everything felt off. Just incredibly wrong.
The window was open. It was a strange thing to notice. Maybe I only noticed because I never left the windows open anymore. I always shut the windows, and draw the curtains - terrified someone's going to see my high.
I also noticed how purely sterile the air smelled. Where was I? I tried to sit up, only to find one of those weird breathing-thingies on my face. It snapped into clarity that I was in a hospital room. But, I couldn't sort out why.
I was confused and somewhat delirious and hungry and tired and just wanted to close my eyes and sleep again.
That's when I noticed him.
Him of all people. And he was asleep - asleep right beside me! What gave him the right to get so close? He refused to let me come back home, and wouldn't pick up the phone when I called, and - heaven forbid - he never called me. The part that made my skin crawl was the painful expression scrunching up his face. Like worry and guilt put in a blender.
He was probably watching me sleep, before he went out. Beginning to cry, I wanted to hit him for sitting there. I couldn't help remembering all the good times I'd had with him. All the things he'd done for me, with me, somehow forgetting how few and far between they were. Then I remembered all the bad things, and how they out-weighed the good and semi-good.
"Dad?" I said to him. But I was too quiet. His face twitched and then relaxed into that expression again.
Tears choked me. I hoped they choked me to death. I didn't want to be here when he woke up. I didn't want to get lectured by him now. If he woke up, all I wanted from him was a hug and the reassurance that it'd be okay. I wanted to tell him . . .
"Amy?" My head snapped up, stupidly thinking my father'd woken up. Of course, the voice was all wrong. It wasn't hard and raspy, like my dad's. I turned to face him, and found him gazing back with bloodshot eyes. He looked tired, standing in the doorway, haloed by the hallway light and he looked . . . I couldn't quite place it.
He jumped at the glare I gave him.
"What do you want?" I snarled.
"What do I - ?" He stammered. He was holding a steaming cup. "I'm just . . ." his voice trailed off, perplexed by the daggers I shot him.
Sonic's just one of those people that you never want to see when you're upset.
"Okay, let's try something else," I snarled with condescension. "Why are you here?"
"Because, um," his hands fiddled with the cup. It was annoying. He couldn't make eye-contact with me. "I was - am - worried about you." The correction he made only gets me angrier.
"Yeah, why?" I snapped, leaning against my fluff-less pillow.
This got his attention, but his hands kept tapping the sides of the cup. "You were out cold."
Not having a clue what he was talking about, I bit back, "so, what do you care?"
"Don't you think I care about you?"
"No, actually," he flinched at my unrelenting blunt stare. "I don't."
Didn't expect me to say that, did you, Sonic?
His lips were moving, but no words were coming out. While this little habit of his got on my nerves,
at least he'd stopped with that finger-twitching. He moved forward, shadows falling over his face dramatically in the moonlight streaming from the window.
He looked at my father, and glanced to the cup in his hands. I suppose the drink was for my father. My father slept in the chair nearest the door. Sonic came to the end of the bed, drink still in hand, and watched me. His eyes were unreadable as always.
"What?" I crossed my arms.
At first, the way his lips moved, I thought he'd answer but his face sort of shut down like he'd given up. That unfamiliar emotion he'd worn in the doorway was back. It made me look away until he stopped watching me.
Going to move around the corner of the bed, he faced the window and I admired the curves of his face highlighted in the blue light of night. His eyes glistened, but I decided it was a trick of the light.
In the next moment, his face was shrouded in heavy shadows again. He sat in the chair opposite of my father. He watched me now, and decided to speak.
"That sucks," his voice wasn't cold, exactly, but there wasn't any emotion in his words at first. "That really sucks."
I'd kept my eyes forward since he passed in front of me. "What sucks, Sonic?"
"Oh, you know," he took a sip from the cup. "That whole you thinking I don't care thing. That actually really blows."
Anger surged me again, "I thought it sucked."
"Well, y'know," and he took another, deeper sip, "I changed my mind."
My eyes flicked at Dad. This didn't go unnoticed by Sonic.
"Met your dad," he said.
"Did you guys talk?" I asked hotly.
"What do you think of him?"
He shrugged in the corner of my eye. "He's, I don't know, dad-ly."
"What the hell does that mean?" I hissed.
"You gonna just stare at the wall, crossing your arms all immaturely all night, or what?" He changed the subject with the subtlety of a kid on bubble-wrap.
Tears returned to my eyes, my teeth grit hard as I kept them back.
"You are such a prick." I turned my head as far from him as I could. It still wasn't far enough, especially with my father sleeping in my sight.
"Now," Sonic's retort tore me from thoughts of my father, "correct me if I'm wrong, but you've already informed me of that." He paused melodramatically to consider and continued - intentionally getting on my nerves. "I think it was when you threw the book at me."
"Quit being such a baby," I chided. "It was only a book."
"A phone book," he added like it made a bit of difference.
"It was the white pages."
"Still pretty thick."
I threw my head into the pillow. I crossed my arms tighter, to fight the urge to put my hands over my ears. That immature comment still poked me.
When I didn't say anything, the room went quiet. Quiet of us, anyway. I could hear all the machines they had me on clicking and beeping. When had I taken that stupid thing off my face? The silence between us was beginning to press into me, pressuring me to say something. I felt weird. Like I needed to pop a couple pills and dunk my head in cold water at once. I wanted to let life blur and make it clearer at the same time.
Did the lack of conversation press him for words? Who was I kidding? The only times he spoke were when he wanted to argue, or make cheeky remarks, or to tease someone.
He took another sip.
My skin crawled. I needed another dose. I seriously did. I wanted to know how I'd gotten to the hospital. I wanted to know who called my dad, and why he came to my side for once in my life. Before he'd fallen asleep, was he waiting for me to wake up, so he could yell at me like old times?
My father moved in his seat, and I thought he was stirring. But, he settled down again.
Were nightmares plaguing him? I wanted to know exactly what he wanted from me.
I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming. I was on the verge of crying again. I needed more pills.
And Sonic was tapping the cup again, now in a cheerful rhythm. I wanted to strangle him. How had he gotten here, anyway? He was late for the dinner we were supposed to have. He'd never come over at all.
"What do you want from me!?"
Before I'd realized what happened, I'd whisper-screamed the last six words in his face. He sputtered when he swallowed and wiped the dribbled coffee from his chin, not making eye contact. At first, I thought he was being his normal stupid self, looking for words, but I figured out he was trying to look past me, not away from me. I followed his line of sight to my father.
We were both making sure he was still sleeping. Dad snored lightly.
"Well?" I was back on Sonic.
His eyes glinted in the dark, and I realized he was looking at me.
And I was looking back.
We were capable of looking each other in the eyes, after all.