Disclaimer – I don't own the Sonic characters.
The room is square and small. There is a mahogany desk and its matching chair. There is a burgundy leather sofa. There is a clear plastic container filled with toys; its discarded red top lies next to it on the green carpeting. A single toy has been removed from the box and is held in the hands of an adolescent hedgehog who sits on the couch. Her hold on the toy is tight, and her eyes are livid. "Talk to me Sonic! Talk to me!" She wildly shakes the plushie, screaming at the top of her lungs. When her voice dies, she waits silently for a response. No reply is made.
After several minutes her grip loosens, and the toy falls into her lap, rolls off, and lands softly onto the floor.
"Amy?" Behind the desk, Sonic stares at her from above a pair of small circular-frame glasses. He holds a ballpoint pen in hand, poised above the clipboard's chart on his desk.
"Yes?" Her eyes are locked on her knees. Her shoulders are slumped. She is trembling.
"Why did you drop Sonic?"
She tenses. "I didn't drop him."
Sonic reverses the pen so that its rear faces the chart. He taps it against the chart. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Then why is he on the floor?"
"He ran away."
Sonic nods, reverses the pen, and scribbles words onto the chart. He flips the chart page. The new page is made up of horizontal lines. "Why do you think he ran?"
Amy's hands clench, and she slides them into her lap. "Because he didn't want to talk to me."
Sonic nods. "And why don't you think he wants to talk to you?"
Amy clenches her teeth. She shuts her eyes.
"Because he hates me," she shouts. "He hates me!" Her hands lift to her face, covering her eyes. Tears spill down her cheeks and loud sobs escape her snout.
Sonic nods and scribbles something onto the paper, keeping his smart cursive within the horizontal lines. "It's okay," he murmurs, still writing. "That's good. Let it out." Amy's sobs softens, then stop. Sonic gets up from his chair and hands her a box of tissues. He returns to his desk and picks up his pen. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Feeling better?"
Sonic nods. "Do you think you can tell me why you believe Sonic hates you?"
Amy blows her nose. "Because he knows I don't love him."
She shakes her head, and her quills gently swish against the sides of her face. Taking a fresh tissue, she dabs at fresh tears.
"Hmm, I see. Well, why do you think he hates you for not loving him?"
"Because," she whispers, "he loves me."
Sonic nods and scribbles more onto the lines. His strokes are quick. His strokes are careless. His strokes are perfect. "I see," he says.
He sets his pen down and picks up the clipboard. He flips through the pages, glancing over them as he goes. Finally, he sets the clipboard down and looks at Amy. "Tell me, Amy. Have you ever thought that maybe Sonic doesn't hate you? Have you ever thought that maybe he just wants you to stop chasing him and declaring your love for him?"
Amy takes several minutes to ponder these thoughts, then glances at her watch. "Looks like our time is up." She stands and smiles. "See you next week, Doctor Sonic."
Sonic glances at his watch. "Actually, I'll be out of here in another hour. So I guess you'll be chasing me then."
Amy shuts the office door behind her.
Tap. Tap. Tap.