Sonic knew I was gay even before I did.
Yes, gay.
h
o
m
o
s
e
x
u
a
l
Such a long and technical word; it would be so much easier to say the word 'gay,' though. Somewhere in the safe place of my mind, I knew, that if it had a negative response, a 'Tails, how could you consider such a disgusting thing?' I could utter something to the effect of, 'Euphoria or happiness right? I just saw the definition and liked it.'
Because I was eight years old.
They get away with everything.
But, I can tick the years off with four of my five gloved fingers. ( I'm thirteen. )
Thir
effing
teen.
And, he does it. I wonder if he realizes just how wrong it is.
'Sonic, don't do that. It's illegal.'
'Do what, Tails? Do what?'
He knows. When he watches me move as I tinker with the Tornado - he knows.
He knows that each and every one of his fingers should be broken after touching me that way. He knows.
But through the heat and burning, all I can wonder is how I'm not done with the Tornado yet.
"We have nothing with our lives," Sonic says. "Is that why you do this?"
"Do what, Sonic?"
"The Tornado; after years of winding wrenches, you should be done by now."
After years of being gay, you should have told me something, he probably wants to say.
You already know, I would have to argue.
But I want to hear you say it, he would counter.
And I would lose another fight, and maybe then he would kiss me.
Because, I don't have a clue what
making love
is, and if it's any worse than kissing, I wouldn't know better.
Sonic pushes off from the shop table, shoes clicking as he nears. I almost dread the simple pass - the grating, silent noise that his gloves will make when they rub the tuft of fur on my chest. And, as soon as the contact is made, it's as if at the same time he lets out a hot breath he's been holding for the longest time.
( 'As long as you have been in the closet,' he once joked when I complained about the drawl;
he shortly continued with a, 'I'm still holding it, little buddy.'
And, for once, I had almost felt guilty for not saying anything.
But the jerk already knew, so guilt is not something that should have ate at my mind. )
I sometimes feel like a little kid who was never told about stranger danger; as if, all I can do as some sick jack molests me is squeeze my eyes shut and be sure that mommy never knows.
Because mommy would be sad.
Yet, in this case, 'mommy' is a sassy, little hedgehog who jumps when Sonic says jump.
And she is nothing motherly, but if she knew, she would be sad. (mad.)
And, when his hand moves lower for the ump-teenth time, I make my body still, and suggest myself to cry. Sonic always gets afraid when I cry; afraid that maybe he has hurt me. When my mouth moves, though, it's like every other time; a foreign sound bursts from my throat, and I wonder who it was.
But, I know.
Sonic knows.
It
was
me.