A/N: This was actually written a good while ago... Taken from a prompt in one of my books, The 3AM Epiphany, in which I had to utilize the first person point of view, but reduce the use of 'I', 'me', etc to a maximum of two or three. This is basically the aftermath of a fight, the very first in this relationship. And the last. As a note, no, this is not Amy, but a fancharacter of mine. Swift. She's (c) me and has been for almost four years now...
The title comes from A Day to Remember's new hit, "You Be Tails, I'll Be Sonic". It was so perfect, I couldn't resist it. Anyway, do enjoy.
You Be Tails, I'll Be Sonic
I wake up wondering what the hell happened the previous night. Splinters of broken glass carpet the hardwood in a blistering, painful rainbow-array to look at; white light fractured across the floor by the shards. He's somewhere amongst the ashes, sleeping soundly in the wreckage of what once was a home. It merely feels like a house now, dead and empty, the only meaning left residing in the bitter past. His. All significance lays shattered on the floor with the broken plates and glasses. Figurative pieces begin to come together as the glass crackles underneath shifting weight.
Jasper and Cynder found their way away from the fight once it started, but now, they too occupy the smoldering remnants of the battleground, having returned to survey the damage. Jasper's irises remain icy, cold up until his gaze reaches his sister's. Cynder is too young to fully comprehend what this means; Jasper is too old for his age to have any knowledge of how this will affect the family. And yet, Cynder is the one in tears. A quiet sob is quickly smothered into Jasper's chest as he pulls her to him, comfortingly; reassuring that false hope yet remains.
On further observation, small crimson stains taint the cream-colored carpet, leading to contemplation as to how they got there. The answer. The very same glass splinters ended up lodged in skin, breaking, spilling blood. The splinters raked across fur as the bodies lifted themselves from the floor just as a record's needle slid along its surface. His head rose, not observing the children standing in the doorway, though they quickly ducked back into the hallway, just turned towards the person to which he held possibly the most hate in the world. Bright emerald eyes turned dull with developed hate, lips curled upward in a vicious snarl, he picked himself up the rest of the way. Sonic the Hedgehog, the blue hero himself, strode forward and yanked the front door open. His front door.
"Get. Out." His voice is thick, hoarse from yelling the night before. There is no hesitation in standing and beginning to move. "Oh." He grabs my arm, grip tightening like a vice to halt progress in following his imperatives. "And don't ever come back." Sheer malevolence coats his tone in an arctic molasses, chilling to the bone and grating spasms up the spine.
Tension reaches a pinnacle as eyes lock, green on brown, caramel on emerald, for only a few seconds. However, a few seconds is enough to convey a decade worth of pent-up disgust and abhorrence that had literally been lying just beneath the surface, whereas, a few seconds used to be enough to express a lifetime of compassion and… love. In submittal, one set of eyes eventually has to look away. As they hit the floor, his continue to bore into skin and his voice bubbles up once more.
"Now." He snarls, threatening the already paper-thin tolerance inside the house. Teeth bare in response to the warning. His entire body shifts as a reaction, prepared to counter a blow and drive it directly back. Prepared for an excuse to lay into something. Hard. Any faint hint that mercy would be shown at all had already evaporated from his irises, which had come to hold only hostility now. "What? Are you deaf and dumb, too? Did I marry a goddamned retard? Shit, you'd think I'd have noticed by now."
"Shut the fuck up." He's earned a violent response from that one, though the command comes in a softer voice. The nerve he struck reverberates furiously, urging a physical reply as well as the verbal. Body trembles a bit, a drawn bow, and then settles ever-so-slightly as the urge is beaten back.
"Don't you ever speak to me like that ever again." He snaps back, clenching a fist at his side.
But, the only thing he's left sneering at is empty air.