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Oh, fuck.

What have I done? What in god's name have I done?

Okay, calm down, Sonic. Gather your thoughts. Settle. You need to get yourself out of this some how.

Oh shit….

How the fu

ck did I get here?

Couldn't say when it started. Wouldn't even begin to be able to tell you. It's always been like this.

Have you ever had someone ridiculously young hit on you?

I met her when she was thirteen. Amy Rose.

The definition of fan girl.

At eighteen years of age, this thirteen year old little girl is hitting on me, and she isn't trying to be subtle. Not in the slightest.

In fact, she was being very blunt. She wanted me.

Sexually. No shit.

What do you say to that? How do you react correctly? I pushed her away, of course.

She was attractive, even then. She could have had anyone in her generation, but no. She wanted me. Five years older. An illegal relationship. Refusal was the only option.

I noticed her drinking habits develop at an early age.

Didn't say anything to her about it, but I knew. Couldn't. Did the same shit, you know?

But I was concerned. Couldn't help it.

Can't tell you why. No idea, myself.

It wasn't a big thing for her, though. So it didn't bother me too much.

So I ignored it. Only now does it seem like I shouldn't have. Maybe things might have turned out differently.

Maybe things would have been good. But weren't they good? Once?

I'm getting ahead of myself. Slow down, Sonic.

Or maybe I'm not. Maybe I should just fill you in quickly. For the sake of story.

At the age of twenty-two, Amy and I parted ways forever. She was moving to the city, with her parents. Robotnik had fallen by my hand, and Mobotropolis was being restored. Knothole; left behind. A relic. I had to go gather up other colonies; let them know the war was over and bring them in. Help them, if necessary.

I didn't much care at that point and time, or at least I told myself I didn't. About Amy, I mean. Looking back though, it tore me up. My attraction to an underage girl couldn't exactly go public.

Fuck. I didn't even want to think about it, but it couldn't be helped. Have you ever absolutely hated yourself after jerking off? This is what it was what it was like for me every time.

These were hard times. Sometimes it started when I did; the self-hatred. Jerking off, while thinking about two things. Seventeen year old tits, and how pathetic I really am. Was.

Okay, okay. Am.

It took me about a year to get over that nonsense. Finally got to the point where she wasn't even on my mind. Jerking off was easier on me. Life was simple.

I didn't really have time for relationships, so sex wasn't attained… at all.

Just me and my ungloved hand. My most personal friend.

A virgin at the age of twenty-three. Lost my virginity to a whore, one drunken lonely night. Sad, but true. What have I to hide at this point? Nothing.

Words can't describe how pathetic and low I truly am. How utterly lame and grotesque in all ways.

At this point in my life I had moved back to the city. Depression kicks in. I'm drinking my weight in in alcohol every night.

Every day.

Every morning.

I can't be the only one. Can you relate?

No?

Fuck it.

It was later decided by the age of twenty-five that the problem wasn't with my agenda. That shit was open.

It was with my people skills, or lack there of, as they had deteriorated over the years entirely. I don't know what to say to people. I don't know how they work. Even now, writing this here on this crumpled paper, I don't know. People are fucking greek to me.

Couldn't quite describe them, you know?

I need another drink.

Where was I? Twenty-five? Truth be told, that whole forever nonsense was just that; nonsense. Lies. I lied to you. The paths of Amy and I crossed once more. Wouldn't you know it, she worked at a titty bar. And she wasn't a bartender. Hah. What the fuck was I thinking?

This was an extremely long time ago, so allow me to be only as descriptive as my cloudy memory allows.

Upon entry, the first thing that catches my eye is the bar. Make my way over to it. Order a screwdriver, a double-whiskey and a beer.

"Are you expecting company, or something?"

"What? No."

She stares at me oddly for a minute before fetching my drinks. When they arrive, it takes me less than a second to down the double whiskey, and about six to chug the beer. Knock the glass bottle down hard on the bar, and reach into my wallet

Take out a few bills and some extra coins and toss them into the empty whiskey glass.

Then I said something like keep the change, grabbed the screwdriver, and walked off. Taking a sip, admiring the view(tits). Suddenly, pink catches my eye. A large pink light, shining down on a gorgeous young hedgehog. The light changes colors, as she grinds the center-stage pole.

Making my way over, I grab the closest seat available, and watch the woman dance for a while. Couldn't exactly tell you when recognition kicked in. Wouldn't exactly be able to say when the possibility that I might know this person even crossed my mind.

It might have been when they changed the lights, but she left me mesmerized regardless.

It couldn't be put into words, the way she made me feel. Even some badass poet, or some shit like that couldn't articulate it. I'd like to see them try.

I wanted to be one with her. Physically and spiritually. (sex)

Tipped her a twenty, and winked at her. As she reached for it, she suddenly stopped. A shocked look on her face. Eyebrows raised as high as the go, eyes wide as they can be. Mouth slightly agape.

It slowly forms a smirk.

She suddenly snatches the money and keeps dancing. Take a hit of the screwdriver, and lean back. This place closes at one, so I'll be here a while.

Summer

Waited outside for her. Must have been forty-five minutes before she came walking out in a skimpy dress. One piece, it was black and it showed her stomach. The only cloth across her front was covering her tits. A tight, short skirt, not inches below her panty line. Didn't have to say a thing. When she saw me, she ran right for me. Throwing her arms around me and squeezing tightly. A squeal emits from her muffled mouth, buried deep in my chest.

I asked her if she wanted a drink, and she asked where we would go. Told her I knew a place that stayed open until two-thirty. After that, we got drinks and caught up. I bought her a drink, and she bought me one with the tip money she had between her tits. For the first time ever, Amy wasn't this awkward to be around fan girl. She was no longer some annoying little guilty jerk-off fantasy. She was now a woman.

Like a sophisticated woman that's been hiding from me for years.

Two-thirty rolls around. "Where will I go?" she asks.

Don't worry, I tell her. I know a place that's open all night.

Took her to my place. Sex was had that night, for the first time ever without money involved. She didn't know that then, though. She still doesn't know, to this day.

We started spending our days together, drinking. Amy had just quit her job, and was living at her parents' house. I told her she could come stay with me if she wanted. No twenty year old should live that their mom and dad's house.

We'd sleep in late. It was a hot summer in an apartment with no air conditioning. Fans blowing hot air at us from all different directions. One or two rolls around and we would get up and share a cigarette. Fix ourselves drinks. Maybe some sex on top of the bed spread, the fleshy, sweating targets of the ridiculously hot breeze. Our moans echoing, bouncing back at us off the paper thin walls. People banging on them, telling us to shut up. We didn't care. We were in our own little world. Living our own fantasies out onto one another. Staking claim on one another as a spiritual and physical extension of ourselves. This is the definition of unity, I think.

We would relocate a few of the fans into the bathroom, where we would sit in the small tub, the water rippling from the fan air, the door wide open. The only light would come from the doorway. Sometimes the flicker of a sparked lighter. The glow of a cigarette cherry. Next to the tub; two lighters, two packs of cigarettes, a bottle of wine and two glasses.

We wouldn't say anything. Just comfortably sit in this tub, legs tangled around one another, pulling us in close in the cramped tub. Staring into one another's silhouette, and feeling completely satisfied for the first time ever. I said it once before. Times were good at one point. Shit was great, even.

It feels a bit strange looking back on these times as the best of my life. Laying around, doing nothing in silence with a woman I thought I had figured out. Or maybe it just didn't occur to me. Maybe it felt as though it wasn't necessary to understand. Maybe we were just losing ourselves in endless hours of wasted moments. Eating, sleeping, drinking, fucking, smoking our boredom away. Exploring nothing but each other.

Life at its finest. No worries. No concerns.

No problems.

But that shit doesn't last forever.

It can't. It simply can't.

She's upside down; or is that me?

Hovering over the porcelain bowl, her arms supporting her. Hands on the toilet seat. Where our bare asses go. She practically hurls her own insides into the bowl, before resting her head on the toilet seat. Both arms wrapped around her cranium, she turns into a gagging, belching mess. Hand weakly slides up the tank of the toilet as she blindly fumbles for the lever. Fingers wrap shakily around it, and the loud flushing sound makes my headache suddenly apparent.

Why am I on the floor?

Fuck….

Amy?

A muffled "yeah?" squeaks out from the bathroom, the door completely ajar. Roll over, and attempt to pick myself up. It takes two tries. My back is fucked up. Yeah, that's my excuse. Kneeling, supporting my weight on one leg and one arm, and push myself to spring up. My heads swimming. Head rush. Can't see. Stumble backwards onto the bad. falling all the way back, legs hanging off the end of the bed at the knee.

My vision slowly dissolves back into place.

"Are you alright?"

She starts gagging again, and spit's a shit load of times into the toilet bowl before answering. Lifting her head up weakly, she forces out a "Yeah.. no. I don't…"

Get up, to go help her up. Upon close inspection, she has vomit drool stringing from the toilet seat to the left corner of her lip. Her left. My right. Grab a sheet of toilet paper off the end of the roll sitting on its side on top of the tank. Yank it downward to tear a sheet off, the toilet roll falls and unravels. Frustrated, I rip the sheet off, and wipe the corner of her mouth, and the seat. Flicking the damp wad into the bowl and flushing the toilet, I use my right arm to support her while she vainly attempts to rise.

Supporting her with my body, she can stand. We go back to bed and lay down.

I'd like to know what time it is, but she keeps changing the fucking times on them. Something stupid about being on time. Thinks if she looks at the clock, and sees it's thirty minutes later than it's supposed to be, she'll rush wherever she's supposed to be, and get there on time. Is this logical in the slightest? No.

After you've been around someone long enough, little shit starts to bother you. You start to hate their little habits and nervous ticks. You start to hate the way they word things, or say something. You hate the looks they give you. You start to get the notion that this will never stop. It won't get any better, it just gets worse. More and more irritating. More and more unbearable.

But it's at these same times you need one another most.

Sonic.." she's crying and sniffling.

Aw, shit. Dreading a response already, I say something like yes?

"I need to tell you something."

What is it?

She turned away; rolled over. Snorting, and wiping her nose with her arm, she says the words that I can't seem to get out of my head. To this day, they still happen. If it weren't for these words, things might have turned out differently.

"I took a pregnancy test." she said "I tested positive."

Oh fuck.

"I'm pregnant."

So I say something like well, uhh, what do you want to do with it?

And she says "What do you mean?"

So, choosing my words as carefully as possible to inquire whether or not she plans on "terminating" it.

She doesn't like this. Not at all. She turns.

"You want me to WHAT!? How could you? How the fuck could you?"

Dumbfounded, I stutter.

"Do you know how many lives are lost every day? Not just the poor defenseless baby, Sonic!"

She starts slapping me on the sides and chest.

"Women die every day from getting abortions, you asshole!"

She's borderline hysterical. Shut the fuck up, I say. We can settle this quietly.

"I WON'T SHUT UP!"

Look, I'm fucking sorry, okay? I'm sorry!

"No you aren't! If you were truly sorry than you wouldn't have said anything!"

Trying to reason with her, and let her know that she isn't making sense. Her screaming and hitting makes it apparent that team Sonic is fighting a losing battle.

Sigh.

So, what are you going to do?

She just glares at me. Glares at me and breathes loudly.

Summer is coming to its close. It was fun while it lasted, but now there's this ever present fog of dread that we seem to be sitting stagnant in.

It was dinner at Amy's house. Her parents, rather.

This was a hard day for all of us. Only difference between Amy and I, and her parents, was that we knew what was coming. We could smell the shit storm over the horizon, and though we couldn't do anything to prevent it, we could brace for it.

Not entirely sure whether or not it's better this way. Try not to think about it. Try to think about other things on the way over to this place.

Every minute longer that we sit in this bunch, ripe with the stench of piss, my mood deteriorates even more. Gives me the urge to want to hurt or maim something. Smother the life out of it with my hands. No idea why I'm so tense. Grab the flask from her purse and take a drink.

"Hey," she says, nudging my arm and holding her hand out "give me a hit."

Handing over the whiskey, I fish out a fresh pack of cancers. Tearing away the cellophane with two easy movements, I pop open the hard top, and rip off the paper. Removing a fag from the box, and stuffing it into the corner of my mouth, I sigh, leaning back, as the pack is limply deposited back into her purse.

"You know you can't smoke that on here right?"

Sigh.

I'm not fucking stupid, Amy.

"I didn't say you were!"

Don't imply it.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Nothing, Amy. Nothing at all. Why would you ask?

She doesn't respond. We sit in silence for the remainder of the ride.

Step off the bus. Cup my hand around the end of the cigarette and the lighter in my right hand, to shield it from the wind. It takes a couple times to strike. Spark the end of the white stick and I'm good. Calm. Breathe.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

A nice long sigh, and we're moving again.

Two blocks, and we arrive at our destination. Standing at the doorway, I've never missed a bus so much.

Amy rings the bell, and after a few moments the door opens.

"Hello!"

Nothing was said over dinner. Well, nothing about our child, at least. Plenty of talk about stupid, pointless shit. Her parents wanted my whole life story. They would keep asking me what I had done with myself over the years. Respond with a nothing really, or not a lot, and it's only about ten minutes before they ask me again.

After bringing all of the colonies here, I just kind of settled down.

This satisfies them. For now.

After dinner is finished, we're asked if we want dessert. We decline.

Amy tells them there's something we need to say. Something she thinks they should know about. Her mother's eyes widen immediately. Leaning over to grab a messy plate, she freezes. Her head cocks towards Amy.

"You aren't getting married already, are you?"

Cringe.

"No. It isn't that."

"Thank god. What is it, hon?"

"I'm pregnant."

She freezes again. Even the father's face is frozen in shock.

"You're kidding."

Amy looks down, away from their gaze. Follow suit.

"No."

"You're not having it, are you?"

"Of course I am!"

Look up to see her standing. The back of her legs knock the chair back, slightly.

"Amy, you can't! You're twenty, you have your whole life in front of you!"

"You're not even married!" the father chimes in.

It's at this point I start to wonder why she couldn't make this trip alone. Don't think my presence was necessary for this over dramatic bullshit.

"I can't kill it!"

"So you're giving it away?"

Amy just looks down. She just couldn't do that. And she damn sure couldn't explain it to people as stubborn as her parents.

So, without getting either one of her parent's blessing, we started to plan for the infant on the way.

The mewling cabbage. The fucking permanent buzz kill.

Ugh. I hate children. Despise them.

Loathe, even.

This chapter was partially inspired by the writings of the late Bill Hicks.

Thoughts on love and smoking specifically. From the book Love all the people.

Read it. Read it right away.