She was gone when I woke up. It's almost as if she was never here. Like it might not have ever really happened. A dream, maybe. A delusion.
A fantasy.
Spring
A time for change. Time to begin again; to bloom.
Rebirth.
For the first time in ages, I feel okay.
Refreshed. Recharged.
Alive.
Spring forward. A new beginning. For real this time.
The events that took place last night woke me up. How pathetic I truly was. Her absence says it was all a dream. Or is that me? Wishful thinking, perhaps? Let's hope so. Flashes come back to me in sets. Random stills. Me on top of the poor girl. Her eyes white and her body limp. The look on her face is far from anything attractive. Pained faces her sleep. In mine.
A dream.
Staring into her dead eyes.
That's what it was.
Fucking her without condom or quarter. Looking down at her helpless form. Hating myself more with each thrust. Each thrust getting harder. Faster. More intense. On top of her drooling limp form. Screaming louder with each thrust. Was this me taking out my hatred for myself on an innocent?
The pull out method. Cum, then clean her up. But Why would I clean her up in a dream? That's all it was.
A sick, pathetic fantasy.
Symbolism, I think. But what does it mean?
Amy comes to mind. I need a drink.
While pouring the whiskey, it occurs to me that maybe that's just what I did. Took out all my self hatred on Amy. Hurt her emotionally and physically because of the hatred I had for myself.
An epiphany? Is that what they call these things?
It was all me. It was all my fault and this makes me feel worse. How could I have been so stupid? So selfish? Could it not be seen that what I was doing was hurting more than helping? Just making the situation worse? The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one, they always say. The problem is that I'm so stubborn, I refuse to acknowledge that something might be wrong with me. Even after figuring it out, will it stick? Can I put my life together? Rebuild?
Maybe. But maybe not.
The odds are against me. Me being inexperienced and stupid. Learning things only too late to correct them. Is it too late? Too late for change? The life I've grown accustomed to is all I really know how to do. Where, in life, is there room for someone like that?
Jail? Maybe. Probably.
I'm scared. Scared of life. Frightened that things won't work out. Especially if I work hard. If I quit, you couldn't call that failure, could you? Maybe that's what I'm more afraid of. Failure.
Afraid of being just as useless as I believe myself to be. It's a scary thought.
What have I become? Have we passed the point of no return?
I hope not.
Pouring out the contents of the final bottle of whiskey into the sink. Watching it flow into the drain intently.
I can't help but start crying.
I wrote her a letter. A letter explaining how I felt about everything wrong I had done. How sorry I am. How it would never happen again if I was ever lucky enough to get a second chance. How I've changed forever, and how if I could just be friends with her I would be more lucky than anyone on the face of this planet. It said something about how I thought about her every night. Her face. Her smile. I think about all the times we had, but more often than that, I picture the times we could have had. The times that we squandered. I think about out how everything we built up to was a waste. Months and months of blaming her for the things that I hate about myself. In the letter, I say something about how if I could take it all back and erase it all just to make those chapters in your life happy ones, that I would. I'd do anything to achieve it. I wrote about how I never knew what love was until she had entered my life. Even when she was too young, I was in love. I couldn't admit it, so I tried to convince myself I wasn't. Wrote about how I knew it even then. Wrote about how I always knew it, and I know it now more than ever. I wrote about how everything was my fault. Wrote about how she always had a home here. About how she will always be missed. A four page letter of memories, dreams and claims. Four pages of my heart nonsensically pouring out; bleeding. Four pages of me at my most vulnerable. Four pages of tear stained begging for my sweet Amy to come home. Four pages, filled front and back. Folded up and stuffed into an envelope. Stamped, with the name Amy Rose on the front. Sealed and addressed to her parent's house.
I wrote this letter, but it never got mailed. It just sits in my inside jacket pocket.
Oh well. It probably would have gotten torn up anyway.
"please deposit seventy-five cents"
A recording. The phone is cradled between my head and shoulder. Digging the coins out of my pocket with my left hand. Count out three quarters. The change is all here. All that needs to be done is the transaction, and the call can be made. But am I ready for it?
Sigh. Look down at the palm of my hand, which I shuffle the coins around in.
Got rid of my phone a long time ago. Didn't need to be paying the extra bills. Didn't have anyone to talk to. Even if I did have a phone, she wouldn't answer. Would probably recognize the number. I would not blame her. But a payphone could be anybody, so the chances of her answering are higher. Don't even know if she has caller ID, but whatever. Doesn't matter. None of this matters.
Lifting the coin up to its slot, I pause again. Thinking of her face. Not the beautiful one that loved me. The one that resented me. The one that hates me. The one that wants me gone for good.
A knock on the glass. Someone's knocking on the door to the phone booth. Asking if I'm going to make that call. Good question, nameless dingo. Am I?
Looks like the answer is no. Pocket the coins and open the door.
Sorry about that, I tell him.
"It's fine" he says. "Say! Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"
Stop. Look at him. He looks intrigued, maybe. I don't know. Never could read folks well. But his look makes me think.
Yeah, I tell him. Sadly enough, I'm Sonic the hedgehog.
Or what's left of him, anyway.
Then I walk away.
He looks at me and sighs. An orange and white fox. He looks familiar.
"What?"
Sit down at the closest stool to him in front of the bar. This guy has kicked me out a few of times before. Nothing permanent. He just thinks I drink too much. Tells me it's time to stop all the time. Time to go home. No more. I'm cutting you off, he would say. Get out of here.
Water, I tell him. Glass of water.
"Starting off light today, are we?"
Nah. We're not starting.
"What do you mean?"
Quit drinking, I say.
Fish out the pack of cigarettes from my jacket pocket. Stuff one in the corner of my mouth. The glass is set in front of me.
"You quit drinking?"
Mhmm..
Light the cigarette, and stuff the ret plactic lighter pack into the almost empty pack. Close it.
"You?"
Yep.
Put the pack back into my jacket. Breathe in deep. Exhale ash into a cloud that scatters in the air between us. Diffuses.
"Than why the fuck did you come to a bar?"
I don't know, I say. Because I can smoke here?
"Not after today, pal."
What? What's this nonsense?
"The bill to ban smoking in bars and parks has been passed. It's a law now. Got the notice today."
Fuck, man. No shit?
"No shit."
That's bullshit.
"I'm just as pissed as you are."
You smoke?
"Yeah."
You want one?
"Sure. Why not?"
Hand a single cigarette and the plastic red lighter. He lights it and hands the lighter back. Leaning back and exhaling a plume of smoke into my face, he breaks the silence again.
"Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"
You've asked me this before, I say.
He nods, the cherry glowing bright on the end of his cigarette. The glow fades slightly and expels more smoke when he's done breathing it in.
So you know?
He smiles and winks at me. A sense of déjà vu washes over me.
Than why ask?
"I just want to hear you say it."
Alright. Fine. I'm Sonic the hedgehog. Satisfied?
"You still don't recognize me."
Of course I do. You're the bartender.
He gets a kick out of this. Starts laughing immediately. First with an almost girlish giggle, that slowly grows into a robotic sounding cackle. Really familiar laugh. Laugh's like…
Tails?
"What do you think?"
I can feel a grin spreading across my face.
Well, I think you are Tails, but I can't be sure because you don't talk like a little girl.
"You're still a shithead, Sonic. You know that?"
Only all too well. Why are you working at a bar, you little fucking genius, you?
"Sally and I had some altercations. She wanted me to do something I deemed completely unnecessary. An accident waiting to happen."
What happened?
"Wouldn't build a certain type of biological weapon for her, so I was removed from payroll."
A weapon? For what?
"That's what I said. Her only answer was 'just in case…'"
Wow. What else have you been up to?
"Married Cream."
Oh yeah? That's good.
"You remember Amy?"
He has my attention.
I ask why.
"She moved in with us recently. Sleeps on my couch now. It's weird. Called Cream out of the blue asking for a place to stay. Said her parents kicked her out. Wouldn't say why."
Yeah, I say. That is weird.
"How about you, Sonic. What have you been up to?"
Nothing, I tell him. A whole lot of nothing.
He tells me no hard feelings, but he has to kick me out. The seats are for paying customers, he says. I tell him that's fine. I understand. Start to leave, when he asks me if I'm sure I don't want another drink. Tell him I'm positive.
Handed him the letter. Not sure if I told him to give it to Amy or throw it away. I can't remember. Definitely asked him not to read it, though.
Back at my apartment, there isn't anything to do. Nothing at all. Used to come home from the bars and drink. Drink until passing out. Now I have to think. Reflection.
It's depressing. But as of late, it hasn't been so bad. I've started to like myself again. Maybe things will be okay. I mean, I did it. I quit drinking. Cold turkey. There's a reason it wasn't mentioned earlier. I don't want to talk a lot of shit. Most people talk about doing shit forever and never get it done. I wanted action.
I made it happen. Plain and simple. It can't be easier said than done, if it isn't said at all. No bullshit.
Didn't do it for my health. I only did it to prove to myself I could. To prove to myself that I'm not as worthless as I had believed. I did it for me. Me alone.
I feel better. About myself, at least. Would sure as fuck like a drink right now, though. Or a fucking television. Something to entertain me. Maybe I'll go pick a random book off the shelf of a bookstore or something.
Anything to entertain me while I wait to get tired. Practically living for sleep. In my dreams she still loves me. Eyes closed, laying face down on my bed. Awaiting her.
Suddenly, I feel myself slipping…
Knock.
A knocking sound. Getting louder.
Like someone's knocking on my door. But who would do that? Who would come here?
Push myself to my hands and knees. Everything's blurry. How long was I out? The clock is still wrong. It always was. I haven't known the time in years. Time is completely fucking useless to me.
Crawling off my bed, I make my way to the living room. Three more knocks and I'm at the door. Without looking to see who it is, I open it.
"Sonic?"
Is this real?
Amy?
She looks like she's about to cry. Sniffing, she wipes her nose.
"I thought you didn't love me anymore.."
Is this a dream?
She covers her face with her hands, and a sob breaks loose from her.
Is this a fantasy? Like all of the others?
Take a step closer to her. Reach out. If she isn't real, than I won't be able to feel her, but I do. I feel her.
And we embrace. Or, I embrace her, at least.
She just stands there and cries.
Popping open a brand new bottle of wine, she asks where the glasses are.
I quit, I tell her.
"What?"
I quit drinking.
"Why?"
For myself. And you. Kinda.
"Oh. Well… will you have just one with me? For celebration?"
Stop. Think about this. Should I? The sole purpose for getting my life back together is currently offering me a drink. I honestly can't currently see the harm.
Why not? I'll get the glasses.
Grab the wine glasses from the top cupboard, and make my way over to the table. Setting them down, she pours us both a drink. After a toast to us, we drain our glasses and kiss. After another couple of glasses, she's unzipping my pants, and burying her face in my lap.
It's hard to believe this is real.
My eyes are open before I even realize I'm awake. My head hurts. My body aches. Itching and burning sensations.
Immediately look at the bed next to me. Empty. A dream?
It's hard deciphering what's real and what isn't these days. What if I'm already dead? What if none of this is real? The brain has seven minutes of brain activity before it shuts down. What if this is my seven minutes?
Can you feel in your head? Can your brain send signals of pain and feeling? I'm sweating but my body's cold. My crotch itches like mad. Reach down do scratch it and it burns like fire.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Look down at my genitals only to see-
oh fuck.
Open sores.
Suddenly the door opens. She walks in carrying a suitcase.
"Hey!"
What the fuck are you doing in here?
"What?"
You know what you've done.
"What? What have I done?"
Herpes, Amy?! Herpes?
"What?!"
How the fuck do you do that? Where the fuck did you get it from?!
"Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me you have fucking herpes?"
Yes! You gave them to me you numb cunt!
"I don't fucking have herpes!"
Than what are these blisters on my cock, Amy? Where the fuck did they come from? The only place it's been was in your fucking mouth! Where the fuck did they come from?!
"You stupid bastard. You stupid fucking asshole."
What?
"You mother FUCKER!"
She starts hitting me and I have to push her off me.
"Sores take four to seven days to show up you dumb dick!"
Oh god. That wasn't a dream. It was me. It was all my fault. That girl said she couldn't have sex with me, I should have taken the fucking hint! Jesus Christ, how could I be so fucking stupid?
This is your wake up call.
"I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE YOU!!"
She's all over my nuts again, hitting me and kicking me. This means it was all real. This means that I'm just as fucking pathetic as I thought I was. This means I can never change.
Think of it this way, I say. Now that we both have it we might as well be together forever.
"I'm going to fucking kill you, Sonic!"
She dives into the kitchen, and rips a drawer open. She grabs the biggest fucking knife she can and starts waving it around, running at me.
Oh shit.
What the fuck do I do now?
Sorry, guys. I'm really pissed off at myself about this one. The ending is a work in progress. Expect more. (though I understand if you quit reading now, due to the badly written and rushed nature of this chapter)
