Legal Stuff: Sonic the Hedgehog and Amy Rose and Nack the Weasel belong to SEGA. Not me. Just wanted to clear that up. Har dee har har.




AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I needed a short break from my "Bloodbound" serial. Sorry. If I work on something for too long, I go mad. You don't want me to go mad, do you? Well, DO YOU?!!! Hehehehehehe.

This little story is set in the SegaSonic universe, so it doesn't really coincide with anything else that I've written... but it's an idea that I thought up some time ago, and I thought I'd give it a whirl. It came to me when I first played Sonic Adventure 1, actually. Yeah, forever ago, I know. I hope it still has relevance to today's SegaSonic fanfiction audience.

Either way, the story contains some dark, mature themes and strong language. In other words, it's one fucked up fanfic. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Enjoy!

SJZ.






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Stephen Zacharus
BLEED

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He hates me.

The bastard wants nothing to do with me.

Funny. It's taken me a damn long time to break out of denial, hasn't it?

It seems darker than usual this evening. I can't sleep. Hell, I don't *want* to sleep. I just want someone to talk to. That isn't going to happen, of course. I haven't had a decent conversation with anyone in my life. A conversation when I really need one is just too much to ask for, isn't it?

I want *him*, but I can't have him.

No, I'm just the immature little girl who follows him around and idolizes him and never gets a damn clue. For years I thought -- I honestly *believed* -- that maybe he was bluffing, playing hard-to-get, feigning annoyance only to encourage me. Damn it, I'm so naïve. The truth is that the fucking bastard could give a shit about what happens to me.

It hurts. It hurts to love somebody who doesn't love you back. It hurts to try and try and fucking *try* for somebody for three years only to have him bitchslap you and spit on you and walk away, not caring.

"Grow up, Amy," he said. "Leave me the hell alone, Amy," he said. "I don't want you cramping my style anymore, Amy," he said.

"Go home, Amy."

"You're not *wanted*, Amy."

"Get a fucking *life*, Amy."

"I never want to see you again, Amy."

A girl can only take so much of that before her life starts to get a little crazy. You know?

That was two months ago, of course; since then, I've been the property of a scruffy, slimy, jewel-thieving weasel named Nack. I'm just another one of his bitches as far as he's concerned.

Yeah, that's the kind of relationship I want.

So perfect, isn't it?

Somebody who wants you for your body and absolutely nothing else.

The asshole likes his sex rough. I've learned to get used to it.

At least somebody appreciates me for *something*.

He was over here only a few hours ago, actually. Just wanted a little fuck, he said. Just wanted a little reward for his brilliantly-executed heist at the Station Square Museum. If I weren't so much of a coward, I'd report that dick-brained piece of shit to the authorities.

Still, the weasel fills a void. Without Nack, I'd have nothing. I'm not sure which I'd rather have.

Nack. Or nothing.

No. I just want *him*. My idol. My Sonic.

But he doesn't want me. He doesn't even like me.

He hates me.

The bastard wants nothing to do with me.

Someone to talk to. That's all I want. Just someone to talk to... someone I can share my feelings with... someone I can laugh with, cry with, go to dinner with, have pillow-fights with.

Someone to talk to *me*. Someone who understands me. Someone who I can kiss.

Someone who could love me as much as I love him.

I have a dream, sometimes - a dark fantasy. I dream that I'm hiding in Sonic's apartment and I slit open my damn wrists and bleed all over his carpet and furniture and I die in the middle of his living room. He comes home, sees me. God, he's so *sorry*. He clutches my dead body, crying, sobbing. Regretting. He tells me that he really loved me all along, that he never meant the things that he said. He tells me that he wants me back.

And I stay dead -- because the bastard shouldn't have treated me like that to begin with.

It's just a dream, though. It won't happen. Even if I were to kill myself, he probably wouldn't give a shit.

Then again, it doesn't hurt to try.

One little razorblade is all it takes. I already have one picked out; it's sitting right beside me as I'm writing this, smiling at me, thirsting for my sweet, hot blood. It's as ready for this as I am.

I'm feeling tired, now - defeated. Maybe the pain medication I just took has something to do with it. All four bottles. Damn, I love aspirin.

I can see it now. Sonic will find me at the door to his apartment. He'll find me and this letter and he'll be sorry and he'll cry and he'll cry and he'll be sorry and he'll see me bleed and he'll be sorry and he'll be sorry and he'll be sorry and he'll be so sorry and he'll break down and cry and he'll finally love me and realize what a mistake he made and he'll cry and cry and he'll be sorry and he'll be sorry and he'll be sorry and he'll be SO FUCKING SORRY AND HE'LL BE SORRY AND HE'LL SEE ME BLEED AND HE'LL BE SORRY AND HE'LL WATCH ME DIE AND HE'LL BE SORRY AND HE'LL BE SORRY AND HE'LL BE SORRY AND HE'LL CRY AND BE SORRY AND HE'LL KISS ME AND BE SORRY AND HE'LL BE SORRY AND HE'LL LOVE ME AND BE SO FUCKING SORRY...

But he hates me.

The bastard wants nothing to do with me.

Maybe he won't give a shit that I'm dead. I don't care. At least he'll have a hell of a time trying to clean my blood off of his front door.

And he'll never forget me.

I love you, Sonic.



Sincerely,

Amy Rose.



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