◤𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕪◢ - It Started With Vomit!

Chapter 16: Missing Person

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Was I so despicable a touch appalled her at the notion of marriage? This was madness. Complete, utter madness.

"You can't opt-out now," I begged, despite my voice mirroring a supercilious tenor, reserved strictly for the nine-to-five. 

I wanted her to, though—opt-out and drag me out from this mental hell I've inclined absolute submission. Because, if reason and logic eluded my senses, a palpable slap of facts should instantaneously revive them... yet the words leaving my mouth sold a counterstory, betraying set sentiments. "You've signed a contract, Miss Rose," I continued, despite the deafening response she'd been kindling an awful lot of in the recent days. Not her most prepotent trait. 

"Can you say something? Anything?"

"I wish I hadn't"—It cut deep hearing it from her lips—"But it'll solve itself, one way or another."

"It..." I couldn't resist prodding. "Are you referring to our marriage?"

"The contract!" she replied, squaring her eyes on a queer spot of the passenger door. Did she want out? (More literally than figuratively in this case). And, from amongst an array of disagreeable incidents, I couldn't blame her in the least.

So, feigning a resolve, I dissolved the terse conversation, but within me, questions blazed larger than wildfires.

What was she thinking at this very moment? Did my feelings burden her? What could I do to make them subtle... yet pristine? Seeing how, clearly, I had offended her in some way to receive such treatment. It would be inconceivably hard to comprehend, whatever the case, with the surplus number of liberties I'd provided her. 

Her frequent sneaking out—accompanied by Tails, of course, thankfully—and begrudgingly—were surreptitious, but I knew about them, nevertheless. Equally were her convenient (furtive?) vanishings from my informal company in the past month, both in public and in private. They were simply two amongst many other instances I'd chosen not to press her about—their happenings thoroughly irking me, notwithstanding—yet she preferred to sully her rep rather than stay within my vicinity. No sensible woman in her precarious position would fathom taking that sort of a facetious advantage of the tender situation. The benefits wouldn't stand to reason.

Stealing another guilty glance, our eyes didn't meet, but it felt anew each time. Like the world had halted on its axis upon witnessing the city's iridescent lights play colours across her surreal features... like a goddess in deep, worldly absorption. A goddess living in a world miles from mine.

Should I say something? 

It felt crazy lethal—choking, in fact—letting us bide in the lurid fog called silence, spanning the entire drive. Simple, cordial exchange should make it easier for both of us... Of course! Conversation, it is.

"Miss Rose—"

"We're here," Tails announced—at the worst time possible, too. "I should probably drop you two outback. Being at a club will... ehh... well, the media might eat that all up."

"'Might?'" Rose, overzealously, arched a brow.

"Hey. I was being generous."

"How very magnanimous of you," she replied in such haste—anxious to leave my company, as usual, no doubt—one could barely apprehend if what she squawked truly was English. It began to feel like the universe showed countenance for her cause—Miles too, the dirty scoundrel—framing me the picture of aloofness.

"I'll make the trip alone. Period, " she preened her coiffure and practically transmogrified in position, ready to soar out once the car came to a full stop. "Blaze, the friend who phoned, is most likely already here. She will act as my chaperone and whatnot," she went on some more, sparing zero chances for interjection. And just as there wasn't time to cut in, so were no words coming to mind to communicate how I cared too damn much for her. "So, what I'm essentially trying to say is..."—a chance— "Do not follow me!" Fuck! "This is a personal matter." 

It seemed she couldn't care less about my sentiments, which I should've been glad in, but giving up had to be approached one way, and winning, another. So, I averred: "You know all too well that that won't be possible," which elicited a slow, deliberate creak from her neck. 

"If you're caught, it'll spell a heavy blow on your end. A gold digger. That's what they'll label you at the end of all this, at best." Her face stewed a deep crimson that travelled down to meet the sliver of skin inching from her cream office blouse. The shirt was daringly nude if not for the aqua green and yellow accented flowers splayed across its polyester surface... dangerously tempting. "God forbid we hear the worst of it."

"I can't tell if you're being genuine or just being an ass, as per usual, Mr. Hedgehog." A bit of both, honestly. I'm extremely fond of its extraordinarily satisfying results—the teasing her. "Anything could be happening in there and you're worried I'll be called a whore? My friend needs me desperately!"

"A national whore," I drew a latter distinction that elicited a palpable hurt from her face, forcing it to come loose from its previous condensed contortions. I hated so much seeing discomfort writhing her lovely features, but it had to be said. 

"I... well... you said there'd be far worst to come, so I make the decision entirely of my volition." 

"Which appears not to be in working order." Good God, why is she so wretchedly difficult! "You may do well to remember your well-being comes before all else, Miss Rose."

"You mean, yours. Yours comes before all else, Mr. Hedgehog!"

She really thought she'd done something—"If mine accounts for yours, then, yes,"—but I was way ahead of her. "Mine is above all else." And in that brief moment, we formed a genuine connection. 

Although not directly a profession of endearment, "I love you" was, however, summed up in those very brusque words. Or at least, I care for you, if it pleased her. Which in turn elicited silence from her end, renouncing any pangs of hostility that previously poisoned her blood. She'd let down her guard—

"Unerring ass..."

Well... almost. But I could never reject progress, no matter how peculiar a shape it took. 

"Then who's going?" Tails, who'd disappeared for some very short, sweet minutes from my mind, asked the question ill-timely. "Because you sure can't. Next month, you plan on publicizing Kaden as an adopted son. A father who frequents these places isn't ideal, needless to say, a paragon for the role."

"Miles..."

"Yes?" He gave a terrified and skeptical expression, while mine teared up trying to suppress a tart rage. "I hadn't said I'd be the one taking the shots, either." 

"P-pardon?"

"You will."