Chapter 19: Strike Two

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Honestly speaking, the hit inflicted by the steering when we lurched earlier didn't faze me in the slightest. Not that death was a concept I took kindly or am fond of; Hedgehog Cooperative, amongst other things, is why I am so disinclined. I owe myself reaping the fruit of several contributions and returns, not unwittingly serving it to an inept younger brother, all on a silver platter. 

Also, Kayden must be brought up as my predecessor, trained to exceed every denigrating standard father ascribes to his "parvenu" origin. It's only right to atone for the orphan's future after dragging him into a personal vendetta... yet for Rose's sake, the reasons always instantaneously pale, seemingly trivial, like a world set in black and white with her being its crucial lasting piece of colour. 

So long as there is demand for removing her from harm's way—one I'm sure will have infinite behests—my fate is not mine to decide. I realize now that it was (and always has been) intractably preordained.

"Stop ogling me!" Her snout scrunched hard, trying to sniff out brazenness where there was only admiration. Then in noticing unease lace her brittle words, I trace the source down to its outlet: jittering nerves at the tip of her dainty fingers. 

A dastardly silence ensued when I pointed out the shakiness—the reason I had been staring worriedly the entire time—and she returned my concern with a questioning expression; and the worst kind at that. It was the sort that paints a person as an over-observant pervert, puzzled by how a stranger noticed something one hid with schooled perfection.

So, deftly dressing my left eye and shutting the first-aid kit, "The truck back there might not have killed us," I return it into an ample glove compartment, similarly trying to conceal the fact that I study her nuances in much the same manner she tries to hide her jitters—"But you definitely will."

Braking too late, we halted before yet another red light which flung us into a second (minor) whiplash. 

With plummeting patience, I muttered sinister damnations like an unrepentant street tug.

She gasped. Hard. But in her defence, dragging me to a nightclub in search of the (second) last person on earth I would not wish to meet in hell did not come without consequence; I should have seen this coming. Nevertheless, death wasn't my end-goal tonight.

"What happened to 'my love'?" 

"Pardon?" I meet her eyes, dumbfounded. 

"What happened to 'I can not fathom caring more about anyone else'?"

God, I love her voice. Even when pissed, its affronted idiosyncrasy somehow comes off as pert.

 "Spare us both the awkward memory, Miss Rose," my voice came out gravelly; audibly verging on anger but actually exploding with titillating mirth.

"Do your amorous professions really end at speaking them, changing absolutely nothing?" 

Of course, ignoring me, she soldiered on; her face scrunched up with disdain and a subtle mix of disbelief.

"One would safely assume 'Miss Rose' is officially a thing of the past, no? So why are we still speaking formally with one other? Seriously, how would you feel if the roles were reversed and I called you Mr. Hedgehog instead of Shadow, huh, Mr. Hedgehog?"

It was my turn to stare audaciously, an amused heave escaping my throat. 

Was she... sulking? 

"I'm not sulking."

Damn.

"I just question if your definition of love is a half-assed one. It'll make finding a partner for you extremely difficult."

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