◤𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕪◢ - It Started With Vomit!

Chapter 23: Words Speak as Loud as Actions

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The idea—or so I assume—was eliciting a disempowered narrative of my time spent under Shadow's duress. This was a ploy disguised as mere innocent curiosity, hoping to unearth the strained relationship between me and my too-good-for-me fiance, our sudden nuptial whims, our strange commitment to an inauspicious marriage, and every detail down to the content of our stomachs, facilitated by Rouge, who'd audaciously proceeded to undermine my good reason for becoming involved in this unpleasant entanglement.

"So that's it?" Her mouth trembled, drunk on the need to impinge upon instances I could use to offer solid rebuttals after precious weeks of non-stop contemplation. "A contract marriage is what's got your panties in a bunch?"

"No!" I bellowed rightful protest, scooting deeper into my seat the way any responsible person would in an unusual vehicle like this one. "No, of course not!" But by the up-turned slant of the daredevil's lips, I could just tell that Rouge took me for a heel. 

I iterated protests, staring beseechingly, desperate for any sort of consolation.

"We're helpless is what. Sonic and I don't have a say in this situation," I explain again (for the fourth time). "We're at the mercy of an egomaniacal brother and an orthodox family here, Rouge!" 

"Amy..."

Remaining unconvinced, the bat scooted outwards to pour herself another tall glass of (fizzling) something.

"Yes?"

"Your words..."

"Yeah?"

"They..."

I drew nearer, anticipating an honest interpretation.

"Every sentence borders on eating crow, Hun."

I was not expecting that kind of honesty—

Not that I wasn't expecting honesty at all—what I needed was precisely honesty.

"When exactly did words start speaking louder than actions, anyway, Hun?" I responded with equal measure of sarcasm, by incorporating one of her many mindless penchants into the innocuous rhetoric: tacking on the pronoun "Hun." 

Sonic and my acknowledgment of facts should not equate to caving in readily, every opinion—personal or astute—notwithstanding. Our determination is as much a fact as our predicament, and it shouldn't preclude nor minimize our fervid zeal to rise above this living nightmare.

Adversity (quite honestly) exacerbates it.

"Yes, I cannot pretend to not see where you're coming from." I reluctantly acknowledged her reasoning.

But I confidently doubt Rouge wouldn't also prefer cheerier information, was she in my position, and that she would argue the world isn't set in only black and white, after all, because there exist endless powers of evil, so pray tell why a good counterpart—or an ambivalent mix of both—aren't equally plausible possibilities?

"Yes, it sounds like I speak without taking any concrete action. Yes, this ordeal is bitter to digest and is inexorable, and that I will only make a bigger fool of myself by denying its circumstances. But..." 

It has always been her job to dish out the hard truth, even when it sounded like bitter insults—Cream, being a good anecdote of that instance.

"But," tantamount to a natural reflex, a breathy scoff subsequently escaped my throat, "Even if I were nothing melancholic and am every-bit-powerful—in charge, dominant, assertive —speaking hypothetically, why can't I afford the right to be depressed, also?"