*** This is my first one-shot and, as previously mentioned, the style is slightly experimental.
I'd love to read your comments and/or constructive criticism!
I hope you enjoy it... ***
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
He sits tiredly on the kitchen chair.
Alone, in the dark.
It has become a routine for him, sitting in the middle of the night, forcing his body to cool down, before he'll allow himself the luxury of a scalding shower, and a sleepless night plagued by childhood nightmares.
She breezes into the room.
Bulma.
The woman has also become a routine for him.
And she looks at him, flashing him a gentle smile full of kindness and compassion.
One of those smiles that only she can offer.
It unnerves him.
No one's ever smiled at him that way.
No one's ever smiled at him.
He listens to her light steps as she walks through the kitchen in the dim light, warming up some milk for both of them, and resting an empty mug before him as she prepares their nightly drink.
They don't talk.
There's no need to.
It's been almost a year since the gorgeous creature invited him into her home, and he hasn't even ascended yet.
He feels like trash.
A worthless piece of trash.
She pours the hot beverage into his mug, and he waits patiently as she adds cocoa and sugar to the mix, hypnotized by those elegant fingers delicately stirring the delicious mixture until it's ready for him to drink, before sitting down in front of him, repeating the process in her own cup.
And then she notices.
His hands are trembling.
He overdid it today.
Again.
Her old self would have yelled at him, scolding and berating him for training himself to death.
Day after agonizing day.
But it's been a while since she's done that.
Things have changed.
She's not sure how or when it happened, but something's different about her relationship with the Saiyan Prince.
Now she knows him.
And she accepts him, just the way he is.
She respects him.
He takes a sip of the hot concoction: warm, comforting, and sweet.
Just like the woman who made it for him.
And then he realizes.
His vision is changing.
He sees red.
His left eyebrow is split.
'He really fucked up today... Didn't he?'
But pain is good.
Pain is a friend, an old friend always walking by his side.
Reminding him that he's still alive.
Reminding him that this cosmic joke of a life he's been thrown into is real.
That he is real.
And so is the pale hand suddenly brushing his rugged fingers, softly intertwining them with her own, and weakly inviting him to stand and follow her.
And he does.
Because she is real too, and for some enigmatic reason she wishes to heal him.
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
She walks through the hallway in front of him, never letting go, until they reach a room.
Her room.
She releases him as they enter the dark chamber, leaving him alone while she retrieves some medical supplies from her private bathroom.
He knows what to do.
He walks to her bed, sitting wearily on top of the comforter, and staring dejectedly at the floor.
A faint noise, and her feet are swiftly there.
Barefoot.
She kneels down before him, her pert bottom placed atop her petite feet as she gently touches his face, examining the grisly damage with methodical eyes.
And, for a brief second, their eyes meet.
And he can see, he can see something else in those sapphire eyes.
Pity.
The blue-haired siren feels sorry for him.
A feeling that would normally repulse him.
A feeling he's been raised to despise.
And yet, tonight, he welcomes it, embraces it, simply because she is the one experiencing it.
She feels for him.
And the idea of such a pure creation, feeling something other than sheer hatred and horror towards him, pleases him.
"Give me your arm, please…" She shyly whispers.
And he does.
He'd give her anything she asked for.
Anything.
He barely feels the thin needle pierce his resilient skin, a dark, shameful side of him wishing that it hurt more, that the pain was stronger.
Because pain is good.
Pain keeps him grounded.
But he lets her inject him with the useless painkiller, something he would have never permitted before, to give her the illusion that she can make the pain disappear.
In a way, she does, but not through her primitive human medicine.
She alone makes the pain go away.
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
Her soothing hands expertly stitch his torn eyebrow, carefully applying some antiseptic after she's finished.
It stings.
It burns his skin, and he once again welcomes the discomfort.
But it doesn't last long, because soon she's blowing over it.
Calming him.
Comforting him.
Making the pain miraculously fade away.
When her task is done, she remains seated on the floor, graceful hands fidgeting in her lap.
Not knowing what to do.
He briefly wonders if she fears him, but he soon reminds himself that the Earth woman fears nothing and no one.
Not even him.
This used to infuriate him, but now it satisfies him.
Now he knows that, if she ever feared him again, it would destroy him.
His heart, whatever is left of it, would stop beating.
He looks into her eyes, and she courageously holds his gaze back, with those shimmery, oceanic eyes of hers.
And he suddenly realizes, he knows that this woman could bring any man to his knees.
And the thought of another man possessing her, any other man, hurts.
He hurts.
And, someday, he fears he'll hurt her too.
That's his specialty, after all.
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
His Bulma stands on her feet, pressing one knee into the bed as she crawls on it, making him feel the lush mattress shift behind him.
He turns around.
And there she is, lying quietly on her side.
Like a Queen.
'Oh, what a Queen she would have made…'
If his race were still alive, he'd fight anyone and everyone for her.
He would have been proud of having her by his side, sitting on the most precious throne that riches could buy.
Just for her.
And she'd be proud of being his, the woman of an Almighty Prince.
He'd be someone.
Now he's nothing.
The Prince of Disappointment.
Nothing.
He has nothing.
But the slender arm stretching towards him doesn't seem to mind, silently offering him her body's gentle warmth.
Offering him something.
And he takes it.
I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
He won't hold her hand, but he'll slowly lie down on the bed, giving her his back.
This is the only intimacy he'll allow her.
This is the way they've been doing it for a while.
He expects her to get close to him, holding his muscular waist in her arms, and fondly burying her pretty face into his exhausted flesh.
But she has other plans tonight.
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
She takes his hand and she pulls delicately, trying to make him turn to her.
He knows that she possesses no physical strength to do so.
He knows it will be his choice to face her.
And he does.
Because there's nothing he can deny her.
So, he leisurely rolls around.
And there she is.
Smiling with gratitude at his humble compliance.
She moves confidently near him, knowing that she's safe, safe by his side.
And he knows that no other creature has ever felt this way towards him.
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
He believes that she will embrace his torso one more time, resting a rosy cheek on his chest.
And she proves him wrong.
Again.
The little female slips an arm underneath his impenetrable neck instead, tenderly pulling as she invites him to find solace in the soft curve of her shoulder.
And he lets her.
With not one doubt.
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
He buries his face in her elegant neck, exhaling a quivery rush of hot air.
A long, deep breath fills his drained lungs, drowning in her exotic, feminine scent.
She smells of hope and joyous dreams.
And he circles her narrow waist with his powerful arms, holding her tight, never letting go.
He won't hurt her physically, he knows.
He's a master of self-control, after all.
'Her emotions, on the other side…'
Yes.
He'll hurt her someday.
He won't ever break her frail bones, but he'll break her even weaker heart.
He knows.
And, perhaps, she knows it as well.
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
They lie like this for countless minutes, holding each other for dear life.
And he knows that it won't last.
These innocent nights won't last forever.
One of these days he'll cross the line.
One of these days he'll spread her legs wide open, burying himself deep inside of her, and giving her everything he has left.
And it won't be enough.
Because it's not much.
And she deserves more, infinitely more than a wounded, emotionally barren mercenary.
At nights like this, he wishes he were a different man.
A better man.
A decent man.
A man worthy of her.
He secretly knows that, if he could start all over again, he'd do a lot of things in a different way.
But there's no point of return.
It is what it is.
And he submerges his forbidden, wishful thoughts within the black confines of his broken soul.
Where no one else will ever find them.
Not even himself.
She sighs happily as he timidly kisses her temple.
And they both know.
They both know where this is heading, but there's no going back.
He needs her.
And, for some strange reason, she needs him just as much.
So, he shuts his worn-out eyes, gradually allowing himself to relax.
To let go.
Someday, when he finally crosses that invisible line, he'll possess her.
He'll take as much of her as she'll be willing to give.
And he'll break her.
He'll destroy her.
Yes.
He will hurt her.
But, tonight, a dreamless night will suffice…
Well folks... What did you think?
I hope it wasn't a big mess...
Thank you so much for reading!