by Gie (phowah@cs.com)
Toriyama Akira created the vibrant characters of Dragonball Z.
The Man in the Black Hat, Clint Black, embodied
the relationship
between Bulma and her two males in the lyrics.
The Story Idea is mine; it came to me in a
dream. The chorus
wouldn't leave my mind until I penned this
story. Scout's honor!
The story takes place after Friiezer's defeat
by Trunks-oujisama,
and before the Androids...duh...It's my first
songfic, and it had to be
written...my subconscious TOLD me too...yell
at it if you must...
This is Songfic #1 in my Universe. It
beings the untold story...
~*~
He gives her attention, he's constantly,
carefully planting the seeds
The only thing missing, is really the
only thing she needs
And he can't give that to her and she
can't find it with him
So she'll have to find her way out of
love she's not really in
~*~
As the stars flickered in the sky,
blinking out the silent
lullaby in the minds and hearts of all the
creatures on Kami-sama's
Green Chikyuu, one soul was not soothed
by the lovely melody. The
troubled soul of the blue-haired genius
tossed and turned in the
rumpled sheets of the large bed she and
her lover shared.
Bulma finally stopped the fruitless
attempt of slumber and
paused on her back, eyes fixed blindly on
the ceiling. A quiet sigh
escaped her lips as she realized that sleep
would not take her
troubles away this night, as it had in nights
past. She fingered the
soft cottony sheet that covered her small
frame, feeling the smooth
fibers glide between her fingers.
Her eyes wandered around the
sparsely decorated room, seeking out an
answer to her awakeness on
this moonless night.
As her twilight-hued eyes danced from
object to object,
fixing upon some longer than others, they
came to rest on the
reason. Or at least, the major reason
at the moment within sight.
As her gaze traveled up and down the large
frame of her lover, it
paused on his face. That scarred,
innocent-in-slumber, visage that
she and the world has come to associate
with, and know, as Yamucha.
She knew each curve and crevice by heart,
and could interpret it's
expressions like a well-read book.
Another shallow sigh escaped her lips
and she turned away
from him, her back facing the heavy breathing
that bordered on
snoring. The snoring wasn't what bothered
her this night; she could
sleep through a tsunami and still get a
good eight hours. No, there
seemed to be something missing in her life,
something that had been
missing for a long time.
Bulma snorted to herself--what, you
say, what would Bulma
Briefs be missing in her life? She's
the richest woman in Western
Capital; President of Capsule Corporation,
the largest corporation in
the area; tons of friends and activities
to occupy her time, and the
man of her dreams laying next to her.
A wonderful, sweet life that
many a person envies and covets. Those
things are all well and fine,
but that is not the true woman--within the
glorified shell known as
Bulma Briefs, a dark hole gnawed at her
heart.
~*~
She can live with what goes with leaving
She knows it's the only way
Though it kills her to give up believin'
She can't live with herself if she stays
~*~
She thought she filled it when
she found Yamucha out in the
desert--his warm arms, his bright smile,
and his open heart. She
felt complete; the gnawing hole that existed
within her soul was
filled at last. But lately, the hole
that she thought had filled with
the love Yamucha freely offered her had
reopened; the open sore
lost it's scab and was bleeding once again.
Easy to fix, but hard to
heal.
They both had given much to the relationship
to make the
roots grow strong and deep. At first,
it was bliss and both partners
were happy to just be in each other's embrace.
But once again,
things and thoughts and feelings have changed.
It wasn't overnight,
but bit by bit, crack by crack, the hole
splintered, shattered, and
broken open once more. Bulma realized
things were falling apart
between them.
But had he?
Bulma had to admit, she thought so.
His mind, which
remembered every date and intricate detail
that occurred so far in
their span together as a couple had become
so full of holes, Swiss
cheese was more concrete than his memory.
In the past month,
Yamucha had 'forgotten' or canceled seven
of their prearranged
encounters; citing conflicts or just plain
forgetfulness. She brushed
off the first few, smiling and rearranging
the evening to
accommodate his needs.
But tonight was the final straw.
He 'claimed' that he didn't about the
estate dinner, and that
he had already made plans without her with
his baseball buddies.
Didn't she mention a girls' night out with
ChiChi? She pointed out to
him that those plans had been canceled almost
two weeks ago when
she found out about the important business
dinner she was required
to attend. He had agreed to be her
escort for the gala readily.
What do you think that tux in your closet
was there for? An air
freshener? Decoration? She had
been so mad at him, she felt she
could explode.
Yamucha stumbled over his apologies,
sounding false, faked
and half-assed to her ears. He claimed
he couldn't cancel with the
guys--is was an important night for them,
as well. He had suggested
that she come back over after the dinner,
and they'd spend the rest
of the night in each other's arms.
Bulma grumbled loudly at being
'dessert,' but hesitantly agreed, saying
she'd be there about ten. He
agreed and even repeated the time back to
her.
As she lay there, on her side of the
large bed, the sea-blue
water nymph scowled darkly. The love
and trust she put in the
warrior lying next to her was growing thinner
and thinner. What was
so important that he couldn't cancel for
her? She rearranged and
rescheduled and canceled many meetings and
opportunities for
him--what was the one night to him?
She had arrived at his
apartment around ten, as stated, but he
was still not there. As she
waited, and the minutes grew into hours,
her patience grew tauter
and less compliant.
Around two, Yamucha stumbled in, drunk
off his ass, reeking
from the evil smells of partying too hard
at a bar or three. She
finally had given up on him and had gone
to bed. She came out into
the living room to rip his heart out through
his nostrils, but he had
just brushed her off, claiming fatigue.
She tried to ask about his
night; where he was, what he did, why he
was four hours later than
she, but he just snapped at her to mind
her own business and
crawled into bed, ignoring her protests
to tell her what was going on.
Bulma finally gave up when she heard his
snores. She grumbled
loudly for the second time that night and
crawled in next to him.
Yes, things had changed. Feelings
had changed.
~*~
She could settle for what she's feeling
If she gave in and worked this one out
She doesn't want the kind of love she
can live with
She wants the kind of love she can't
live without
~*~
Now, as she lay there, wrapped
in the soft embrace of the
blankets and the night, not the man next
to her, her thoughts began
to wander to the other upset in her life.
An upset that had forced
himself into her life and pummeled mercilessly
on her patience and
attitude. The embodiment of the words
'cranky' and 'stubborn.'
Sure, she had initially invited him
into her home; he had
nowhere else to go or to stay, and her generous,
willing heart made
sure she gave everyone at least one chance
to be cared for, to be
loved. The demonic nature of the Saiya-jiin
openly rejected her
attempts of friendship and companionship,
claiming 'training, food
and killing that baka Kakarotto' were the
only things needed to
satisfy his life. Bulma smirked to
herself--those three were not
always in that particular order.
But the cruel and uncaring dark side
of the Prince was not
always present, at least not to his knowledge.
At night, several
times she would be awakened from deep slumber
when she would
hear him cry out; when she'd run to his
room, she'd find him in the
throes of a horrendous nightmare.
She would set herself next to
him on the bed, hold his clammy hand, and
whisper calming and
soothing words into his ear until he settled
into peaceful slumber
once more. Bulma would stay with him,
watching the vicious scowl
that he wore as a daily expression ease
into a light frown that
seemed to be the most peaceful expression
in his repertoire. The
next morning would find him in the same
dark spirits that marked a
normal day for the Saiya-jiin; as if the
nightmare never happened.
She never mentioned her midnight visits
to him, and he never
questioned her about his dreams.
But that changed with the events of
a few nights ago. She
had been awoken once again by his cries,
her body on automatic to
his voice. She had ran to his side
to comfort him through the
duration of the dream, whispering the calming
phrases, caressing his
clenching fists with her soft fingers, trying
to loosen their hold on
the bed sheets. She leaned over his
still body to wipe the sheen of
sweat off his brow with a towel, but to
her complete surprise her
hand was halted by a steely grip on her
wrist.
She looked down and gasped slightly,
for to her horror, his
eyes had opened and locked their burning
gaze upon hers. A deep
scowl of confusion and displeasure formed
on his chiseled features,
giving Bulma an idea of what was to come.
She tried to draw her
hand away from the prone figure, but she
was held tight to the spot
she sat by his other hand on her waist.
He released her wrist and
brought his roughened fingers up to her
cheek, lightly caressing the
soft skin and brushing a few hairs that
had strayed from her ear.
The involuntary blush that rose from
his gentle touch quickly
spread across her cheeks and tingled the
rest of her body, warming
her and sending chills at the same time.
She open her mouth to
speak, to try to explain her actions--anything
to break the stillness
that filled the air, choking out all rational
thought, but the awake
enigma of a Saiya-jiin pressed a finger
to her lips, and shook his
head. The action, so un-Vejiita froze
her mind, and her thoughts
never came to fruition. Her twilight-hued
eyes were locked on the
midnight-hued ones of the male beneath her;
both sets burned with
questions unasked, answers untold, and feelings
unrequited.
Bulma blinked rapidly, trying to decipher
the rapid thoughts
echoing through her mind. But before
the thoughts could become
vocal, they were thrown out the proverbial
window when Vejiita
reached up and drawing her face close, brushed
his lips across hers
in one of the sweetest gestures she had
ever received. Bulma drew
back, surprise evident on her features.
She lowered her gaze to the
Prince below, and saw naked surprise spread
across his olive skin.
He couldn't believe what he did either.
She chuckled slightly and
graced him with a smile. Vejiita honored
her with a quiet snort but
was silenced when Bulma pressed her lips
upon his to return the kiss.
He didn't respond at first, but soon his
response was evident by the
passion and unbridled yearning that traveled
between their simple
motion. Their passion surged, and
when one hand led to a piece of
shed clothing later, the fruit of their
loneliness climaxed amidst
sweat and labored breathing.
Bulma shivered deliciously; just remembering
that
passion-filled night of estcasy brought
back feelings and sensations
she had never experienced before that night.
Never with the
warrior next to her. Never dreamed
she would ever feel. Her skin
tingled, remembering the feel of his battle-roughened
hands gliding
across her smooth skin, touching, penetrating,
teasing spots
Yamucha or any other male never knew existed,
let alone pleasured.
The Dark Prince was surprisingly gentle
with her, the brutal nature
of his race not even hinted in the tender
ministrations that sent her
over the edge again and again, all through
the night.
Hours after the nightmare that brought
the two lonely souls
together in a heated embrace, they collapsed
onto the sweat-soaked
sheets, energy spent, but souls satisfied.
No words were spoken, or
needed. Both knew that the events
that transpired within the walls
that still echoed with their cries was what
the other needed;
desired; wanted.
The holes were filled and sealed.
~*~
She looks in the mirror and sees all
the sadness in her eyes
It's never been clearer what he's asking
her to sacrifice
But she can't be his forever, she can't
even be his for now
She'll have to be kind to them both and
let go of him somehow
~*~
Bulma's smile of satisfaction soon
faded into a grim line of
indecision when the male next to her turned
over with a loud snort.
She knew what her options were, and the
consequences of each. But
what should she choose?
Can you live in limbo after tasting heaven?
Bulma sat up and sighed yet again as
she threw off the clean
cottony covers and made her way silently
to the bathroom. After
blinking a few times to clear the spots
from her vision that the light
created, she groaned at the image reflected
back at her in the
mirror. Heavy-lidded listless eyes
blinked blearily back at the
pasty-faced blue-haired genius, who sighed
once more. She knew
she looked bad--but this pale image made
her look years beyond her
time.
She turned the tap on and splashed
some of the water on her
face, trying to shock some sense into her
heart. Her mind and heart
were on opposite ends of the battlefield
warring against each other,
trying to win the war over her soul.
She glanced into the other room, watching
the short-haired
warrior sleep away his hangover. Unaware
of what she was thinking,
and attempting. Her mind saw the logical
choice in Yamucha--he
loved her, would always be there.
A sturdy tree to weather life's
storms. Loyal, dependable--predictable,
boring, Yamucha.
But her soul sings for Vejiita.
The irrational, unpredictable,
foul-tempered Prince pushed the control
buttons on her temper
every minute he was in her presence.
The conceited, over-bearing
Saiya-jiin rubbed her nerves and tested
her patience with each
cruel taunt directed at her.
Most would have turned their backs
on the rude creature;
given up after the first hundred or so insults.
But not Bulma. Not Her.
Sure, she didn't like the insults.
They hurt her pride, at
first. But she also realized that
the Saiya-jiin survivor didn't know
how to interact with others; interpersonal
communication was not
developed in Friiezer's armies. It
was considered a weakness, and
weaknesses could get you killed. So
Bulma let the insults slide off
her back, and retaliated in the way the
Prince understood in these
verbal battles--with her own. After
awhile, it became a challenge to
see who could fluster the other first.
Still, he usually won these skirmishes,
for Bulma still didn't
have much control over her temper.
And you could see it in Vejiita's
eyes and posture that he enjoyed these verbal
spars as much as the
physical ones he had with Goku.
To tell the truth, she enjoyed them as well.
But don't tell him that.
Bulma stepped into the shower with
a warm smile and a pink
tinge to her cheeks, humming a nonsensical
song. Things were
beginning to fall into place.
~*~
She can live with what goes with leaving
She knows it's the only way
Though it kills her to give up believin'
She can't live with herself if she stays
~*~
She could settle for what she's feeling
If she gave in and worked this one out
She doesn't want the kind of love she
can live with
She wants the kind of love she can't
live without
~*~
As she exited the bathroom, an
air of school-girl giddiness
surrounded the damp female. She quietly
dressed, and grabbing a
garbage bag from the tidy kitchen, she gathered
what meager
belongings she had there: scattered
toiletries and several pieces of
clothing left from other visits. There
was never a real need to
stock up on supplies since they usually
spent their nights together at
Capsule Corp. But when Vejiita arrived,
and made her home, his,
they decided that the pair needed more privacy.
She gave the room one last look over,
seeing if she had
missed a knick-knack. Her topaz-hued
eyes fell upon the lone
picture that rested on the nightstand.
It was of happier days gone
by, of days to be remembered fondly.
She picked up the frame and
brushed a finger lightly over the cool glass.
The scene was at
Master Roshi's beach; she and Yamucha were
side-by-side in the
sand, arms wrapped around each other.
Their heads rested against
each other and both had a bright smile that
would have lit any dark
corner.
A single tear fell silently on the
glass as Bulma replaced the
frame on the nightstand, face down.
Those times were past. Time
to move on.
~*~
And the hardest part is she loves him
But she doesn't want the kind of love
she can live with
She wants the kind of love she can't
live without
~*~
She stood over the still sleeping
Yamucha, a wisp of a smile
hinting at the corner of her lips.
She brushed back a lock of his
hair from his forehead and placed a final
kiss upon his brow. Picking
up her bag, she opened the door and left
without a word, or a
backwards glance.
To go home.
To finally cement the hole in her soul.
To Vejiita.
Like? Dislike? Did it make sense? Let me know...