(A/N: Hey. Hope you enjoy this story. It's about Bra going through hard times in her life since her parents split and she needs attention…. And she finds it in boys.
I believed I picked up on a new style slightly. Yay me! But anyway, hop e you enjoy and don't forget to review…)
Its two years ago, and I'm just about to turn twelve. At home things are just about to turn too. My mother spends most of her time crying in the bedroom or the kitchen, or wherever someone might hear. To get away, I'm in the woods near the house. Wandering.
Suddenly he's there, walking towards me. His face blank. His breathing ragged, audible. I've seen him before. He's mentally retarded. The boy who never grew up. But he's different this time. There's something distant in his eyes, and strange. As he comes closer, I see why-his fly is open and from its stands his erect penis. It's pale and fishlike, an alien thing. I take a step backward. He stares at me and says nothing. I turn and run-
Screeching brakes from a semi truck bring me back. I'm on one of my walks, waiting to cross the busy freeway. The driver is watching me and blasts the horn. He's maybe thirty years old, wearing a white tank top. He has blonde hair and thick stubble. His window is rolled all the way down and his arm rests on the top. He sits up high, but he's close enough for me to see the sun glinting off the pale, short hairs on his arm. My eyes lock on his and he flashes a warm, friendly grin. There's something else in his eyes too. He's interested, admiring.
My body fills with warmth, as though heat is seeping from the sidewalk and through my flip-flops all the way to my face. I like the feeling, his eyes lingering on my small new breasts. I smile back. I reach into my pocket for my camera.
"Hey, there." He says. Before I can take a picture, the brakes of the truck release, the gears shift, and he is gone. I watch after him, wanting something, wishing there were more. Wondering if his erect penis looks pale and fishlike.
When I get back to my house, my brother Trunks is sweeping the kitchen floor.
"Hey." I say. I want to tell him about the man in the truck, but what should I say? He pauses for a moment and then looks at me. He's only three years older than I am, but sometimes he's like a middle-aged man.
"Where have you been Bra?" Mum is at the sink fixing a broken down robot that was meant to be doing our dish washing duties. Her arms move so fast, she's a pro at this. She turns to frown at me. It's Dad's weekend with Trunks and me, so Mum is starting her regular meltdown. Even though they divorced almost a year ago, she won't forgive Dad for the affair.
The affair had gone on for almost three months. My dad, Vegeta was sick and tired of staying with Bulma mostly because she was a human. As the years had gone by Dad's sex drive had grown stronger and stronger while Mum's faded due to her ageing. But it wasn't her fault, she couldn't help it. He was a saiyan and she wasn't. Of course Mum could've created some sort of ageing device or wished on the dragon balls to help out but she thought Vegeta wouldn't mind. One part of her regrets not doing it in the first place and the other just realises that Vegeta probably didn't have true feelings for her.
"I took a walk." I say.
"You wanted that expensive photography class, and then you don't show up."
Oops. I forgot.
When I sighed up for thee four-week class in June, it was all I could think about. I couldn't wait for the classes to start. I didn't really want to take over Capsule Corp. to be truthful. I wanted Trunks to do all of that. I was just totally into photography, not this weird techno mumbo jumbo stuff my mum does. It's not my thing. Even if a fortune is involved, I prefer doing something I love more. Photography.
"Who do you think I am?" your personal chauffeur? I'm supposed to wait for you? I have a life too." She says.
I set my mouth so I won't blurt anything. Mum misunderstands whatever I say. I go up to my room. The contest information sits on my desk. Ruth's hand writing is at the top: DON'T FORGET! She's been my art teacher since seventh grade. The big blue letters seem to mock me. "Forget" is my new middle name. Ruth's in charge at out school of this year's national high school art contest. The prize is five thousand dollars and a chance to show your work in the National Gallery., where thousands of people will see it.This is the first year I'll be able to submit my work. I just started my first year in high school.
"You have a gift." Ruth told me once while sifting through photos I had just developed in the darkroom. I've held onto that idea ever since: a gift, waiting to be unwrapped. I want more than anything to win that prize. And not for the money. For the chance to be seen.
The deadline is December fifteenth, three months away. The theme of this year's contest is self-portrait. Last year it was nature. This sounds much easier.
I take my digital canon out of my pocket, place it carefully on the desk and pick up the manual canon that Mum and Dad bought for me on my twelfth birthday.
It, surprisingly, was actually my Dad's idea to get it. It happened once we were arguing; it was about me refusing to do my homework. He laughed at a certain point and promised to buy me a camera so I could take a picture of myself to show him the fool that I will grow into in a few years. As if!
But this whole photo contest is a huge big deal for me! It won't make me a fool, but if it did I'd become a 'noticed' one. A 'famous' one. Then I could prove my dad wrong!
I stand in front of the floor length mirror. Other than my long heavy blue toned hair and the small beauty spot somewhere on my jaw, I barely recognize myself. My hips are wide and my breasts are swollen. I have earned three zits on my forehead through out 4 years into my adolescent hood (14).Even my feet seem strange and not mine.
How will I take a self-portrait if I don't know who I am anymore? I hold up the camera, adjust the focus, and snap! I don't know what the picture will look like, but sometimes my camera sees better than I do.
I hear a horn honking outside. It's Dad in his white mustang.
See, this is what gets me ticked off. Unfortunately it was also my Mum's 'nagging' that got him turned off too. He said she was reminding him of 'Kakarotts Harp'. All Mum only did was ask if Dad wanted to learn how to drive since Chichi was already 'forcing' Goku to do so. Dad said what's the point when he can fly? Plus driving is for pussys.
Now look at him. And the thing is his new 'girl' is a saiyan too. She can fly, in fact they both can! Yet they drive to 'blend in'. Since when did Dad ever want to blend in?
It just wasn't right and so unfair on Mum. Sometimes I feel hurt just looking into my Dad's eyes.
I come downstairs just in time to see Mum running to her room without saying good-bye.
I catch Trunks looking back at the stairs twice before he closes the door behind us. Trunks and I hump our backpacks out to the car. It is late afternoon, almost evening. My favorite time so the day, when the sky seems to lift and the sun shoots out at an angle, no longer right overhead and punishing. All the photos I take in this light come out tinted blue.
"Well, get in! We haven't got all day." Dad says. He's leaning against the passenger door, his smirk so big, his hair dark and spiking out in all directions (mostly upwards) and that dull yet funky shaped 'M' hair line flapping a bit through the breeze.
He reaches out to take our packs, and, though Trunks lets him take his bag, he shrinks away from him whenever he tries to start a father and son type of conversation.
When it comes to me, considering I'm the girl. Dad just gives a cold yet comforting hug. He looks me up and down. I cross my arms over my chest, not wanting him to see my breasts.
"Every time I see you girls lately, it seems your all changing so fast." Of course Dad doesn't mea it in a nice way, and this is what hurts me. Normally ( if you haven't seen your parents in ages) you'd have
4444hem hug an squeeze you saying stuff like: Oh my! You've grown so much! OR Whoa! What a big boy/girl you've grown into!
But no, not this guy. What he really means is: It's a shame your half human. You've aged so fast and your only 14! You've changed so fast.
I look at my dad. He has that face again. That: I'm-sad-but-I-don't-want-to-admit-it face.
Even though my dad isn't that type of person who would share his feelings; I wait for him like an idiot to say something about the sadness, but he just smirks and opens the car doors for me. Trunks avoids his eyes, but I smile back, knowing it's what he wants-
For us to like his 'new' decision.
"Can we have Friendly's tonight?" I ask as soon as we're all in the car.
Trunks' in the front seat. I'm in the back. Dad looks over at Trunks, whose gaze is fixed put the window. "What do you think Trunks?"
Trunks shrugs with a slight hint of annoyance. "Whatever."
I press my fingers into the vinyl seat, trying to think of something good to say, something that will take Dad's mind off Trunks' attitude. Because I definitely didn't want Dad to go into rage and start giving it his all like he always did.
"Let's go to the one near the mini golf course."
Dad muttered a few words. "For once that's actually a good plan." He says. Then, "Just need to make one stop."
My stomach drops. "I knew it." Trunks say.
Dad glares at Trunks. "Get used to it. You don't even know her!"
"I thought it was just going to be us for the weekend."
"Oh come on! Stop being sissy! You're saiyans!" Dad says.
"Half." Trunks reminds him. Dad shrugs as he remembers we are also part 'human' too. Which now a days he doesn't like one bit. Or so he says…
"Things are definitely going to change from now on." Dad finishes the topic.
After dinner we walk into Dad's apartment. It's strange to see all his things, all the stuff they had bought together when they moved in. I pull my digital out of my pocket and eye the room through the screen. A one bedroom with a foldout futon for a couch. A TV. A desk with a computer. A kitchen table with four metal-legged chairs.
Celeria shows up in the screen. I follow her with the lens. She walks into the kitchen, opens a cabinet, and pulls out a glass, knowing where everything is. She flips her half spiky blonde hair over her shoulder and turns on the tap to fill her glass.
She is comfortable here.
Dad enters the screen. He comes up beside Celeria, puts a hand on her back, just above her butt. He knows where everything is too. I glance over to Trunks to see if he's watching, but he's already on the futon, her bag on her lap, putting his I-hate-being-here-so-let's-just-get-this-over-with look. He didn't say one word during dinner.
That night Trunks and I lie on the futon. The mattress is hard. Shadows of leaves jump across the ceiling, making pretty shapes. I can hear the hums of cars on the street. It is always hard to sleep the first night here. Especially tonight, knowing Celeria is here in the bedroom with Dad. Knowing that they are together, under the covers. I focus on Trunks' breathing, hoping the pulse of his breath will quiet my mind, but I can tell by the quickness that he is awake too.
Instead I think about boys. I t is what I do lately when I can't sleep: I pick a boy-one I know, one I saw, or one I made up, and imagine how things will go. Tonight I imagine there is a new boy in the ninth grade. He has dark shaggy hair hanging to his eyes, and he wears ruined jeans low on his hips. He doesn't know his way around yet, so he asks me where algebra class is. Wouldn't you know it? We have algebra together. After school we get on the same but because, it turns out, he just moved into a house on my street. After the bus drops us off, we walk together and talk about everything. Then in front of my house, he leans forward and kisses me. Soon his hands are in my hair and on my back.
"You're what I've been waiting for." He whispers, and he presses his warm body against mine. His hands work their way down my back to my behind, and he pulls me into him- Just then I strong energy bursts into my fantasy followed by a loud sound, a sound I don't quite recognize.
I listen. It's Celeria, powering up and making noises with my father, on the other side of the wall. Need I remind you of the first reason my Dad left? My stomach goes hollow and the blood rushes to my face. Worse, I can feel a tingle between my legs, sent there by my fantasy boy, but egged on by Celeria's moans. I slide my hands up slowly to cover my ears, hoping I don't wake Trunks.
Trunks rolls away from me. He hears it too.
Sorry if it seems rubbish and probably OOC. But I tried. It'll get interesting, believe me. Don't forget to review.
Tempz99