Promise to Return
The blue haired heiress sat in the nook of a circular window, cuddling up to herself, holding her knees tight for comfort. She had the large pink t-shirt pulled over her knees. Bulma stroked the soft fibres gently with her shaking forefinger while she stared out at the elegantly kept garden below, trying to make out the dazzling flowers in the dim morning light. As she watched the last of the rain dribble down from beyond the glass, Bulma finally indulged herself in tears.
He had left in the early hours of monday morning with out so much as a trace.
Bulma clutched at the shirt and pulled her angelic face into her knees, not wanting the world to see the powerful Bulma Briefs shed tears. She prided herself of her confidence and will power, yet in this matter she could not keep it together any longer. The heiress of Capsule Coorperation had poured herself into her work for the past week, never leaving the lab and only truly stopping when exhaustion stole her from the conscious world.
But today was saturday and her father made it explicitly clear she had to take a break. Bulma hadn't intended to obey him, being the rebellious type her entire life, but when she saw concern laced in her genius father's eyes guilt flooded her. Her father had no reason to be upset because of him leaving. So Bulma agreed to take one day off.
Her throat hiccuped as she let out a chocked sob, trying to calm her tears down seemed to only make them attack more violently. How could he have just left like that? The beautiful young woman turned her head on it's side, resting her cheek on the tops of her hugged knees. Bulma stared at the rising sun and finally stopped fighting the tears. A battle she was losing anyways.
As the great golden orb pierced over the horizon a brilliant orange hue settles on West City. The city was quite, all except for the echo of birds singing their distant songs. The rain was coming to an end and the clouds were cracking apart, exposing the reddish sky beneath. She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees as her stomach became invaded with butterflies. Everything was peaceful and calm.
Bulma hated it.
The serenity was just another taunting reminder that he wasn't there. No one had called her out on her bullshit these past few days. No one had sought to make her life a living-hell. Bulma had gone unchallenged, and ultimately undefeated these past six days, and quite frankly she was now finding it miserably boring. She had once been used to getting everything her heart desired, but that was before him.
And now the one thing her heart desire more than anything, was gone.
Bulma blinked her beautiful blue eyes furiously as the growing sun continued to glow fiercer. Once long ago, when she and Yamcha were ever apart, she would take comfort in the fact that no matter where they were, they were always under the same sun. But many things had changed since those days; she had learnt and seen so many things. And he was certainly not like Yamcha. He did whatever he wanted.
With a sigh Bulma let the last of her tears escape, not because her sadness had melted away, but because her eyes were wept empty. She released one of her delicate hands from it's entanglement around her knees and brought it to rub her puffy eyes, effectively wiping the remainder of the tears from her face. A deep sorrow had nuzzled its way into her, and Bulma had yet to find a path to escaping it.
As the sun fully breached the horizon, and the smell of breakfast cooking seeped it's way into her runny nose, Bulma could acknowledge that it was time to face the daunting day.
The heiress unlatched her other arm and swung her legs out from the curved nook, dangling them over the floor, her toes barely brushing the tender carpet below. Her bare legs were chilled as they hung from her perch, having been covered by the oversized pink shirt. She brought her hands back to her face and wiped her tear-scared cheeks one final time. With a sniffle, and a quick smoothing of the bright pink shirt, Bulma hopped down from her retreat.
As her feet took on her weight, she almost crumbled underneath it. The sorrow and anxiety of the looming day weighing her down subconsciously. The heiress was almost convinced she couldn't do it, that she really wouldn't be able to tackle the day. Bulma almost decided to turn and run back to the comfort of her sheets and the absolute darkness of her bedroom. But her pride irked her to do otherwise.
She was Bulma Briefs, and nothing could stop her. Not even him.
The heiress inhaled a deep breath of air, and proceeded to march her way down the hall. She could feel the fabric sway against her petite body as she swiftly sped to the stairs. Every brush of the soft pink fabric brought her immense comfort, but also searing pain. She folded her arms defensively over her chest. It was his badman shirt.
Bulma bounded down the stairs and was immediately in the open concept area. A cheery tune quietly resonated from the far corner of the large space. The heiress immediately found it's familiar, comforting source, and quietly made a break for her mother in the kitchen. The cold, dark tile of the kitchen area tingled her feet as she crossed the floor to take a seat at the cherry oak table.
Bulma did not want to be alone with her depressing thoughts any longer.
"Morning hunny!" Her blonde mother said wiping around from the stove, a giant grin smothering her face.
Bulma stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, staring blankly at the over-enthusiastic, apron-clad woman. She did not response.
"You're just in time." She chirped turning back to the stove. "I've got breakfast almost done... I just need to make about thirty more pancakes and we should be just fine!"
Bulma's heart skipped several beats and all of the air in her lungs felt like it was punched out. Her blood began to boil, was her mother really joking about him? Immediately though her anger simmered down, it was possible her mom was just uninformed, she was, after-all, not the brightest of the Briefs.
"Mom, you do know... that he's..." A lump balled up in Bulma's throat, restricting all sound. Her body felt like it was about to seize and her eyes filled with new tears. But she couldn't bring herself to say it.
"Gone?" Bulma watched her mother say almost happily. "I know silly goose, but what if her comes back! I have to be able to feed such a nice young man."
"He is not nice!" Bulma fumed, rage filling her again. "And he is not coming back."
"Oh." For the first time in their conversation, she seemed sad, a trait almost non-existent to her mom making Bulma almost fell guilty for having to give her the news. Bulme watched her mother closely as the elder of the beauties continued softly. "He didn't say that when I said goodbye..."
Bulma's mind vibrated with a mixture of emotions that exploded out in one simple sentence.
"YOU SAW HIM?"
"Awe 'course I did sweaty, I'm up early to feed you all you know." Her mother said with an adorable wink that did absolutely nothing to calm her racing heartbeat. The heiress had so many questions, so many emotions.
Bulma ran up to her mom and placed both her hands on her shoulders, lightly shaking the blonde. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Tears freely flowed from her blue eyes as she wrapped her delicate arms around her mom, who was quick to reciprocate. Bulma was thankful when her mother squeezed her into a hug that only the best of mothers could master. The heiress felt a delicate hand stroking her hair. "Now, now dear. If you hadn't hidden in your lab I could have told you."
Bulma was about to rebuttal, tell her mom how something so important shouldn't have been kept secret. But she was too entranced by her mom's warm hug that no words found their way to her mouth. She just hung in her mother's arms sobbing into the shoulder of the one person who she could tell anything to. A few moments went by in silence as Bulma let her sorrows seep out into the comforting entanglement of someone else's arms.
"Oh! That reminds me sweaty." She chirped break, and to Bulma's disappointment, broke the hug. She watched as her mother reached down into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a small piece of folded paper. Bulma's damp eyes widened as her mom held the paper outwards towards her. "Here."
"What is it?" Bulma asked hesitantly, she stared down at her elegantly scripted name etched onto the front of the sheet. She held her breath as the handwriting rang familiar in her mind. It couldn't possibly be...
"It's from him." Bulma's head snapped up from the paper and met her mother's eyes with a fiery gaze. "I haven't seen you lately -"
Before her mom could finish, Bulma had snatched the paper greedily from her grasp and whipped around. She took a step away from her mom, but instead of moving forward, Bulma crumbled to her knees. She leaned her weight back and sat on her heels. The hard kitchen floor bore into her exposed shins. But Bulma didn't even feel it.
Her hands trembled as the fumbled the slip in her hand. It was certainly his writing. She had never seen script so elegant before, so regal. Her insides felt like they were drowning in disparity, and even his pink shirt couldn't bring her any comfort now.
She stared at that one word for an eternity. Bulma. Her name. Had he ever even said her name before?
Tears threatened to pour, but for some reason they wouldn't flow. Bulma's throat so dry she couldn't even swallow the lump of anxiety forming in it. Bulma was scared of the tiny piece of folded paper, but at the same time, she needed to know what the note said. So slowly she looped her thumb under the fold and flipped up the small page.
Bulma's heart stopped in it's tracks and her eyes focused one the majestic script:
Woman, I have left. Unfortunately though, I will be returning for an extended stay as you posses something of mine...
She read the last two words over and over, just to be certain she read them correctly. Her heart skipped irregularly and her eyes fluttered involuntarily as one of her hands dropped from the note to hover over her abdomen. The last two words of Vegeta's note were plain and clear; An Heir.