DISCLAIMER: No, for the last time, I do not own DBZ or any of its
characters. I'm just this for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others. So
since I don't own, nor do I have any money, suing is just out of the
question. MOVE ON!
-----
Summary: After a few change of events leave Bulma thinking, will she notice what's been right under her nose all along? Will she leave Vegeta forever and run into the arms of her savior, or will she forgive him? And with the changes going on, how many marriages will be put in danger?
-----
AN:
Hey it's LadyB again! ^_^ Yes...before we go there...I do know that I haven't updated my other stories yet but I will in due time. I'll try to pay more attention to them from now.
Ok this story is kinda different for me...no...let me rephrase that, IT IS totally different for me to write something like this. I'm not going to tell you guys where this story is going, you really just have to think about it. You might think you know where it's going....but you have no idea.
I hope you like, flames, reviews, comments, whatevers are always welcome. I hope you enjoy this and let me know if I should keep going with it.
As always, Luvies and Huggies,
~LadyB
------
Broken Beyond Repair
Chapter One: Flames of bitter regret; Don't you care?!
By: LadyBulma24
-----
I'm broken beyond repair,
The hurt, there's no compare,
Show something, do you care?
Is there nothing in your bottomless glare?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Soft and simple nothings filled the room in which two women sat together, having been talking a few seconds earlier. The eldest of the women reached over on the oak coffee table dividing them, poring a glass of water for herself, and holding one up for her close acquaintance. The younger, most vonerable woman, declined politely and went back to counting the ceiling tiles high above her, while laying casually on a red futon.
"Can you remember when this all started?" The woman asked her patient. She observed her through her crystal green eyes serving her for vision. Her patient crossed her legs, as she lay outspread on the ruby chaise lounge, hugging the pillow from behind her head.
"Yes and no."
She bit softly on the top of her black felt pen. "Really? How so Bulma? What's been going on, tell me."
Bulma Briefs sat up suddenly on the futon, placing her hands in her lap between her legs covered by the fabric of well-worn faded blue jeans. The bright blue orbs that accented Bulma's equally celestial cerulean tresses shot around the room for a moment, landing briefly on the thin white drapes being blown in by a soft gust of wind that danced around the room. Managing to tare her eyes away from the sheer cloth that spun around with the wind in a ballet of leisure movements, Bulma allowed them to land on her psychiatrist, Akira. There she sat, the richest and most brilliant woman of her time, with a marriage that had blessed her with two lovely children, each of them in her image one way or another. She dared not call her marriage a happy one. Did happily women think so much about life before they were married, and did their husbands leave them for months on end? But then again, were happily married women found in the matrimonial ecstasy with an alien prince as a companion?
"I had another fight with Vegeta this week."
A sympathetic look crossed Akira's soft emerald eyes. "Oh sweetie, what about this time?" Making patients feel comfortable was key, and she had a way of making Bulma forget the rank divergence between them.
Bulma tucked a strand of her blue hair behind her ear, the gold hoops hanging from her lobes catching a glimpse of the setting sun of Satan City, a shine emitted from them. She then sighed heavily, her willowy body frame rising up with the breath and then down again as she let it out slowly. "He's been away for a while...taking off just like that, without warning or care."
Akira placed a hand under her own chin, propping it up on the knee of her crossed right leg. "Uh huh, like before."
"Yes. Like before..."
"So then why does this bother you now...?"
Once more the spinning fabric of the drapes were the most interesting thing in the room. "We fought... horribly." Admitted Bulma in a tone so low, it seemed to drown right into the stillness of the room. "I told him to leave, and never return."
"What about the children?"
Bulma took that moment to wrap her arms around her own knees, pulling them up to her round chest. She leaned down, mashing her breast to her upper legs, her head resting on top of her knees with fountains of her hair running down her jeans like rivers. "I didn't think about that at the moment. I just wanted him out. I couldn't stand to see him anymore. I just..." a long weathering sigh. "-had to get away from him..."
Akira could see the pain written along every line of her patient's face, no matter how faint the line was. It was still there, as was the anguish drifting in the ocean of her eyes. "And then...?"
Bulma felt the tears threatening to rise up into her throat and out of her eyes, the cry that had gone unaided for days, even weeks, consecutively. She bit them back, her own blood flowing in the walls of her mouth; she swallowed it down just like so many other repressed feelings. "He left. Just like that. No second words, no kiss good-bye. Just the sound of the door slamming in the empty house." Sobs choked Bulma back from speaking once again. "Aki...why?"
"Honey, you told him to leave, he probably didn't want to upset you anymore." She offered Bulma a weak, modest smile, trying not to give her the impression that Bulma's suffering pleased her. Her efforts were rewarded by a turn of the head, and tears of regret flowing faster down not only her patient's but her friend's face. "But he's come back before, he'll come around again. I know it."
"Aki-Chan, I can't be so sure anymore. I've tried to tell myself the same thing over and over again." Bulma's voice wavered ever so slightly. "It's just for tonight, he'll be back tomorrow." Her fingers took the pillow and yanked at a fist full of its material. "That was a week ago...."
There was a trivial confusion in Akira's demeanor, she was reading something Bulma that was absolutely new to her. "You're scared...??"
And her statement was confirmed when Bulma snapped her head up, her large blue eyes pooling over with tears glancing up at her, pleading for deliverance. "TO DEATH! AKI I MIGHT LOSE HIM!"
In attempt to calm her friend down, Akira reached one of her bare arms over the table separating them and patted Bulma's head softly, sending love through each inch of her touch. "Bulma, don't be." Akira shook her head, her short raven hair reflecting the almost set sun in each strand. "You're stronger than this. I know you are. And in his own sick twisted way, the man must love you."
The insecurity of the matter irked Bulma, like a toothpick picking at the back of her brain, demanding attention. "I just hope so, but it's hard to know. He's changed me...I feel like when I'm around him, I'm a different person."
Now they were getting somewhere. "What do you mean sweetie, you mean that you feel as if you have to be different?"
To reply, Bulma gave a shaking motion to her head, still leaning on the comfort of her knees. "No, he just... makes me act different, for some reason. And I don't mind it, half of the time I don't realize it."
Akira pulled her hand away, noticing that her friend had calmed down somewhat. "Ah..." She muttered softly and jotted something down on her pale yellow notepad with her black felt pen.
"You know what?!" Bulma spontaneously lifted her head up from her hard knees, glimpsing at her raven-haired confidant. "I don't know how I've been dealing with this were it not for..." Her voice faded for a minute, never quite returning.
"Darling....?" Akira removed her eyes from her own painstaking handwriting. "Come again?"
A small finger ran patterns down the denim of the jeans, drawing imaginary figures along the contours of the out of textile out of sheer nerves. "I said that I don't know how I would have dealt with this, were it not for...someone special."
Akira smiled noticeably. "Who is it?" She could just tell, the second Bulma began to talk about this 'special someone' her eyes started to lift, her entire aura started to clear from the negativity. Whoever this person was, they were lifting Bulma up higher from the depression that was screaming her name. "Have you talked about the person here with me before?"
"I might have...I don't even remember now." Followed by a nervous chuckle.
"Why don't you just tell me a name, I might be able to help you remember." Akira could tell that all of this was hard on her brilliant companion.
A long, hollow sigh filled the room, taking over and enveloping all of the silence around them. "My best friend."
"Which one?"
"He's been wonderful...he understands me." Bulma let out a content sigh, smiling ever so slightly.
Akira nodded. 'So it's a he.' That was evident now by both Bulma's words and her actions. "Don't I get a name?"
"Aki...he's I've never felt this way around him, he just knows exactly how to say things so that I never cry again." She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "He holds me and I know everything's going to be ok."
"He is...."
A smile as bright as the sun itself reflected Bulma's emotions, locked down so deep inside of her and no one had the key. Or at least now, Akira was beginning to think that there might be one person, this friend of hers. "Goku."
Akira dropped her pen to the floor with an empty clatter. She couldn't believe her hears.
~*~
"I'm hoooome!"
Bulma called from the doorway the only thing coming back to greet her was the echo of her own voice. She shook her head, taking small steps in through the white Plaster-of-Paris doorway. Her black suitcase was sent to the floor while she walked in fully, slamming her keys down on a white end table with a loud metallic 'clank'. The blue-haired maiden glanced around her home; everything was in perfect order, just as how she had left it. She sighed; by the stillness and appearance of things neither of her children were home, which could be very good, or very bad. They were leaving her alone, in a 10-bedroom home, could that really be healthy?
Bulma glanced all around; none of the lights were on in the house, not even the ones in their extremely dark living room. A click of her teeth, they could have at least turned a few of them on. She walked around for a moment, contemplating the thought as to whether or not she should turn to artificial illumination in the house, or leave it up to the soft glow of nightfall to be her conductor. The conclusion was simple, with her body aching in places she didn't even know possible, it would be best just to relax with some wine and let the troubles just flow again. If worse came to worse, she knew for a fact that she kept candles in almost ever room of the house hidden somewhere.
With her mind made up and her jacket tossed carelessly onto the arm of the couch, Bulma worked her way into the kitchen, coming to a halt at a hefty wooden cabinet. Her hands scooped up to open the door, revealing bottles and bottles of wine, some worth hundreds, even thousands. Blue eyes met the Princess-Crystal clock hanging over the window of the kitchen, 7 o'clock. Time for dinner would roll around soon enough. Again, dinner for one, wine for five.
"......."
Bulma didn't even know what to think, as if it were an art long forgotten how to perform. The only thing she could do standing there was watch as the rich velvet liquor cascaded down into the semiprecious stone goblet her fingers steadied at the counter below. It ran like ruby blood, gems in the sun, the liquid embodiment of sin. Bringing it up to her lips, savoring the texture, taste and smell, her body began to loosen, to calm. This was her version of paradise. She turned to bring the cup with her to the kitchen table, to sit and deliberate as the dim light of the twilight pored in the open window, running wild on everything solid in the confinement of the kitchen.
"Don't drink so much."
Her body violently shook in response, tight hold on the goblet releasing adequately sending it to the crashing abyss of the white tile beneath her feet. A pile of reddish-purple cut stone forming at her feet; Bulma took a few steps back.
"Who's there?!"
She turned and turned around again, looking desperately for the source of the voice. Rewarded for her searching were her eyes when she finally set them down on a figure in the shadows, arrogantly covered in a blanket of plentiful obscurity. Her mind cursed at her, this, her mind told her, was what she got for leaving all of the lights off in the house, resorting to the light of nature to guide her and giving yield to her plea of laziness.
The figure took a step closer. "Are you alright?"
Bulma's eyes shot wide and her mouth opened long enough for her to scream. "VEGETA?!" At that very second, her knees started to cave in under her, she felt faint as the ground came up to kiss her. It was just like that supercilious bastard to come and pay her the fright of her life, after nearly a week of his disappearance.
"Mom!" The individual rushed towards Bulma's falling body and into the light. A lavender flash was al that Bulma made out before she shut her eyes slowly, a lavender blur of motion. Trunks swept his mother into his arms as fast as he could, before she hit the floor and injured herself. "Mom, what's the matter? What's going on?"
Weakly, Bulma fluttered her eyes open, glimpsing up into the interminable marine of her son's eyes, so blue...so incessant...yet so much like his father. "Trunks....." Once more she was at a loss for words and voice, she could do nothing but stare at him, drinking in his image.
Trunks Briefs, he was her son, her joy, her pride. He hovered over her at a surprising 6 foot 3, locks of her once lavender hair had been passed down to him, her eyes glared back at her from his face. That face, the face of his father. So set in handsome determination, for he was her shining 22- year-old prince. Trunks' body was prone in muscles tightly packed under his black fighting shirt. His body could rival the one of a god; the thought then dawned on Bulma as to why she had confused him for Vegeta. Still, she could not stop shaking. At times like this, he was her savior when no one else was around, the bond of a son and a mother.
"I'm here mom, right here." He tightened his hold on his mother's body, out of fear that she would ultimately hit the floor. She was pressed closer to his muscular chest, Bulma took in his sent as he held and spoke to her, just like his father right down to the smell. His heart beat steadily against her ear, he opened his mouth to speak, "What's wrong?"
Bulma brought her hand to her own beating heart, it sounded like a hammer on delicate glass and she wondered, could he hear it too? It seemed to her that even the gods could hear her distress. "You...scared me."
The youth expressed his amusement gracefully, trying his best to make light of the situation. "Obviously, but my question is why? You ok?" He knew damn well what was bothering her, she had been like that for a week, Trunks was just trying to see if still they had made no progress. His arms came undone from around his mother's frail frame, giving her the opportunity to stand. Trunks watched her every move, she took hold of the edge of the Blair-wood table, her legs wobbling, and stood with support.
"I thought you were-"
"-Don't worry, I'm not."
"But you-"
"I know, it's not my fault I can't help the resemblance." Trunks looked at her apologetically. That arrogant shit he was forced to call father really had done a number on his precious mother. He had her all shot up in nerves and he was so damn far away...
Bulma returned her nicely rounded bottom to the comfort of the padded chair; the wine remains residing still a few inches from her presence.
"You can't keep letting him do this to you." Trunks growled, bending down to pick up the filtrate that had once been a taste of his mother's favorite wine. "He can't control you this way!"
"I can't help it Trunks. I've bonded with him, if he's not around, I hurt."
"Blasted Saiyans...." She heard him curse under his breath, his hands working on the shattered glass, skillfully avoiding damaging his hands. "Fucking bonds..."
"Gomen nasai." Her voice was flat, lifeless.
Trunks shot up, frustrated. "It's not your fault, he's the one that has done this to you. He's the one that ruined you!"
Bulma's eyes changed color, darkening noticeably. "Part of it is my fault as well, he can't take all of the blame."
"And neither can you!"
"He'll come back-"
"It's better if he never does!"
"I need him-"
"That's what he wants you to think!"
"Dammit Trunks!"
"NANI?!" By then they were both shaking, anger raging through both of the blood that ran through their viens.
"Stop doing that!"
Trunks walked up to his mother, knelt, and glared at her dead into her azure eyes. "Stop what?" His tone began to lower. "Stop telling you the truth?" He reached out to touch her, but just like she would have reacted to Vegeta, she pulled away, backing into the hardness of the chair at her behind. "I'm just doing this for you own good."
She didn't reply, neither in motions neither in words.
"Don't you see? He's just ruining your life." Trunks shook his head, a lavender shine. "Open you eyes mom!"
Bulma's eyes began to water, the hurt, the accusations, all of them gradually yet effectively accumulating inside of her. "No." Her voice broke, body shaking, temples sweating out her rage and sorrow.
"Then what is it, Bulma?!" Trunks was still trembling, his eyes flashing between the tints of blue and green. It was evident now to them both, that his wrath was getting the best of him; the curse of Saiyan men. His voice was nothing like his normal one and he had now dared to call her by her name.
His voice....that voice....she remembered it well....no...but it was just so angry...couldn't be...was it? No....she was going crazy...he sounded just like...but was he....?
Her eyes widened, remembrance slicing down at her mind like a sharpened knife moving in for the kill, softly murdering her spirit. "Oh will you just stop it Trunks!" The plea came out in a hoarse cry. Bulma drove her hands into his chest, pounding, wanting to rip him to shreds and just take out all of her resentment on him.
He narrowed his eyes, her poundings not nearly causing as much of a nuisance as she had originally hoped for. "Why?" This time he hissed.
Suddenly her eyes dimmed completely, the only color left in them was the slightest trace of sky blue. "You're killing me..."
Then she flung willingly into his arms, as lifeless as a rag doll.
~*~
So how was it? What do you ppl think? Continue? Stop? Good? Bad? Please lemme know, show meeh some of that luv! ^_^
-----
Summary: After a few change of events leave Bulma thinking, will she notice what's been right under her nose all along? Will she leave Vegeta forever and run into the arms of her savior, or will she forgive him? And with the changes going on, how many marriages will be put in danger?
-----
AN:
Hey it's LadyB again! ^_^ Yes...before we go there...I do know that I haven't updated my other stories yet but I will in due time. I'll try to pay more attention to them from now.
Ok this story is kinda different for me...no...let me rephrase that, IT IS totally different for me to write something like this. I'm not going to tell you guys where this story is going, you really just have to think about it. You might think you know where it's going....but you have no idea.
I hope you like, flames, reviews, comments, whatevers are always welcome. I hope you enjoy this and let me know if I should keep going with it.
As always, Luvies and Huggies,
~LadyB
------
Broken Beyond Repair
Chapter One: Flames of bitter regret; Don't you care?!
By: LadyBulma24
-----
I'm broken beyond repair,
The hurt, there's no compare,
Show something, do you care?
Is there nothing in your bottomless glare?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Soft and simple nothings filled the room in which two women sat together, having been talking a few seconds earlier. The eldest of the women reached over on the oak coffee table dividing them, poring a glass of water for herself, and holding one up for her close acquaintance. The younger, most vonerable woman, declined politely and went back to counting the ceiling tiles high above her, while laying casually on a red futon.
"Can you remember when this all started?" The woman asked her patient. She observed her through her crystal green eyes serving her for vision. Her patient crossed her legs, as she lay outspread on the ruby chaise lounge, hugging the pillow from behind her head.
"Yes and no."
She bit softly on the top of her black felt pen. "Really? How so Bulma? What's been going on, tell me."
Bulma Briefs sat up suddenly on the futon, placing her hands in her lap between her legs covered by the fabric of well-worn faded blue jeans. The bright blue orbs that accented Bulma's equally celestial cerulean tresses shot around the room for a moment, landing briefly on the thin white drapes being blown in by a soft gust of wind that danced around the room. Managing to tare her eyes away from the sheer cloth that spun around with the wind in a ballet of leisure movements, Bulma allowed them to land on her psychiatrist, Akira. There she sat, the richest and most brilliant woman of her time, with a marriage that had blessed her with two lovely children, each of them in her image one way or another. She dared not call her marriage a happy one. Did happily women think so much about life before they were married, and did their husbands leave them for months on end? But then again, were happily married women found in the matrimonial ecstasy with an alien prince as a companion?
"I had another fight with Vegeta this week."
A sympathetic look crossed Akira's soft emerald eyes. "Oh sweetie, what about this time?" Making patients feel comfortable was key, and she had a way of making Bulma forget the rank divergence between them.
Bulma tucked a strand of her blue hair behind her ear, the gold hoops hanging from her lobes catching a glimpse of the setting sun of Satan City, a shine emitted from them. She then sighed heavily, her willowy body frame rising up with the breath and then down again as she let it out slowly. "He's been away for a while...taking off just like that, without warning or care."
Akira placed a hand under her own chin, propping it up on the knee of her crossed right leg. "Uh huh, like before."
"Yes. Like before..."
"So then why does this bother you now...?"
Once more the spinning fabric of the drapes were the most interesting thing in the room. "We fought... horribly." Admitted Bulma in a tone so low, it seemed to drown right into the stillness of the room. "I told him to leave, and never return."
"What about the children?"
Bulma took that moment to wrap her arms around her own knees, pulling them up to her round chest. She leaned down, mashing her breast to her upper legs, her head resting on top of her knees with fountains of her hair running down her jeans like rivers. "I didn't think about that at the moment. I just wanted him out. I couldn't stand to see him anymore. I just..." a long weathering sigh. "-had to get away from him..."
Akira could see the pain written along every line of her patient's face, no matter how faint the line was. It was still there, as was the anguish drifting in the ocean of her eyes. "And then...?"
Bulma felt the tears threatening to rise up into her throat and out of her eyes, the cry that had gone unaided for days, even weeks, consecutively. She bit them back, her own blood flowing in the walls of her mouth; she swallowed it down just like so many other repressed feelings. "He left. Just like that. No second words, no kiss good-bye. Just the sound of the door slamming in the empty house." Sobs choked Bulma back from speaking once again. "Aki...why?"
"Honey, you told him to leave, he probably didn't want to upset you anymore." She offered Bulma a weak, modest smile, trying not to give her the impression that Bulma's suffering pleased her. Her efforts were rewarded by a turn of the head, and tears of regret flowing faster down not only her patient's but her friend's face. "But he's come back before, he'll come around again. I know it."
"Aki-Chan, I can't be so sure anymore. I've tried to tell myself the same thing over and over again." Bulma's voice wavered ever so slightly. "It's just for tonight, he'll be back tomorrow." Her fingers took the pillow and yanked at a fist full of its material. "That was a week ago...."
There was a trivial confusion in Akira's demeanor, she was reading something Bulma that was absolutely new to her. "You're scared...??"
And her statement was confirmed when Bulma snapped her head up, her large blue eyes pooling over with tears glancing up at her, pleading for deliverance. "TO DEATH! AKI I MIGHT LOSE HIM!"
In attempt to calm her friend down, Akira reached one of her bare arms over the table separating them and patted Bulma's head softly, sending love through each inch of her touch. "Bulma, don't be." Akira shook her head, her short raven hair reflecting the almost set sun in each strand. "You're stronger than this. I know you are. And in his own sick twisted way, the man must love you."
The insecurity of the matter irked Bulma, like a toothpick picking at the back of her brain, demanding attention. "I just hope so, but it's hard to know. He's changed me...I feel like when I'm around him, I'm a different person."
Now they were getting somewhere. "What do you mean sweetie, you mean that you feel as if you have to be different?"
To reply, Bulma gave a shaking motion to her head, still leaning on the comfort of her knees. "No, he just... makes me act different, for some reason. And I don't mind it, half of the time I don't realize it."
Akira pulled her hand away, noticing that her friend had calmed down somewhat. "Ah..." She muttered softly and jotted something down on her pale yellow notepad with her black felt pen.
"You know what?!" Bulma spontaneously lifted her head up from her hard knees, glimpsing at her raven-haired confidant. "I don't know how I've been dealing with this were it not for..." Her voice faded for a minute, never quite returning.
"Darling....?" Akira removed her eyes from her own painstaking handwriting. "Come again?"
A small finger ran patterns down the denim of the jeans, drawing imaginary figures along the contours of the out of textile out of sheer nerves. "I said that I don't know how I would have dealt with this, were it not for...someone special."
Akira smiled noticeably. "Who is it?" She could just tell, the second Bulma began to talk about this 'special someone' her eyes started to lift, her entire aura started to clear from the negativity. Whoever this person was, they were lifting Bulma up higher from the depression that was screaming her name. "Have you talked about the person here with me before?"
"I might have...I don't even remember now." Followed by a nervous chuckle.
"Why don't you just tell me a name, I might be able to help you remember." Akira could tell that all of this was hard on her brilliant companion.
A long, hollow sigh filled the room, taking over and enveloping all of the silence around them. "My best friend."
"Which one?"
"He's been wonderful...he understands me." Bulma let out a content sigh, smiling ever so slightly.
Akira nodded. 'So it's a he.' That was evident now by both Bulma's words and her actions. "Don't I get a name?"
"Aki...he's I've never felt this way around him, he just knows exactly how to say things so that I never cry again." She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "He holds me and I know everything's going to be ok."
"He is...."
A smile as bright as the sun itself reflected Bulma's emotions, locked down so deep inside of her and no one had the key. Or at least now, Akira was beginning to think that there might be one person, this friend of hers. "Goku."
Akira dropped her pen to the floor with an empty clatter. She couldn't believe her hears.
~*~
"I'm hoooome!"
Bulma called from the doorway the only thing coming back to greet her was the echo of her own voice. She shook her head, taking small steps in through the white Plaster-of-Paris doorway. Her black suitcase was sent to the floor while she walked in fully, slamming her keys down on a white end table with a loud metallic 'clank'. The blue-haired maiden glanced around her home; everything was in perfect order, just as how she had left it. She sighed; by the stillness and appearance of things neither of her children were home, which could be very good, or very bad. They were leaving her alone, in a 10-bedroom home, could that really be healthy?
Bulma glanced all around; none of the lights were on in the house, not even the ones in their extremely dark living room. A click of her teeth, they could have at least turned a few of them on. She walked around for a moment, contemplating the thought as to whether or not she should turn to artificial illumination in the house, or leave it up to the soft glow of nightfall to be her conductor. The conclusion was simple, with her body aching in places she didn't even know possible, it would be best just to relax with some wine and let the troubles just flow again. If worse came to worse, she knew for a fact that she kept candles in almost ever room of the house hidden somewhere.
With her mind made up and her jacket tossed carelessly onto the arm of the couch, Bulma worked her way into the kitchen, coming to a halt at a hefty wooden cabinet. Her hands scooped up to open the door, revealing bottles and bottles of wine, some worth hundreds, even thousands. Blue eyes met the Princess-Crystal clock hanging over the window of the kitchen, 7 o'clock. Time for dinner would roll around soon enough. Again, dinner for one, wine for five.
"......."
Bulma didn't even know what to think, as if it were an art long forgotten how to perform. The only thing she could do standing there was watch as the rich velvet liquor cascaded down into the semiprecious stone goblet her fingers steadied at the counter below. It ran like ruby blood, gems in the sun, the liquid embodiment of sin. Bringing it up to her lips, savoring the texture, taste and smell, her body began to loosen, to calm. This was her version of paradise. She turned to bring the cup with her to the kitchen table, to sit and deliberate as the dim light of the twilight pored in the open window, running wild on everything solid in the confinement of the kitchen.
"Don't drink so much."
Her body violently shook in response, tight hold on the goblet releasing adequately sending it to the crashing abyss of the white tile beneath her feet. A pile of reddish-purple cut stone forming at her feet; Bulma took a few steps back.
"Who's there?!"
She turned and turned around again, looking desperately for the source of the voice. Rewarded for her searching were her eyes when she finally set them down on a figure in the shadows, arrogantly covered in a blanket of plentiful obscurity. Her mind cursed at her, this, her mind told her, was what she got for leaving all of the lights off in the house, resorting to the light of nature to guide her and giving yield to her plea of laziness.
The figure took a step closer. "Are you alright?"
Bulma's eyes shot wide and her mouth opened long enough for her to scream. "VEGETA?!" At that very second, her knees started to cave in under her, she felt faint as the ground came up to kiss her. It was just like that supercilious bastard to come and pay her the fright of her life, after nearly a week of his disappearance.
"Mom!" The individual rushed towards Bulma's falling body and into the light. A lavender flash was al that Bulma made out before she shut her eyes slowly, a lavender blur of motion. Trunks swept his mother into his arms as fast as he could, before she hit the floor and injured herself. "Mom, what's the matter? What's going on?"
Weakly, Bulma fluttered her eyes open, glimpsing up into the interminable marine of her son's eyes, so blue...so incessant...yet so much like his father. "Trunks....." Once more she was at a loss for words and voice, she could do nothing but stare at him, drinking in his image.
Trunks Briefs, he was her son, her joy, her pride. He hovered over her at a surprising 6 foot 3, locks of her once lavender hair had been passed down to him, her eyes glared back at her from his face. That face, the face of his father. So set in handsome determination, for he was her shining 22- year-old prince. Trunks' body was prone in muscles tightly packed under his black fighting shirt. His body could rival the one of a god; the thought then dawned on Bulma as to why she had confused him for Vegeta. Still, she could not stop shaking. At times like this, he was her savior when no one else was around, the bond of a son and a mother.
"I'm here mom, right here." He tightened his hold on his mother's body, out of fear that she would ultimately hit the floor. She was pressed closer to his muscular chest, Bulma took in his sent as he held and spoke to her, just like his father right down to the smell. His heart beat steadily against her ear, he opened his mouth to speak, "What's wrong?"
Bulma brought her hand to her own beating heart, it sounded like a hammer on delicate glass and she wondered, could he hear it too? It seemed to her that even the gods could hear her distress. "You...scared me."
The youth expressed his amusement gracefully, trying his best to make light of the situation. "Obviously, but my question is why? You ok?" He knew damn well what was bothering her, she had been like that for a week, Trunks was just trying to see if still they had made no progress. His arms came undone from around his mother's frail frame, giving her the opportunity to stand. Trunks watched her every move, she took hold of the edge of the Blair-wood table, her legs wobbling, and stood with support.
"I thought you were-"
"-Don't worry, I'm not."
"But you-"
"I know, it's not my fault I can't help the resemblance." Trunks looked at her apologetically. That arrogant shit he was forced to call father really had done a number on his precious mother. He had her all shot up in nerves and he was so damn far away...
Bulma returned her nicely rounded bottom to the comfort of the padded chair; the wine remains residing still a few inches from her presence.
"You can't keep letting him do this to you." Trunks growled, bending down to pick up the filtrate that had once been a taste of his mother's favorite wine. "He can't control you this way!"
"I can't help it Trunks. I've bonded with him, if he's not around, I hurt."
"Blasted Saiyans...." She heard him curse under his breath, his hands working on the shattered glass, skillfully avoiding damaging his hands. "Fucking bonds..."
"Gomen nasai." Her voice was flat, lifeless.
Trunks shot up, frustrated. "It's not your fault, he's the one that has done this to you. He's the one that ruined you!"
Bulma's eyes changed color, darkening noticeably. "Part of it is my fault as well, he can't take all of the blame."
"And neither can you!"
"He'll come back-"
"It's better if he never does!"
"I need him-"
"That's what he wants you to think!"
"Dammit Trunks!"
"NANI?!" By then they were both shaking, anger raging through both of the blood that ran through their viens.
"Stop doing that!"
Trunks walked up to his mother, knelt, and glared at her dead into her azure eyes. "Stop what?" His tone began to lower. "Stop telling you the truth?" He reached out to touch her, but just like she would have reacted to Vegeta, she pulled away, backing into the hardness of the chair at her behind. "I'm just doing this for you own good."
She didn't reply, neither in motions neither in words.
"Don't you see? He's just ruining your life." Trunks shook his head, a lavender shine. "Open you eyes mom!"
Bulma's eyes began to water, the hurt, the accusations, all of them gradually yet effectively accumulating inside of her. "No." Her voice broke, body shaking, temples sweating out her rage and sorrow.
"Then what is it, Bulma?!" Trunks was still trembling, his eyes flashing between the tints of blue and green. It was evident now to them both, that his wrath was getting the best of him; the curse of Saiyan men. His voice was nothing like his normal one and he had now dared to call her by her name.
His voice....that voice....she remembered it well....no...but it was just so angry...couldn't be...was it? No....she was going crazy...he sounded just like...but was he....?
Her eyes widened, remembrance slicing down at her mind like a sharpened knife moving in for the kill, softly murdering her spirit. "Oh will you just stop it Trunks!" The plea came out in a hoarse cry. Bulma drove her hands into his chest, pounding, wanting to rip him to shreds and just take out all of her resentment on him.
He narrowed his eyes, her poundings not nearly causing as much of a nuisance as she had originally hoped for. "Why?" This time he hissed.
Suddenly her eyes dimmed completely, the only color left in them was the slightest trace of sky blue. "You're killing me..."
Then she flung willingly into his arms, as lifeless as a rag doll.
~*~
So how was it? What do you ppl think? Continue? Stop? Good? Bad? Please lemme know, show meeh some of that luv! ^_^