Beautiful
The First Song in the /Anthology/
A TrunksxGoten Songfic Set to /Beautiful/, by Creed
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Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z. I hope this is rather obvious. I do not own /Beautiful/ or Creed. I hope this is likewise obvious. I am using both without permission. I am making no profit of any form.
Warnings and notes: This piece is a songfic. The lyrics are /Beautiful/, by Creed (from their CD /Human Clay/), and are changed to reflect subject as male (she -- he). This is the first part of the /Anthology/ series. It contains angst, yaoi, explicit language, the naming of sexual actions, and generally dark subjects. You have been warned. I appreciate reviews (here or sent to swiftskyes@hotmail.com), be they critiques or a general good/bad word. Enjoy.
Also: Well, I had a lot of requests for a sequel to Beautiful when it was first posted, ages and ages ago. I promised someone that if I had the songs, inspiration, and time that I needed, I would finish the story. I found the songs, I found the inspiration, I made the time, and here's the result. It's a four part series and I'll be posting one each Wednesday.
Begun April 22, 2001
Completed June 22, 2001
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Trunks
Trunks
Trunks
Trunks
Trunks
Just typing his name is some kind of perverse thrill for me. I really shouldn't be writing like this, it's not safe, but… I could say I was bored, saw my laptop where it was shoved by some unpacked crates, and just started typing. But that's not quite true. I've been thinking about this for a while and this time I wasn't able to stop myself. I was alone in my apartment, unpacking and listening to some album. The track switched and the music went from coarse to deep, sweet but cutting and with a heavy base, the kind of music that I guess I like. That song is still on. Next thing I knew I had the laptop open and a document up before it had registered in my brain. I sat here, on my unmade bed, and stared at the screen for a while. Then I finally surrendered and put my hands to the keyboard. I don't know why I'm writing or who I'm writing to or where it'll go, but maybe this will help me move on. Maybe if I say it here then I can get him out of my mind. Unlikely… But I'm gonna write anyways so I might as well make up an excuse for it.
I don't know where to start. I guess his name's as good of a place as any … it's been the most recent focus of my obsessions.
Trunks.
//He wears a coat of color
Loved by some, feared by others
He's immortalized in young men's eyes
Lust he breeds in the eyes of brothers
Violent sons make bitter mothers
So close your eyes, here's your surprise//
I suppose that not many earthlings know who he is. They do know what he's done, though. Mirai Trunks killed Freezer … that happened before I was born. He also came back from the future to fight the androids and he battled Cell. The Trunks of this timeline is a martial-artist too. We fought Boo together, him and me. We fused into Gotenks and kicked ass before we were absorbed. He gave all he could to the Genkidama that my dad used to kill Boo. Without him, Mirai or the one now, Earth may not be the way it is today. But that was when we were little, when we were kids. He's different now. Radically different. The years changed everyone, but they changed him most of all.
Trunks is beautiful. Dad says that he looks just like the Trunks that came from the future. He has human hair, lavender not black like the other saiya-jin. He wears it the same way he did when we were kids, with his bangs always in danger of falling into his eyes. Time has made him lose his juvenile childishness and made his eyes hard blue ice, but he grew to be extraordinary. His muscles are compact, like his father's, and his hair is even silkier than his mother's used to be. He's stunning and graceful, and still stronger than I am. His words are always planned and perfect, his voice is rich and sounds so calming … except when he yells. He doesn't do that much, anymore, but when he does you can hear his father in his voice.
People may not know him as a warrior, but he's by no means anonymous. Back home you either know him, if you're lucky, or you know of him. Most people see him as an immortal god, a few hate him. Wherever he goes they follow him and when he enters a room it suddenly becomes very quiet. There's this air around him, so expectant and heavy that it's hard to breathe. Like foreplay - waiting, always waiting, thick with tension. And I'm not the only one who noticed how beautiful he is. They all want him in some way or another … want to be him, want to fuck him. He's always surrounded by girls rabidly vying for his attention. But for someone as attractive, intelligent, and rich as him I guess that's to be expected… Honestly the girls have never really bothered me. The guys, they bother me. One of Trunks' most exceptional traits is his ability to attract males. Even the ones that declare they're straight, long iron pole up the ass straight, he gets to them. He exudes sex and he's as pretty as hell… The girls crave him, the gays desire him, the heterosexual males want to jump his bones.
We were never a couple. We're both bisexual, in theory it could have worked. But he never forms relationships. It's not his style. Regardless, the really funny thing is I was never mad at him, no. I was only jealous, so covetous I had to restrain myself whenever someone even looked at him. I wasn't always completely successful, but at least I never left anyone dead. Small blessings, I guess. Others have the same urges. It goes like this: he enters the room and we all gawk and worship, he leaves and we challenge each other for the right to his love and attention. Always the same.
But once upon a time he was my best friend, and I was probably with him more than anyone. I'm special. I know Trunks … beautiful perfect wonderful person that he is. I know him better than the rest. In so many ways. He's not like they think he is, not what I first believed him to be. I wish I had never found out, that I had remained blissfully deceived, but it's too late now. I'm no better off for my knowledge. It sounds melodramatic, yeah, but what I know haunts me. It prevents me from sleeping and it's always occupying the corner of my mind. I'm writing because it's a hope, albeit a small and pathetic one. My only chance for salvation. If you have a song stuck in your head then sing it, if you have a secret lodged in your brain then tell it.
//The beautiful is empty
Beautiful is free
Beautiful loves no one
Beautiful stripped me
Stripped me
Stripped me
He stripped me//
He wears this exterior, the faultless one that everyone sees, all the time. He hasn't ever taken it off, not since we hit adolescence. It's sculpted with care, every piece exact to the smallest nuance. So free of fault but very, very cold. Lifeless. He's beautifully sexy and rich, above us all and so enigmatic, unattainable, omnipotent, seamless and wonderful. We idolize him, make him into a god and put him on a pedestal that he stands on with pride because it's where he belongs. Maybe there're some that can recognize this full body protective shell for what it is - only I've seen beneath it. Only I've stripped away his flawless coverings.
I guess I expected to see my childhood friend. A little 8-year-old Trunks hidden and buried, struggling to get out. If that's what I had found, I think it would have been ok. Not good, you know, but better. There would have been hope. But fucking-Lord-God-Almighty, was my bubble burst. No innocence there. Not a shred, not a single decaying cell.
So… Anxious yet? Sitting on the edge of your seat and reading quick? Waiting for me to spit it out? Expecting the big surprise, the gasp? Ready to stare? Well grip the chair and bite your lip. Read on.
Here's my secret.
What's beneath Trunks' shell?
Nothing.
That's it. That's all there is. I did it - ripped away his covering, tore off his skin, peered beneath. An empty void was all I saw. There's nothing there, nothing at all. He's empty. Completely empty. I've been through a lot in my life. I've fought in battles, I've suffered in ways you can't imagine, I've died. But never once was there a terror and pain quite like finding out my one friend has no soul.
But something makes me pause… It makes him so free. He's empty, untroubled, uncaring. He holds no love for a single being. He's removed from us. He's his own separate, distinguished universe. Virtually impermeable. Shielded, safe. When the shock and the fear faded, I noticed just how great of a blessing soullessness can be. Is that his reason? Probably. I don't know. It would be mine.
Now, I should tell the story of how I found out. When I did it, why I was able to. And what it did to me. 'Cause he changed me. He drove me from my home to self-imposed exile, showed me who I am, scared the shit out of me. He took me down to my bones and bared my heart, stripped me the same way I stripped him.
//In your mind he's your companion
Vile instincts often candid
Your regret is all that's left//
I always thought he was my friend… Fucking stupid mistake, I know that now. He doesn't do friends the same way he doesn't do relationships. That rule formed when he was about 15, maybe a little younger. There was a gradual change - slow, careful, dramatic. Permanent. Step by backwards step he removed himself from humanity. And I, of course, didn't notice until it was too late. So much for being friends.
What exactly does friendship mean anyway? Confidence, companionship, care? Simple love and kindness? Hmm. It's a hard question, and a pointless one at that. All that matters is that I pretended we were friends. Best friends. I believed it was true, would have sworn my life on it.
My connection to him changed me in every possible aspect. I wanted his attention and approval, so I molded myself to his liking. Dressed to please him, spoke the words he wanted to hear, helped him. I'm watching the computer screen as I type and my thoughts, appearing in jolts, look pathetic. Kami-sama, I was. I obeyed his every whim. And when he didn't like something - he never hesitated to say so when that was the case - I scurried to do good. It screwed me over, it really did. I lost myself to him, lost my dignity and self-respect. And I truly, passionately loved what I had become: his whipping boy, his pet, his toy, his slave.
And then for one day, I became his lover.
That was what changed everything. He hadn't planned for it, and from real, true, hardcore sex he has no protection. It ruined us both, but in very different ways. It exposed him, temporarily destroying the shield that is his life. And it showed me what my life had become, terrified me, drove me here. It ripped away my only semblance of a life - Trunks - and left me in a city I don't know, sitting in a room that's not mine on a bed I've only slept in a handful of times. Alone with my laptop and my regrets.
//The beautiful is empty
Beautiful is free
Beautiful loves no one
Beautiful stripped me
Stripped me
Stripped me
He stripped me //
I loved him, you see. I've loved him all my life. When we were little, I looked up to him and trusted him implicitly. It, the fixation, grew as I did, and when sex entered my life… Sure, I've looked at others, lusted over some and slept with almost as many, but he was the center from the beginning and will be there 'til the end. But no love is selfless. I did a lot for him, more than I should have, but I demanded my return.
Did I mention we're both bi? Well, we are. But there was one major difference between us, sexually. He only flirted and did the light stuff. He was a virgin, until me. I wasn't. I made myself perfect for him with one exception: I needed sex. I live in the moment, always have. I wanted him desperately, got hard when I even thought of him, and my only solution was to turn to others for release. A substitute of sorts. I was no slut, but I had my share of one night stands. Meanwhile, I waited for him with all the patience I could manage, thinking he would come to me someday. That lasted for years. Felt like centuries. Finally, I lost it. The time got too long and I got too desperate. I took a risk. I hunted him down and … and had my way with him.
I realize I sound as if I never noticed the shield he wears. That's not the case. I never forgot or overlooked it - I just didn't care. As I saw it, the mask hid something even better, something I wanted to see. And that mask, it was beautiful. Perfect, divine. I wanted him, ok? Shell or no shell, I wanted him. Eventually I took what I wanted.
We had flirted with each other our whole lives. I pushed it beyond the bounds of flirting. Cornered him at his house, where I knew we would be alone, and kissed him. Not our first but definitely of a different kind. He never once resisted me. Not when I dragged him to his room, not when I ripped off his clothes. I barely even prepped him for his first time and still he didn't complain. I fucked him good. What a time… We did it in each and every way I could think of, and I was sore across my whole body for days. It fulfilled just about all of my dreams. A teenage saiya-jin can go at it for hours, longer than anyone but a saiya-jin would believe, and there was no holding back. There's really nothing like doing it all with someone like Trunks. Him on his back, on his stomach, on all fours, standing, leaning over the desk, over my lap, a 69er, the standard blow job and hand job, everything. And no need for protection … I know I'm clean and he sure as hell is. Shit, it was amazing. Just writing about it is enough to get me off.
One small thing bothered me, though. This … lifelessness. He came, hell yeah, more than I did. He showed emotion, even acted of his own accord. But there was something empty about him. Something absent from his crystalline eyes. I didn't pay much attention at the time. It turned out to haunt me - that emptiness was the first clue.
It didn't hit me until I woke up. When we ran out of ideas, energy, and semen we collapsed on his bed and fell asleep. More like passed out, actually. When I came to he was still sleeping. I rolled over to watch that beautiful face of his and that was when I saw it. In his slumber the mask was gone. Maybe it's never there when he sleeps, or maybe he was just too exhausted. Whatever the reason it let me see, in clear mind, the true him I had wanted to see for so long. Completely naked and exposed to me, in every sense. But there was nothing to see. I recognized it then. The emptiness I had felt and his blank eyes, the pure lack of expression that was on his face as he slept … that was what was beneath the shell. I had only one thought: soulless. It ran through my head at a dizzying speed.
I scrambled out of bed, tripping on the sheets. Rushed into his shower and rinsed under the freezing cold water, mind as numb as my skin. Moments later I was pulling on my pants and buttoning up my shirt, wet hair dripping water down my neck. I was out his window and flying to my house just over five minutes after waking, leaving him asleep with his face dead and unchanging.
I made it to my room and then I lost it. Compete breakdown. I didn't even reach my bed or chair - I fell to my knees on the floor, hands spread on the carpet to support me, and cried. Raw, dry sobs and stinging tears. I hyperventilated, fingers clutching desperately at the low, tight weave of the carpet. Everything I should have recognized, should have known, should have seen, it came crashing into my brain at once. The impact was harder than one of my father's best moves, it sent me reeling. A landslide of shame and pity, fear and sorrow smothered me and made me choke. And all the while I was so very quiet. No one heard, no one came to my side.
Eventually I calmed down. My pulsing blood slowed, my eyes dried, my body stopped shaking. I knew - I thought I knew - what I needed to do, as I pushed myself to my feet and wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. I had to get out. Inadvertently he had shown me just how pathetic I was, and I was convinced that there was nothing for me there.
I just needed to see him one more time.
//He told me where I'm going
And it's far away from home
I think I'll go there on my own
I think I'll go there on my own//
I waited until a few days had passed, when I was ready. I knew I had to be prepared and careful - he always gets his way. I avoided him at school and skipped the classes we had together. Waited until I knew he would be alone at his place. I cornered him again, like some ironic repetition of the time we had sex. I remember recognizing the symmetry as I opened my mouth - to talk to him this time, not kiss him. I remember it all.
"I'm leaving." My voice was too steady for my emotions and for some reason I met his gaze without wavering.
His eyes narrowed at me. "Why?" he asked.
"Because I can't do this any more. I've done to -"
Then he interrupted me with, "Can't do what?" in a tone that was demanding. I'd never noticed just how controlling his voice alone was, not until then.
I glanced at my hand, pressed against the wall. "I've lost myself to you. And you're not even alive enough to accept it. I love you, Trunks." His name, lacking any suffix, came from my mouth bitterly. "I love you, but I need to get out of here." Each phrase flowed smoothly, controlled, refusing to reflect the fear in my soul. But that fear, rising in my throat like bile, felt good. It was a reminder that I had a soul, even if he didn't.
"Goten…" his voice was suddenly soft, comforting. "If you need to, then leave. With my blessing. I don't want to see you go, but do what you think is right." He was trying to calm me and coerce me into staying, all this the rolling tone of his voice. For the first time I was facing him with an undeceived mind and I could read every subtle trick, every minute manipulation in his soothing tone and the way he demurely adjusted his shirt collar. I've always liked that shirt, a midnight black one that sets off his eyes and hair.
I had made up my mind, though. I wanted desperately, so desperately, to break down, apologize, let him kiss me sweetly, and return to my position as personal slave. If I had to do it all over again, I know I would relent. But instead of falling into his arms, I swallowed and forced myself to turn and meet his eyes.
"It's not gonna work on me, Trunks. Not this time." I paused, and then more words slipped from my mouth unasked. "I would pity you, if there was something there to pity. But there's not, so I won't. I love you … always have. Goodbye." I paced forward, across the living room, and kissed him - no real contact, just a light brush. But his mouth opened to mine and we made out again. Heavy, wet. The only goodbye he ever gave me.
//He told me where I'm going
And it's far away from home
I think I'll go there on my own
I think I'll go there on my own//
I didn't have any plans. To be completely honest, all I knew was that I wanted to get out of there immediately. Just switching schools or dropping out wouldn't have been enough, 'cause we saw each other too much. With fathers like ours … they're constantly together, training I'm sure, so Trunks and I got shoved together as well. That wouldn't have changed if I had stayed, no matter what I tried. Skipping town was my only option.
I packed my bags that same night. Everything I thought I would need got packed into the boxes I had picked up on my way home from Trunks' house. Put just about my entire room into cardboard crates. Those crates are still littering my apartment. In all of my life so far, those were some of the most depressing moments. For the first time, my actions hit me - I knew what I was going to do. But somehow, amidst the pausing and panicking, I got it done.
Then I told my parents. My mom … we're not really that close, as it's hard to be close to someone who's constantly comparing you to your brother, but she wasn't pleased with me dropping out and moving. My dad I trusted. He didn't ask questions, he just shut Mom up and got my stuff shipped. I don't remember how I found this place, but the words "Son Goku's boy," whispered in the right ears can have a huge effect. It's a good place. Quiet, lonely, nowhere near my parents' house and even further from Trunks'. The neighborhood is nice and there's no one around to bother me.
That's the story. I've been here for just about a week. I'm enrolling in the local community college, starting classes some time in the month. I have some money saved up and a few interviews in the next few weeks. It's like some lame voyage of self-discovery, the kind of things physiatrists write self-help books about. That's all my pathetic life had been reduced to. Me, alone in this alien city, trying to rediscover my personality and myself.
//He told me where I'm going
And it's far away from home
I think I'll go there on my own
I think I'll go there on my own//
The only person to contact me since I got here was my dad, who called just to check up on me. Other than that, I've basically been on my own. I have this perfect opportunity here: plenty of uninterrupted time to myself, no distractions, quiet, resources, everything I could possibly need to enable me to go through the whole rediscovery thing. It could be just what I require. I can solve all my problems now.
But for every second of the weeks I've been here, Trunks has been the center of my attention. I've removed myself, got as far away as I could manage, but he continues to dominate me. I haven't heard much about him since I moved, just a few sentences at most, but he won't leave me alone. I just don't know how to live without him. He was everything I knew and I lived my life for him. I still do, even although he's not here with me. All I ever do is think of him.
You wouldn't believe the theories I've come up with. Thousands of explanations for how he became what he is. Reasons for why. There's this one that I've expanded and refined. It may actually be true. A possible, even probable explanation. I've looked at the situation in each and every way, and it's the best I've been able to come up with.
Trunks had a lot to live up to, born and raised in the shadow of Mirai Trunks and as the son of Bulma Briefs, achieved scientist, and Vegeta, the saiya-no-ouji. When adolescence hit and he became even more dependant on the opinions of others he was forced into taking an extreme action. He created the shell to impress others and protect himself. It worked wonderfully, perfectly. Too well. Everyone loved that shell, so he continued to use it. Eventually it corroded the person hidden beneath, slowly devoured him and then destroyed him. It took the place he had left and it became him. The young Trunks I knew existed no longer, and in his place stood a mask that I loved and worshipped, that I sacrificed myself to serve.
I find that the more I think about it, the more I pity him. The transformation was out of his control. My compassion exceeds to a dangerous level. Sometimes, I feel guilty. Guilty about what I said and guilty for leaving. At the beginning of this I mentioned that writing about Trunks was unsafe - this is why. When I think about him I feel guilty and when I feel guilty I want to go back.
//The beautiful is empty
Beautiful is free
Beautiful loves no one
Beautiful stripped me
Stripped me
Stripped me
He stripped me//
I'm lonely. I miss Trunks desperately. I want to go back to him. I fear that what I did was wrong.
But I'm also afraid. Anyone who had seen what I saw and knew what I know would be. My fear and my pride stop me from going back. I took a big step, leaving the way I did, and I can't return without being completely humiliated. More importantly, I did it for a reason. I was terrified. I don't want to go through that again, ever. But in the face of my loneliness and longing, I can feel my reservations breaking down more with each passing day.
I have this fantasy that I can change him. That I can fill the void where his soul should be and, suddenly, miraculously, everything will be perfect again. I know it's crazy - delusional - but I keep coming back to it. If I am capable of helping him I have my reason for returning home, the perfect excuse for going back. Kami-sama, I want to go back to him. I can't put into words how badly I wish I had never left.
I know just what would happen if I went back. I know action for action what Trunks had been up to since I left, exactly what he's doing as I type these words, and I know how it would be if I returned. In the end, things always, always turn out right for him. I know. I've known him my whole life.
It would be the same as always, as if nothing had ever happened between us. I wouldn't say anything and neither would he. As easily as if I had never left, I would slip back into my place. My safe, comfortable, happy, established place. The others around us would wonder what had been wrong and they would question me. When I gave them a lie they would accept it. Soon, we would all forget anything had happened at all - the activity between Trunks and myself, my discovery, my leaving, it would all become a far-off memory. A dream. But at night, in my sleep, the vengeful ghost of what I know would haunt me.
I would be happy and they would be happy and Trunks would be Trunks.
I have no connection to this place. It's tailored to my needs, yes, custom made for me. But I have no love for it, no emotion whatsoever. Without Trunks it is lifeless. All that keeps me here is Trunks, repelling and attracting me at the same time and leaving me in indecisive suspended limbo. I know - I think - I should stay. But I'm guilty. I miss him. I want to return. But I'm afraid. If I could fix it, I would run home. I would leave this place immediately.
I wish I could hear his voice. I wish I had the courage to call. Face all the possible problems, all the dangers. I wish I could talk to him. The phone is so close and so unsafe. It's even more dangerous than this laptop and this writing. I know his number by heart.
I
I
I
I'm gonna stop wishing.
//He stripped me
Stripped me//
Ringing.
"Hello."
"Trunks? Hey … it's Goten."
A pause.
"Trunks?"
"Goten."
A nervous laugh. "Hey. I was just thinking about you, so I decided to call. Just to say hi. I guess. How've things been?"
"It's different without you here."
"Well…" A cough. A pause. "Aw, shit. I miss you Trunks. I really do."
"I miss you too."
"I'm thinking about coming home."
"What's stopping you?"
A long pause. "I don't know. You are."
"But I want you to -"
"I know. I know. But when … after we…" A sigh. "Shimatta! There's something wrong, Trunks. Something wrong with you and with me. I want to come back, but I know it'll all go back to the way it was… I can't do that."
"What's wrong? Tell me, Goten."
"You're … you're not alive, Trunks, and it kills me too. You're missing life. Your missing a … a soul, and you take away mine. It just doesn't work and I can't do it anymore."
"Then fix it."
"Huh?"
"It there's something wrong, then correct it."
"I can't do that…"
"Please."
"You're the only one who can…"
"Please, Goten."
Silence.
" 'Ten…"
A pause. A stifled moan. "And if it doesn't work?"
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll have me, and be happy, and I'll be no worse off. Come home, Goten."
"I love you."
"I know."
"Can you find me?"
"Yes … I've been tracking your ki since you left."
"Come and help me pack?"
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
A click.
"Trunks…"
The First Song in the /Anthology/
A TrunksxGoten Songfic Set to /Beautiful/, by Creed
- - -
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z. I hope this is rather obvious. I do not own /Beautiful/ or Creed. I hope this is likewise obvious. I am using both without permission. I am making no profit of any form.
Warnings and notes: This piece is a songfic. The lyrics are /Beautiful/, by Creed (from their CD /Human Clay/), and are changed to reflect subject as male (she -- he). This is the first part of the /Anthology/ series. It contains angst, yaoi, explicit language, the naming of sexual actions, and generally dark subjects. You have been warned. I appreciate reviews (here or sent to swiftskyes@hotmail.com), be they critiques or a general good/bad word. Enjoy.
Also: Well, I had a lot of requests for a sequel to Beautiful when it was first posted, ages and ages ago. I promised someone that if I had the songs, inspiration, and time that I needed, I would finish the story. I found the songs, I found the inspiration, I made the time, and here's the result. It's a four part series and I'll be posting one each Wednesday.
Begun April 22, 2001
Completed June 22, 2001
- - -
Trunks
Trunks
Trunks
Trunks
Trunks
Just typing his name is some kind of perverse thrill for me. I really shouldn't be writing like this, it's not safe, but… I could say I was bored, saw my laptop where it was shoved by some unpacked crates, and just started typing. But that's not quite true. I've been thinking about this for a while and this time I wasn't able to stop myself. I was alone in my apartment, unpacking and listening to some album. The track switched and the music went from coarse to deep, sweet but cutting and with a heavy base, the kind of music that I guess I like. That song is still on. Next thing I knew I had the laptop open and a document up before it had registered in my brain. I sat here, on my unmade bed, and stared at the screen for a while. Then I finally surrendered and put my hands to the keyboard. I don't know why I'm writing or who I'm writing to or where it'll go, but maybe this will help me move on. Maybe if I say it here then I can get him out of my mind. Unlikely… But I'm gonna write anyways so I might as well make up an excuse for it.
I don't know where to start. I guess his name's as good of a place as any … it's been the most recent focus of my obsessions.
Trunks.
//He wears a coat of color
Loved by some, feared by others
He's immortalized in young men's eyes
Lust he breeds in the eyes of brothers
Violent sons make bitter mothers
So close your eyes, here's your surprise//
I suppose that not many earthlings know who he is. They do know what he's done, though. Mirai Trunks killed Freezer … that happened before I was born. He also came back from the future to fight the androids and he battled Cell. The Trunks of this timeline is a martial-artist too. We fought Boo together, him and me. We fused into Gotenks and kicked ass before we were absorbed. He gave all he could to the Genkidama that my dad used to kill Boo. Without him, Mirai or the one now, Earth may not be the way it is today. But that was when we were little, when we were kids. He's different now. Radically different. The years changed everyone, but they changed him most of all.
Trunks is beautiful. Dad says that he looks just like the Trunks that came from the future. He has human hair, lavender not black like the other saiya-jin. He wears it the same way he did when we were kids, with his bangs always in danger of falling into his eyes. Time has made him lose his juvenile childishness and made his eyes hard blue ice, but he grew to be extraordinary. His muscles are compact, like his father's, and his hair is even silkier than his mother's used to be. He's stunning and graceful, and still stronger than I am. His words are always planned and perfect, his voice is rich and sounds so calming … except when he yells. He doesn't do that much, anymore, but when he does you can hear his father in his voice.
People may not know him as a warrior, but he's by no means anonymous. Back home you either know him, if you're lucky, or you know of him. Most people see him as an immortal god, a few hate him. Wherever he goes they follow him and when he enters a room it suddenly becomes very quiet. There's this air around him, so expectant and heavy that it's hard to breathe. Like foreplay - waiting, always waiting, thick with tension. And I'm not the only one who noticed how beautiful he is. They all want him in some way or another … want to be him, want to fuck him. He's always surrounded by girls rabidly vying for his attention. But for someone as attractive, intelligent, and rich as him I guess that's to be expected… Honestly the girls have never really bothered me. The guys, they bother me. One of Trunks' most exceptional traits is his ability to attract males. Even the ones that declare they're straight, long iron pole up the ass straight, he gets to them. He exudes sex and he's as pretty as hell… The girls crave him, the gays desire him, the heterosexual males want to jump his bones.
We were never a couple. We're both bisexual, in theory it could have worked. But he never forms relationships. It's not his style. Regardless, the really funny thing is I was never mad at him, no. I was only jealous, so covetous I had to restrain myself whenever someone even looked at him. I wasn't always completely successful, but at least I never left anyone dead. Small blessings, I guess. Others have the same urges. It goes like this: he enters the room and we all gawk and worship, he leaves and we challenge each other for the right to his love and attention. Always the same.
But once upon a time he was my best friend, and I was probably with him more than anyone. I'm special. I know Trunks … beautiful perfect wonderful person that he is. I know him better than the rest. In so many ways. He's not like they think he is, not what I first believed him to be. I wish I had never found out, that I had remained blissfully deceived, but it's too late now. I'm no better off for my knowledge. It sounds melodramatic, yeah, but what I know haunts me. It prevents me from sleeping and it's always occupying the corner of my mind. I'm writing because it's a hope, albeit a small and pathetic one. My only chance for salvation. If you have a song stuck in your head then sing it, if you have a secret lodged in your brain then tell it.
//The beautiful is empty
Beautiful is free
Beautiful loves no one
Beautiful stripped me
Stripped me
Stripped me
He stripped me//
He wears this exterior, the faultless one that everyone sees, all the time. He hasn't ever taken it off, not since we hit adolescence. It's sculpted with care, every piece exact to the smallest nuance. So free of fault but very, very cold. Lifeless. He's beautifully sexy and rich, above us all and so enigmatic, unattainable, omnipotent, seamless and wonderful. We idolize him, make him into a god and put him on a pedestal that he stands on with pride because it's where he belongs. Maybe there're some that can recognize this full body protective shell for what it is - only I've seen beneath it. Only I've stripped away his flawless coverings.
I guess I expected to see my childhood friend. A little 8-year-old Trunks hidden and buried, struggling to get out. If that's what I had found, I think it would have been ok. Not good, you know, but better. There would have been hope. But fucking-Lord-God-Almighty, was my bubble burst. No innocence there. Not a shred, not a single decaying cell.
So… Anxious yet? Sitting on the edge of your seat and reading quick? Waiting for me to spit it out? Expecting the big surprise, the gasp? Ready to stare? Well grip the chair and bite your lip. Read on.
Here's my secret.
What's beneath Trunks' shell?
Nothing.
That's it. That's all there is. I did it - ripped away his covering, tore off his skin, peered beneath. An empty void was all I saw. There's nothing there, nothing at all. He's empty. Completely empty. I've been through a lot in my life. I've fought in battles, I've suffered in ways you can't imagine, I've died. But never once was there a terror and pain quite like finding out my one friend has no soul.
But something makes me pause… It makes him so free. He's empty, untroubled, uncaring. He holds no love for a single being. He's removed from us. He's his own separate, distinguished universe. Virtually impermeable. Shielded, safe. When the shock and the fear faded, I noticed just how great of a blessing soullessness can be. Is that his reason? Probably. I don't know. It would be mine.
Now, I should tell the story of how I found out. When I did it, why I was able to. And what it did to me. 'Cause he changed me. He drove me from my home to self-imposed exile, showed me who I am, scared the shit out of me. He took me down to my bones and bared my heart, stripped me the same way I stripped him.
//In your mind he's your companion
Vile instincts often candid
Your regret is all that's left//
I always thought he was my friend… Fucking stupid mistake, I know that now. He doesn't do friends the same way he doesn't do relationships. That rule formed when he was about 15, maybe a little younger. There was a gradual change - slow, careful, dramatic. Permanent. Step by backwards step he removed himself from humanity. And I, of course, didn't notice until it was too late. So much for being friends.
What exactly does friendship mean anyway? Confidence, companionship, care? Simple love and kindness? Hmm. It's a hard question, and a pointless one at that. All that matters is that I pretended we were friends. Best friends. I believed it was true, would have sworn my life on it.
My connection to him changed me in every possible aspect. I wanted his attention and approval, so I molded myself to his liking. Dressed to please him, spoke the words he wanted to hear, helped him. I'm watching the computer screen as I type and my thoughts, appearing in jolts, look pathetic. Kami-sama, I was. I obeyed his every whim. And when he didn't like something - he never hesitated to say so when that was the case - I scurried to do good. It screwed me over, it really did. I lost myself to him, lost my dignity and self-respect. And I truly, passionately loved what I had become: his whipping boy, his pet, his toy, his slave.
And then for one day, I became his lover.
That was what changed everything. He hadn't planned for it, and from real, true, hardcore sex he has no protection. It ruined us both, but in very different ways. It exposed him, temporarily destroying the shield that is his life. And it showed me what my life had become, terrified me, drove me here. It ripped away my only semblance of a life - Trunks - and left me in a city I don't know, sitting in a room that's not mine on a bed I've only slept in a handful of times. Alone with my laptop and my regrets.
//The beautiful is empty
Beautiful is free
Beautiful loves no one
Beautiful stripped me
Stripped me
Stripped me
He stripped me //
I loved him, you see. I've loved him all my life. When we were little, I looked up to him and trusted him implicitly. It, the fixation, grew as I did, and when sex entered my life… Sure, I've looked at others, lusted over some and slept with almost as many, but he was the center from the beginning and will be there 'til the end. But no love is selfless. I did a lot for him, more than I should have, but I demanded my return.
Did I mention we're both bi? Well, we are. But there was one major difference between us, sexually. He only flirted and did the light stuff. He was a virgin, until me. I wasn't. I made myself perfect for him with one exception: I needed sex. I live in the moment, always have. I wanted him desperately, got hard when I even thought of him, and my only solution was to turn to others for release. A substitute of sorts. I was no slut, but I had my share of one night stands. Meanwhile, I waited for him with all the patience I could manage, thinking he would come to me someday. That lasted for years. Felt like centuries. Finally, I lost it. The time got too long and I got too desperate. I took a risk. I hunted him down and … and had my way with him.
I realize I sound as if I never noticed the shield he wears. That's not the case. I never forgot or overlooked it - I just didn't care. As I saw it, the mask hid something even better, something I wanted to see. And that mask, it was beautiful. Perfect, divine. I wanted him, ok? Shell or no shell, I wanted him. Eventually I took what I wanted.
We had flirted with each other our whole lives. I pushed it beyond the bounds of flirting. Cornered him at his house, where I knew we would be alone, and kissed him. Not our first but definitely of a different kind. He never once resisted me. Not when I dragged him to his room, not when I ripped off his clothes. I barely even prepped him for his first time and still he didn't complain. I fucked him good. What a time… We did it in each and every way I could think of, and I was sore across my whole body for days. It fulfilled just about all of my dreams. A teenage saiya-jin can go at it for hours, longer than anyone but a saiya-jin would believe, and there was no holding back. There's really nothing like doing it all with someone like Trunks. Him on his back, on his stomach, on all fours, standing, leaning over the desk, over my lap, a 69er, the standard blow job and hand job, everything. And no need for protection … I know I'm clean and he sure as hell is. Shit, it was amazing. Just writing about it is enough to get me off.
One small thing bothered me, though. This … lifelessness. He came, hell yeah, more than I did. He showed emotion, even acted of his own accord. But there was something empty about him. Something absent from his crystalline eyes. I didn't pay much attention at the time. It turned out to haunt me - that emptiness was the first clue.
It didn't hit me until I woke up. When we ran out of ideas, energy, and semen we collapsed on his bed and fell asleep. More like passed out, actually. When I came to he was still sleeping. I rolled over to watch that beautiful face of his and that was when I saw it. In his slumber the mask was gone. Maybe it's never there when he sleeps, or maybe he was just too exhausted. Whatever the reason it let me see, in clear mind, the true him I had wanted to see for so long. Completely naked and exposed to me, in every sense. But there was nothing to see. I recognized it then. The emptiness I had felt and his blank eyes, the pure lack of expression that was on his face as he slept … that was what was beneath the shell. I had only one thought: soulless. It ran through my head at a dizzying speed.
I scrambled out of bed, tripping on the sheets. Rushed into his shower and rinsed under the freezing cold water, mind as numb as my skin. Moments later I was pulling on my pants and buttoning up my shirt, wet hair dripping water down my neck. I was out his window and flying to my house just over five minutes after waking, leaving him asleep with his face dead and unchanging.
I made it to my room and then I lost it. Compete breakdown. I didn't even reach my bed or chair - I fell to my knees on the floor, hands spread on the carpet to support me, and cried. Raw, dry sobs and stinging tears. I hyperventilated, fingers clutching desperately at the low, tight weave of the carpet. Everything I should have recognized, should have known, should have seen, it came crashing into my brain at once. The impact was harder than one of my father's best moves, it sent me reeling. A landslide of shame and pity, fear and sorrow smothered me and made me choke. And all the while I was so very quiet. No one heard, no one came to my side.
Eventually I calmed down. My pulsing blood slowed, my eyes dried, my body stopped shaking. I knew - I thought I knew - what I needed to do, as I pushed myself to my feet and wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. I had to get out. Inadvertently he had shown me just how pathetic I was, and I was convinced that there was nothing for me there.
I just needed to see him one more time.
//He told me where I'm going
And it's far away from home
I think I'll go there on my own
I think I'll go there on my own//
I waited until a few days had passed, when I was ready. I knew I had to be prepared and careful - he always gets his way. I avoided him at school and skipped the classes we had together. Waited until I knew he would be alone at his place. I cornered him again, like some ironic repetition of the time we had sex. I remember recognizing the symmetry as I opened my mouth - to talk to him this time, not kiss him. I remember it all.
"I'm leaving." My voice was too steady for my emotions and for some reason I met his gaze without wavering.
His eyes narrowed at me. "Why?" he asked.
"Because I can't do this any more. I've done to -"
Then he interrupted me with, "Can't do what?" in a tone that was demanding. I'd never noticed just how controlling his voice alone was, not until then.
I glanced at my hand, pressed against the wall. "I've lost myself to you. And you're not even alive enough to accept it. I love you, Trunks." His name, lacking any suffix, came from my mouth bitterly. "I love you, but I need to get out of here." Each phrase flowed smoothly, controlled, refusing to reflect the fear in my soul. But that fear, rising in my throat like bile, felt good. It was a reminder that I had a soul, even if he didn't.
"Goten…" his voice was suddenly soft, comforting. "If you need to, then leave. With my blessing. I don't want to see you go, but do what you think is right." He was trying to calm me and coerce me into staying, all this the rolling tone of his voice. For the first time I was facing him with an undeceived mind and I could read every subtle trick, every minute manipulation in his soothing tone and the way he demurely adjusted his shirt collar. I've always liked that shirt, a midnight black one that sets off his eyes and hair.
I had made up my mind, though. I wanted desperately, so desperately, to break down, apologize, let him kiss me sweetly, and return to my position as personal slave. If I had to do it all over again, I know I would relent. But instead of falling into his arms, I swallowed and forced myself to turn and meet his eyes.
"It's not gonna work on me, Trunks. Not this time." I paused, and then more words slipped from my mouth unasked. "I would pity you, if there was something there to pity. But there's not, so I won't. I love you … always have. Goodbye." I paced forward, across the living room, and kissed him - no real contact, just a light brush. But his mouth opened to mine and we made out again. Heavy, wet. The only goodbye he ever gave me.
//He told me where I'm going
And it's far away from home
I think I'll go there on my own
I think I'll go there on my own//
I didn't have any plans. To be completely honest, all I knew was that I wanted to get out of there immediately. Just switching schools or dropping out wouldn't have been enough, 'cause we saw each other too much. With fathers like ours … they're constantly together, training I'm sure, so Trunks and I got shoved together as well. That wouldn't have changed if I had stayed, no matter what I tried. Skipping town was my only option.
I packed my bags that same night. Everything I thought I would need got packed into the boxes I had picked up on my way home from Trunks' house. Put just about my entire room into cardboard crates. Those crates are still littering my apartment. In all of my life so far, those were some of the most depressing moments. For the first time, my actions hit me - I knew what I was going to do. But somehow, amidst the pausing and panicking, I got it done.
Then I told my parents. My mom … we're not really that close, as it's hard to be close to someone who's constantly comparing you to your brother, but she wasn't pleased with me dropping out and moving. My dad I trusted. He didn't ask questions, he just shut Mom up and got my stuff shipped. I don't remember how I found this place, but the words "Son Goku's boy," whispered in the right ears can have a huge effect. It's a good place. Quiet, lonely, nowhere near my parents' house and even further from Trunks'. The neighborhood is nice and there's no one around to bother me.
That's the story. I've been here for just about a week. I'm enrolling in the local community college, starting classes some time in the month. I have some money saved up and a few interviews in the next few weeks. It's like some lame voyage of self-discovery, the kind of things physiatrists write self-help books about. That's all my pathetic life had been reduced to. Me, alone in this alien city, trying to rediscover my personality and myself.
//He told me where I'm going
And it's far away from home
I think I'll go there on my own
I think I'll go there on my own//
The only person to contact me since I got here was my dad, who called just to check up on me. Other than that, I've basically been on my own. I have this perfect opportunity here: plenty of uninterrupted time to myself, no distractions, quiet, resources, everything I could possibly need to enable me to go through the whole rediscovery thing. It could be just what I require. I can solve all my problems now.
But for every second of the weeks I've been here, Trunks has been the center of my attention. I've removed myself, got as far away as I could manage, but he continues to dominate me. I haven't heard much about him since I moved, just a few sentences at most, but he won't leave me alone. I just don't know how to live without him. He was everything I knew and I lived my life for him. I still do, even although he's not here with me. All I ever do is think of him.
You wouldn't believe the theories I've come up with. Thousands of explanations for how he became what he is. Reasons for why. There's this one that I've expanded and refined. It may actually be true. A possible, even probable explanation. I've looked at the situation in each and every way, and it's the best I've been able to come up with.
Trunks had a lot to live up to, born and raised in the shadow of Mirai Trunks and as the son of Bulma Briefs, achieved scientist, and Vegeta, the saiya-no-ouji. When adolescence hit and he became even more dependant on the opinions of others he was forced into taking an extreme action. He created the shell to impress others and protect himself. It worked wonderfully, perfectly. Too well. Everyone loved that shell, so he continued to use it. Eventually it corroded the person hidden beneath, slowly devoured him and then destroyed him. It took the place he had left and it became him. The young Trunks I knew existed no longer, and in his place stood a mask that I loved and worshipped, that I sacrificed myself to serve.
I find that the more I think about it, the more I pity him. The transformation was out of his control. My compassion exceeds to a dangerous level. Sometimes, I feel guilty. Guilty about what I said and guilty for leaving. At the beginning of this I mentioned that writing about Trunks was unsafe - this is why. When I think about him I feel guilty and when I feel guilty I want to go back.
//The beautiful is empty
Beautiful is free
Beautiful loves no one
Beautiful stripped me
Stripped me
Stripped me
He stripped me//
I'm lonely. I miss Trunks desperately. I want to go back to him. I fear that what I did was wrong.
But I'm also afraid. Anyone who had seen what I saw and knew what I know would be. My fear and my pride stop me from going back. I took a big step, leaving the way I did, and I can't return without being completely humiliated. More importantly, I did it for a reason. I was terrified. I don't want to go through that again, ever. But in the face of my loneliness and longing, I can feel my reservations breaking down more with each passing day.
I have this fantasy that I can change him. That I can fill the void where his soul should be and, suddenly, miraculously, everything will be perfect again. I know it's crazy - delusional - but I keep coming back to it. If I am capable of helping him I have my reason for returning home, the perfect excuse for going back. Kami-sama, I want to go back to him. I can't put into words how badly I wish I had never left.
I know just what would happen if I went back. I know action for action what Trunks had been up to since I left, exactly what he's doing as I type these words, and I know how it would be if I returned. In the end, things always, always turn out right for him. I know. I've known him my whole life.
It would be the same as always, as if nothing had ever happened between us. I wouldn't say anything and neither would he. As easily as if I had never left, I would slip back into my place. My safe, comfortable, happy, established place. The others around us would wonder what had been wrong and they would question me. When I gave them a lie they would accept it. Soon, we would all forget anything had happened at all - the activity between Trunks and myself, my discovery, my leaving, it would all become a far-off memory. A dream. But at night, in my sleep, the vengeful ghost of what I know would haunt me.
I would be happy and they would be happy and Trunks would be Trunks.
I have no connection to this place. It's tailored to my needs, yes, custom made for me. But I have no love for it, no emotion whatsoever. Without Trunks it is lifeless. All that keeps me here is Trunks, repelling and attracting me at the same time and leaving me in indecisive suspended limbo. I know - I think - I should stay. But I'm guilty. I miss him. I want to return. But I'm afraid. If I could fix it, I would run home. I would leave this place immediately.
I wish I could hear his voice. I wish I had the courage to call. Face all the possible problems, all the dangers. I wish I could talk to him. The phone is so close and so unsafe. It's even more dangerous than this laptop and this writing. I know his number by heart.
I
I
I
I'm gonna stop wishing.
//He stripped me
Stripped me//
Ringing.
"Hello."
"Trunks? Hey … it's Goten."
A pause.
"Trunks?"
"Goten."
A nervous laugh. "Hey. I was just thinking about you, so I decided to call. Just to say hi. I guess. How've things been?"
"It's different without you here."
"Well…" A cough. A pause. "Aw, shit. I miss you Trunks. I really do."
"I miss you too."
"I'm thinking about coming home."
"What's stopping you?"
A long pause. "I don't know. You are."
"But I want you to -"
"I know. I know. But when … after we…" A sigh. "Shimatta! There's something wrong, Trunks. Something wrong with you and with me. I want to come back, but I know it'll all go back to the way it was… I can't do that."
"What's wrong? Tell me, Goten."
"You're … you're not alive, Trunks, and it kills me too. You're missing life. Your missing a … a soul, and you take away mine. It just doesn't work and I can't do it anymore."
"Then fix it."
"Huh?"
"It there's something wrong, then correct it."
"I can't do that…"
"Please."
"You're the only one who can…"
"Please, Goten."
Silence.
" 'Ten…"
A pause. A stifled moan. "And if it doesn't work?"
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll have me, and be happy, and I'll be no worse off. Come home, Goten."
"I love you."
"I know."
"Can you find me?"
"Yes … I've been tracking your ki since you left."
"Come and help me pack?"
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
A click.
"Trunks…"