CASE FILE 003- BULMA
oooOOOooo
Gosh, it's freezing.
Despite having spent twenty four years living in a revolving season climate, Bulma is still never prepared for winter. There's certain things she enjoys about them, sure - like the way her nose crinkles to a dusty pink at the end of the day, or how the warmth from a cup of hot cocoa really ties the day together- but the blistering cold isn't one of them. Especially not when she has to be outdoors in them. But today isn't about her, she has to keep reminding herself of this. She can take a backseat to today, she'll take a back seat to any day, if it'll be good for him.
"I can't believe there's so many people here." She stuffs her mitten covered hands into her coat, drawing a warm breath in through her scarf. The ice arena is absolutely packed, even though she shouldn't be surprised. Who doesn't enjoy a good ice skate during the winter?
"Great. I guess that means there'll be more people to see me make an ass out of myself."
"You don't know that you will. What happens if you go out there and become the best skater in the rink?" She nudges his side playfully, turning her head to face him. She stares at him with an easy smile until he stops pretending to ignore her. He can't hold his hardened face for long once his eyes meet hers, and he busts out a boyish grin. God, she loves his smile. It's crooked and youthful and bashful and pure. It makes her feel like she's a fourteen year old every time she sees it.
"I don't know. You give me too much credit Bulma." Even through his pessimism, he can't stop smiling like a goof. He looks back to the ice arena again and scans the crowd, his grin slowly dying. She doesn't stop watching him, though. Sometimes she catches herself staring at him for longer than necessary, for what feels like hours. It's more than his good looks. It's everything about him. The sun that sometimes rises on his cheekbones. The thunderstorm that births in his eyes. The way he resorts to a ten year old boy when he looks unsure of something. Kind of like right now.
"Nonsense, Yamcha. I think that you'll do fine, no matter what happens. Tell you what, if you fall I will too okay? We can fall together and everyone will laugh at us. We can laugh at us too."
He blows out a chuckle and a small gust of smoke escapes from his hot breath. He turns back to her and she sees his resolve breaking. A smile stretches across her face and she knows he's going to do it. That's what she loves most about him. He'll try, even if he doesn't think he can do it.
"Fine," he throws his hands in the air momentarily, shaking his head, "You win. But you'd better keep good on your word and fall with me, B. I'll even catch you in my arms before we hit the ice. We'll look like a cheesy movie scene, but at least people will say I'm a gentleman."
"Oh what a guy you are." She giggles and grabs his arm, wrapping her hands around his bicep. Slowly they make their way to the ice and she immediately feels his body tense up as soon as their blades scrape the surface. He's holding out his free arm for balance and wraps the other one around her waist like she's his life saver. He's petrified but he's trying to save face by looking brave. It's absolutely adorable. "It's okay babe, you're doing so good so far!"
He scoffs but smiles anyways, looking to his feet as his legs try to make a steady rhythm with hers. "Well I suppose I've got a pretty great teacher." He glances at her from the corner of his eye, and when he's caught her stare in his web, he tosses her a wink. She rolls her eyes but appreciates his flirting anyways. Another thing she loves about him. No matter how he's feeling, he always makes a motion to romance her. Ever the charmer.
It feels good, being here with Yamcha. It feels good despite the angry cold, despite the cluster of people. After a lap around the ice, she doesn't even notice them anymore. All that matters is him, the ice, and the dim lights of the lanterns above. She's glad he considered listening to her, glad that he agreed to come out. Skating under the stars sounded so cliché to her at first, but now she sees the romantic nature of it. Yamcha's getting better at skating around, and he's holding on to her more comfortably. He's even doing that thing where he drums his finger against her side as he hums, letting her know he's relaxed. That thought alone makes her heart warm up until she feels like she'll burst in sun rays. This is a good idea. This is good for him. Good for her.
Yamcha stops humming and it immediately grabs her attention. She turns to him, and is disappointed to find that his face has grown solemn. His features are stormy and it makes her chest clench. They were doing so good. "Babe? You okay?"
He nods and she feels a bit lighter, but his expression hasn't changed. "I'm just…I'm getting really sad babe."
Oh no. God no, it was happening wasn't it? She can't blame him, she can't hold it against him, but it was happening so often these days. Her tongue goes dry because she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to rehearse the same lines that she's been saying, but she doesn't want to experiment and fail with new ones either. So instead she swallows and says, "Why?"
He remains silent for a moment. Bulma realizes just how silent everything around them has gotten as she waits on his answer. She isn't even paying attention to what's in front of her, but luckily they haven't managed to bump into anyone. It's as if everyone around them is waiting on his reply, too.
"Because, B, I'll have to say goodbye soon."
"Goodbye?" Her eyes tear up immediately, even though she doesn't understand why. Suddenly it feels like a brick has formed in her chest, weighing down any ability to breathe. Her throat tightens with lumps of tears, and she finds it hard to hold them back anymore. The cold pricks at her cheeks as a trail of wetness slides down her face. Why is she so emotional? Why does that sentence hurt so much as if she knows what he means?
He nods and offers a sympathetic smile. Finally he turns to look at her, and it's as if Bulma is seeing him for the first time. Every inch of his handsome face is bursting alive in color. She feels like she's going to drown in it. She has the immediate urge to grab on to his face so that she can burn it into her fingers. Into her memory.
"Our time together is up now, Bulma. I wish it wasn't because I don't want to let you go." He stops skating and turns her around skillfully. She can't believe this is the same man who was so afraid to step out on the ice earlier. He grabs her hands into his and leans forward, resting his forehead on hers. He's so warm, such a nice break from the frost. Her heart feels like it's breaking over and over and over again the longer she's near him. She doesn't want him to go. Doesn't want to not be able to see him. Just wants this moment for as long as time can stretch. "I love you so much Bulma. You're my most favorite person in the whole world. You're my whole reason."
But time is such a fickle rubber band.
She can't hold back the sobs as she throws her arms around him, holding him as if their bodies can merge into one. "Yamcha….don't go. Please don't go. I love you so much, don't you get that? I don't want to be without you…I don't want to…please Yamcha…"
"Hey." He gently leans back and grabs her face, cupping it into his hands. His thumb brushes against her cheek, smearing her tears onto his glove. "Don't cry, B. You're too beautiful. God you're so beautiful, my heart breaks every time I look at ya." He steals a kiss to her forehead and lets his lips linger there. She can feel it. She can feel the goodbye that he's stained on her forehead. It makes her cry harder.
"Where are you going, Yamcha?"
He lets her go then, planting one last kiss on her skin before looking at her. His smile is so tender, so warm. "It's not me that's going anywhere, babe. It's you. It's time for you to wake up now."
oooOOOooo
Bulma jerks upright, gasping for precious breaths. Her brain struggles to familiarize itself with her current surroundings. Gone are the ice rink and night sky and lanterns. And Yamcha…he's gone too. Just like he said. There's just white cinderblock walls now. Just white walls and the soft snoring of her bunk mate. And no Yamcha. No Yamcha at all.
Bulma throws her face into her hands and lets out a wretched cry. It feels as if it comes from the pit of her belly, and she can't stop the tears that flow from her eyes. She desperately claws her face with her fingers as if she can touch him, as if he'll be there when she pulls her hands away. Oh what she wouldn't give…
She can't stop the wailing that explodes from her mouth. She tries to be quiet, tries not to wake her bunk mate. But every sob is a reminder, a memory. And that dream was too real, too vivid.
Bulma feels as if she finally knows what rock bottom feels like, no matter how long she's been pretending everything will be fine.
"Hey, Bulma!" She doesn't even care that much that she's woken up the girl sleeping across from her. She just doesn't feel satisfied of these tears. She feels like she has so much more to cry about. "Are ya sick over there?"
Bulma shakes her head no, wiping the back of her snotty nose with her hands. She wants to tell her that she's okay and to go back to sleep, but the words die out in her throat, completely replaced with mucus. She hears rustling of sheets and then a dip in her bed. When she looks up, the girl is sitting there offering a tissue, her face bright and innocent. "My Pa says a runny nose won't do ya better with a cold. That's what my Pa says. He says it, ya know."
Bulma forces a smile and a nod and accepts the tissue, although it ends up balled in her lap. Poor girl thinks she has a cold. Wouldn't serve her any good to know what's really bothering her anyways. She takes a deep breath and tries to collect herself, feeling a little more prepared to get a grip on her emotions. Finally she can mutter out a, "Thank you Chi Chi."
"Welcome!" Chi Chi smiles at her with absolutely no idea that Bulma is heartbroken. She kicks her legs back and forth on the bunk, staring at Bulma with such innocence. It makes her envious. Envious that she can't be that cheerful. All Bulma feels right now is crushing sadness. "Ya feelin' better yet?"
Bulma lets out a sigh. She knows that she can't talk about it, even if Chi Chi could understand her emotional level. There's just somethings better left unsaid, is all. "Yeah, I just had a bellyache. I feel much better."
"I got a bellyache on my first night too. You'll get used to it though. The food is healthy and the medicine ya get makes ya sleep good. But you gotta take it, ya can't be like those delinquents that try to hide it under their tongue. No sir, you don't wanna get caught up in that gang activity."
"Gang activity?" Chi Chi's face has grown serious, and she's staring at Bulma the way a mother does their child. She nods her head and places a hand on her knee.
"Yep! That's what I said when I said it! Between you and me, there's a bunch of knuckleheads around here that don't wanna follow the rules. They don't take their meds and they sneak out of their bunks at night to do devilish things in the yard! Do devilish things they do! Gangs! Gangs!"
"Okay, okay," Bulma quiets Chi Chi down, seeing as her voice has carried. It makes her laugh, kind of, at how serious and angry she looks. "I promise you won't see any gang activity from me."
"I'd hope not because in this room we do things the right way! The right way we do em and the right way they'll be done. Just like my Goku." Chi Chi cups her hands together and stares off at the wall, a blush growing on her cheeks. "He's a do gooder and it's great. He takes his meds on time, participates in groups and even eats all his meals. I think he's the greatest."
"Goku?" Bulma suspected that no one in here got…well…you know…lonely, but the way Chi Chi's talking reminds her and Yamcha. "Is that your boyfriend?"
"He'd better be! I gave him my jello cup a week after he got here and everyone knows that means you're datin'!"
I don't think that's how that works, Chi Chi. Bulma wants to say that to her, even forms it on the tip of her tongue. But that's not her place, not her place to break hearts when she herself is broken. So instead she inquires, "Which one is he?"
Chi Chi stares at her incredulously, as if Bulma is moronic for not knowing. "I'll tell ya, but you'd better not go around catching interest. Go gawk at your own chickens, leave my eggs alone. They're my eggs. Goku's the most handsomest guy here, and he's so nice and strong and funny. I hear he's got a nasty side to him but I think those doctors are lyin. No way that my Goku did those things, nope I don't think so. I think they got him mixed up with that really mean guy he bunks with. That Vegeta fellow he's not a nice guy, not like my Goku."
Really mean guy, huh? It's only Bulma's first night in, but she thinks she's gotten a good idea of the residents. She able to spot the ones who'll most likely make her stay colorful, and the ones that she'll have a hard time adjusting to. And she definitely knows that there's an asshole spreading his anger every fucking where he goes. And she doubts it's because of his mental illness either, not the clear and concise way he talks to her. She can't quite put her finger on it, but there's a certain speck of clarity that lies in the man's eyes that tells her more than she needs to know. Something that makes her think it isn't the run of the mill diagnosis that has him cooped up in here. She wants to call him out on it, wants to say that he's got no business being here. Wants to shake a finger in his face and tell him to go to hell or wherever it is that he belongs, because it certainly isn't a fucking mental hospital.
But then again, she'd have three fingers pointing back at her. And Bulma isn't ready for those accusations yet.
"Is he the shorter guy with the spiky hair and the widow's peak?" She snorts at her own description of him, turning her nose downwards as she casts a glare to the wall. Even bringing him up in conversation is enough to bring a mental image to her mind, and with it a bitter taste on her tongue.
Chi Chi nods, the curve of her mouth turned downwards. "That's the one, the one he is. That's that Vegeta all right. He's so mean, always wanting to tell people to go away. My Goku aint afraid of him though, he's the only one Vegeta talks to for more than a few seconds. That's cause my Goku is the best." There's something proud about the way Chi Chi talks about Goku, even just the way she says his name. Bulma doesn't understand it, doesn't know Chi Chi well enough to doubt her words, but the young woman is certainly eccentric. It makes Bulma skeptical, but hey, at least the girl's got something to keep her spirits up. God knows in this world, you take whatever pick-me ups you can get.
"Yeah I've had the displeasure of meeting him." Her eyes narrow as she remembers their encounter, remembers how hostile he was. The anger in his eyes. It makes her angry, thinking about it now. It makes her fingers grab at her pajama pants restlessly, as more words she'd like to say to him fill her head. She still can't get over him, the nerve of that guy. She doesn't understand why it's bothering her so much, but the thought pierces her belly. She sighs and decides to mentally shake it off. It isn't fair to Yamcha, letting some asshole take up his memory space. The second his name scrolls through her mind, the weight in her stomach sinks to her feet. There it goes again: the sadness.
Now her brain is a tornado of thoughts, completely absorbed with him. That grin, those boyish dimples, his chocolate eyes….god. Bulma bites down on her lip, trying to subdue the sob. Trying to subdue the hurt. Just trying…just trying.
"Hey Chi Chi," she squeezes her eyes shut, feeling her battle a loss already, "I think I'm going to head back to sleep. I'm getting really tired." She hopes the woman doesn't hear the croak in her voice. She hopes she can hold it together for at least a few more minutes.
"Thatta girl!" Chi Chi hops off of the bed excitedly, practically running to her own, "Pa always says a good night's sleep is better tomorrow's wake, he says it! That he says that he does! I'll leave the tissues here and you can help yourself if you need em!" Bulma can't fight the small smile that curves her mouth. Chi Chi is a sweet girl, and maybe Bulma could use some of that cheer. Maybe she could use the giggles and the gossip and the cheerful nature as a means of a distraction, of an escape. Maybe then she could forget that life is just a shit show now. And she's the shitty ringleader of it.
But for now as Bulma crawls under the sheets, she feels none of that optimism. She only feels the overwhelming need to cry. Cry until she can't feel anymore. Cry until the wound in her heart is dry and she can be nothing more than bone. And as she pulls the blanket over her head, she silently does just that.
oooOOOooo
Stress Relief and Management.
The sign hangs outside a set of double doors, its thick black lettering pulling Bulma in. For some reason, she can't seem to open the doors to enter. Even though she's required to do it. According to Dr. Gero, she has to attend five group meetings a week. Today marks her first.
Opening the doors, Bulma thinks, means that she'll be forced to do a lot more talking. Means that, unlike her one on one sessions with Dr. Gero, she'll be forced to have all sorts of eyes on her. People who don't know her. People who will either be wrapped in their own minds to pay attention or judge her if they knew the truth. It makes her skin crawl with ice. She can't seem to do it.
She can hear chatter on the other side as if the meeting hasn't started yet. She knows that time is winding down for her to avoid the room. It isn't fair, she thinks, isn't fair that she's wound up in this situation. That she's here when she should be home, should be cuddled with Yamcha. Should be listening to him talk about sports that she doesn't understand, or him playing the ukulele while he sings her some Elvis song. She wishes he was here to hold her. Wishes he could stop playing hide and seek and come out already. God she misses him, he made everything better always. She covers her arms around herself as if she were him. As if she could shelter herself from all of this and wake up from this goddamned nightmare.
"You're in my way."
The needle scratches on Bulma's pity party record. Her eyes burn with heat as she recognizes that stupid voice. She doesn't even bother to turn around. She doesn't want him to see the red of her cheeks or the glisten in her eyes. She won't give him more ammo to use against her.
"There's a more proper way to ask someone to move, asshole." She hangs her arms down at her side in defiance, gripping her fists tightly. "You get more bees with honey than vinegar."
"I wasn't asking you; I'm telling you that you're in my fucking way. There's only one door and you're in front of it."
Bulma groans and she isn't quiet about it either. She definitely wants him to know the inconvenience he's causing her right now. Seriously, mentally ill or not, does he just not have any fucking manners? She tries to wrestle her anger into a chokehold, deciding that this isn't the time nor place to do this with him. "I'm going inside, but it's not because you're a smug son of a bitch who doesn't know how to talk to anyone. I'm going because the meeting's starting."
"Moving feet does not require moving lips."
Ooooh what an asshole! Bulma grits her teeth and takes several breaths as she grips the metal handle of the door. If anyone needs stress management, it's definitely her. Putting up with this douchebag has been a headache and then some, and it hasn't even been a full twenty four hours in this facility yet.
She's grateful that there's a seat near the back, away from the middle of the room where the speaker is sitting. She's almost grateful, that is, until she notices that there's only one other seat available. One that is going to house that asshat Vegeta.
Lucky for her, he gets the memo that she wants him to go to hell because he comes in the room and stands near the doorframe, pretending to ignore the empty plastic chair next to her. Good, she won't notice it either, and crosses her legs and folds her arms across her chest in defiance.
The group meeting is small, but packed. The patients are all off in their own tangents, speaking to each other or themselves as they wait for the meeting to start. Bulma won't complain about the noise. It's the quiet that's the problem. It's when all of the extra distractions die down that she's forced to think about it. Forced to deal with it. Forced to suffer through it.
She doesn't get long, though, before the meeting is officially conducted. The leader of the meeting is perhaps the most beautiful man Bulma has ever laid eyes on. There's something angelic about him, something that she can imagine would make her feel comfortable enough to talk. She won't, but he certainly gives off a better atmosphere than stuffy Dr. Gero.
"Hello, everyone!" Even his voice is soothing, Bulma thinks, and he does an effectively good job of quieting everyone down. "Welcome to today's group meeting of stress management. For those of you who are new to the group, my name is Whis and I'm what I like to call the ringleader. My job is to create a safe and comfortable environment for us to share our feelings while learning to deal with them. Your job is to become a little more vulnerable, a little more open. Helping you help yourselves is our master plan here at West City Psychiatrics."
Vulnerable. Pah. There's no way Bulma will let herself become vulnerable in a group full of strangers, not even when they are as warm and welcoming as Whis appears to be. For this, she'll just sit back and listen to what everyone else has to say. At least she doesn't feel alone. She doubts that Vegeta will be singing campfire songs in this either, not with his obnoxious attitude.
"Excuse me, sir in the back? Mr. N'Ouija, right?" The entire room turns around to look towards the door, and Bulma can't help herself from turning her head either. He looks uncomfortable, like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes are widened and he looks like he wants to piss his pants. Bulma can't help but to steal a small laugh. He must have heard her because soon accusing eyes dart her way.
"Won't you take a seat? There's an empty chair next to the young woman with the blue hair in the back."
Vegeta stares at her long and hard for a few tense seconds, and Bulma can read exactly what's underneath his glare. She hopes that he knows the feeling is mutual and he can literally go fuck himself. Finally he looks away and clicks his teeth, dragging his eyes to the floor. "I'm fine where I'm at," he grunts out. Is he always so grumpy?
"I understand you may be comfortable, Vegeta, but you see we like to create a sense of community within the room and I don't like to start a meeting when the air isn't right. I can't force you to take part, but then you won't get credit for this meeting either." Whis shrugs his shoulders as if he truly gives a damn, but Bulma knows that it's more of a threat. She realizes that's what they do to you here. They won't demand it, can't legally force it, but put you in a corner to where you have no choice other than to oblige. At least they're getting their college education's worth and putting those psychology degrees to good use.
Vegeta clicks his teeth but pushes his body from against the wall. Bulma doesn't look at him when he walks over to her, but she hears the chair being scooted away from her and feels when he plops down in the seat. For a shorter guy, he sure wasn't skimping on the mass. She rolls her eyes at his temper tantrum. She should be the one fucking upset, shouldn't she?
"Perfect!" Whis clasps his hands together and sits on top of a wooden desk, folding one leg over the other. He's so delicate and fragile that it's almost like watching a spirit in human form. "Now this feels more like a family. And at the end of the day, that's pretty much what we can be to each other. So today like the sign says, we'll be discussing stress management. Here we'll go over tips and tricks to help you when you feel you need it the most, as well as giving you the spotlight to talk about the problems you may feel overwhelmed with."
There's clapping from the front row and Bulma peeks her head above the others to see a short bald man making the noise. She can't see his face, but from his gesture and placement in the audience, he sure is eager to be here. "I'm happy for your enthusiasm, Krillin! You're always such a joy to have in these groups."
"T-Thank you, W-Whis." Krillin talks in a steady low voice, as if he chooses each of his words carefully. Vegeta snorts next to her and she resists the urge to smack him. Being mean to her is one thing, whatever, but Krillin can't help the way he talks.
Whis smiles at him before turning to the dry erase board. Prewritten are bullet points of tips that involve keeping stress at bay. Bulma quickly scans them and is disappointed by how cliché they sound. Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Close your eyes and imagine somewhere better. Drink a glass of water. Yeah sure, those things sound good, but who the hell is going to drink a glass of water when they're stressed out and feel instantly better? If that's the case, she wouldn't be here because she would have handed out a lot of glasses of water.
"A lot of us have to deal with high pressured situations sometimes, even while being here. We feel intense stress and anxiety and it can cause us to mislabel how we're really feeling and cast it in another direction. Sometimes we may yell at someone we love, or a complete stranger, or we may want to hurt someone. And none of those are healthy ways of dealing with stress."
Bulma glances at Vegeta out of the corner of her eye. Oh, is that his problem? Is he such a jackass because he's fucking stressed? He quickly darts an eye at her back, as if he knows she's watching, and she immediately returns her attention back to Whis instead.
"Does anyone have any right ways of dealing with anxiety or stress? Any ideas, hmmm?"
Like rocket launchers, dozens of hands shoot in the air eagerly. Bulma wonders how many times they've taken this same group meeting. How many times have they given this answer and still be so excited to speak? She could probably learn a thing or two from their optimism. Whis points a finger to Krillin, igniting a bunch of groans that echo across the room. She can't swallow the giggle that escapes her lips.
"I-I think t-that you sh…should talk ab-about it." Bulma can't help but feel affection when she listens to Krillin speak. He tries so hard, and she can tell that he's really focusing on making sure that his words are clear. She understands wanting to be understood. She's a living reminder of what being misunderstood is. "If y-you aren't hon…honest about i-it, then you'll f-feel worse ab-about yourself." Krillin takes a deep breath, as if he feels relieved that he's able to get out his sentence. She wants to clap for him, but she knows that'll probably embarrass him.
"Very good, Krillin. Talking out your problems is a great way to reduce stress. It's always a good idea to talk it out with someone you trust, like myself or Dr. Gero. We're always here to help!"
"Or Ro-Roshi in the li…library. H-He helps me out a l-lot."
"Yes, Roshi in the library. He's been here as long as this building. He's our book master, that's for sure. Excellent feedback Krillin, as always."
"Th-Thank you Wh-Whis."
"Oh my fucking god," Vegeta scoffs to her right and this time she can't help but to throw her ire his way. She mutters out several assholes for him to hear, and the only sign that he's acknowledging her is the tense biting of his jaw. She wishes she could slap him across his cheek for being such a jerk.
"Is there a problem, Mr. N'Ouija?" Whis's voice is calm, but the hardening of his eyes and the tightness of his words lets Bulma know that he's just as upset. "Do you not agree with our coping mechanisms?"
He doesn't say anything and she's sure that Whis has put him in his place again, that it'll be like before and he'll get in gear. She waits for it, waits to see his shrinking nerve and admit defeat before Whis acts good on whatever threat he's made. But Vegeta's expression is stormy and unwavering and unapologetic. She hears what sounds like a warning growl before he blurts out, "This is all bullshit. None of this shit works. You use Krillin as some sort of before and after commercial, but the dumb fuck obviously isn't better."
Bulma can't believe that she's hearing this. No one warned her that she would be forced to be in the same facility as Satan himself. She can't stop the volcano that erupts in her chest as she turns to him. "There's no need for that you asshole! He's being brave and participating unlike you, you sour puss!"
Vegeta's fiery eyes find home on her face, his expression demanding to know where she's gotten her nerve. She isn't backing down, though. She's had about enough of him.
"Th-that's alright, M-Miss," Krillin's face shows his feelings are hurt, but the poor guy doesn't want to pick a fight. "I-I know that Ve-Vegeta gets an…annoyed by stuff. I-it's okay."
"No it's not okay. You don't deserve to be insulted by this asshole."
Vegeta growls and turns in his seat now, his knee bumping hers. She can feel his attitude radiating from his skin, but she doesn't care. If there's one thing Bulma doesn't tolerate, it's a fucking bully. "Listen here, woman, how about you mind your goddamned-"
Whis claps his hands against his knee, silencing them both. His face is a mixture of annoyance that he thinly masks with a veil of calm. "I'm sorry but this type of conversation is not permitted here. We do not stand for name calling or insults, no matter how upset you are. Kind of defeats the point of stress management, don't you think?"
Bulma feels powerful, knowing that she stood up to Vegeta like that. Feels even more powerful to have Whis on her side, telling Vegeta that what he's said is completely uncalled for….
…Wait.
…Is he accusing her of being disruptive too?
His eyes certainly say so.
Bulma shakes her head defensively, struggling to find the words to explain herself. After all, she was just standing up for Krillin, anyone can see that. Right? "I was only yelling at him for what he said to Krillin!"
Whis takes a deep breath, making Bulma feel worse than the accusation. As if she's a part of his annoyance. "I understand, Miss Briefs is it? But a tit for tat never helps anyone. Calling someone a name because they've upset you isn't healthy. Why don't we use this as a learning tool, hmmm? How about instead of calling Mr. N'Ouija an asshole, you tell him how it feels when you hear him insult someone? Let your anger open the door for a conversation."
Bulma is on fire. Because of this grade-A, fresh from the deli asshole now she is being made a spectacle of? And with the whole room watching her on top of it all? Bulma has had enough. Oh-hoh but if she's got to go down on this sinking ship, she might as well take Vegeta with her.
She turns in her seat, her tongue bladed and sharp and ready to slice him with her words, when he abruptly gets up, knocking his chair back against the floor. He stomps loudly to the door, clenching and unclenching his fists.
"Mr. N'Ouija?" Whis sounds bored, as if he's about to cancel this crazy meeting all together. "Where exactly are you heading to?"
Vegeta stops just shy of the door, the vein in his lower part of his arm throbbing with every open and close of his fists. He doesn't turn around, doesn't acknowledge anyone with eye contact. "Fuck this," he mutters out before forcing the door open so hard it squawks at the hinges. Bulma flinches as the door slams against the wall outside, and her brain is rattled with thoughts. Why is this guy so angry? If he really can't control it, should he be in the fucking general population where anyone can get hurt? He swung the door as if it were made of butter, as if it were putty in his fingers. Would he do that to a person?
…Was standing up to him like that such a good idea?
Whis clears his throat and demands the attention back on him, scribbling something down on his clipboard. Whatever it is, she supposes it can't be good. Can't be good for her, can't be good for Vegeta. God, this is too emotionally overwhelming, she thinks. She can't even save time to think about her own woes because everywhere she turns there's something. Everywhere she turns there's Vegeta with his shit attitude. She really hopes that she'll see less of him. That maybe there'll even be less of him. That wherever she is, he isn't.
Because there is no way in hell Bulma can survive in this place if he's going to be a factor.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
oooOOOooo
A/N:
Spoiler alert for Bulma: There's gonna be so much more of Vegeta.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year, or just happy day if you celebrate none of these things! I hope you all are safe and happy and warm, or at least trying to be. If not, here's a hug from me to you :D
Thank you all so much for leaving comments. I never expect them; always appreciate them. Maybe you all can leave one for this chapter too? My obsession for this story is pretty high right now, but I think after this I'll break away to work on Concerto.
Please R&R friendos, and I'll talk to you guys next time!
