Chapter 4
I feel...like I have been hit by a truck. Twice. My head feels like it is ready to explode, I am having difficulty breathing, and my entire arm is throbbing. But my physical pain pales in comparison to my emotional and mental pain. What was I thinking last night? I must have been out of my mind to willingly go outside in that sort of weather, alone, and in the complete dark. I was just so desperate to talk to him. So desperate to get the answers to the many questions I had.
I still have yet to receive the answers I seek. Right now I am unable to even sit up straight in bed. That brings up even more questions. How did I get in my bed, and how did I get so cleaned up? I vaugely remember Piccolo carrying me back to my house. I remember him carefully trying to stand me up on my feet...and then...nothing. That's all I can remember at this time. Perhaps he left me out there and Gohan found me. It's a strong possibility. I seriously doubt he took care of me himself. He would be forced to face Gohan if he had, and that is clearly something he has been avoiding.
Gohan..
My sweet baby boy.
True he isn't a baby anymore. But of course in my eyes, and like most mothers, their child will always be their baby. He's so strong, just like his father. That fact was something Gohan always took pride in. He always wanted to be just like Goku. In every way possible. That's what makes this so heart breaking. So unforgivable. Goku has hurt him beyond repair I'm afraid. It's as if he simply forgot that he has a son here that adores him, and strives to be just like him. I could forgive him for forgetting about me. I've done it before, even though he wasn't sorry. But hurting Gohan is just going too far. How could anyone do this to such a sweet child? That brings to my mind someone else...
Piccolo..
My arch nemesis!
As if Goku turning his back on Gohan wasn't bad enough. Piccolo has done the same exact thing. But Piccolo's actions have beenslightly worse. He knew how fond Gohan was of him, yet Piccolo allowed him to continue to believe he was his friend. It's quite clear now he never was. I admit, reluctantly, that there was a small part of me that believed Piccolo truely cared for Gohan. There was also a small part in me that believed Piccolo wasn't as bad as I may have once thought. I was wrong, and that infuriates me. I was right about him in the beginning. He is no good. Simple as that.
I'm tired of thinking about him though. He drives me crazy. He truely does. My actions last night prove that. If it had not of been for him, I would have never been outside getting sick and injured. I wonder if he is still going to try and watch over us like he has been doing. Surely he wouldn't be that arrogant.
Enough of this nonesense. I will deal with Piccolo once I am better. Right now I need to focus on getting well. I desperately feel the need for a shower, although my body is protesting at every move I make to attempt to get up and into the bathroom. Slowly I make my way across my bedroom towards the door. I lean on the door frame as I spot my destination shortly ahead. The thought of a hot relaxing shower calls to me as I undress carefully without stumbling. I am a bit light headed for some reason. Perhaps it's the loss of blood, or maybe from the sickness. Nothing a nice long shower can't fix though.
The steam quickly fills the shower as I stand under the water, enjoying every second of this heavenly bliss. Cleaning myself proved to be slightly difficult with only one usable arm, but I managed to get the job done. As I am drying off, I hear a knock at the door. Gohan must have heard me up and decided to check on me. Such a caring child.
"Just a minute sweetie, I need to get dressed."
Looking around I realize I forgot to bring my clothes in here with me. I wrap the towel around myself as I prepare to tell him the door is open.
"You can come on in now, I'm decent."
Slowly the door opens slightly, and what I see shocks me beyond belief. My bathrobe is being held through the small opening of the door. But that isn't what I'm focused on. What has caught my attention is the large, green hand attached to it.
"I am not your sweetie."
For a moment I am speechless, but only for a moment.
"Just what the HELL are you doing here!"
My fury has no rival as I watch my robe fall to the floor as the door shuts. Did he not hear me? Was I not LOUD ENOUGH? I quickly dress in my bathrobe and slam open the door. I do a quick scan of my room, but he is nowhere to be seen.
"So he's disappeared. How typical of him."
I walk over to my dresser in a huff and select my 'unmentionables'. As I turn to go to my closet and I am faced with a solid wall of...something...well...solid. I stumble back slightly and into my dresser. I am now able to see what blocked my path. Before I am able to start my rant, he cuts me off with words I wasn't expecting.
"How are you feeling?"
I am slightly taken aback by this. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting him to say, but him asking about how I feel was definately the farthest thing from my mind.
"Well...I..umm.."
The look in his eyes unerves me greatly. I struggle to keep eye contact, but his gaze is too great. He always made me feel so inferior when I looked into his eyes.I can't even think of what I'm trying to say. I begin to look around for something else to grab my attention. That's when I find what I'm looking for.
My panties. On the floor. Right in front of Piccolo's feet.
I feel the heat rush to my cheeks as I get choked on my words. I quickly look away from the object on the floor, praying to Kami that he won't discover the cause of my sudden flush.
The next words I hear, prove to me that Kami wasn't listening to my silent prayer. Or maybe he was, but thought this would be amusing.
"You dropped something."
At that moment, I wish for death to consume me.
:end:
Sorry for the long delay. I've just been a little busy. This was getting a little too serious for my tastes, so I decided to throw in some humor. Also, sorry for not having Piccolo's POV in this chapter. The next one will be long though, and completely his. Thanks again to my reviewers.
