Chapter Eight

Bulma worked silently in the lab for the next week, Vegeta having gone to Kami-knows-where. She was starting to get worried. He'd never left for this long. She knew he could take care of himself, but that didn't put her at ease. She pushed herself away from the desk and made her way to the empty house. It felt weird coming home and no Saiyan to contend with. "This must be how Chichi feels," Bulma said as she moved slowly about the kitchen.

Each room had so many memories of him: the kitchen where they would start their daily arguments; the living room where he would rag on her about watching too much TV; the bathroom where he once, by mistake, came in while she was showering, and where he would yell at her for taking so long; and of course the gravity machine, where he would train endlessly. His room, though she had never been in there since he'd come to live with her, spoke of him: the sparse furniture, neatly pressed clothes, neatly made bed . . . royalty. His room even smelled of him, a clean smell. She'd roam the house every night before she went to sleep, remembering his dark looks and intense gaze. Now that he was gone, she could clearly see what everyone was talking about: she could feel how his eyes would run over her while her back was turn; she could feel his gentle touch every time he had to save her from herself, how sometimes he held her a little too long; how, when she'd taken him shopping for clothes when he first moved in, he'd stand so close to her she could feel the heat from his body; and, when the guys came over to eat lunch, he'd trail behind her just a little to close. How could she have been so blind?

After eating she made her way to her room. She looked in her vanity mirror and could hardly recognize the woman she saw there: gaunt eyes and a pale complexion. These past days she had the hardest time getting out of bed, but the silence would eat at her so much that she'd force herself out. She didn't bother putting on her make-up anymore, because what was the point anyway? She didn't have anyone to look beautiful for; in fact, she had no one to begin with. Vegeta always ragged on her about putting too much on and taking forever anyway. The woman in the mirror looked twenty-years older than she really was, and not to mention, she felt twenty-years older. She sighed and went to go draw her bath; maybe she'd feel better after, though she highly doubted it.

Her hand was on the water faucet when she heard a noise come from downstairs. Scrunching her eyes together, she went to the door and called out, "Vegeta?"

No answer.

She silently made her way to the down the stairs into the dark living room. "Vegeta?" she called again.

No answer.

"Damn it, Vegeta. I'm going to kill you when I get my hands on you. How dare you leave me to worry about you," she said walking to the light switch. It would be just like him to taunt her like this.

A hand clamped over her mouth before she could flick the switch. An arm snaked around her waist and she could feel hot breath on her neck. She struggled, trying to pull herself away.

"Miss Briefs," said a rough voice, definitely not Vegeta's. "I believe you forgot to turn on the security system."

Bulma tried to talk, but her words were stifled by the intruder's hand.

"Oh, and I do believe that your friend is not here either—hasn't been here for a while—so we have the house all to ourselves."

Realization dawned on her: this bastard wasn't Vegeta and he had been watching her for Kami-knows-how-long. And Vegeta couldn't protect her now, and he wouldn't even know anything happened to her until he came home and found her in pieces all over the house. She could feel her sanity start to unravel as she realized that she was going to die, or possibly something far worse than that. Well, hell, she had nothing to lose. She bit deeply into the man's hand, drawing blood, and tore herself away from him. He cursed at her and looked at his hand, examining the damage. "What do you want?" she asked him, trying to make her voice steady.

He started to walk towards her. "I believe a few months ago a friend of mine dropped by here. Poor chap was never heard from again. I think something terrible happened to him, on account that your friend is not afraid to hurt anyone, would probably kill people. So, did your friend kill my friend?" he asked her as he continued to walk towards her.

Bulma remembered the night he was talking about. Some man had tried to rape her, but Vegeta showed up and killed him—actually, incinerated him. She hoped Vegeta would show up again.

"I see you know who I'm talking about," the man said, studying her.

Bulma felt her back hit the table. She desperately groped for anything she could use as a weapon. Finding her letter opener, she grasped the handle tightly and said, "Vegeta has killed more than your friend, and if you feel like living, then you'd better leave."

"Ha! This man of your, Vegeta; I happen to know he hasn't been around for this past week. What makes you think he's going to be back anytime soon?"

Bulma felt herself pale a little.

"See? You don't even believe he'll be back on time." He stood about a foot away from her. "I'll try to make this as pleasurable for you as it will be for me," he said, leering in her face.

"I think you've had enough fun for one night," said a voice from the other side of the room.

The lights suddenly flicked on and there stood Vegeta. Bulma let out a huge breath.

The man spun around. "This is none of your business," he snarled at Vegeta.

Vegeta snorted and crossed his arms. "Man, this is my home so it is my business."

The man looked closer, and then stood tall. "You're the asshole that killed my partner."

Vegeta smirked. "That I am, and if you expect to die, then stay right there."

The man turned and grabbed Bulma as a shield. He held a knife to her throat and said, "You come close to me and I'll kill her."

Vegeta shrugged and said, "Go ahead."

The man smiled maliciously. Bulma felt the knife pierce her skin. She looked at Vegeta like he was mad, but Vegeta wasn't even looking at her, only the man holding her. "Don't I mean anything to him?" she thought and looked at him desperately. He still would not meet her gaze.

The man suddenly jerked her forward and sliced across the back of her neck. She screamed out in pain and at the same time she jammed her hand back, embedding the letter opener into his leg. He screamed and pushed her away from him. Her hands went immediately up to her neck to cover the wound. Then she fell to the ground.