Queenies: Your first question is about to be answered. Your second question will be answered later. I really appreciate that, thank you!
Juliet: Oh you'll see ;)
Betterdays623: Lol who would've guessed...
Here you go sunshines!
Pan
"Are you okay?" Bulla interrupts my lecture.
"Sure." I tell her, not raising my gaze from the paragraph, monotonously.
She doesn't speak a word, but her eyes are glued on me. I can feel it, that intense 'look back at me' stare. At least she's not talking. She's getting better at getting the hints to leave me alone.
However, my attempt of trying to comprehend my reading fails thanks to Bulla.
I hadn't thought about Trunks' leaving since early in the morning, when we were having breakfast and then it suddenly hit me that he wasn't around. I thought more about how little it'd affected me than about why he did it, I knew why and I found myself accepting things as they were.
I found myself in peace. I didn't feel as crushed as I thought I'd feel. I didn't feel crushed at all.
I shake my head microscopically. I reread the same paragraph over and over again but my mind is loud, distracting.
He's a fixer
He's good guy after all
I close my book, seeing I can't concentrate in the least. I feel Bulla's stare is still on me. I wonder if she's been looking at me this whole time. She might get the hints, but obeying others is definitely not her thing.
I raise my eyes to look into hers. "How can I help you?"
"You look devastated."
"How couldn't I be—Elisha just got eliminated!" I fake it, 'cause I couldn't care any less about mean girls achieving to be models. I wonder if most of them are like that. It must suck to belong to that cruel, cold, shallow world.
I earn a dull glare from the bluenette.
There's a knock on the door—but not any kind of ordinary knock. More like a more-or-less rhythmic kind of knock that dad makes when he forgets his keys somewhere.
I open the door.
Dad.
Trunks.
What. Is. Going. On.
"Panda-Chan!" Dad greets me happier than usual. Yup. He's tipsy. "This is Trunks Briefs, my boss's son."—Boss's son?—"Trunks Briefs, my—"
"What are you doing here?" I ask Trunks, interrupting dad.
"Trunks?" Someone barks from the background. "You said you were leaving to Marron's."
"Pardon me, those words never came from my lips." He retorts nonchalantly, making Bulla storm up the staircase, again. And then he turns to me. "Sorry, Pan. I didn't know you two were related."
"Yeah she's my daughter."
My eyes went large, bouncing from Trunks to dad repeatedly. My breathing goes heavy.
"That's cool."
And I can breathe again.
Thank Kami he wasn't interested enough to figure out more about us.
…
Trunks
"Why are you not sleeping?" I ask Pan, who is sitting just inches before the lake. I give a glance to the watch on my right wrist. "It's midnight."
"I'm fishing." She tells me, not bothering to turn around.
"Fishing." I ask affirmatively. "And how is that going?"
She raises the branch.
"Hmm." She analyzes it, water droplets dripping below it, and drops it to one of her sides. "Gramps does it better."
"Gohan seems young to be a father."
"He's 31. Had me at 16, so I'm somewhat a bastard." She says, not a hint of humor or sarcasm in her voice.
"Wow so," I continue, blankly. "I'm supposing Goten's not his son."
"He's my uncle." She talks over me. Guess she saw it coming. "I don't like you anymore."
I certainly did not see that coming.
"In what sense?"
"Platonic."
Hmm.
Platonic.
"So is that good or bad, I wonder?"
"Hmm, well." She muses. She hadn't looked into my eyes until now, her bangs brushing her eyelashes and her black hair tucked behind her ears. "It's a matter of perspective, see. You're getting married, so from my point of view it's obviously good."
"Your point of view is what matters." I say.
"Does yours disagree?" she asks, looking for my eyes.
"Hmm… N—" I hesitate. Why do I hesitate in front of her? Why do I hesitate at all? "…No."
She turns her head to the lake, the poor bluish moonlight (barely) allowing me to notice a light smirk on her lips.
Oh no…
She got the wrong idea.
She makes an attempt to push my shoulder with hers, playfully, only reaching my arm, as she's notably shorter than I am.
"Are you tired yet?" I ask Pan—I raise my wrist to look at my watch—exactly 45 minutes after I came outside. I smirk to myself as her back and mine are relying on one another—or more like hers on mine, I'd crush her.
"Pan?" I lightly shake my shoulders to make sure if she's… yep, sleeping soundly.
I skillfully turn around and tenderly place my hands on her back. I decide to not wake her up because, I don't know.
I make my—our way to the front door, carrying her bridal style. Something inside warns me to don't look down but I still do, I still look down at Pan.
I inspect her face as I manage to walk simultaneously. The tip of the right side of her forehead resting on my chest; the corners of her mouth are naturally twirled upwards, a small gap between her lips, they have a beautiful shape; I then look at her eyes, closed, her lids are somewhat reddish, and her lashes are long, maybe that's why her bangs get stuck in them all the time.
I look up and realize I stopped walking. Hmm… I guess I can't do both things at the same time.
"What are you doing?" her hoarse voice makes me react. "Put me down." She says even before I can answer.
She instantly jumps off my arms and walks to a different direction than mine.
"Pan, wait," I run to keep up with her. Her step is quick; the wind feels chillier at this pace. "Where do you think you're going? It's 2 am."
"To my room."
"The door's back there."
"My window's right there."
So we climb this shady, sycamore tree next to the house. The branch ending in Pan's window is thin, but thick enough to support her, whom is nothing but flesh and bones.
I look at Pan, who is already waiting for me from the other side of the window. Then I look down, I shouldn't have. My vision goes blurry but I try to stay steady.
"It's okay," she whispers from her room, "Bulla's asleep."
Shit.
I guess falling is not such a bad option after all.
However I crawl a step forward, making the branch bend, creaking.
"It's okay." Pan continues, softly. But I look at her, and her eyes say something else.
I'm not going to make it.
I'm not going to make it.
"I'm right here."
I have to make it.
I step on the branch and for dear life jump towards the window… Pan catches me, half of me inside, the other half of me hanging out the window. She pulls me deeper into her room, and drops me on the floor: soft, white carpet.
"Good job." She whispers, kneeled next to me, patting my sweaty back.
"I'll get going." I stand up, my knees still trembling. I guess I've discovered a new fear.
"Watch out for Bulla's head."
I carefully tiptoe towards the door, my eyes just adapting to the darkness. The only light showing the way is nothing but mere moonlight entering the open window.
"Bulla's not here though." I tell her out loud, taking a hold of the knob.
I notice her petite silhouette walking towards and then past me, opening the door, as I was about to do. She doesn't hesitate to sneak a discrete peek from the left room's door.
"Hmm," she muses, silently, "I figured."
But I didn't. I certainly didn't have the slightest clue that my sister and her broth—uncle had a thing.
As I see them cuddling, flashbacks start hitting me, a trice per hallucination, literally at the speed of light—well, not likely, but yes, this lucid whirlwind makes my vision even blurrier than it already was.
Marron and diapers and an aimless future.
I just feel I have to save Bulla from that hell, for more annoying she is, I wouldn't wish my situation to anyone, not even to my worst enemy, you know, if I had any.
But then someone shushes me softly. I look down, it's Pan, and I somewhat don't feel as lost and isolated as I did a second ago. She's looking at me, or past me?
"I was not saying anyth—"
"Shhh." Her hand is suddenly on my mouth, smearing me with the sweat her hand released at the hold of the knob. "You'll wake him up."
Past me. I know as I see this shapeless and spiky silhouette of the head of a tall man. Who else lives in this place—
"That's gramps." She tells me silently, reading my mind. "He suffers from somnambulism."
Somnambulism?
"Sleepwalking." She clarifies before walking to her room.
"I know." I tell her, staying in the hallway, Gramps walking down the stairs. "You're like a human glossary."
"I am."
"Right." I chuckle, looking down at my bare feet. "I forgot who passed my school year. Forever grateful, sorry about it though."
She giggles, looking at the ground, shaking her head to herself. Her hand is placed on the edge of the door, waiting to be closed. "It's okay."
I fake a laugh, miserably. And she looks up, still smiling from the giggle, her bangs stuck in her eyelashes. I found her spacious freckles again.
"Sleep tight." She tells me, closing the door.
As I stare at the cracked ceiling, making a failed attempt to fall asleep, I think about Pan. I find myself wanting to hear that burst of laughter I heard at the ice cream parlor, about 6 months ago. She has a beautiful something.
But Marron and the baby and the aimless future
I'm in a maze with no exit. This is a living nightmare. I find myself giving up, it's been consuming me slowly, I'm not sure if I'll make it for the next 5 months.
I DON'T WANT THAT BABY
But then I think about Pan, about her unnecessary formal words and how just at the thought of her I feel at ease, like if my never really existed. She's like a light, an escape from reality—cold, cruel, dirty reality. NOT that I like her romantically… right? Jeez… But I mean, even if I did, which I don't, it's humanly impossible to get out of this muddle without hurting someone, including myself; it just can't happen.
Note to self: don't get involved.
Hmmm.
Note to self: don't get too involved.
Plus, can't just someone perceive the beauty in somebody else without having to feel something?
I'm just saying I wish I could hear her laugh again.
A lot of things to solve still! Thank you so much!
