(A/N: My, we are getting ever closer to the end, are we not? XD I hope nobody is bored with this, I am trying my best after all! :) I have realized that this is getting repetitive, but we're about to hit a new curve.)
Chapter Nine: Gaining Sight
Waking up in the infirmary of Capsule Corporation, out of my memory of Clara, I let out a breath, glad that the memory was much more calmer. After the two days, she did leave as Zarbon said she would. If she was murdered or not, I had no clue. If she was still alive, I had no way of finding her anyway. Pushing the thought out of my head, I got up. It was dark out, the stars like sequins on a dark veil of silk. I was dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, different than what I wore in the GR. Getting off the bed, I walked to the window. It felt different having a good rest. I felt more refreshed and like I could actually have some clarity.
The window was open, a breeze blowing through a bit. Laying my hand on the window sill, I felt something I hadn't noticed before beneath it. Picking up the lilac flower, I studied it silently. The thought of my mother instantly came to mind. I never understood why I always thought of her, but what I remember about her was that she always had a scent of the flower and some type of tranquility only a beautiful blossom could offer. It was as if every thing I remembered of her was given in that single flower. It was hard to think I never mourned for her death, ever really seemed to miss her. My mother was a fragile but strong woman, and it seemed to dishonor her by not even remembering what she looked like, most of her just shown in the locket that hung around my neck. After each memory with her, I seemed to forget her again. I laid the flower down, stepping away from the window and towards the door. I left the infirmary and to the kitchen, seeing a few containers of what the rest most likely had for dinner.
"Finally you're awake."
Turning to the familiar voice, I saw Bulma. I rolled my eyes. It seemed she was everywhere nowadays. Where was Trunks for Christ's sake?
"Yes, I'm awake. What of it?" I asked, turning my attention to reheating my dinner.
"Well, you got hit while training-"
"I know what happened," I snapped. Bulma only smiled, holding her palms up in surrender.
"Alright, alright. I'm just saying you were out for a couple hours and had to get a few bandages. Otherwise, you're fine."
"I know my wounds, Bulma."
"Do you really?" I turned to look at her. She had a serious expression on her face. I smirked.
"Of course. What warrior doesn't recognize a wound?"
"You know what I'm talking about." She crossed her arms.
"My inner wounds are what you're talking about," I guessed, appearing to be successful when I saw her nod.
"You're being hurt critically in that area. Soon you're nightmares will turn into things you think will happen, fake ones. And then you'll be even more afraid of sleep."
"Afraid of sleep?" I repeated. "I'm not afraid of sleep, Onna. I've been sleeping fine."
"No, you haven't. Don't lie." I swallowed hard, but luckily without her knowledge.
"I was just sleeping not too long ago, obviously. I didn't have any dreams or waking nightmares." I walked over to the microwave, taking out the meal and setting it down on the counter. Bulma sighed, aggravated.
"Fine, stay in denial," she said quietly. "But I've been thinking...maybe you can't fix your dreams like you asked me to help you with." I gave her a look of surprise. Her, a genius, not being able to concoct something to solve my dilemma?
"Explain," I commanded.
She shrugged. "All I can say is...this is something you have to live with. You have to get used to it." The bluenette came closer, touching a scar on my forearm. "They're just like scars, but for your memory. That's what makes them memories. You can't treat them like dreams or nightmares, things that never happened."
I stayed silent. She didn't move from my scar, not moving her gaze from the previous wound.
"You have to come to the face the fact that these happened."
"I know the memories happened," I growled, ticked that she found me delusional. She gave me a look that silenced me.
"I understand that. But what I mean is that you have to come to terms with you're going to be disturbed with these memories until you die, probably. These are your scars, Vegeta. These are what you are left with, what writes your story. If you got rid of them, got rid of your nightmares, you're deleting all that you are." Taking a step back, Bulma closed her eyes. "Do you get what I'm saying?"
"...Yes..." I said after a pregnant pause. The tension I felt from her was heavy. Learning I actually had to go through with all my memories for the lifespan of a Saiyan wasn't pleasing...but it made sense. Soon I would learn to get rid of these memories...but not to forget them. To understand and not be afraid of them.
For the first time in our talk, Bulma smiled. It was a relieved smile. "Good. If you do have a nightmare, I'll help you." I blanched.
"What kind of a sensitive idiot do you take me for?! I'm not going to be needing assistance in this! I can handle myself!" I exclaimed. Holding a finger to her mouth to show I needed to be quiet, the heiress gave me a venomous glare filled with daggers. I rolled my eyes, taking the container and a pair of chopsticks to eat it with as I left the kitchen. To my disdain, her obnoxious self came and followed.
"I'm just trying to help, Vegeta. There's no reason for you to turn hostile on me."
"I don't need any help," I repeated, not facing her.
"In case you do, Vegeta!" Bulma declared. She walked in front of me, forcing me to look at her. She was obviously determined. "I'm just trying to help you!"
"Why are you making such a huge deal out of this? You know I don't like help," I growled.
"Because I know this actually bothers you. I wouldn't let you suffer by yourself." She was more softer in her tone that time. I merely smirked.
"I'm not suffering. I'm fighting through. Leave me be, Bulma." I didn't give her a chance to answer, as I walked away, setting down the container of food I had on the counter, my appetite lost. I heard Bulma curse slightly, sighing as I went to go sleep and then train.
I hadn't had a nightmare in a week or so. I would call that progress if I hadn't been stuck with another one just a few moments ago. It was the same one I had so long ago remembering my mother. The same painful remembrance of her embrace and smile, her silky voice and touch haunting me. The exact scream and bloodshed towards the end. I didn't know I was on the balcony until I felt the slight chill on my skin from the wind. It was almost dawn, and somehow I hadn't woken Bulma when I got up. She still slept peacefully not too far from me.
I remained leaning against the railing with only my thoughts and the wind. The sky slowly tried to eradicate the darkness of night with exposing the sun, the ball of light barely breaking the horizon. The clouds had barely a trace of an outline, the soft underbelly of the large masses lightly colored with a golden pink as they announced the sun's arrival to come. I held the locket I was given so long ago in the palm of my hand, outlining the gem and the Saiyan insignia with my finger. I didn't just think about my mother; I thought of the people I knew before I was handed to Frieza. My father and Sartorou, then Michiko and Clara while under Frieza. I still remembered my father's rage when my mother was murdered; that was the only time when he hit me. It wasn't too hard, but I was still young- it sent me across the room.
Thinking of Clara, I wondered how she affected me so much. Her advice still lasted to this moment and kept me alive under Frieza. It certainly perplexed Zarbon and Dodoria when I first started taking the advice, but it kept them from taunting me so much. I stopped the thoughts suddenly.
Why was I thinking this way? Why was I allowing my past to haunt me? I'm a Saiyan - a prince for that matter! I couldn't allow it to just swallow me into nothing...it seemed like Frieza was still winning. As if he still had the advantage on me. It felt like he still had his collar around my neck and I was still attached by the impervious grip. I hadn't realized I had tightened my hold on the railing until I heard a faint crack underneath my hands. Letting out an aggravated breath, I thought through Bulma's words. I should just live with the memories. They were what made my past, what made me, me...
But I didn't want me. Not self-hate type, I wanted a change...not to be nicer, just to rip Frieza, Dodoria, Zarbon, Buu, Birus, Cell...the never-ending list of people who have beaten me to the ground over and over, out of my mind. They reminded me that my title meant nothing to me. That I didn't need the title- it didn't protect me from fatal attacks. I needed the title, though...it kept me sane...anchored to myself, somehow.
All of this thinking I thought would help just gave me unanswerable questions. Running a hand through my hair, I scowled. All of this was impossible. My past was impossible. It almost seemed like it was mere fiction, the spinning of a web that only an author could conjure in the midst of a horrid dream, leading him to jolt out of bed and write the gruesome details on paper. Drenched in the unseen blood of the tale, the readers hunger for more...more secrets of the person in question, just like my thoughts. It was like I didn't even know myself. My mind was unraveling, but I couldn't tell, not even having a clue.
I shivered. I hadn't realized how cold it had gotten, nor that I had closed my eyes to the physical apparitions of the world. Opening them, I saw it was raining, despite it now being morning. Sensing Bulma's energy, she was already downstairs, probably thinking I was training. Not wanting her to find and question me, I flew up the roof, tucking my knees against my chest as the rain fell. It felt a lot better than you would think. It was almost like a freezing of the mind, halting my concerns and the flow of frustration. I didn't allow myself to think. I didn't want to. I refused to move, only letting myself breathe and watch the rain fall.
Most people get sad at rain. I would more rather agree. But right now...the rain was probably the most calming thing I've seen for a while. It was the first time I actually wasn't thinking about my past ever since I got sick. The sun, even if I missed the sunrise, was in the sky while the rain fell, giving the drops of water a small glimmer of color that seemed to dye the weather in a beautiful acceptance of cold and warm hues in one rain drop...two sides of a coin. A balance.
My thoughts were quickly interrupted when I heard Bulma's voice. "VEGETA!" She yelled. "Get down! It's raining! I don't want you sick again!" Sighing, I flew down from my place to the balcony. In front of me stood Bulma, dressed in a simple outfit of a shirt and jeans...and oddly enough, tennis shoes.
"Why are you wearing those?" I asked. She held out a towel she had gotten out from the bathroom to let me dry off with.
"I was going to ask if you wanted to go jogging, but it's raining. I thought it would help clear your mind." She smiled. I didn't respond as I tossed the towel onto the bed to pick up later.
"I'm fine. Jogging is an idiotic pastime." Walking past her and her insistent declares that it would help, I went to help myself to the almost-done breakfast downstairs.
This was getting nowhere. I still had nightmares that kept me awake every night, the same insignificant attempts to forget and understand them, all while losing sleep. I hadn't had a full night of rest in approximately two weeks. Of course, I didn't show any signs of my sleep deprivation to Bulma or Trunks, and they didn't seem to notice. After being used to lack of sleep for years, this wasn't new. But I would be lying if I didn't say I disliked it.
Stretching to relieve some type of tension in my muscles, I left the Gravity Room I was previously training in. Most of it just consisted of light pushups and a few punches at air, but nothing extreme. Yawning only slightly, I walked to the large mansion and opened the door. The first thing I saw was Bulma tearing up to some scene of a romance movie. Trunks was at her side, but not seeming to pay attention.
"Oh, hey, Dad." I grunted as an answer, walking past them. "Whatcha doin'?"
Sighing since I had to answer, I said, "Kitchen."
"Annnddd?"
"What do you think?" Out of the room and in the kitchen, I got a small snack. Irritated by the loss of sleep, a headache beginning to make the ranks, I got a few pills of aspirin from the medicinal cabinet in the bathroom, downing them. With the headache, I quickly lost my appetite. Abandoning what I had set out, I went to the study instead.
Opening the door, the familiar stacks of shelves chock full of books surrounded the room. Of course, this wasn't anything compared to the library in the north side of the house, but it wasn't small, either. Removing a book from one of the shelves, I found a bookmark in it. Sitting down in a cushioned chair, I flipped to the page with curiosity. The yellowed pages showed age, the smeared hand-written letters revealing a scrawled and hasty message. It was something of an old diary from history, written in a foreign dialect. The bookmark had something pasted onto it, a note in Bulma's handwriting:
"To translate later; greatly intriguing so far! :)"
I had to smirk at the small face included. Of course it was something she would put. Focusing on the odd letters of the language, I was beginning to fall asleep. I shook my head slowly, hoping to stay awake. I didn't want another nightmare. Even then, my useless attempts of staying conscious ceased. Looking at the odd writings of the aged dialect, they almost reminded me of how Saiyan writing looked. Shaking my head again, I saw it wasn't near it. Obviously it looked familiar a second ago because of my drowsiness. Closing the book and setting it aside, I stood and left the study.
"...-'kre..." A soft voice sounded. "Une'kre..." I could barely make it out. It was Saiyan, but that was all I knew. I somehow got into a dark room, but I wasn't a child. I was the same age I was in the present. I had knowledge of my family, nothing forgotten. But yet my mind was shrouded, less sharp from a forming cloud above my head.
The darkness of a room made me feel blind. Even if I blinked, it didn't make a difference. I took some steps forward, but then felt something burn my ankle. Wincing only slightly, I stepped back. Faint laughter was heard...slightly familiar laughter.
"You only learn from experience, Vegeta." A voice hissed. "And you must be hesitant about your steps. Otherwise..." The voice sounded feminine. "You get burned."
I scowled, taking another step forward. A shadow darted across my peripheral vision. "Your sins keep stalking you like a shadow...it really is rather amusing, Saiyan Prince."
When I tried to speak, my throat closed. I was mute, and all I could do was say the thoughts in my head. The familiar laughter sounded again. A light-skinned hand brushed its fingertips across my cheek, almost like a dare to move forward. Tch. Advancing again, I got burned across my chest. I winced, holding my hand on the scorch. The female laughed.
"You really are a treat! You remind me of another fellow, except you can't keep your cool. Yet you both wear masks...hmm. It really isn't something to dwell on, but the Saiyan Prince isn't one to enjoy silence...hmm?" A glimpse of sharp fangs appeared, but then disappeared.
"If the Prince remains in deadly silence..." The voice continued. "Then his mind warps back to the memories of his mother and father, brutally killed by the hands of the lizard Icejin. Scars are torn back open, even when he thinks they are long healed. He hides this part of him from his family...even when he would tell most of his life."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. But the mere fact that she was drawing out every secret from my past life like a vampire that was previously starving was gnawing me at my core. I hadn't noticed I had my fists tight enough to draw blood. I felt the liquid drip down my hands and to the floor.
I strained to speak, to say something. The room felt cold...chilled. The voice spoke again. "Ah, wouldn't it be lovely to watch you bleed with two eyes? It's such a luxury to have them, I'm sure." With every sentence, her voice seemed to get darker and darker. "To not have to hide the hideous scar on your face...to be normal...tch. I'll get my redemption for the pain and agony I felt...for the worry my sister and brother got..."
Something about her words seemed to click with me. It sounded familiar. Something about them seemed thick like a poison, a poison I took without knowing it. I swallowed hard. The silence only lasted a few seconds. The darkness and lack of movement made it seem like minutes.
"...You still don't know me. Heh. I'm not surprised. We only met when you were young." A sharp noise sounded near me, almost in front of me. Then an insane amount of pain shot through my left eye, causing me to cry out in pain. Clutching the source of pain, I gritted my teeth and felt blood fall from the same place of my scar. It felt much worse than when I got hit in the eye by Dodoria all those years ago, however. Laughing.
"Aha! This is rich! Now you know how it felt when you inflicted pain unto me!" The female said, still cackling. I didn't understand. When did I hurt someone else this way? I don't remember ever hitting someone in the eyes...
"You still haven't remembered?"
"I...I do..." I lied.
"Aha! Right! I can read your thoughts, Saiyan. You don't even know why you would hurt someone in such a way. Being struck in the eyes is a terrible injury...and a fatal one. Why would you want to hurt someone so much? Who would anger you so?" She mused.
I growled. The blood seeped into the sleeve of my shirt as it dripped down my arm from my hand. It didn't seem to stop. It almost seemed like a fatal injury.
"Ahh, your blood seems to be the color of wine...no...darker. Almost as dark as an eternal night. A very pure, warped red that is misinterpreted to be a dark sky without its stars. It makes me want to rip and tear your skin off to see more...it seems much too rare to put to waste." She laughed, first softly and then growing to a more loud laugh. She seemed insane.
"So many colors have been spilt by your hands! Red, a common color...a dark green...a light one. Even purple. You've created such a canvas of macabre it seems to be more of a beautiful painting than that of spilled blood." The pressure of two hands placed itself on the sides of my cheeks. The blood was gone from my left one, the pain with it. What was this woman going on about? This didn't make sense...it could never make sense. I couldn't speak, shocked by the use of grotesque imagery she placed upon me.
"Ah..." The voice whispered, sounding a lot more near. I guessed the pressure of hands to be hers. "If only I could add more of the dark, unaltered and pure red of your blood. Yours is much more darker than a normal Saiyan...you have the blood of innocents soaked into your veins. Much more than any other Saiyan..." I felt a forehead touch mine, but nothing showed...or it was too dark to tell. "Or maybe...it's darker because you're a slave..."
I shivered, her touch seeming to turn electric and into a static charge. She laughed. "Time flees when speaking. Our...talk has seemed to come to an abrupt end. Until the day I come...my Prince..." A small smile formed itself in the darkness, a hood obscuring the rest of her face. The hood...the single fang that appeared from her lips...the eye, the talk, the way she spoke...it all dawned on me then as she faded into nothing.
Anya.