Chapter Six

Bulma sat at her hotel room table stirring a cold cup of tea with a wooden hashi. She faced the window, gazing out into a clear night sky, knowing that her Prince stared at the same sky. She missed him; this was their fourth night apart. She'd never been away from him this long, not since John.

Now that she was away from him she could remember all the times he was civil to her, all the quiet moments when they were alone. She knew he loved her, deep down inside—if he didn't, he wouldn't have stayed.

No, that was a lie. He didn't love her. She was fooling herself. He'd told her himself that she was his mate, and Saiyan's were extremely loyal. But that didn't mean he loved her. He almost told her as much—she was to be protected and tolerated as long as she lived. That didn't mean he had to love her. He could love another, but he'd stay loyal to her. He could not cheat on or hurt her, but she could him. She would die eventually and he would find another woman, possibly actually love her.

Bulma felt a pain in her chest as she thought of him possibly loving another woman. She felt like someone stabbed her straight in the heart with a burning poker, and then ripped it out so that she would bleed to death. No, it was worse than that: it was like being eternally separated from the one you loved the most—which was what was happening to her. Vegeta didn't love her, and yet she loved him so much, she didn't even have words for it. It hurt her to think that he would love another after her, that she would be conveniently forgotten when she went on to the Great Snake Way.

"Damn it!" she said, slamming her hashi down on the table and standing up. She began to pace.

Why did she love him so much? He was such an arrogant bastard who cared for no one but himself, and made a show about caring for her and the children. Well, maybe for her and Trunks; he actually seemed to like Bra. But still—why did he always have to be so cold and heartless? It seemed like he hated her for some reason. What did she do to him?

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Before . . . .

Bulma sat contentedly on the couch in the living room, placing her right hand on her still flat stomach and smiling at no one in particular. She sighed softly and thought about her Prince Charming, Vegeta. She knew she was in love with him, had known for quite a while. He'd been so tender to her since John; she didn't even know he could be that way. And even now that John was long gone, he was still somewhat tender, though definitely not as much as he was the ensuing months after John. He still loved to pick fights with her and disagree with her on everything and anything, and comment on how stupid she was. Her, stupid? She was the smartest person in the world, not to mention the most beautiful.

Vegeta. Just the thought of him made her sigh. He was so . . . she couldn't even describe it. Infuriating, yes; but thoughtful too, she supposed. He had a softer side—like all arrogant bastards. She loved the challenge of pulling that side out of him. And he had definitely proved to be a challenge, one she didn't even consider taking up until after John. Given, she flirted with him—they lived in the same house, how could she not—but she had never really seriously thought about pursuing him. But that first night when he held her close to him, doing nothing but calming her fears, she knew he was the one she'd been waiting for. Her Prince Charming.

She was jolted out of her revere when she heard the back door slam and the steady footsteps of the one she'd been thinking about. She got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen, smiling hugely at Vegeta. He looked back at her, his face stony and emotionless. She knew he was wanting to get into a fight. She walked over to him and lightly kissed him on the cheek. "I'll have your dinner ready soon," she said.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as she moved around the kitchen. She could imagine what he was thinking: what the hell is going on with her? Well, he'd find out soon enough, if he didn't know already. She heard him sit down at the table and could feel his gaze on her back.

She started to hum to herself about nothing in particular. She was in a good mood.

"Woman, you're hurting my ears with your awful humming," he said maliciously, most likely itching to get into a fight.

"Too bad for you, Veggie-chan," she said placing a plate in front of him. "I'm in a good mood. Later, when I'm in a bad mood, I'll let you know so you won't have to hear my humming." She fairly floated out of the room after that, leaving a speechless Saiyan behind.

She took her shower and climbed into bed, not really needing sleep but not having anything else to do. She didn't want to sleep. She wanted to sing and dance and jump around the room. But she'd probably scare the hell out of Vegeta if she did; he wasn't one to display happy emotions, and he didn't like to see others do it either. "Weak human," he'd say.

She heard the shower being turned on in the bathroom. Most definitely he was showering. That was him, always clean. She'd never known him not to take a shower after a day of training, or even after a day of beating—which didn't happen often now that Goku was off somewhere training with Gohan and Piccolo. She loved to wrap her arms around him at night, inhaling the clean, fresh smell of soap and feeling the crisp touch of his shirt against her face. Actually, now he hardly ever wore a shirt to sleep, if anything, now that they were mated'—she hated that word; it made her feel like an animal. Given, she was an animal, but-

"Bulma, shut up. You're starting to rant," she scolded herself. She was just so excited.

She heard the door open and softly click shut as Vegeta entered the room. The room was suddenly filled with heat and a strong smell of soap. Vegeta climbed into the bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She sighed and turned to face him, encircling his body with her arms.

"Woman, what the hell is wrong with you today?" he murmured in her hair.

Now was the moment, the moment she'd been waiting for all day . . . and she couldn't say a thing! Not a Kami-blasted thing! She'd been dreaming all day how to tell him, but now that the moment was here, no words came out of her mouth. He pulled back a little and stared at her with a quizzical look on his face. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

He smirked and pulled her close again. "I know what you want to say, woman."

"Oh, really. And what do I want to say?" she asked him, somewhat relieved.

"You're having a baby," he stated simply.

Bulma felt her body tense at the word you're.' He made it sound like he wasn't apart of it. "What do you mean, you're'? Aren't we' having a baby?"

"Woman, I'm not having the baby. You are. This has nothing to do with us," he said.

"What?" she said pulling away. "How can you say that? It's our baby."

"Woman-"

She got up from the bed hurriedly. "Vegeta, this child is yours."

"I know the brat is mine," he said.

"It's not a brat," she argued.

"Yes, he is a brat," he said, his voice rising a little out of irritation.

"Vegeta, how can you say your own child is a brat? Do you have absolutely no love?" she said, her voice starting to rise out of anger.

She saw a flash of anger cross his eyes. "Woman, I don't love anyone. Saiyan's don't love." He sat up on the bed and looked at her, his eyes filled with irritation and anger.

She felt her world crumble right then. Saiyan's don't love? He didn't love her then? She was just some sort of play thing for him, something to keep his bed warm? She flew out of the room. She couldn't handle this, not now, not when she was going to have his baby. What did she get herself into? He didn't love her, or the baby. She could picture herself right now, raising the baby on her own, no father to love them like a father should.

She ran down the stairs and out of the house, grabbing her purse along the way. She uncapsuled her air car and drove off, needing to get away from that bastard she'd mated' with.

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Now . . . .

Bulma sneered as she relived that night Vegeta told her he didn't love anyone. How could she have been so stupid to think that he actually loved her? Him of all people. But she had gone back to him, and they had made up in their own way. The making up was always good. They even had a second child, Bra. But he never said he loved her and she never asked. She had deluded herself into thinking he could finally love her as time passed, but that was all it was—delusions.

That had been the end of the good times, the end of everything tender. Vegeta played well the part of being caring, but there was always a bit of resistance on his part, which she couldn't understand until now. That night, when he said he didn't love anyone, the fantasy world that she had lived in crumbled into nothing, leaving her broken and lonely and very much aware that he wasn't capable of loving anyone, and leaving her love unreturned.

And her love was still unreturned. She smirked and took a sip of her cold tea, walking over to the balcony in the process. Her children were grown already, learning how to love others, letting others love them, filling the empty spaces inside their hearts . . . and she was empty still. After all the years she'd spent with their father she was still lonely. Her own children experienced more love in their lives than she had her whole life. It was . . . disgusting. She had to be one of the most loveless people in the world.

And to think that Vegeta put up with her all these years. She owed him something for that at least. He'd never left, not that he could, and he'd never really complained—besides the fights that he would pick with her just because of who he was. Well, she'd do everyone favor tonight.

Bulma looked over the railing to the gray concrete floor down below. Ten flights. From where she stood she could see the entire lay-out of Satan City, the city which Capsule Corp. practically built—not that she got any thanks for that. No, just lawsuits and complaints. She smirked and climbed over the railing, her feet teetering over the edge. No one would know until it was too late. She couldn't live life the way she was now; she couldn't put Vegeta through what he was going through because he was obligated to be with her because of some stupid mark on her neck.

Bulma loosened her grip on the silver railing, leaning forward a little and staring down at what she would soon know rather well. Her love would never be returned, so why put Vegeta through hell for something that meant absolutely nothing to him. This was it.

She let go of the railing and propelled herself off the balcony. She felt no regret. Her babies were grown up and they could handle life on their own; her friends could live without her; Trunks was perfectly capable of running Capsule Corp.; and Vegeta wouldn't give a damn anyway. A single tear slipped out from her eyes. She didn't want to die yet, but she didn't know how to live.

Six words slipped out of her mouth before she hit the unforgiving pavement below: "I will always love you, Vegeta."