REQUIEM
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, nor do I claim to. I'm only borrowing them, please don't sue me because I have no money.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is for Nova Of Life because I told you I was writing another chapter of Where The Water I Deeper (and I was) but inspiration struck and I wrote this instead. Hope you're not too disappointed.
She's asking me again. She wants to know about me, about my past. I don't know why she bothers because I never tell her anything. To tell her about it would be to dirty her because she's separate from the past except for the part she plays in it and I want to keep it that way. She has nothing to do with the years I spent killing every innocent on every planet Freeza's fancy was grabbed by and not caring because I thought they had it better than I did. I thought they were the lucky ones.
And they were.
It's easy when you have people you care about. It's easy to want to fight for something. It's easy to believe in something. It's easy to have hope. It's easy to have dreams.
There's nothing more frustrating than people who have things easy. People who have things easy have never had to struggle for the love and hope and beliefs and dreams they take for granted. Those things are just picked on their journey through life.
It's not easy to have dreams and hopes when your life is hopeless and your life is a nightmare. There's very little that can drive you to strive for love and happiness. Those things are never on the agenda. No, the agenda is revenge, power and complete control. Never having to listen to another person order you to kill billions upon billions of people you had no problem with and turning into the monster you hated because after a while killing becomes fun. It's a way out, a release and when you're killing a person, you are in control. Hearing someone beg for their life, that's power. And after you get that feeling once, you want it again. And again. It's an addiction and I was addicted. Freeza's favourite toy soldier, bringing fear and hatred wherever he went.
She's getting angry because she thinks I'm ignoring her. She doesn't know I'm listening to her breath, her heartbeat, the sounds that tell me she's alive. She doesn't know that when I'm cold and silent, I'm listening to the sounds she makes that made me want her in the first place. She isn't pure and sweet and shining with white light. I wouldn't want her if she was. She's loud and obnoxious and annoying and the times we're arguing I'm trying to stop myself from pushing her to the ground and fucking her brains out. And the results of the arguments are split into the times I actually do that, the times we get so pissed off we scream and walk away, and every now and then, not often, the times she'll turn quiet and look at me.
Really look.
I don't like it when she does that. And I tell her. But she does it anyway. She looks at me like she's trying to figure out one of her science problems and the reason I hate it is because I'm afraid that one day she will. She'll look at me and realise that I'm a killer. I'm not someone who deserves a person like her and she'll walk away. I'm afraid that if she walks away, I'll just go back to not caring, not hoping and not dreaming. I like those things. And she brought them to me.
When we got together and she told me she was pregnant with Trunks, she said she had a present for me. And it was the greatest gift I've ever been given. Right up there with eventually becoming a Super Saiyjin. But her real gift, the one she didn't even know she gave me, was hope.
I had hope. For a life. The one thing I had never had. I could barely remember Vejiitasei. And what I had serving Freeza wasn't a life, it was a living hell. Sure, I enjoyed it sometimes, mostly when I was killing things, but it wasn't a life. I think I even knew it back then. I know it now.
She's not looking at me any more. And I almost sigh in relief. A respite, one more day I have this life. Maybe tomorrow will be the day it all disappears. But it doesn't matter because I have today. And now she's lying across my stomach, playing with my hand and I let her.
I wonder what she's thinking as she plays with my fingers. I wonder if she's thinking about what she'll do tomorrow or what to wear or how many people I have actually killed. I know she wants to know about me. She's says she wants to understand me. I just tell her that her limited intelligence wouldn't possibly be able to comprehend me so she shouldn't even bother. She smiled the last time I said that and kissed me. I know she was forgiving me for my faults and telling me it doesn't matter if I don't tell her. And I know it doesn't matter to her, she's just curious. And I love her for that. I don't tell her, but I think she knows.
I watch her play with one hand. Her hair resting languidly across my side down to the bed. With my other hand, I run my fingers through it. I love her hair. I love the way it's this strange blue colour that no one else has. It's soft and smooth. The first time I touched it that was what I thought of. Apart from trying not to strangle it's owner for cutting holes in all my training clothes to prevent me from training. And the memory makes me smile.
Not too many memories make me do that. Most of them are about killing. Funny though, I don't remember the first person I killed. I remember thinking this was the sort of thing I'd remember forever, never forgetting a detail. But I did. I can't remember who it was, what they looked like or even how old I was. I guess it was because you don't remember the things that don't seem important. I guess it was because after I killed for the first time that was what my whole life became centred around. All the faces became a blur and soon after that, less than a blur. They were nothing but vague embodiments of things that were alive, and I had to take that life and give them death. Some fucking gift.
But I do have some memories of Bulma that make me smile and make me forget who I am. I don't think of them too often. I just store them up and try not to forget anything. They are very important so I don't think about them. Maybe if I do, the importance will wash away and I'll forget. I don't want to forget anything about my life now. And that is a new feeling.
I think she's fallen asleep, her hand clasped in mine. I don't want to make her wake up and move so I lie still. Funny how she thinks I'm worth the effort. But I guess it's easy for other people to believe you're worth taking time. Not so easy to make yourself believe it.
I know her friends still think I'm going to murder them all while they're asleep. It would be interesting to see their faces before I killed them. And the thought that I find that interesting only lets me know how unworthy I am of being in the same space as Bulma, breathing the same air.
I know they think I have rivers of blood to my name. The blood of a billion innocents on my hands. They're wrong. Dead people don't bleed. So, to clarify, I have the lives of a billion innocents on my hands. Come on people, get it right.
Those billion innocents didn't get the time to bleed before I killed them. But I won't tell Bulma's friends that. I don't think they'd appreciate the difference. I know I don't.
I run one hand over her face, lightly and slowly. She doesn't move or wake up or even twitch. I don't know why I did it. Maybe I just want to see those blue, blue eyes. If I said blue a thousand times it wouldn't describe the colour of her eyes. They're like the sky in the way they change. They have that same irradiant light to them, the same well of deep knowledge behind them. The same promise of adventure and excitement.
Would she be pissed off if I woke her up just so I could see her eyes? Probably not, if I told her that was the reason. But I know I wouldn't and she would curse at me and then jump on me, for punishment as she puts it. I think it would be worth it because that is no punishment. But I don't tell her that either.
I like this life. I like it the way it is. I don't want to lose it but I know I will eventually. I've done the crime and I'm yet to be seriously punished. Being killed by Freeza, that was nothing to what I truly deserve. The time I spent in Hell afterwards? That was a glimpse of what I'll get the next time I die. I guess it's because I haven't repented. I don't know why I don't.
Actually, I do. I don't like the idea that half of my life would just be gone. A truly shitty part of my life, but having it gone would be like disappearing. Worse, not existing.
I heard Bulma talking about Terran philosophy about a week ago. She was saying how it was all bullshit. And I overheard one idea she especially disagreed with. And the minute, the second I heard it, it explained my life to me. There's no such thing as freedom, only the freedom to choose our prison. I think I froze for a second then walked past her and her friend. But inside me, inside my head, I was in shock. I know why Bulma hates it so much. If it's true, then Bulma isn't free. And that's one thing she prises highly. Her freedom.
Maybe the words weren't the right ones to use. Prison especially. But it's one of very few things I heard for the first time and believed. I saw it as truth. It's a cannon principle now, of mine. But the problem with it is that there are a few things which should be said after it. That it shouldn't be taken to be depressing, it's not meant to be thought of in that way. That we choose things that appeal to us, we choose prisons that make us happy. Or most people do. I chose prisons that weren't just a metaphorical prison, they were real. I chose to serve Freeza instead of trying to escape. I chose to fight Freeza. I chose to stay on Earth. The one thing I had no choice in was Bulma. There was never anything for me to do except dazzle her with my good looks and charm. Of course, that's not how she puts it.
So I live in this paradise of a prison. Trapped with this beautiful woman curled up against me and my son in the next room. And I can't help but wonder when I'll be sent away. When my time will be done and I won't have my inmates anymore.
Mostly, I don't think about it. I take what I can get and store it away to remember when I no longer have it. I take everything I can.
And I look down at Bulma.
And I remember her.