Disclaimer: No, I do not own DBZ, dammit.

Author's Notes: This story is very special to me, so please, please review. Thank you ^_^

Chapter 2

I return to the kitchen as I finish preparing your meal, the sight of which never fails to amaze me. How do you Saiyajins pack it all in? I chuckle a bit, sympathizing with Chi Chi, knowing exactly how hard she's gotta work just to satiate Goku, who always seems to have an everlasting bottomless pit of a stomach. Hmm, I wonder if that what causes her so much stress, that one false move from Goku and wham! There goes the frying pan. Sometimes I feel sorry for him being conked on the head all the time but in all fairness, I think it's a fair trade. Being as she's such a wonderful cook, her family can never get enough, and that expression of gratitude is more than enough to show her how much Goku truly loves and appreciates her.

Unfortunately, that isn't the case with you.

You on the other hand, constantly complain and moan about my cooking, preferring my own mother's cooking to mine – do you even realize how much that hurts me? Sure it's petty and probably very minuscule to you, but since I never get anything from you, even that adds up. Honestly, I get the same feeling from our children. I often wonder if they're aware that I know the little tricks they pull to show they've 'eaten' my cooking. But at least they have enough sense not to vocalize their horror, eating it to placate my ego. I sigh heavily, knowing this will always be my fate.

Ah, the Saiyajin no Ouji appears. From the corner of my eye, I see you hesitate a bit and I wonder what you are thinking about as you stand there looking at me. I see the tears in your battlesuit, the lacerations and bruises plainly visible. Do you know the pain I feel when I see those on your beautiful body? I want so much for you to not hurt, to keep you from harm, that it tears me up when I see those. I remember those times so long ago, when I would tend to your wounds whilst you slept, your pride always telling me they were of no concern. But I cared for you anyways, watching over you as you slept, trying to soothe your trembling figure as you battle your demons from so long ago. Sometimes I wondered and still do, if you even knew about that but of course if you did, you never gave any inclination.

I turn around as I begin placing your meals in front of you, steadfastly averting my eyes from your piercing gaze. Something about the ways you look at me shakes me to the very core, and I am left as weak and defenseless as a newborn. Those eyes, their mysteriousness and calculating depths was the one real reason that I began to fall in love with you, the way they suck me into their depths, and never let me go. I sometimes feel like I'm a diver way in over my head, drowning in your gaze, not having the will or the strength to escape. Sometimes I'll see a flicker of emotion pass through covertly, and I leap for joy, but most times you close me off, never really letting me see you the way I'd wish you would. Why is it so hard for you to tell me you love me? I know you see it in mine; why can't I see it in yours? Ugh, the despair of it all is beginning to catch up to me and I must leave quickly, lest you see the hurt and despair in mine again.

I turn to the only place I call my only sanctuary: the lab. At least in here, I am allowed the solitude and tranquility of machines, formulas, and theories to ease my suffering and pain. My only escape from the reality in which I live. Sometimes I hole myself in here for endless hours, working on this, fixing that, in part for the sheer pleasure of it, while also allowing my mind to focus on things other than you. Being here, I shut down the part of myself that yearns for you, the part that is so starved for your love that it becomes painful and hurts so much inside. The relief of it all to escape the pain is all I have left and here, I welcome it with open arms.

But not today.

I cannot seem to focus on anything but you, and I let myself go shamefully, allowing the tears to come, as they've wanted to so many times. I wonder why I am still with you when you treat me so. The old Bulma would've left without looking back, and probably would've kicked you in the balls (heh, just ask Yamcha). But I cannot seem to do that with you. You've got some hold over me that no one has ever had, and I hate you for it. My life revolves around you and our children, though they are much older now and able to take care of themselves. That brings me back to my question: why am I still here?

Is it because I feel some sort of gratitude for you when you sacrificed yourself to save us? You know when piccolo delivered the news, I already knew, some part of me suddenly felt empty, void of any life. But when he confirmed it, it made me numb to everything and anything around me. I couldn't feel, I couldn't do anything, the pain of losing you placed a ten-ton weight on my soul. To sacrifice your life, why? You've never explained it to anyone, though Piccolo knows – but even he wouldn't tell me why, saying someday I would know. Trunks was my only saving grace at that time, comforting me as best he could, telling me how you finally overcame your pride enough to hug him and tell him you cared and always had.

Lucky boy.

Sigh. I should not be jealous of Trunks. Knowing how hard it is for you to show any sort of emotion, what happened was a miracle. My poor son. He works so hard to make both of us happy, that it makes me cry even harder. The way his blessed soul tries to comfort me, knowing and empathizing with how I feel, to never be shown love or affection because you deem it a weakness ages him beyond his years. Sometimes when he catches me the way I am now, he'll sit here with me and just hold me – knowing how much I need it so. But all I see is you, and that puts him in a conundrum between loving you and wanting to hate you so much for putting me through so much.

Are you even aware?

I wipe my face wearily as I stare at the numerous hapless drones you've left broken around my lab. They are a symbol of my despair. Their fried and twisted bodies show the numerous blasts you've showered upon then, fill with so much hate and anger. I feel that way. Each anger driven blast are like the insults and contempt you constantly fling at me, burrowing deep inside, gutting me incessantly. Of course I try not to show it, instead opting to battle you with as much anger and contempt as you do to me.

But I rarely win.

The one time I allowed my hurt to surface you just used to hurt me even further, calling me weak, undignified, definitely not fit to be the mate of the great prince of Vegita-sei. You trampled and stomped your feet all over my grieving soul, not even caring that you've hurt me. Leaving what was left of me to be picked up by Trunks and Bra. That was when I finally realized the truth.

Only my children truly love me.

**** (sigh), *sniffle* , well I don't know about y'all, but I'm spent. Please read and review I'd love to know what everyone thinks. Well, see ya. Red Angel