...........................................................................................LITTLE BLACK DRESS
.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
If Bulma had had any shred of confidence about what she had done to herself, it had disipated by the time the burly, tatoo-covered man had lifted the needle to her face. If she had thought the piercing had been painful then, it had been dwarfed by the pain she had felt when the numbing had begin to wear off. And so here she was, strolling around town, procrastinating. The prospect of facing both Goku AND Vejita was overwhelming.
Bulma covered the symbol of weakness behind a sheet of sleek blue hair, praying that the sparkling glimpses of the diamond wouldn't give her away. Her hopes were dashed as the snowflakes began to float down to Earth heavily, matting the layer of protection down on her face. The tiny diamond stud on the left side of her nose flashed and glittered like a living entity, baring the marks of her soul for all of the people who passed to see.
On her second lap around the salted streets, still coated with remnants of the first snow, she happened to catch a glimpse of a homeless couple huddled together in an alley, desperately seeking to chase away the cold, and she felt a sudden shot of boldness from the knowledge of how well-off she really was. She had every advantage, and, at least for this second, she knew that it was high time for her to start using it.
Her chin lifted, her hands pushed the hair off of her pretty young face, and she bore her burden proudly for the world to see. For this moment she was grateful, for it was her burden to bear. Alone. At this depressing thought her eyes began to fill with hot tears that she had been stifling. She forgot her vanity and let them fall, preparing herself for an onslaught of sobs.
To her surprise, one was not forthcoming, and for that she was grateful. It was comforting that she had held on to one last vestige of strength from the so-called 'old days'. Thinking back to the Prom that changed her life, she allowed the strands of hair to fall into her face again. Except this time, she didn't bother to brush them away.
Her car awaited her on the street in front of the tattoo shop. Bulma hesitated a moment, lifting her eyes to the sky and allowing herself one wistful moment at the sight of the classic winter display, then let it go and climbed into her car, hardly aware of the piercing any longer.
Vejita was, not surprisingly, training when Bulma arrived back at Capsule Corps, and Goku was gone. Bulma wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Not bothering to take off her shoes, she ventured further into the house, her purse hanging limply from her hands. She slumped down into a chair in the dining room and put her face in her hands, fighting to keep a grip on herself.
She had felt the cravings again that morning. They had been like knives relentlessly stabbing her in the ass, driving her up the stairs to her room, forcing her to give up and go into submission. She had nearly given in when she remembered that night Vejita had supposedly carried her into the living room after she had passed out. Embarrassment had reddened her cheeks and she had, for once in her life, felt truly ashamed of her disgusting behavior. In a fit of anger, she had smashed her bathroom mirror with a hairbrush and made her hasty decision.
And, in spite of her efforts, here she was again, just as bad off as she had been earlier. Except now she had something to show for it. It wasn't as if she hadn't occasionally dreamed of getting it done throughout her life; in fact, it had been one of her goals to be acheived before middle-age. To relieve some of her tension, she began braiding her hair in tiny sections, her fingers grappling the strands of hair clumsily.
This was how Vejita found her. He had been on his way to the kitchen for a quick snack when he had felt her weak ki. Her pain was apparent to him as soon as his eyes fell on her slouchy back and trembling fingers that were in the process of snarling her hair. If he hadn't been able to distinguish her mood by all of the other things, the knotting of her hair would have been a dead-giveaway. He ambled slowly into the room and took the seat next to her, squinting to catch a glimpse of her face from behind her veil of hair.
Impatiently, he grabbed her chin and turned her face towards him, and was hardly surprised by what he saw. In her nose twinkled a delicate little nose ring. Many Saiyan women had done this, though the purpose of piercings on Vejitasei had not been for looks, as Bulma's quite obviously been. Besides this new development, she looked terrible.
The hair that he had always thought to be perfectly smooth and frizz-free was snarled and messy around her face and in the back, with a few melting snowflakes still remaining from her walk outside. Her face was pale and emotionless, and salty tears were dried onto her face. She wore a pair of faded designer jeans and stiletto heels, which was nothing out of the ordinary, but her shirt was a flirtaceous halter top clearly designed for the night scene, definitely not for the wintry weather he knew to be existing outside. Her eyes were like two dark pools of sadness in her face. He released her chin and frowned, looking down at his hands.
"What the hell is that?" His obsidian eyes went to her tiny nose.
"A last chance." Her voice was unsteady.
"At what?"
She shrugged, facing away from him again. The hair fell back in her face. "Freedom."
"From WHAT?" Vejita was incredulous, aggravated with her vagueness.
"My old self." She now sounded utterly disgusted with herself. "I'm sick of being controlled by what I shove up my nose, and I'm sick of being so fucking WEAK. I--I want to get away from it...everything."
"Damn," Vejita muttered to himself, at a loss of what to say. He could very well remember feeling the exact same way himself, back with Frieza. He had since learned to channel his pain into his training, but this was something borne out of necessity, and Bulma had no pressing need to hang on to life, as he had. He understood how she was feeling all too well. "You want to get away?"
She nodded, putting her head down onto the table.
"You know just as well as I do that you can't run away." His voice came out harsher than he had intended, but there wasn't much he could to about it now. "No matter where you go, you're always gonna want to snort that white shit, and you're always going to want to jump off a building. It doesn't MATTER where you are."
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes skeptical. "You sound like you know what you're talking about."
He smirked and turned over his wrists, showing her the fading pink scars that slashed across the olive skin. Her fingers traced the long thin lines absently, and her eyes went wide and she looked up at him with new realization.
"The mighty Prince Vejita, a troubled youth?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow. "What a couple we make."
Vejita snorted, shook off her hands, and stood. "Well, YOU'RE the sadisitic one."
Bulma, narrowing her healing eyes, crossed her arms and regarded Vejita seriously. "Uh-huh. The blood on your hands is certainly no match for the blood on mine."
"Don't push your luck, woman," Vejita growled, backing out of the room. "If you continue with much more of this I-know-your-every-thought bullshit I'll be forced to add the blood of one more."
That night, Vejita lie awake in his bed, twisting and turning restlessly, trying to fight off the many things on his tired mind. What he wanted most was sleep, and it irritated him that he could not obtain it. There were several things that were keeping it away, especially. The first being the fact that Bulma's radio was playing 'softly' to her human ears, but to his Saiyan ones it was practically blaring. And second, the image of Bulma's injured expression when he had discovered the diamond in her face. For some reason, he could not seem to drive it out of his mind.
He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he failed to notice Bulma's music switch off and the quiet creak of her door as it opened out into the hallway. He did notice, however, when Bulma appeared in the doorway of his room, still dressed in the clothes she had been wearing earlier--minus the shoes but not, unfortunately, the helpless expression and snarled hair. She crossed the room silently and perched on his bed, avoiding his eyes as he sat up, eyebrows furrowed.
She suddenly smiled an odd smile, her eyes wide and almost crazed. She stripped off the halter top and allowed herself to be encircled in his arms, her entire body shaking with effort. Her lashes fluttered wildly against his skin and and her fingers kneaded his back spastically. The nose ring glimmered brilliantly in the quiet darkness.
As they leaned down onto the bed, her shaking stopped, and her eyes focused. Her arms wrapped around him desperately, for she seeked security, of all things. Understanding this need, he stopped all advances and held her as she sobbed. For what, he was not certain, but the sensation of her warm tears on his chest was compelling enough. Perhaps she cried for Yamcha, or even for that night at Prom, so long ago, when her entire universe had changed. But, as he could very well relate to, most likely she cried for the strange, unfamiliar person she had become. It reminded him of the first time he had purged a planet, and how he had felt afterwards.
Most likely they were all products of their own wild outbursts and shortcomings, he supposed. Regardless of her tears, Bulma refused to stop her ministrations completely--she had wriggled out of her impossibly tight pants by the time she caved in completely.
She remained in this rather upsetting state until the rosy dawn was on the verge of emerging above the snow. He held her throughout, his dark and unseeing eyes looking into a time years earlier, into the time he had fully realized the disgusting person he had become.
*******************************************************************************************
(A/N): ...whoa. I don't know where this entire CHAPTER came from, but...okay. I'm telling you all right now, there are only about two chapters left to this fic, and, as you could have probably guessed, there will be a sequel, and I have most of that planned out also. I'll finish "Youth of the Nation" first though. I'm in the process of finishing off my webpage, so check on it every now and then. Oh yes, and please go buy Christina Aguilera's CD, "Stripped'. I cried during the two songs "Voice Within" and "I'm OK". They pertain to my life QUITE nicely. Say good-bye to the Pop Princess, people! Anyhow please remember to review on this rather...unexpected...chapter. I'll be off getting my head checked.
*******************************************************************************************
.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
If Bulma had had any shred of confidence about what she had done to herself, it had disipated by the time the burly, tatoo-covered man had lifted the needle to her face. If she had thought the piercing had been painful then, it had been dwarfed by the pain she had felt when the numbing had begin to wear off. And so here she was, strolling around town, procrastinating. The prospect of facing both Goku AND Vejita was overwhelming.
Bulma covered the symbol of weakness behind a sheet of sleek blue hair, praying that the sparkling glimpses of the diamond wouldn't give her away. Her hopes were dashed as the snowflakes began to float down to Earth heavily, matting the layer of protection down on her face. The tiny diamond stud on the left side of her nose flashed and glittered like a living entity, baring the marks of her soul for all of the people who passed to see.
On her second lap around the salted streets, still coated with remnants of the first snow, she happened to catch a glimpse of a homeless couple huddled together in an alley, desperately seeking to chase away the cold, and she felt a sudden shot of boldness from the knowledge of how well-off she really was. She had every advantage, and, at least for this second, she knew that it was high time for her to start using it.
Her chin lifted, her hands pushed the hair off of her pretty young face, and she bore her burden proudly for the world to see. For this moment she was grateful, for it was her burden to bear. Alone. At this depressing thought her eyes began to fill with hot tears that she had been stifling. She forgot her vanity and let them fall, preparing herself for an onslaught of sobs.
To her surprise, one was not forthcoming, and for that she was grateful. It was comforting that she had held on to one last vestige of strength from the so-called 'old days'. Thinking back to the Prom that changed her life, she allowed the strands of hair to fall into her face again. Except this time, she didn't bother to brush them away.
Her car awaited her on the street in front of the tattoo shop. Bulma hesitated a moment, lifting her eyes to the sky and allowing herself one wistful moment at the sight of the classic winter display, then let it go and climbed into her car, hardly aware of the piercing any longer.
Vejita was, not surprisingly, training when Bulma arrived back at Capsule Corps, and Goku was gone. Bulma wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Not bothering to take off her shoes, she ventured further into the house, her purse hanging limply from her hands. She slumped down into a chair in the dining room and put her face in her hands, fighting to keep a grip on herself.
She had felt the cravings again that morning. They had been like knives relentlessly stabbing her in the ass, driving her up the stairs to her room, forcing her to give up and go into submission. She had nearly given in when she remembered that night Vejita had supposedly carried her into the living room after she had passed out. Embarrassment had reddened her cheeks and she had, for once in her life, felt truly ashamed of her disgusting behavior. In a fit of anger, she had smashed her bathroom mirror with a hairbrush and made her hasty decision.
And, in spite of her efforts, here she was again, just as bad off as she had been earlier. Except now she had something to show for it. It wasn't as if she hadn't occasionally dreamed of getting it done throughout her life; in fact, it had been one of her goals to be acheived before middle-age. To relieve some of her tension, she began braiding her hair in tiny sections, her fingers grappling the strands of hair clumsily.
This was how Vejita found her. He had been on his way to the kitchen for a quick snack when he had felt her weak ki. Her pain was apparent to him as soon as his eyes fell on her slouchy back and trembling fingers that were in the process of snarling her hair. If he hadn't been able to distinguish her mood by all of the other things, the knotting of her hair would have been a dead-giveaway. He ambled slowly into the room and took the seat next to her, squinting to catch a glimpse of her face from behind her veil of hair.
Impatiently, he grabbed her chin and turned her face towards him, and was hardly surprised by what he saw. In her nose twinkled a delicate little nose ring. Many Saiyan women had done this, though the purpose of piercings on Vejitasei had not been for looks, as Bulma's quite obviously been. Besides this new development, she looked terrible.
The hair that he had always thought to be perfectly smooth and frizz-free was snarled and messy around her face and in the back, with a few melting snowflakes still remaining from her walk outside. Her face was pale and emotionless, and salty tears were dried onto her face. She wore a pair of faded designer jeans and stiletto heels, which was nothing out of the ordinary, but her shirt was a flirtaceous halter top clearly designed for the night scene, definitely not for the wintry weather he knew to be existing outside. Her eyes were like two dark pools of sadness in her face. He released her chin and frowned, looking down at his hands.
"What the hell is that?" His obsidian eyes went to her tiny nose.
"A last chance." Her voice was unsteady.
"At what?"
She shrugged, facing away from him again. The hair fell back in her face. "Freedom."
"From WHAT?" Vejita was incredulous, aggravated with her vagueness.
"My old self." She now sounded utterly disgusted with herself. "I'm sick of being controlled by what I shove up my nose, and I'm sick of being so fucking WEAK. I--I want to get away from it...everything."
"Damn," Vejita muttered to himself, at a loss of what to say. He could very well remember feeling the exact same way himself, back with Frieza. He had since learned to channel his pain into his training, but this was something borne out of necessity, and Bulma had no pressing need to hang on to life, as he had. He understood how she was feeling all too well. "You want to get away?"
She nodded, putting her head down onto the table.
"You know just as well as I do that you can't run away." His voice came out harsher than he had intended, but there wasn't much he could to about it now. "No matter where you go, you're always gonna want to snort that white shit, and you're always going to want to jump off a building. It doesn't MATTER where you are."
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes skeptical. "You sound like you know what you're talking about."
He smirked and turned over his wrists, showing her the fading pink scars that slashed across the olive skin. Her fingers traced the long thin lines absently, and her eyes went wide and she looked up at him with new realization.
"The mighty Prince Vejita, a troubled youth?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow. "What a couple we make."
Vejita snorted, shook off her hands, and stood. "Well, YOU'RE the sadisitic one."
Bulma, narrowing her healing eyes, crossed her arms and regarded Vejita seriously. "Uh-huh. The blood on your hands is certainly no match for the blood on mine."
"Don't push your luck, woman," Vejita growled, backing out of the room. "If you continue with much more of this I-know-your-every-thought bullshit I'll be forced to add the blood of one more."
That night, Vejita lie awake in his bed, twisting and turning restlessly, trying to fight off the many things on his tired mind. What he wanted most was sleep, and it irritated him that he could not obtain it. There were several things that were keeping it away, especially. The first being the fact that Bulma's radio was playing 'softly' to her human ears, but to his Saiyan ones it was practically blaring. And second, the image of Bulma's injured expression when he had discovered the diamond in her face. For some reason, he could not seem to drive it out of his mind.
He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he failed to notice Bulma's music switch off and the quiet creak of her door as it opened out into the hallway. He did notice, however, when Bulma appeared in the doorway of his room, still dressed in the clothes she had been wearing earlier--minus the shoes but not, unfortunately, the helpless expression and snarled hair. She crossed the room silently and perched on his bed, avoiding his eyes as he sat up, eyebrows furrowed.
She suddenly smiled an odd smile, her eyes wide and almost crazed. She stripped off the halter top and allowed herself to be encircled in his arms, her entire body shaking with effort. Her lashes fluttered wildly against his skin and and her fingers kneaded his back spastically. The nose ring glimmered brilliantly in the quiet darkness.
As they leaned down onto the bed, her shaking stopped, and her eyes focused. Her arms wrapped around him desperately, for she seeked security, of all things. Understanding this need, he stopped all advances and held her as she sobbed. For what, he was not certain, but the sensation of her warm tears on his chest was compelling enough. Perhaps she cried for Yamcha, or even for that night at Prom, so long ago, when her entire universe had changed. But, as he could very well relate to, most likely she cried for the strange, unfamiliar person she had become. It reminded him of the first time he had purged a planet, and how he had felt afterwards.
Most likely they were all products of their own wild outbursts and shortcomings, he supposed. Regardless of her tears, Bulma refused to stop her ministrations completely--she had wriggled out of her impossibly tight pants by the time she caved in completely.
She remained in this rather upsetting state until the rosy dawn was on the verge of emerging above the snow. He held her throughout, his dark and unseeing eyes looking into a time years earlier, into the time he had fully realized the disgusting person he had become.
*******************************************************************************************
(A/N): ...whoa. I don't know where this entire CHAPTER came from, but...okay. I'm telling you all right now, there are only about two chapters left to this fic, and, as you could have probably guessed, there will be a sequel, and I have most of that planned out also. I'll finish "Youth of the Nation" first though. I'm in the process of finishing off my webpage, so check on it every now and then. Oh yes, and please go buy Christina Aguilera's CD, "Stripped'. I cried during the two songs "Voice Within" and "I'm OK". They pertain to my life QUITE nicely. Say good-bye to the Pop Princess, people! Anyhow please remember to review on this rather...unexpected...chapter. I'll be off getting my head checked.
*******************************************************************************************