Hey guys, sorry to ghost you. Life has been super rough lately. As always, thank you for reading and please feel free to leave your thoughts.
My gut rumbles with something akin to hunger, but not quite. It's sharp with the uneasy edge of anticipation. Dread burns the back of my throat as tomorrow threatens me from afar. It's 11:42PM and the sun still hides far beneath the backside of this planet, but it's there lurking, waiting for us to shut our eyes. Tomorrow will bring many unwanted things- a trip with my estranged brother, and uncovering more and more of what I never wanted to know about these strange people that gave he and I life. It's clear cut and simple to me- father was a glorified savage, earning my respect as a young man. Now mother, I have no idea what to make of her, this peculiar little woman who survived being under the thumb of the beast somehow.
Bulma calls this a "family adventure", but I call it third-wheeling while she zig-zags through space while Tarble rides shot gun with my wife. She insisted on taking one of her prototype cruisers due to speed and fuel efficiency. That's fine. That's just fucking dandy… she's the only one who can drive the bastard, of course. I can't argue with her, let alone open my mouth against her logic. Kakarot is a flake and the boys aren't quite ready yet to look after the whole damn planet. Well, at least Kakarot's boy isn't. I'm not looking forward to cleaning up whatever shit storm inevitable arrives while we're gone.
The fluorescent kitchen light makes my eyes water. Trunks pays me nothing more than a passing glance as I rip open the stainless steel door of the refrigerator. I slap the milk on the counter. Cold milk dribbles off the handle of Trunks' spoon. His soggy cereal bobs in the ceramic bowl as his blank eyes settle on the little sugary morsels. I slide my plastic bowl onto the counter and rattle the box of cinnamon crunchies- whatever-the fuck-they-are until they dump out into a heap. The milk gurgles from the jug until the swash-buckled flakes swirl in the bowl. I huddle onto the stool right next to him and stuff my face with a spoon.
"Like'em too huh?," Trunks barely mumbles over the obnoxiously loud crackle vibrating my jaws.
"Sure- my favorite,"I tell him after clearing my throat.
I cram more cereal into my mouth, bite by bite until the bowl becames less crowded. I chase little straggler pieces with my spoon when Trunks finally stops fumbling with his food.
Boy, why are you drumming your fingers on the butcher block? Your mouth is quiet, but your furrowed brows and tight lips shout at me. I can't ignore you anymore.
"Why are you awake?," I ask him.
"Hungry," he lies.
"You've barely touched it. You mean your brain is hungry for sleep?," I ask rhetorically, "Go to bed."
"I tried," he says.
"Well try again- try harder," I tell him.
"Try harder," he rolls his eyes at me and puffs his red cheeks.
I'm quick to anger, equipped with few nerves to be pinched. For some reason, anger eludes me this time. Instead of an obstinate child, I see a wore out boy. One who's too young to be exhausted from this world's crap.
"Trunks," I start, "What robs you of sleep?," I sigh.
He snubs his cereal, pressing the bowl away with his finger tips. He lays his head on his folded arms. Why are your sharp, blue eyes wandering, chiseling into my shoulder and back?
"It hurts, doesn't it," he says to me.
For a moment I forgot. I peek over my shoulder, barely getting a glimpse of my indigo splattered back. The sound of the ship carapace molding around me brought back the blip of a memory. It was cold and brittle, like falling through a frozen puddle. My ribs pinch my skin with each breath, but nothing more.
"A bruise is a bruise. Here today and gone tomorrow," I tell him.
My heart thumps a little faster in my chest as I see two boys and a little runt girl, standing in the delivery bay with the careless, dip-shit, delivery driver be-bopping along to some trash on the radio. The ass-hat was absolutely clueless and so were the fucking kids.
Trunks, of course you were the first to catch on and unfreeze. You snatched Adelia, but it was too late. All I saw was you- my lifeless boy and Tarble's mangled little girl. Then I saw the driver, dead, in a roasted heap beneath my trembling hands. There was only one answer; someone had to step in.
"I'm sorry dad," his voice cracks, "I swear I didn't know."
Son, your eyes burn red although you try to hide your grief from me. I expect your burning cheeks to melt away at any moment. I wait for your snarled lips to smooth, but that moment never comes. Instead, your back puckers up and down as you try to cover your distress.
"Trunks," I try calling him back from his trance.
"I – I didn't mean t-to get you hurt," he stammers, "I promise. I just-"
"I know, son," I tell him as his eyes pop open at the strange sensation, "It would have killed you, and Adelia both, and the driver would have died. It was completely preventable."
Boy, don't be alarmed. Pay no mind to my hand running through your swath of hair. Pay attention to what I say- focus.
"Dad, I did my best to protect her. I just thought I would eat metal instead of her. I wasn't fast enough to get us out of the way," he explains.
"I was harsh on you. I didn't realize Goten had left the gate open- not you," I admit to him, "Harsh, yes, but for a purpose."
My words break his sniffling and his eyes pierce me more than his hushed lips.
"You have the right kind of heart to look after this world, Trunks. I can never teach you that. You were born with it. The Earth and it's weakling people will depend on you and the others."
"Weakling," he snickers, "Great pep talk dad."
"Hush up for a second, and listen for once," I tell him, "I want you to hone your skills and be responsible with the power you have. You're a noble warrior, an admirable one at that- for this I am very proud. It brings your mother and I great honor that you were so willing to give yourself up for someone vulnerable. I'm going to share a secret with you."
"What?," he asks me.
"Strength is best cultivated in the weakness of others, son," I tell him.
"You're embarrassing me," he mumbles to me.
"Embarrassment or not, it's the truth. Just do your best to not endanger yourself unnecessarily in the future."
"Oh, okay, will do," Trunks says as he folds his arms apprehensively over his chest, "Still, I'm sorry about your back."
"The bruises will turn green in a day or two; Then they'll be gone. Make no mistake, I'll gladly give my back for your breath, again," I assure him.
Don't look dumbfounded, boy. I speak the cold, hard, metal-eating, black and blue truth.
"Dad," he groans through his blush.
"I'm confident that you are more than capable of helping look after Tarble's bunch, stay out of trouble, and keep Kakarot from his normal nonsense while I'm gone," I tell him, "I expect nothing less. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Trunks says and gives me a half-hearted salute.
"Excellent, now go to bed," I say before cramming the last bit of cereal in my mouth.
Trunks hops off his stool and walks toward the hall.
"No video games, straight to bed," I remind him before he turns the corner.
"Yeah, yeah dad, I got it!," his disembodied voice echoes down the stairwell, "Sorry, I worried you. I love you too!," he giggles loudly, almost singing it for the whole damn house to hear, just to stir the pot.
"You'll think worried when I come up there! I mean it. No video games. If I catch it plugged in, I'm ripping the outlet out of the wall!," I holler at his heavy sleep deprived feet stomping above my head.
"Okay," I hear his sincere, muffled reply.
I shake my head from side to side as if I could lose the awkward pink streaks on my cheeks and ears. My frown faded, giving way to something gentle and pleasing pulling the corners of my mouth into a smile. Damn that kid, that rotten, smart ass kid- my self-less boy.
.