~~~~~

One of the major problems for Vegeta had been was how much Gohan resembled Kakkarott.  They were both shockingly identical, not quite so much as Goku and Goten, but still enough to inspire lip-curling memories in Vegeta.  And while the boy was a supposed intellectual prodigy, he still pretended to be as naïve as his father did, and while Goku only imitated ningens, Gohan was half ningen.  The Saiyan elements could only be seen when he was fighting and during intense flashes of emotions like anger.

It was…irritating.

It was degrading.

~~~~

We got into another fight again.  He snaps out at me for no reason, whining, swearing, and hurting me until I finally lash back at him.  He likes getting a rise out of me, likes making me lose control. 

He likes hurting me, laughs when I punch him and nearly crush the bone beneath the muscle, and likes it more when he just beats the crap out of me.  He's done it a few times now, and I've done it enough to him. 

I'm surprised we're still breathing and able to have sex.  Must be the high metabolism.  Saiyan blood heals super fast, but our bodies are actually repairing themselves faster than normal.  We're eating a lot. 

He hates it when I try to spar with him, but loves to beat me up.  Called me a slut last time I tried, a filthy greedy whore that wasn't smart enough to jerk himself off to save his life.  He's a jerk about things like that.  He's a real jerk.  I sort of care, but not too much.  Mostly, he's just a jerk.

I said I was smart enough to make him scream when he came.  I said, If I was so damn filthy, why was he always so eager to touch me, even in fighting? 

I called him a teenager.  I think it pissed him off.

He said I was an easy piece of meat too stupid to choose a proper mate, just like my father. 

I must have given a sign.  I dunno…but he really went on about it.  You'd think he'd have the decency to leave it alone after a while, but I've never known him to leave anything alone out of decency.  He's not a decent kind of person.  Still, this whole thing is wearing me out.

He smirked, sneered, and started talking about Dad.  Jerk.  Calling him lots of things, an idiot, a retard, words like Neolithic and "built like a bull" and "soul of a jackass". 

I asked, What the hell would you know about souls? 

He didn't answer, didn't seem to care, and said something about buffalo.  And other things.  Baka.  Harpy.  Coward.  I shouted something emotional—I probably shouldn't have, but at that point I really didn't care.  I just wanted him to shut up.  He didn't have a soul anyway, so what would he know about how hard it was to keep one?  He wasn't a fighter, he was just a bully.  Just a bully.  I called him that, and I know it ticked him off something awful.  It didn't stop him though; just made him angrier.  It was kind of a stupid thing for me to say, now that I think about it.

He grinned, and kept going at it harder.  If we weren't killing each other, hitting each other already, it was because we were tired.  Simple as that.  Our bodies healed, but the pain lingered and energy left. 

I forgot what he said next, but I remember it hurt, and I know what I said next hurt him too. 

"Why the fuck should I know a damn about monkey bonding!  No, that's right, no I didn't know!  If I did, if I had, I never would have touched you!  I never, ever, wanted--" and I ground the last word out while he stared at me.  He didn't think I would complete the sentence, like one hope no one will pull the trigger.

But I did.  I did. 

I'm not sure what happened next, but I know he hit me pretty hard in the kidneys.  Maybe in the kidneys.  That general area.  It hurt a lot, hurt so much; I wasn't really concentrating on where he hit me.  I remember I hurt so bad that I fell out of time with reality.  I could feel something flowing warm.  It felt nice, but I hurt so much. 

Flew straight through the walls into the snow for a while.  Snow's cold, and it's pretty gritty too.  People say it's soft, but it's really gritty and hard. 

He gripped my throat and picked me up, and hit me hard in the face over and over.  He hit me in the jaw, fractured it, and I fell back into the snow, on my stomach. 

He followed, and crouched, and I drove my heel into his solar plexus and spun to break some of his ribs.  I did, though.  Break some of his ribs, that is. 

He made something in me bleed, and I spit up blood. 

We kept at it for a while; I'm not sure how long.  The sunlight doesn't change a whole lot here.  A while though, I'm sure.

After a while we slowed down, stopped, and just crouched clumsily and watched each other.  Against anyone else, in any other fight, we would have traded banter.  Goaded.  Complemented each other and fool around until our energy was back up.  But Vegeta has always been pretty quiet, a bit of a loner.  He took things to seriously to joke about them.  And…he wasn't taking this seriously, even though he didn't want to.  Taking me seriously even though he didn't think I was worth his time.  So we didn't say anything. 

His eyes were dark, calculating, and studying me.  He straightened a little, and inhaled deeply, exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled.  His ribcage moved up and down.  He relaxed his left arm and twisted it around, testing it. 

I had gotten him pretty good there too; had really torn a piece out him with my teeth. 

He straightened completely and communed with his eyes. 

He was ready and able. 

Now.

There were two big reasons I hated to fight him: One was I felt exhausted and wounded always.  Two was that we had to touch each other.  Anytime our skin touched, our pituitary glands would start sending little messages to parts of our bodies.  Our awareness heightened, pulse increased, and there was a huge rush of hormones.  Tingling, kiwi green evil, evil little hormones, making me think things I normally wouldn't.  Making me want things I normally wouldn't.  Evil, evil little hormones in my blood.

My fingers tingled.  My knuckles burned.  I was trembling all over.  Warm.  I could feel every hair on my body; even the little ones on my arms stood straight up.  My throat sounded like wet laundry.  Clarity.

He spoke quietly, "Get on your hands and knees." 

I stared back and nearly couldn't believe him. 

I knew what he meant; we did it that way a lot.  He liked it that way.  Called me his bitch, fucking just like a dog in heat.  Plus he didn't have to see my eyes.

But after everything he said…everything I said…

He frowned his eyes without moving his mouth, and spoke in a voice that belonged to a professional killer and king.  A voice that already knew it would be obeyed.  Knew that I didn't have a choice, and didn't bother to offer me one.

"Get on your hands and knees."

So I did.  I blinked, and went down to one knee, careful with my guts. 

"Take your clothes off while you're at it." 

I paused again, put myself carefully into a strong wooden box far away from where I really was, where I would be safe.  Them I took off my shirt, minding how it caught my chin, and pulled off my boxers, and shoved them off to the side, noting that his clothes were on the ground and opposite of my clothes, with him and I in between the two piles. 

Two separate beings with only sex in the middle. 

I had opened my mouth to breathe; my heart was a drum, my body a toaster.  I could smell him strong over my back.  I didn't feel a thing.  I just knew it was happening, that's all. 

His hands were coals when he touched my back, I yelped a little, and traced my muscles, traced some bruises, traced some scars. 

Senzu doesn't work if you don't have it. 

I was panting then, ready and able.  Just waiting for him to decide when to start.  He moved in slowly, stretching me, and I shuddered and gasped a little every time something was touched.  I wasn't there at all. 

"You know…boy," he whispered, rasped, into my ear, fully against my back.  He could make anything sound good, with his voice, dark and clean like nighttime water.  I was beginning to not-like his voice because of the things he could do with it, the good things he could make come out of it.

"It's too bad you had to kill her.  This wouldn't have happened," he purred over the words, making my hair rise and skin quiver, "if you hadn't killed her." 

My breathing caught.  He ran his fingers across my chest, dipping and touching. 

"It would be her touching you now…Can you feel her fingers touching you?" 

I could feel him grin in that dark, delicious, seductive way he had right before he got something he wanted.  Right before he moved.  His voice was low and raspy, sexy, barely audible, forcing me to try to hear him. 

"Remember how she squirmed when you tried to take her?" 

No.  He wasn't supposed--his tongue licked against my neck, and curled around the shell of my ear.  He purred softly, "The way she arched, screamed under you, scratched you back and wrapped her legs around you and squeezed," I shuddered hard and whimpered, and shook my head gently.  I made soft little wet sounds, high pitched. 

"You remember, don't you?  Little liar," he said affectionately, "you remember doing it...remember liking it."  He laid his palm flat against my stomach and felt the muscles jump. 

"no…" 

"I bet she screamed like a bird.  I bet she was tighter and smaller than anything else you took before--" 

"Please!" 

He rocked out, away from my ear. 

"Because you took animals, didn't you?" he sneered, hands tightening on my shoulders.  "Deer and dogs, and whatever fucked ningen--" 

"No!  You're lying!  Please, just, just…" I tried to move back and then forward, but it wasn't nearly enough.  Tried to twitch, tried to move.  I need him to move.  I was very tired.  And my throat and stomach ached.  But I still needed to come.  His fingers kept on tracing my stomach. 

"You all right boy?" 

He wasn't calling me bitch or brat.  He had better words, now.  His voice was sweet and smooth, soft, without any of the bitter rancor that nearly characterized the resonance. 

"Don't like walking down memory lane?" 

Corny.  Bastard.  Cheap.

I let my head fall and tried to rub up against him, tried to get him to move.  I gasped and tightened as he touched my cock lightly, shyly, still warm and hard. 

"Don't like to remember what you did, don't like to know who you are.  Coward." 

I felt him smirk as he sneered the word softly.  He was smiling.  He was smiling all the time as he whispered little things to me and felt me tremble.  He was smiling gently, slightly, the whole time. 

"The purest heart in the fucking universe…fell so damn easily to his own blood.  His own darkness," he whispered gently, smugly. 

"Waste of Saiyan flesh and bone.  Too vicious to be human, too soft to be Saiyan." 

He sounded objective, nearly compassionate.  "Poor kid, stuck in the middle…sweet innocent little boy-Goku's son-out there raping and murdering his best friend." 

He paused, chuckled, and stroked my erection lazily, like he had all day.  I pushed the wooden box farther away.  I couldn't fight back.  I couldn't breathe. 

He was very thoughtful, really.  He had spent time thinking about this.  Thinking about how to break me down, how to make me hurt.

Was this his revenge?  …but it wasn't my fault

Not that he'd care if I said that.  He'd say it damn well wasn't his fault, so it might as well have been mine; since I hadn't done anything about it.  Since it was my fault I hadn't gone for any help except him, when I should have known that he didn't help anyone or anything.  He would say I should have known better.

But then so should have he. 

"Not even giving her a warriors death.  Alone in the dark, no witnesses, no glory, no courage-" I controlled my heart, and concentrated on the box, on keeping it safe.  I couldn't breathe. 

"No nothing…Now tell me, what kind of 'monster'--"

…He found my journals.  He knows.  I felt my body stiffen, and heard him leer wider in response… 

"--does that?"

He knew.  He knew everything.  I should have burned them when I had the chance, I should have done it.  He knew.  // what kind… monster…//

He knew. 

My mind, he knew my mind

My body, against all biology, went cold.  I didn't think he could do it.  Didn't think he could make my body do that.  He kissed the back of my neck mockingly, empty, got out, stood up, and walked over to his clothes. 

I think I'm my worse enemy.  I think I hate myself.  I called out to him. 

"Hey, do you plan to finish what you started, or what?" 

I don't know why I said it.  I wanted to die.  I wanted to end.  I was so tired, of everything.  The buzz had gone out of my body; I didn't need him to do it anymore.  He could have left, and I would have been okay.  But I called him back.  I don't know why I called him back.  It was quiet, suspicious.  A pause.  A lull.

"Why should I?" he asked already against my neck, moving quickly towards me for a guy who didn't want anything to do with me, a guy who hated me.  His voice holding the familiar threat and distrust.  My voice was steady. 

"Because you want to.  Because I need you to." 

He kind of chuckled. 

" 'I want to'?  The only reason I'm here, bitch--"

"You came on your own…willfully…"

"You tied me to a fucking chair…you call that 'willfully'?"  he was growling.

It had had to be willfully.  It wouldn't have worked if it wasn't.

"You could have gotten free," Gohan said.  I said.  I did.  I said that.  That was Vegeta sniggering derisively.

"How?  Drugged up and tied like I was?  How?  …Talk to me brat, I miss the sound of your voice." 

Irony.  I didn't know what to say.  I had wanted him to talk to me, about us, and I didn't know what to say.  I latched on to what came first. 

"It's your fault.  You didn't tell me when you knew.  You didn't say that you knew what was going on--"

"It wouldn't have made any difference.  You still would have been out of control.  No human," the word dripped, "drug can fix it, nor discipline.  Still would have killed that bitch, looking for Saiyan meat…  And if you hadn't claimed me you would've gone after Trunks, and I wouldn't have allowed that--" 

Trunks was only ten. 

"…Or your father.  Or even your brother.  You would have gone after a Saiyan, and it wouldn't have changed a damn.  You believe in fate, don't you bitch?"  I didn't say anything.  It was all his fault.  It was all his fault.  "But maybe you'd prefer your father's dick instead of mine." 

"Jerk."

"Hn."

It was all my fault.  It was all my fault.  It was always all my fault.  Every time, because I turned Saiyan and couldn't control myself, or I turned human and was too afraid to kill.  No matter what happened, how much time went by or how strong I or anyone else became…Daddy would always have to come to clean up the mess his son couldn't.  Wouldn't.  It was always…all my fault.  And I had never bothered to make it any different.  And the one time Dad couldn't help…I lean on Vegeta.  The worst person in the world to pick.  It was always all my fault. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered. 

I felt something in my mind shift, fast, but I don't know why. 

"What?" 

I shook my head, supported on my hands and knees, moisture starting to gather on my lashes.  Whatever.  I was tired.  I didn't want to fight anymore.

"…I'm sorry…everything…" was my fault.  From killing Videl to marking Vegeta to keep him here to do things to me that he didn't want to because I couldn't control myself.  I could never control myself.  It was always my fault.  I started to cry.  Naked, on my hands and knees, right in front of Vegeta I began to cry.  Stupid genes.  Stupid blood.  Stupid Vegeta, stupid me.  I kept crying silently, my chest heaving, head shaking slowly.

//it wasn't me.  it wasn't my fault.// 

Vegeta tried to flip me over, and I fought him a little, and I landed on my back hard.  I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, still trying to hide.  I waited for him to say something, the thing that would hurt and I would end and the pain would stop.  He slapped me hard instead, my head flipped and my cheek burned.  It was still his touch, after all.  I waited for him to say something. 

"You're giving up?"

"Why should I fight?"

"You're Saiyan boy—"

"I don't know what I am, you don't know what I am…how am I supposed to fight against something I don't understand?  Why should I fight…" he was going to kill me for saying that.  Or he'd leave.  Same difference.  "…when I don't want to win?"

He forced my face up and pried my eyes open.  I yelped and struggled, and saw him staring down at me, spiky immaculate hair and perfect skin and dark eyes and his mouth that I loved and he was going to kill me.  I waited for him to say something.  He let go of my chin quickly, and disappeared from my sight.  I closed my eyes.  Naturally, that was my fault too.

"You're such damn child—can't believe I wasted so much effort on a child."

"Life's a surprise like that…"

He was leaving.

I couldn't stop him.  I couldn't keep him. 

I wasn't worth his trouble.  I heard him swear.

Warm raspy wetness touched my stomach, and I felt my muscles tighten up all over again. 

What?…

Fingers kneaded into my thighs, and I stumbled and struggled to get propped on one elbow.  A deep growl stopped me, and all my hairs stood on end.  I stopped and laid back, my hands at my sides, staring at the twilight sky, and swallowed. 

I felt skin, the tip of his finger or his chin, trail down my stomach, over my hips, and felt a huff of warm air.  He was touching me with his nose, sniffing me out. 

We experienced heightened awareness during the up-swings of the Heat hormone cycle, our senses even more acute, to the point of painful sensitivity. 

I could smell him from where I was, that Vegeta smell of mesquite and pepper and sharp blood slightly burned and dusky.  I wasn't sure what I smelled like to him, but my scent was muted and buried by his own, only coming through faintly. 

My stomach trembled, even though he was being gentle.  Pain is heightened too, but I was usually too angry to care.  He was never too rough to me when I surrendered; he liked it when I fight back. 

He trailed the hollow of his eyes over my thigh, and I couldn't help squirming and arching my hips just a little when his chin brushed against my cock.  His touch burned, like a stove.  It warmed, but it dried stuff up too, and makes it dead.  And then he-just-holds-it-there. 

I push my head back, clench my teeth, and my toes curl.  I feel vibration, him growling or purring, then that warm wet roughness walking along the inside of my thigh, and fought down the impulse to kick. 

All it need was a touch, all it needed was a little touch and it would go off. 

He kissed the side of me gently, three times, in different spots.  I made a small noise, and he moved up towards the tip.  I scratched the ground and breathed in quick, my body jerking a little because I was trying hard not to.  Crystalline clear blue warmth was lazily swamping all over my body, while he teased and explored the other side of my energy with the tip and flat of his tongue. 

I was prepared for more teasing, but then scalding strong suction just swallowed me down where it was dark and hot and more than a little frightening and I came that quickly. 

Just like that. 

I tried to hold back, I wanted to a little longer, prove that I wasn't the child he thought I was, but he got the jump on me first.  I think I cried out a little bit, but I really wasn't focused on the pleasure.  I guess I was still too tired.  And my kidneys still hurt. 

It felt good, yeah, but…I struggled up to my elbows and looked all around, extended my ki, but I couldn't find him.  He took his clothes after he had done what he wanted, what I needed, and then he left.  Now he was gone, and I couldn't feel him anywhere.

 Like none of if mattered.  Maybe it didn't. 

He was gone now, somewhere else.

~~~~~~~

Spastic First Person POV

I never understood why you did it.  Really.  I mean---

God I'm sorry.  I hate you more than ever now.

I'd give my arms gladly, feel scalding metal crushing and scraping my ribs to feel you touch my skin again…to see you look at me in that way.  Confident.  Confident of yourself, your actions, your right to do what you wanted and the hell with the consequences.  Confident.  Secure.  …Centered.

So damn different from me. 

I don't---

Always angry.  At everything.  I could always count on that, the sky could turn pink from the blood of innocents, time could turn in on itself, space and love would switch jobs until everything was one creepy nefarious spastic splatter on the universe…everything could be--absolutely, completely, totally perfect in the world, and I could always count on you to be angry. 

About something.  About anything.  About nothing. 

Dad came and went, life changed and turned, I was the scrawny nerd one day and lord of the universe the next and you would always be angry. 

That was really annoying.  Really.

But it was predictable too.

…Yeah.

Couldn't you feel I was lying?  You're a god, you're you, Ouji-sama, the Saiya-jin no Ouji.  Arrogant and conceited and such a damn bastard without a kingdom or kin.  Strong, proud, always there I could concentrate on you, you could be my center.  Couldn't you tell?

Why did you think I watched you so much?  You went out of your way-maybe once or twice to save me, and I did the same for you.  Didn't you ever wonder why? 

You'd be proud of me, I didn't choose you for some rosy cotton soft emotion.  I chose you, to concentrate on you because you never changed.  The world changed around me, my family changed, I changed.  Even Piccollo-san, as stoic and reliable he is, he changed too.  For the better, for sure, but still.  Still. 

If something happens once it can happen again, once you break the law once it's only that much easier to break it again.  If you break it for good you can break it for bad.  But you can't go back.  You can't go back. 

…Never go back.

Never ever ever, that's it.  Great huh?…

I'm so afraid.  I don't want to lose, please god, don't let me lose it-

No I'm not.

I'm not!

I've always been a neat-freak.  Can't stand chaos.

I must've--

I never saw you.  I tried and lied and said I did and said I had--Never.  Not really.

I think of you at night the most.  I'm always expecting to feel your fingers, demanding, invasive--

Agitating.

Never painful.  You've bruised me, made me bleed, but…It never--You hurt me worse when you let me go.  When you made me go.  I thought I was running.  Escaping. 

Shows what the scholar knows, right?

Right?

Yeah, something like that.

something…yeah…fuck

It hurts so much.

Not then, not there.  When I first left.  Then at night…

I don't--

I kept looking for.  Thought you'd come after me.  Angry and irritable at something.  Kept being braced for your yell, your scorn…I'd recognize your yell of rage anywhere.  EverywhereI keep my ears pricked all the time.  For your breathing.  I miss your fight, your fire burning warm.

Funny, how we never really interacted before this.  Did we?  I didn't think so.  I mean, I was in my books, whether I wanted to or not, and you were training.  This doesn't feel right.  This doesn't feel wrong. 

Why you?  Why out of everyone, why out of anyone, it had to be you?  Anyone else would have been better, the worst that could have happened was I would've… hunted, someone like 18 or Tien or Yamcha or…Kami that's perverse.  Must be really screwed up, to start thinking stuff like that.  Yeah.  Lucky me. 

Still, they would've been better.  Somehow.  Yeah.

I'm so afraid. 

I know you'd scorn--maybe you wouldn't.  Maybe.  Maybe not, ne?  I'll never--It doesn't matter now.

I'm fighting myself all the time, I really wish I'd written some of the counter-bites down, I'm sure you would've loved them.

Damn it.

Damn it all.

Damn you.

I don't--

I don't miss you.  There's nothing there to miss!  You're abusive, loud-mouthed and vain-gloriously crass!  …There's a million and one things wrong with you, they're even afraid to let you into heaven the times you've died and you don't even care!

How can you not care?

How do you do that?  How can you do that?

I've never been able to; I don't see why you should.

You didn't even like me.  You didn't--

You didn't, did you?  Did you?

I--

…We kept our distances.  We always have, I don't see why that should change now.  You always claimed I was more of a problem than anything else.  You never liked me.

I think about your smile.  I don't miss it.  I just think about it a lot.  If one could call it a smile, it was really a smirk, a sneer, the frankest visual insult ever devised and perfected, baring your teeth like some animal.  I can't picture--

…You always kept your distance.  No matter how many times you took me… that time I nearly…

…nearly…

You tried to stay away.  You don't know how close we became by doing that.  You told me so much, so much more than I ever asked or you meant to, and I think I told you the same.

I know your favorite color.  I know you started life left-handed, but you forced it away, would rather consciously put yourself through hell than stand out inferior, stand out different.  But the signs are still there, faint.  They don't mar anything, not your grace certainly, but they're the little things that help make it up.  When people pay attention, people learn.  Amazing, isn't it?  You love sugar and avoid it like a plague.  You don't like having fun; it makes you nervous.  You really don't like to train.  You're afraid.  You'd be furious if you knew I knew. 

You're afraid.

I hope your skin squirms.

I think--

Maybe I was wrong to want to understand.  It's more than I thought. 

Being the best. 

Everything has a price.

You did your own grave. 

When you're the best, you have to be the best.  You can never fail.  You can never fall.  You can never get away with anything.

…You can't let your father die.

You did your own grave. 

I understand. 

I did the same.

…yeah.

It wasn't my fault.  It wasn't my fault.

I lost--

I WANT HIM BACK!

i want him back  so much 

i want the me back…what i was…

my life…i want my life…i want it back…

Please don't--I want--I didn't--I wish

i wish i could say your name.  i wish i could forget my pride.  i wish you'd forget your own.

NO!

No, no, it isn't my fault.  I didn't mean it, I didn't know, it was an accident.  It was all an accident.  I didn't know.  I didn't want this. 

I won't fall. 

It wasn't my fault.  No. 

No.

I tried so hard.  I bled so much.

It was never good enough though.  I was never good enough. 

I was never good enough for you.

Bastard.

I hate you.

But I never cared what you thought anyway.  I think I've said as much earlier.  What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.  And I won't let you strike me down, you won't make me fall. 

I've tried so hard.

Choice.

Choice. 

You wouldn't look at me.  I spent days, hours, nights awake and spirit all bent on it, on keeping you away, on keeping our distances.  Making sure you didn't look. 

I pushed myself down, walked up river and held my breath under water in the sea of talk, of bitching, or pain, just to stay away.  Keep away.

Can't you see?  Can't you see?…Can't you even guess?…

…I did it for your attention. 

Your eyes on me.  Your fingers on my cheek.  Don't you get it?

I never liked you.  I think I've listed why.  In detail.

I don't miss you.  You don't miss me.  You don't want to go back.  I don't want me back.  Clean.  Clear.  Contradictory.

I must've--

I don't--

I never--

I--can't. 

I want to.  So much I choke. 

I can't.

…Do you…

~~~~~~~~~~

There's no real harm in it.  He is my mate, after all…Mate. 

This is so stupid!

He isn't even a full Saiyan!  He's a barely even half Saiyan!  He's just another weak ningen!

…So was she.  That was different.  I chose her.  It was my choice, my decision, and I never did anything so foolish as to try and mate her. 

That's a liability I don't need.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: All Gohan's written words are written in 1st person.  The other entry in the middle with the '*' sign at the top and bottom of it are narrative.  It isn't part of the written journal entry.  It's not.  That's important.

~~~~~~~~~~

Journal Style 3

Date?  What fucking date?

Oh, fuck you.  Fuck you all.

I hate you all.

Really.  So shut up already.

So I'm just a toy that you can wake up and play with and throw back in the shelf when you're done with, am I?  That's it.  That's all really it. 

He takes me when he wants me, when he can't fight it anymore, and it usually leaves me bloody and bruised somewhere, usually my ass.  He's always been distant, always been brutal and cruel, but it never seemed as important then as it does now.  He's hardly ever here, except when he comes for the sex.  Comes and goes, comes and goes…must be my cologne.  Has that effect on people.

I'm still alone.  When I try to find him, either he's hiding or just gets mad at me and screams and attacks.  I've never felt so sorry for my father before in my life.  Whatever.  What a jerk.

I can yell back at him, I can fight him, but only to a degree.  I can sometimes think of things to say, but I can't always say them.  I can barely attack, only defend.  I'm getting tired.  It hurts still.  It ticks me off sometimes too, kind of.

I'm still taking Bulma's pills.  I think he is too.  Heh, wouldn't that be funny?  Some Saiyan pride…jerk.

He doesn't tell me anything.

I don't speak to him much.

I do the cooking, he gets supplies, and that's really the only cooperation we have together outside the bedroom.  He keeps himself busy and far away from me most of the day.  I try to do the same, and not think of him.

Just because he's here doesn't mean he really wants me.  Just because I kiss him back and scream doesn't mean I really want him. 

It just means that this is the best situation we can live with without compromising too much of ourselves.  It's not perfect, but it's still better than before.

I'm worried more about my health than anything else. 

I'm pretty sure my rectum and anus aren't supposed to receive that much attention that brutally.  Going to the bathroom has become a real problem, so I've taken to eating less, that way I won't have to go as much.  This is really embarrassing.  I'm not real hungry anyway.  Just kind of tired.  I sleep and read a lot now.  I'm really worried that one day he's going to break one of my arms or something.  I don't want to see a doctor; I don't want to see anyone.

Kind of wonder what he thinks of all this.  Don't really care.

                        ~%^$&9                      :)                      .

7*        &                                 "                                               .

                        ___                                                  0_0      )|(

    ….                                   ~…~

*

A guilty recurring fantasy he hates and consciously brings up every morning is that one-day Goku would arrive and find his son engaged in gay sexual intercourse with his archrival and kill them both.

Goku was the only one that had the best chance of psychologically beating them both, being Gohan's father and Vegeta's rival and unwilling superior; he held a rather high mental position that would be difficult for even Vegeta to overcome.  He was also the only one physically capable of killing them both easily.

In the fantasy, the viewer focuses on the blinding light, on the oblivion that would signify his death.  He could breathe easy for one nano-second before it was over.

Right after the relief and pleasure came terrified guilt, and he would search instantly for his mate's ki. 

He can't really imagine Goku doing that, but that doesn't stop him from fantasizing.  He knows there's something wrong with him.

*

                        :p                     /           !

;D                                           /            ~`~      *

                                      +     /                               J

@@@@@

I dreamed last night that my dream was my real life, my waking life, and that everything was still normal and I was at a park somewhere helping Videl with her homework and our fingers would brush when we passed the pencil and her fingers were cool and smooth. 

Play on words, Shakespeare used a lot of those.  Life is but a dream, and we are all the dreamers.  The things we do define who we are, and we do the things we must. 

@       +  __ +

I don't know who I am.  I don't know what to do. 

I know what I want.  I want to be free, like I was before.  I know what I need.  I need my heart back.  I don't know how to get it.  I don't know where to start.  I want to blame him, but I don't think I can.  I've tried to, and it didn't work.  I've tried to blame myself, and that only goes so far.  I don't know what he wants either. 

He still doesn't want me near him.  And I shouldn't care because that's all right, but I do.  Fuck.  I do.  I don't want him near me either.  So why can't--

I had a thought, after the night or day.  I keep on thinking that, hoping really, that Dad will show up someday…somehow he'll make it right.

(

)-

& *96  #

$$$

But I don't think that'll happen.  I wish I knew what he was thinking.  Especially…

~~~~~~~~

A/N:  Yes, Vegeta does talk to himself.  No, Vegeta is not especially insane in this fic.  I talk to myself in my head all the time, and I have some really great arguments, and I don't think I'm particularly insane.  I kinda think everyone does, but maybe they don't always know it.

~~~~~~~

Id vs Ego Style 2

His mate ached.

Mate.

Fuck.

No, no this couldn't be right.  He was alone.  He was always alone; he relied on that fact like he relied on his pride and blood.  Such faith.  How foolish.  It was too late now.  He said yes. 

A bond born of desperation. 

|| It's coming.||

What?

|| Soon.||

The brat still feared him.  He feared the brat, but for different reasons.  He had said yes.  Why? 

Back on Namek, the bratling had threatened to kill him, promised pain and vengeance, to protect his friends and idiot father.  Faith.  How foolish. 

Misplaced unwavering loyalty that fueled his bloodlust.  Tribal, feudal duty to the idiot that spawned him and the weaklings who fed him.  Total loyalty for something so small.

It was such a long time ago, back before Freeza.  Such goddamned long time ago that no one cared and he was the only one who remembered.  Fuck.  He felt too old.  He should have died on Namek.  He should have died a long time ago.  He was out of his late teens now, into his prime, by his standards.

|| Looking for old shadows in this bitch, are we now?||

No.  There wasn't enough of it, there's too much human.

The Saiyan aspects of the brat, mainly his hell spun sugar coated anger, made his teeth hurt.  He was the only one who remembered.  Kakkarott didn't understand, and he didn't care.  All off-spring were part human, tainted.  It was over.  He should have died a long time ago.  He felt too old.  He felt alone.

|| You've become delusional.||

No.  Why him?

|| You weren't forced when you said yes.  Why did you say yes?  You could've just walked out again.  What made that time different?||

…he had needed me

|| Hah!  You are dillusional, you are weak!  He didn't need you, he needed your dick, he didn't need you….  So…why did you say yes?||

There was no choice.  There was no alternative.  I couldn't keep living like that.

|| There's always a choice.  Always.  Quit running.  Why?||

…I'm so tired.  I just want to stop……He looks at me like I…I looked at others, that way.  With those eyes.  Frieza.  Father.  Kakkarott…No one's ever looked at me that way before.  Hatred and fear.  Not that.  They couldn't mean it, they didn't have the balls.  Cows.  Goats.  Never to me; not what he's giving.  I'm tired.  I want to stop.

||He's dying.  Slowly dying until he's just a shell.  The same is happening to you.||

Fuck off.

||Where to?||

This place is dead.  I could always leave.  I should leave.

||It's not the place.  It's what you brought.||

…What can be done?

||…I don't know.||

*

A guilty recurring fantasy he hates and consciously brings up every morning is that one-day Goku would arrive and find his son engaged in gay sexual intercourse with his archrival and kill them both.

Goku was the only one that had the best chance of psychologically beating them both, being Gohan's father and Vegeta's rival and unwilling superior; he held a rather high mental position that would be difficult for even Vegeta to overcome. 

He was also the only one physically capable of killing them both easily.

In the fantasy, the viewer focuses on the blinding light, on the oblivion that would signify his death. 

He could breathe easy for one nano-second before it was over.

Right after the relief and pleasure came terrified guilt, and he would search instantly for his mate's ki. 

He can't really imagine Goku doing that, but that doesn't stop him from fantasizing. 

*

||…||

…he hurts.  He won't last this way, something is going to break.  Bloodlust.

||Fix him.||

I did.  I gave him my dick.  I took his blood.  I did what I wanted.  I did what he asked.  Why does it hurt?  Why does it ache?

||Heal--||

I don't heal.  I can't heal.  I destroy, I kill, I attack, I protect.  I don't heal.  I damage.  I am Saiyan.  I don't heal.

||…||

||…||

I think I'm going to vomit.

||Fix it.  You can.||

No.  I can't.  I can't. 

||…Then what happens?||

It's up to him.  It's up to him now.  I did what I could, what I wanted--He's too damn human.

||Stop making excuses!  You know what to do; you know how to fix him!  Coward!  Hypocrite!  Quit running and just fucking give--||

NO! No, like hell am I strip myself like that for that fucking pussy bitch!  He doesn't deserve it and there is no way, no goddamned way or reason that is going to make me!  I won't do it!  I am my own, I will not be claimed!

||Too late.||

Ever!  The mark means nothing.

||Your blood says different.||

There is no bond.  There is nothing there.  I will not be owned. 

||…||

…ever.

||…Do you remember how his mouth tasted?||

What does that have to do with anything?

||It isn't slavery if you get what you want.||

I will not be owned.  I will not hurt.  Neither you nor him can make me.

||Elegant liar, aren't you?||

Fuck you.

||No need.  The boy will see to that.  The boy will see to that until you're blind and burning and have screamed up every drop of your essence up to him.||

||It's coming.  Soon.  Relax.  He'll see to it.  And you'll drink it all up.||

~~~~~~~~~~

Journal Style 4

I don't know what I expected.  I had what I thought I needed. 

It's never enough, is it?

He didn't ask for anything, except dominance and his space.  I shouldn't have minded.  When can I stop?  I want to stop.  I've got to stop. 

I had a flash of the future the other night, of what would happen if things were allowed to progress naturally.

I was back home, doing my math homework.  I ate dinner, went up to my room, told Mom goodnight and locked the door.  I did my chemistry homework, then turned the light off.  I jumped out the window, flew halfway to meet him. 

Before daybreak, I came home and showered, then slept, woke up, ate breakfast, then went to school and fell asleep in class.  Wore long-sleeves and collar with pants to hide the bruises and cuts, put on heavy cologne when Dad was home, and watched my grades fall.

Empty.  Just an empty night to keep each other from going crazy. 

Like aspirin for a perennial migraine.  I don't know why he puts up with me.  I wouldn't.  I don't know what to do.  We don't trust each other.  I can't talk, and he won't listen.  He doesn't want-

I can't let him leave.

Drugs: Any substance that are not food and have an effect on the neurotransmitters in the brain, either slowing them down or speeding them up.

Drugs.

I traded one for another.  And I'm bringing him down with me.

I'm so sorry.

~~~~~~~~

Id vs Ego Style 3

|| How can you be forced?  Once perhaps, but twice?  If it truly bothered you so much, you would kill him.||

I can't do that.

||Why?||

The bond wouldn't allow it.

||Have you tried?||

It would kill me too.

||When has that bothered you?  You've tried to kill yourself so many times before in the dark just because you were frustrated.  What's one more time?||

||You don't want to hurt him, do you?||

That's not it--

||You couldn't let Frieza kill him.  He was one of the few that you ever bothered to save twice and more.  He was one of the few you would have chosen for a subject.  Am I right?||

…I don't care.

||It's more than a simple loss to the 'fighting community', more than a simple loss of half-Saiyan blood.  You owe your life to that boy, that child.  And he owes you.||

…I don't like him.  He doesn't like me.  He didn't even really choose me; I was just a contingency choice.  A second-hand choice.  He didn't really want me.  I really hate him.  I really want to kill him.  But I can't, because I don't want to die.

||Why don't you want to die?  What makes your life valuable now?||

…I've gotten stronger--

||Bull crap.  So has everyone else.||

I still surpass them. 

||You always did.  That really didn't change.  What changed to make you want to live?  Why now?||

…Maybe you're right for once.  Suicide does seem to be the best way out.  It wouldn't be new, and there wouldn't be many consequences.  It's the easiest.  It's probably the best.

||Why do you think he chose you?||

He didn't choose me.  He got mad at me.

||Strong as he was, as high-strung as was, wouldn't it have been simpler for him to kill you?||

He's still too cowardly to do anything like that.

||It takes courage to mark.  He was working on instinct--||

He didn't choose me.

||--and he had to know, deep down that you could have rejected him--||

He didn't want me!  It was a fluke!  It was a goddamned fluke!

||You could have rejected him!  He knew that!  He nearly killed you, it would have been easier to kill you--||

His blood was talking to him.  He didn't want me.  He just wanted something strong.

||…You're being stupid.  You can destroy him.  You can destroy him easily now, more than ever.  If you leave again he will kill himself or he'll go after you and will kill himself then when you reject him again.  Rejection means you're not good enough.  It means you were stupid and weak--||

The boy isn't stupid or weak.

||--and you don't deserve to live.  He would follow it, he follows his blood.   He's always followed his blood, human as he is.  You can kill him.||

…It would be easy.  It's very tempting, the little bastard.

||Yes, it would.  Yes, it is tempting, and so damn easy.  Through his mind: Enter his mind through the bond because you know how, you have the training and he doesn't, and you can tear his mind apart.  That would kill him so badly he'd be lucky if he made it to the next dimension.  He might not even be able to do that; he might just cease to exist.  You might even be able to cut the bond from his mind, cut yourself free.|| 

||…You could do it easily.||

……yes.

||You would be free again.  You would destroy him in the process, but then he deserved it.  He earned it.  That would be the price of mis-claiming a Saiyan Prince.  It might hurt you too, might kill you too, but then again it might not.  There's a good chance it won't.  It might not even be the first time; it probably won't be with the amount of idiots out there.  It's a risk, but that's what you do.  You destroy, you hurt, you burn, you hate.  And you kill.  Here's the perfect opportunity.  Here's the perfect chance.  Here's your programming, your life, and you can keep on following it the way you always wanted to.  You can't really be held, not against your will.  There's a choice.  There's always a choice.  You said yes.||

No.

||You said yes to him, you took him, you rode him hard and you rejoiced in it, in the feel of his body and his sweat and it hurt you to see him cry.  But you didn't want to care.  You didn't stop.  It hurt you but you didn't stop.||

No…

||You can stop now.  You wanted to stop; well now you can.  You can stop.  You can break him down and destroy him completely for daring to try and claim you, you can go on free like you always wanted and there isn't a damn anyone can do to stop you.||

||You know the boy won't try.  If you try to kill him, he'll let you.  He'll fight you too, he'll fight to live, but he'll let you kill him in the end.||

 

||…||

…He's not immortal.

||No.  And he will die.  He will end.  Like he has before and that'll be it.  There won't even be a thing except an old scar and some memories to fuck up with your life anymore, because your life is so damn good and great that you can't stand to let anything try and change that.  Because change means planets burning and exploding and families dying, and you don't know where you're going next.  He can kill you, but he won't.  He doesn't have the heart--actually, he has the heart and it won't let him.  He doesn't want to.  He can but he doesn't want to.  If you want to be free it will mean his death, by your hand or not, if you want to be free and reject him he will die.  But you can be free.  You do have a choice.||

|| It's meant to be consensual—planned-- marking, but it wasn't.  There isn't anything you can do about it now.  Maybe you weren't willing.  But you do have a choice now.  It's hard, but it's there.  You have a choice now and he doesn't, because his choice was in the beginning and it was you.  He wanted you.  He went to you, in heat, in trust that you would help him.  In trust that you wouldn't hurt him more than he was already being hurt.  He probably didn't understand it then, probably doesn't know why he felt safe with you and not his father, not the Namek, he felt safe with you.  Maybe he didn't choose you to be his mate at the start, but he did choose you to be his confidante, his friend, his guide, and from there maybe he realized that you could be more.  Realized that you could fill what was wrong with him.||

He didn't mean it.

||He did mean it.  He didn't know what was going on, but he did mean to claim you.  He did want you.||

I don't want him.

||Then why did you claim him?  Why did you fuck him, instead of just leaving with your contempt and pride?  Because of hormones?  Because of simple hormones?||

 

…yes…

||FUCKER!  LIAR!  If that were true you could've fucked anybody else!  You could've fucked the woman, Bulma because she wanted you to, as it was you wouldn't even touch her while she was caring for your lame-ass carcass because you were thinking of him, of his skin under your fingers, his eyes looking at you…You kept on thinking about him.  Why?  Now why, tell me that, because I've told you why he claimed you.  Because he felt safe with you, because he desired you.  Now you tell me why you claimed him.  Why did you want him?  What did you see?||

||Answer me.||

 

…I answer to no one.  You can't demand a thing of me.  I am my own.

||You'll answer to me now.  Because you are a warrior, and a warrior fears nothing, neither truth nor lies.||

Foolish psychology.  I'm not stupid enough to fall for a trap that pathetic.

||It's not a trap.  It's a test.  It's a fight.  Either get in or get out, either kill him or join with him, but don't you dare linger in the doorway.||

I don't love him.  I don't love anybody; I don't believe in love. I don't even like him.

||I'm not asking you to.  I'm asking you to accept him, to join with him, because you'll kill him if you keep on this way.  You'll kill him on accident, because you're too afraid to attack directly.  So…what will you do?|| 

…Why should I join with him?  Simply because he might be loyal to me, simply because he's too weak to openly oppose me, simply because it'll make him feel better?  Do you really think I should reduce myself, sell myself so short, so much of what I am and what I do for such a small return? 

||I think you know.||

How far down do you think I'll sink?  Even I don't know that, I've never claimed to.  I might go down to the very cellars of hell before this June.  I might kill him, maybe even without meaning to.  You're right.  I do kill.  I do destroy.  That's what I do.  I've never known how to do anything else.  I don't want to kill him.  If I join with him I'll hurt him and kill him because that's what I do.  If I leave he'll die on accident.

||You're avoiding the point.||

I don't want to kill him.

||You're afraid or yourself.||

I'm not afraid of anything.  I don't want to kill him.  I also have no reason to like him. 

||I think you do.  And you're already killing him by not doing anything.  Tell me, tell yourself, why does this boy draw you?  What do you want from him?  Something.  Anything.|| 

…nothing.  I am my own.

||It doesn't have to be deep or soul searching, but it does have to be true.  Why don't you want to hurt him?||

…no reason…

||…||

||…||

…he did…trust me…with his heart.  Not because I was the best for it, or because there wasn't anyone else…because he did…want me…and…

||…||

…he has what I want.  He gives his father…I could…his tasted like…he's weak, inside his head.  Inside his mind and heart.  But he doesn't let it stop him.  His power is great, but he's afraid of it.  I wouldn't be.  He's everything I'm not.  He has a home.  He doesn't have a title.  He's never had to bear one.  He's not afraid of me now; he was afraid before.  He's…

||…||

…kind.  It's…genetic, I think, disgusting, but…he's not perfect…I can feel his demons, see his nightmares when he sleeps now.  He needs me so much, so much of me, and I don't want to give it to him. Clingy little brat.   I am my own.  I've always been my own.  He would eat me.  Why would he want me?  Why me?

||…||

…he cries when I leave him in bed.  He cries when I leave him here, alone, to train.  He's started playing with knives.  Nothing big, nothing dangerous, but it hasn't been long…Why me?

||…||

…there's potential there.  There's hope.  I don't trust it; it doesn't seem right.  Too many questions.  Why would he pick me?  I wouldn't pick me…  You can cry your life out, through your eyes, if you do it often enough.  I've seen it.  I think he is.

||…||

…I do want him.  I like the way he thinks.  I like the way he looks.  I like the way he touches me when he's sleeping and he doesn't know it and he smiles just a little…I like the way he endures everything, the belittling, the books, the harpy, the responsibility of the power he holds…His life is what mine might have been, if things had been fine.  His responsibility should have been mine.  He's subservient to me.  He'll never hurt me. 

||…||

He's so stupid…It's ridiculous.  It's unnatural.  Innocence doesn't belong in this world—it's not natural.  It hasn't been beaten out of him yet.  I want to protect that…His life runs so closely to what mine could have been…what it was…he could be me.  He could be me easily, and I could be his captor, his tyrant, if I wanted.  Easily.  I don't want to.  I don't want to hurt him.  I want to protect him.  I'm afraid for him.  I hate feeling this way. 

||…||

I want to feel him.

||Do you trust him?||

What?

||Do you trust him?  Do believe in his strength, in his endurance?  Do you believe it's enough to successfully ward you off?|| 

I don't know.  Perhaps.

||…Perhaps you should find out.||

…why?

||So you can feel him.  And he can feel you.||

What if it's not enough?  What if he's not strong enough?  I could kill him; I could destroy him without meaning.  He's not weak…he gave me that power.  What a little fool…

||It's a risk.  You'll have to trust.  At the last, you can fight yourself.  You can control yourself.  You've gotten better at it, and you're smarter than you were before.  You're heart has mellowed.  You don't want to be dark anymore, and you aren't.  Not as much as you were.  You can change.  Things can change here; the rare things can last on this world, it doesn't have to be destroyed.||

…still…

||You are yourself.  You are your own.  You are as you should be.||

…he tastes wonderful.

||Take the chance.  Take the chance.|| 

…but…

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I'm finishing the ficcy!  Next chappie the last!  I'm finishing the ficcy!  Yes!  It's been hanging around and hanging around and now I'm finishing it!  Yay!  …not very action-packed, was it?  More psychological…