Providence
formerly known as: Untitled (6)
I choose now to leave my room and go for a walk. I must be weaker than I used to be, due to not training all the time. I'm still "healthy" though. I stop by the front desk to tell Mrs. Tarintino where I'm going and when I should be back.
"Okay, dear," she says, "Why don't you try the new walking trail in the park? I'm sure that would be nice."
"Thanks," I reply, "I just might do that."
I follow her advice.
It's an okay night. The breeze is nice, but the humidity is thick. The trail is littered with other people. Unlike a lot of cities, where the parks become hazardous at night, this one is peaceful. There is no fear of lurking muggers; too many witnesses are present, and too many police officers are camped around. Off in the field, a group of friends play with a glow-in-the-dark football. Kids skate past me, laughing as they race each other. It's nice atmosphere, for a moment, to know that regular people can enjoy the park without the safety of sunlight.
However...the couples, the families, the smiling people...make me realize how terribly alone I am.
She would have loved to come here...
I break off the trail and head away from voices until the conversations become nothing more than a distant murmur. I move towards the forest, where the light is scarce. Damn me and my cowardice! I seclude myself away in a futile attempt to forget about the happiness that other people have.
...to forget the happiness I once had...
I sniff hard as my nose threatens to run. My strides are wide as I walk through the woods. I feel so stupid, but I still cannot resist the tightening of my throat. I finally come to the last tree, and then I'm in the open again. The crickets chirp, and I hear the croaking of frogs, but they are the only noises that persist. There is a pond here. I collapse near the shoreline.
I stare out at the gently rippling water before I lie back. I search the night sky above, as if it would give me answers. It offers nothing.
My vision blurs and I forcibly swallow. She would have loved to come here.
My breath is turning erratic. She would have loved to...
With a shuddering exhale, I feel my eyes burn with tears.
..Bulma....
It starts slowly, but, gradually, the crying builds. My chest aches as I sob, and I shamefully cover my face as I weep. It's not a wail, but more of a quiet breakdown.
After awhile, I calm down. My breathing is deep and even now. I look up at the same sky, but blankly this time.
Long ago, I lost my planet, my people, and my family. Here...this is not my planet. These are not my people. My family, though, has been murdered, again.
I close my eyes and turn my head to the side. I cannot afford to mourn for those old tragedies as well. I need something to distract me. I need to forget.
It happens like an automatic response. My hands go for my belt buckle, fumbling nervously from shaking hands. My heart pounds hard in my chest as if sensing my desperation. I feel like I'd do anything to forget this pain.
Anything...
I unbutton my khakis and unzip the fly. Hastily, I shove my boxers out of the way. I hesitate for a moment.
How pathetic is it of me that every time I want to die, I must self-gratify instead?
My hand descends and coils my limp member. I close my eyes and will myself to concentrate on what I'm doing. This is my hand. This is my hand stroking my penis. Doesn't it feel good? Yes. Good. Ignore everything else. Everything.
I breathe in deep, panting gasps as pleasure starts to twinge through me. It doesn't take long for me to become hard and aching. Warmth radiates from me now as I steadily pump my erection. I focus on the ecstacy. I tremble from the effort, not just the physical, but the mental as well. I have to restrain myself from thinking beyond here and now.
"Ahhhh! Hssss..nnn...." noises start spilling from my lips. I arch slightly, using my free arm for support. Random curse words flit across my mind, but I refrain from saying any of them. "Uhhnnn..." a moan escapes me as my eyebrows knit together in concentration. It's particulary difficult today; I strain myself from just trying to keep mind on the simple act of masturbating. Muscles bunch and tense and I feel sweat trickle down the side of my face.
My breath is harsh, rasping, and my lungs feel hot and heavy. My panting feels more like gasping, and I can feel cramps coming on. No! I won't be distracted! Not even that kind of pain will steal from this "happiness"! I slow my strokes and try to relax. "..Nngh...haaahh..." I'm surprised I can still groan for how thick the air seems now. My eyes open, mere slits looking up at a blurry night sky.
It feels good..so..good...slow. My breath gains some sense of regularity as I pump in an easy rythym. My erection throbs, desperatly wanting more. I resist the urge to indulge in a frenzy. Rather, I allow myself to quicken, but only slightly. "MMnnh..!" I make a whining, keening noise. I readjust my grip and pull firmly, but not roughly. "AAAA..hhh!" the first part of a scream rolls into a shudder. My eyes squeeze shut from the pleasure that is mounting, doubling by the second.
"S-Shit!" I hiss out. I had been doing so well.. I've gone without for a few days... "Ahhn! Hssss.... F..F..Fuck! Ooooh..." but I know when I start cursing that it's inevitable. Nothing could stop me now. Endless profanity issues forth from my mouth, some of it not even in English. My eyes open again, to watch what I'm doing to myself; to ensure that my goal will be achieved; to make sure I won't think of anything else.
I can't watch too well because, I realize, I'm crying. I don't even care.
My muscles tense again, warning me of what is about to happen. I bite my lip and try to breathe. And then...
Orgasm.
I can't help it; I scream. Thick streams of semen splash across my abdomen and chest. I've been building up for awhile, so there's a lot of it. I try to drag air into my deprived lungs as my head spins in a post-climatic daze. I lay on the ground limply, hearing my heart beat pound in my ears.
"Unn..." I hear myself say, but it's faint.
Eventually, with my entire body trembling, I pull myself into a sitting position and fix my pants back to the way they were. I have to take a second to recover from the exertion of just doing that. I wrap my arms around my knees, enjoying the cool breeze as it dries my skin.
I'm completely spent. I could just fall asleep right now and it'd be perfect. One great orgasm followed by a nice nap in the park. It couldn't get any better.
Time passes slowly.
And then..
"Excuse me," a masculine voice cuts through the dark.
My eyes open in surprise. I had been right. It couldn't of gotten any better.
I can't even compose myself. I thought I had been alone, but maybe I was wrong. A flashlight shines on the side of my face.
"I had a report of a..domestic disturbance," the voice says.
Ah. An officer of the law. I don't have the energy to take off, nor the will to argue.
"..Indecent exposure..." the cop trails off. I think he's nervous because I haven't spoken yet.
My first attempt doesn't make it out of my throat. I swallow and attempt again. "Yeah," I say, because he wouldn't understand that I need that kind of gratification. He wouldn't get it that when I need it, I need it right then. He wouldn't comprehend the fact that something as simple as the "conversation" we're having makes me want to kill myself because my blissful fucking moment is over and all I have to look forward to is getting hot cocoa when I walk in the door of that assigned apartment building because I'm "home" before curfew.
"You know this is a public place," he states rather than asks. I can always hear the difference.
"Yeah," I say, staring out ahead of me.
"That means other people are around," he elaborates, slowly berating me, scolding me like I'm a pervert. I could care less if other people watch me. It's not like I get off on their presence. It's their fault if they watch me. I'm just trying to forget... everything. I just want a little bit of happiness, is that too much to ask!?
"Y-Yeah," I choke out pathetically. Oh, damn it all to Hell. I'm crying again. I stare intensely at the pond in front of me, trying hard not to look at this stranger.
"Hey, uh.." the guy fumbles for something to say, "Just don't do it again, ok? I'll let you off with a warning..."
I don't even care anymore. I can't even masturbate without upsetting someone. I can't even make myself happy without pissing someone off or grossing them out. This is pathetic!
"Fuck it all!" I yell, "It's not worth it!" I use the last of my reserves to leap up and forward, plunging my head into the pond. I exhale from a shuddering sob, and try to ignore the thoughts of algae, sediment, and various insects that pollute the water.
Hands wrap around my waist and I'm jerked backwards. I land hard on my back, still crying as the cop holds me down and requests for backup. I'm nearing hysterics and I just let myself go for the moment...
---
The new arrival wraps a towel around my shoulders. The tears finally stopped coming, and I sit, sniffing every once in awhile. I push some of my wet hair away from my face. Once they're certain I don't want to try to sink myself in Davey Jones' mini-locker, they begin to question me.
"What's your name?" the new-comer asks. They're a female.
"Vegeta," my voice just above a whisper. My throat feels raw.
"Do you have a driver's license or a form of I.D., Vegeta?" she asks politely. Not sweetly, not degradingly, just nicely and politely, she asks.
I nod, "In my wallet. It's in my back, right pocket."
"Could you get it for me?"
I don't really want to, but I do it anyways. It takes too much of my strength away. I hand it to her because she's the closest one to me. "Feel free to look through it," I say.
They fall back and discuss said contents. Of course, there's all the information you could ever want and more in there. A picture I.D. (I'm not allowed to drive) and all about how I'm suicidal (which is why I can't drive because I'm a danger to others), how I live with Mrs. Tarintino, have a curfew, and..everything. I have a picture of Bulma and the kids in there. It's hiding in one of the more difficult to access recesses.
They come back. One kneels and one stands. "Vegeta," it's the male speaking; he's also the one kneeling, "My name is Officer Kimbell. This is Officer Greenly. She's going to call Mrs. Tarintino and inform her that you may be home late tonight. We want to take you out for some coffee. Is that okay?"
It must be a slow night if they're fraternizing with criminals. Oh well. How can I really refuse? "Yeah, that's fine," I reply hoarsely. They give me my wallet back which I put away. Then, they help me stand and walk. We exit a different route than I took in, and in a matter of minutes we're walking under street lamps once more. My legs feel like I'm wearing weights on them.
They escort me into the back of a police car. Now that I think about it, they're probably taking me off to the looney bin. They probably wanted me to come peacefully and quietly. Oh well. I listen to their radio because it's the only thing that breaks the silence besides the hum of the engine and street noise. I may not understand what they're saying, but it's something to occupy the drive time.
We slow and finally come to a stop. I'm surprised to see a Waffle House rather than the police station. The two cops get out, and Kimbell opens the door for me. I manage to exit the vehicle, even if it is on wobbly legs. I leave the blanket in the car. Kimbell opens the door of the establishment and holds it for Greenly and I. We sit at a booth with myself on one side and the cops occupying the other.
I stare out the window while trying to ignore their stares. Finally, a waitress sees to us.
"What can I get for ya?" she asks. Her name is "Bridgett" or so says her name badge.
"Coffee. Black, please," Kimbell requests.
"Coffee. Cream, with no sugar," Greenly says.
Three pairs of eyes turn and look expectantly at me. I have never liked coffee. Bulma was the one fond of it. "A water, I guess," my voice sounds rough when I speak at a more normal level. My vocal chords want a rest.
Bridgett repeats the order, the officers confirm, and she runs off to fulfill it.
"I know this is going to seem rude," Kimbell begins to say. I raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in the booth. With a sigh, he finishes, "but why did you just try to kill yourself?"
Oh.
I pull out my wallet and dig through it. I manage to weasel out a piece of paper I seek and I carefully lie it on the table before him. He reaches forward and picks it up. He looks from the photo to me, and back to the photo. "My wife.." I speak lowly, unsure that this stability will hold, "..and kids..." I pause, to collect myself. "They're dead." I can't help it, I whisper the last sentence.
Greenly excuses herself from the table.
Kimbell hands the photo back, and we just stare at one another until our drinks arrive. He sips his and sighs in satisfaction. "So..is there anything we can do for you?" Kimbell offers, "We'd like to make you as comfortable as possible."
"You mean, anything besides killing me?" I ask with a sarcastic, cocky grin.
"Yeah," he agrees, "besides that."
"No, I think I'm doing ok other than that. Thanks," I respond, trying not to laugh. It all seems so absurd. Everything sounds so ludicrous: my desire to die, the fact I have to masturbate whenever I get intensely depressed, that fact that I live in a half-way house and actually put up with a curfew, how I got caught in public, how these cops want to help me out, and how I'm sitting here now thinking about all this. Completely absurd. Completely ludicrous.
If this had happened to me thirty, maybe forty, years ago... Well, for starters, I'd be dead. I would have made sure of that. I would've fought my enemy to the death. Not to the point where they merely assumed I'm dead, but to the point where they'd know I'm really-really fucking dead.
Well..pretending that I hadn't died in the attack... Hmm...
Kakkarot would've saved the day. Simple as that.
I take a drink of my water, and it feels great to my throat. I close my eyes and gulp it down in relief. When the glass is empty, I eat some of ice for the soothing sensation it brings. Kimbell is watching me intensely. I say nothing, and neither does he.
Finally, Greenly comes back. "Here you go," she says to me, handing me a thing of cloth, "The bathroom's that way." She points in the direction. Confused, I followed her not-so-subtle request, and go into the restroom. I unfold the fabric to reveal a t-shirt. I look down at myself.
Oh.
I guess all the dry semen was irking her. I don't blame her. I take off my shirt, turn it inside out, and fold it up neatly. Then I put on the shirt she got me. It has that fool's name on it - SATAN - in big, bold letters. She probably bought this at a nearby gas station. I look at myself in the mirror.
I look like shit. My eyes are red and puffy, but with dark circles underneath. I'm carrying a five o'clock shadow along with me as well. I turn the faucet on for cold water and I wash my hands, then my face. I look back up at myself as I breathe heavy and use the sink for support.
Get.
A.
Hold.
Of.
Your.
Self.
This is not the way the Prince of Saijins should be acting.
I have lost everything before, I should be able to recover again! Remember what it was like, I tell myself, living with Freiza? Remember how badly it had hurt, but remember how you never broke down?
I release a deep, shuddering sigh and turn off the faucet. I tear off some paper towel from the dispenser and dry myself off.
I never broke down because...
I was already broken.
Instead of feeling sad, I just feel tired. Really tired. I wish I could go to sleep and never wake up again. I'll have to settle for a good, long rest for now. I pick up my shirt and drag my feet as I walk back to the booth.
Besides, I think to myself, it's better now. Now, I cry instead of commiting mass murder.
formerly known as: Untitled (6)
I choose now to leave my room and go for a walk. I must be weaker than I used to be, due to not training all the time. I'm still "healthy" though. I stop by the front desk to tell Mrs. Tarintino where I'm going and when I should be back.
"Okay, dear," she says, "Why don't you try the new walking trail in the park? I'm sure that would be nice."
"Thanks," I reply, "I just might do that."
I follow her advice.
It's an okay night. The breeze is nice, but the humidity is thick. The trail is littered with other people. Unlike a lot of cities, where the parks become hazardous at night, this one is peaceful. There is no fear of lurking muggers; too many witnesses are present, and too many police officers are camped around. Off in the field, a group of friends play with a glow-in-the-dark football. Kids skate past me, laughing as they race each other. It's nice atmosphere, for a moment, to know that regular people can enjoy the park without the safety of sunlight.
However...the couples, the families, the smiling people...make me realize how terribly alone I am.
She would have loved to come here...
I break off the trail and head away from voices until the conversations become nothing more than a distant murmur. I move towards the forest, where the light is scarce. Damn me and my cowardice! I seclude myself away in a futile attempt to forget about the happiness that other people have.
...to forget the happiness I once had...
I sniff hard as my nose threatens to run. My strides are wide as I walk through the woods. I feel so stupid, but I still cannot resist the tightening of my throat. I finally come to the last tree, and then I'm in the open again. The crickets chirp, and I hear the croaking of frogs, but they are the only noises that persist. There is a pond here. I collapse near the shoreline.
I stare out at the gently rippling water before I lie back. I search the night sky above, as if it would give me answers. It offers nothing.
My vision blurs and I forcibly swallow. She would have loved to come here.
My breath is turning erratic. She would have loved to...
With a shuddering exhale, I feel my eyes burn with tears.
..Bulma....
It starts slowly, but, gradually, the crying builds. My chest aches as I sob, and I shamefully cover my face as I weep. It's not a wail, but more of a quiet breakdown.
After awhile, I calm down. My breathing is deep and even now. I look up at the same sky, but blankly this time.
Long ago, I lost my planet, my people, and my family. Here...this is not my planet. These are not my people. My family, though, has been murdered, again.
I close my eyes and turn my head to the side. I cannot afford to mourn for those old tragedies as well. I need something to distract me. I need to forget.
It happens like an automatic response. My hands go for my belt buckle, fumbling nervously from shaking hands. My heart pounds hard in my chest as if sensing my desperation. I feel like I'd do anything to forget this pain.
Anything...
I unbutton my khakis and unzip the fly. Hastily, I shove my boxers out of the way. I hesitate for a moment.
How pathetic is it of me that every time I want to die, I must self-gratify instead?
My hand descends and coils my limp member. I close my eyes and will myself to concentrate on what I'm doing. This is my hand. This is my hand stroking my penis. Doesn't it feel good? Yes. Good. Ignore everything else. Everything.
I breathe in deep, panting gasps as pleasure starts to twinge through me. It doesn't take long for me to become hard and aching. Warmth radiates from me now as I steadily pump my erection. I focus on the ecstacy. I tremble from the effort, not just the physical, but the mental as well. I have to restrain myself from thinking beyond here and now.
"Ahhhh! Hssss..nnn...." noises start spilling from my lips. I arch slightly, using my free arm for support. Random curse words flit across my mind, but I refrain from saying any of them. "Uhhnnn..." a moan escapes me as my eyebrows knit together in concentration. It's particulary difficult today; I strain myself from just trying to keep mind on the simple act of masturbating. Muscles bunch and tense and I feel sweat trickle down the side of my face.
My breath is harsh, rasping, and my lungs feel hot and heavy. My panting feels more like gasping, and I can feel cramps coming on. No! I won't be distracted! Not even that kind of pain will steal from this "happiness"! I slow my strokes and try to relax. "..Nngh...haaahh..." I'm surprised I can still groan for how thick the air seems now. My eyes open, mere slits looking up at a blurry night sky.
It feels good..so..good...slow. My breath gains some sense of regularity as I pump in an easy rythym. My erection throbs, desperatly wanting more. I resist the urge to indulge in a frenzy. Rather, I allow myself to quicken, but only slightly. "MMnnh..!" I make a whining, keening noise. I readjust my grip and pull firmly, but not roughly. "AAAA..hhh!" the first part of a scream rolls into a shudder. My eyes squeeze shut from the pleasure that is mounting, doubling by the second.
"S-Shit!" I hiss out. I had been doing so well.. I've gone without for a few days... "Ahhn! Hssss.... F..F..Fuck! Ooooh..." but I know when I start cursing that it's inevitable. Nothing could stop me now. Endless profanity issues forth from my mouth, some of it not even in English. My eyes open again, to watch what I'm doing to myself; to ensure that my goal will be achieved; to make sure I won't think of anything else.
I can't watch too well because, I realize, I'm crying. I don't even care.
My muscles tense again, warning me of what is about to happen. I bite my lip and try to breathe. And then...
Orgasm.
I can't help it; I scream. Thick streams of semen splash across my abdomen and chest. I've been building up for awhile, so there's a lot of it. I try to drag air into my deprived lungs as my head spins in a post-climatic daze. I lay on the ground limply, hearing my heart beat pound in my ears.
"Unn..." I hear myself say, but it's faint.
Eventually, with my entire body trembling, I pull myself into a sitting position and fix my pants back to the way they were. I have to take a second to recover from the exertion of just doing that. I wrap my arms around my knees, enjoying the cool breeze as it dries my skin.
I'm completely spent. I could just fall asleep right now and it'd be perfect. One great orgasm followed by a nice nap in the park. It couldn't get any better.
Time passes slowly.
And then..
"Excuse me," a masculine voice cuts through the dark.
My eyes open in surprise. I had been right. It couldn't of gotten any better.
I can't even compose myself. I thought I had been alone, but maybe I was wrong. A flashlight shines on the side of my face.
"I had a report of a..domestic disturbance," the voice says.
Ah. An officer of the law. I don't have the energy to take off, nor the will to argue.
"..Indecent exposure..." the cop trails off. I think he's nervous because I haven't spoken yet.
My first attempt doesn't make it out of my throat. I swallow and attempt again. "Yeah," I say, because he wouldn't understand that I need that kind of gratification. He wouldn't get it that when I need it, I need it right then. He wouldn't comprehend the fact that something as simple as the "conversation" we're having makes me want to kill myself because my blissful fucking moment is over and all I have to look forward to is getting hot cocoa when I walk in the door of that assigned apartment building because I'm "home" before curfew.
"You know this is a public place," he states rather than asks. I can always hear the difference.
"Yeah," I say, staring out ahead of me.
"That means other people are around," he elaborates, slowly berating me, scolding me like I'm a pervert. I could care less if other people watch me. It's not like I get off on their presence. It's their fault if they watch me. I'm just trying to forget... everything. I just want a little bit of happiness, is that too much to ask!?
"Y-Yeah," I choke out pathetically. Oh, damn it all to Hell. I'm crying again. I stare intensely at the pond in front of me, trying hard not to look at this stranger.
"Hey, uh.." the guy fumbles for something to say, "Just don't do it again, ok? I'll let you off with a warning..."
I don't even care anymore. I can't even masturbate without upsetting someone. I can't even make myself happy without pissing someone off or grossing them out. This is pathetic!
"Fuck it all!" I yell, "It's not worth it!" I use the last of my reserves to leap up and forward, plunging my head into the pond. I exhale from a shuddering sob, and try to ignore the thoughts of algae, sediment, and various insects that pollute the water.
Hands wrap around my waist and I'm jerked backwards. I land hard on my back, still crying as the cop holds me down and requests for backup. I'm nearing hysterics and I just let myself go for the moment...
---
The new arrival wraps a towel around my shoulders. The tears finally stopped coming, and I sit, sniffing every once in awhile. I push some of my wet hair away from my face. Once they're certain I don't want to try to sink myself in Davey Jones' mini-locker, they begin to question me.
"What's your name?" the new-comer asks. They're a female.
"Vegeta," my voice just above a whisper. My throat feels raw.
"Do you have a driver's license or a form of I.D., Vegeta?" she asks politely. Not sweetly, not degradingly, just nicely and politely, she asks.
I nod, "In my wallet. It's in my back, right pocket."
"Could you get it for me?"
I don't really want to, but I do it anyways. It takes too much of my strength away. I hand it to her because she's the closest one to me. "Feel free to look through it," I say.
They fall back and discuss said contents. Of course, there's all the information you could ever want and more in there. A picture I.D. (I'm not allowed to drive) and all about how I'm suicidal (which is why I can't drive because I'm a danger to others), how I live with Mrs. Tarintino, have a curfew, and..everything. I have a picture of Bulma and the kids in there. It's hiding in one of the more difficult to access recesses.
They come back. One kneels and one stands. "Vegeta," it's the male speaking; he's also the one kneeling, "My name is Officer Kimbell. This is Officer Greenly. She's going to call Mrs. Tarintino and inform her that you may be home late tonight. We want to take you out for some coffee. Is that okay?"
It must be a slow night if they're fraternizing with criminals. Oh well. How can I really refuse? "Yeah, that's fine," I reply hoarsely. They give me my wallet back which I put away. Then, they help me stand and walk. We exit a different route than I took in, and in a matter of minutes we're walking under street lamps once more. My legs feel like I'm wearing weights on them.
They escort me into the back of a police car. Now that I think about it, they're probably taking me off to the looney bin. They probably wanted me to come peacefully and quietly. Oh well. I listen to their radio because it's the only thing that breaks the silence besides the hum of the engine and street noise. I may not understand what they're saying, but it's something to occupy the drive time.
We slow and finally come to a stop. I'm surprised to see a Waffle House rather than the police station. The two cops get out, and Kimbell opens the door for me. I manage to exit the vehicle, even if it is on wobbly legs. I leave the blanket in the car. Kimbell opens the door of the establishment and holds it for Greenly and I. We sit at a booth with myself on one side and the cops occupying the other.
I stare out the window while trying to ignore their stares. Finally, a waitress sees to us.
"What can I get for ya?" she asks. Her name is "Bridgett" or so says her name badge.
"Coffee. Black, please," Kimbell requests.
"Coffee. Cream, with no sugar," Greenly says.
Three pairs of eyes turn and look expectantly at me. I have never liked coffee. Bulma was the one fond of it. "A water, I guess," my voice sounds rough when I speak at a more normal level. My vocal chords want a rest.
Bridgett repeats the order, the officers confirm, and she runs off to fulfill it.
"I know this is going to seem rude," Kimbell begins to say. I raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in the booth. With a sigh, he finishes, "but why did you just try to kill yourself?"
Oh.
I pull out my wallet and dig through it. I manage to weasel out a piece of paper I seek and I carefully lie it on the table before him. He reaches forward and picks it up. He looks from the photo to me, and back to the photo. "My wife.." I speak lowly, unsure that this stability will hold, "..and kids..." I pause, to collect myself. "They're dead." I can't help it, I whisper the last sentence.
Greenly excuses herself from the table.
Kimbell hands the photo back, and we just stare at one another until our drinks arrive. He sips his and sighs in satisfaction. "So..is there anything we can do for you?" Kimbell offers, "We'd like to make you as comfortable as possible."
"You mean, anything besides killing me?" I ask with a sarcastic, cocky grin.
"Yeah," he agrees, "besides that."
"No, I think I'm doing ok other than that. Thanks," I respond, trying not to laugh. It all seems so absurd. Everything sounds so ludicrous: my desire to die, the fact I have to masturbate whenever I get intensely depressed, that fact that I live in a half-way house and actually put up with a curfew, how I got caught in public, how these cops want to help me out, and how I'm sitting here now thinking about all this. Completely absurd. Completely ludicrous.
If this had happened to me thirty, maybe forty, years ago... Well, for starters, I'd be dead. I would have made sure of that. I would've fought my enemy to the death. Not to the point where they merely assumed I'm dead, but to the point where they'd know I'm really-really fucking dead.
Well..pretending that I hadn't died in the attack... Hmm...
Kakkarot would've saved the day. Simple as that.
I take a drink of my water, and it feels great to my throat. I close my eyes and gulp it down in relief. When the glass is empty, I eat some of ice for the soothing sensation it brings. Kimbell is watching me intensely. I say nothing, and neither does he.
Finally, Greenly comes back. "Here you go," she says to me, handing me a thing of cloth, "The bathroom's that way." She points in the direction. Confused, I followed her not-so-subtle request, and go into the restroom. I unfold the fabric to reveal a t-shirt. I look down at myself.
Oh.
I guess all the dry semen was irking her. I don't blame her. I take off my shirt, turn it inside out, and fold it up neatly. Then I put on the shirt she got me. It has that fool's name on it - SATAN - in big, bold letters. She probably bought this at a nearby gas station. I look at myself in the mirror.
I look like shit. My eyes are red and puffy, but with dark circles underneath. I'm carrying a five o'clock shadow along with me as well. I turn the faucet on for cold water and I wash my hands, then my face. I look back up at myself as I breathe heavy and use the sink for support.
Get.
A.
Hold.
Of.
Your.
Self.
This is not the way the Prince of Saijins should be acting.
I have lost everything before, I should be able to recover again! Remember what it was like, I tell myself, living with Freiza? Remember how badly it had hurt, but remember how you never broke down?
I release a deep, shuddering sigh and turn off the faucet. I tear off some paper towel from the dispenser and dry myself off.
I never broke down because...
I was already broken.
Instead of feeling sad, I just feel tired. Really tired. I wish I could go to sleep and never wake up again. I'll have to settle for a good, long rest for now. I pick up my shirt and drag my feet as I walk back to the booth.
Besides, I think to myself, it's better now. Now, I cry instead of commiting mass murder.