Chapter Three: Manipulation is the Key

by Amaterasu

Part I: The Madness

He wasn't Vegeta. He wasn't.

Ever since he could remember, she was the light of his life, his angel, his Savior. The only thing that could save and at the same time, damn him.

He looked down. Three days had passed and he could barely touch her. He could barely smell her. Out of his reach, hating him, damning him, damning him to hell for what he did, for what he wanted...for what he made her do against her will.

He didn't wince at that thought. Against her will. Portrayed as some romantic notion, along with jealousy and roughness in those stupid love books...it wasn't as romantic in real life. Not with the real tears, the real struggle, the pain that came after it for both parties. Yet, he didn't flinch at the thought. All he could think was it was her fault. Her fault for tempting him, for letting him go that far. For dancing with him, for drinking and eating with him, for making him go off the edge when she kept calling him Vegeta.

Vegeta. He threw the wine bottle against the wall, screaming, yowling, and languishing in his agony and misery. That name. That man. That...father of his. He could still remember it in his head; her moans, and her cries for him. He wasn't Vegeta.

Trunks put his wavering hands to his head and rocked himself against the wall. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was going to love him...and hate Vegeta. Vegeta was the wrong one. Vegeta was the true rapist.

I must be slipping into madness, Trunks thought as the tears came down his cheeks and he looked at the broken black glass in the alcoholic swamp. It felt strange and new, like passing from one world into another and then another, the thoughts flashing by so quickly. Her face, her fingers pointing at him, covering her face, running into the bathroom. Her words: Monster. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

Trunks tugged harshly at his hair, pulling tufts of the matted monstrosity out. He screamed again. "IT'S NOT FAIR, DAMMIT! IT'S HER FAULT! IT'S HERS!" Loud sobs bubbled out of the once proud man. Her fault for giving in, for letting him in, for letting him kiss her and hug her, squeezing her delightful body against his, rubbing and rubbing- more kissing, yes, her moaning-

He groaned, holding his head, feeling aroused and a spark of more hatred at himself. He longed to put the blame on someone, anyone. Anyone but her would do...his innocent angel that could do nothing wrong but succumb to her desires that she felt for him, for-for-

Vegeta. He narrowed his eyes.

"It's...it's Vegeta's fault," he rationalized, laying down on the floor, straight as a pole, looking up at the ceiling as if it were a star-studded sky. "It's...his fault." he began to shiver, smiling, with tears still coming out. "He did this, not me...not her. It's his fault."

It was his fault. If he hadn't have come into the picture, she would've been his from the start. She would've called his name instead of...Vegeta. Trunks' mouth was stuck between sneering and smiling, grinning at one moment, yowling like a cat at the next, and laughing happily (in a perverse way) in another.

And he should've done away with Vegeta from the start, too. He was so stupid, thinking of waiting subtly, trying to first seduce the woman before killing the man. What a fool he was. The way to undermine and totally captivate her was to hold her as she mourns the loss of a mate. Ah well, learn from your mistakes.

He began to snicker and snort, rocking back and forth on the floor, rolling, finding his logic so clear yet so hilarious. Hilarious what he would do to Vegeta and how Vegeta would beeeeg him to stop. He could just imagine it. The "proud Saiya-jin warrior Prince" down on his knees, kissing Trunks' feet, crying for mercy. Trunks would kick the shit in his face, and laugh, and kill him. No, no, not only kill. Castrate him. Butcher the bastard's balls. Harm his pretty face. Show him that Trunks was no one to be messed with. Only after that exquisite torture would he finally do the deed.

Or, he looked at the wall, finally stopped moving; he could continue the torture. Leave him out mutilated, scarred, handicapped...and at the mercy of vengeful old enemies. He widened his eyes and looked like he was in euphoria. A simple little slave for a hateful, grudge-filled alien.

It was genius. It was pure genius. And only he could and would make it happen. And then make Bulma his.

-----

"Are you all right?" Was the question of the day, of every day now. Bulma shuddered knowing why it had started.

"Go away," she told her mother and stayed in the hot tub. At least it was hot when she first when into it. When did she get into it? Bulma looked at the rose tinged water and told herself that information probably didn't matter right now. At least she thought it didn't.

"But-"

"Go."

She heard her mother hesitate outside the door, then leave reluctantly. Like a sad little girl whose favorite doll had been lost.

Bulma gave a snort at that. She was a little doll. Made for primping, for love, for constant affection and attention. She looked down at her wounded wrists. Did she cut them today? Maybe. She lapsed into blackouts so often now that she forgot what day it was. What day was it? Tuesday? Thursday? Maybe Sunday, the supposed Holy Day. Did he rape her last Sunday?

She supposed so, laying back and looking at the ceiling, that she was still in a state of shock. Her mind was removed from her body, acting cold and rational towards everything. Why did he do it? Why? Why?

Tears came to her eyes and her heart was left commandeering her body. The pain, the anger, and all the fear and confusion were in her veins and she wanted to let it out. Why did he...did he want her like that? Was it how she dressed? Was it something she said? Was he just a sick little pervert? Did she want it?

She curled up into herself, letting out the sobs, hoping to God that he died. That he was killed somehow by God's hand. Vegeta...she wanted Vegeta.

"But when had Vegeta cared for you?"

She screamed. Trunks was here. Oh god oh god oh god, she fumbled out of the bath tub and clung to the wall. Screaming and screaming, reaching out wildly for a towel, something to cover her up, make him stop make him stop make him stop-

She stopped when she realized Trunks was not in the room with her. There came a feeble knock at the door.

"Mommy," she breathed, eyes still glued to the plaster on the wall. Mothers are safe. She looked at the door that seemed miles... perhaps light years away (like her soul that she sold to the devil if it was true that she wanted Trunks/wait, no, no, that's not right/yes it is) She grabbed her hair, whimpering, taking turns balancing on each foot.

"Sweetheart," Mrs. Briefs said to the door. "Are-are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Bulma said. "I'm just-..." she looked down at the mess of all the bottles of shampoo and soap that had fallen down, her lithe body covered by a measly blue towel. "Just washing myself. Just-just washing myself." She laughed a little, wavering on crazy and insane. It became loud and foolhardy. Trunks had never been here, she laughed. Trunks had never been here in the first place. Those thoughts of him secretly here, listening to her, they were just part of the imagination. And that voice, that voice asking when had Vegeta cared for her. That was just her! That was her voice! Bulma couldn't breathe. She was scared of herself all this time!

Mrs. Briefs stared at the door and quietly said, "Are you sure?" She was confused at the laughter.

"I've never been better!" Bulma sang and laughed some more, sliding down the wall kicking up her legs. "La-la-la, suds and soap get you clean, scrub those ears, clean that face, you're gonna make a sparkle-n-"

"Sheen."

Bulma stopped laughing and looked at a dark corner of the bathroom with gleaming eyes staring at her. Her violent feelings in her veins drained with all the blood as she stared into those black eyes she met so long ago.

"Goku," she said softly, looking at his solid tan frame that contrasted severely with the white tiles he leaned against. He didn't give his usual grin but nodded.

"I remember that song. You sang it to me when you were washing me for the first time."

"I...I did?" She tried to remember. It was so long ago. Did she sing that song? "I...don't remember, Goku." She shivered under his gaze and looked away, pulling the towel tighter around her. Goku didn't look how he usually did; he donned his usual outfit, the orange and blue gi...but something was off. His eyes, she realized and looked into them. His eyes were darker.

"They're darker, huh?" he suddenly laughed but he looked straight at her. She pressed herself against the wall.

"What do you want, Goku?" She felt dizzy, as if her head was made out of cotton candy. The pink swirly sugar kind they make at the amusement parks. "Why are you here?" she wheezed, feeling like the ceiling was coming down on her head, her mind and it was all falling; her life, herself, her sanity.

He didn't say anything but kept staring at her with his dark eyes. Bulma's eyes were half lidded and she felt so tired. Since when did she feel so tired?

Goku sighed and got up. Bulma didn't move; she felt too tired, as if her blood really was running out. He kneeled and smiled woefully at her, like she had done something wrong but he found it funny yet sad. He petted her head, weaving his fingers through her wet strands, laughing lightly. He put his lips to her hair giving a small affectionate kiss. He pulled back and lowered them to her ear, hot breath making her shiver when she realized how close they were and how good it felt to be warm after such a long time of being in the freezing cold.

"You're a whore, Bulma," he quietly said, he kept smiling and chuckled under his breath. He shook his head to himself, tossing her against the wall, "A fucking whore." And got up. And disappeared.

----

Her head now felt like blue cotton candy, blue metal cotton candy. It felt so heavy when she tried to pick it up but she had to. She didn't know why, but she had to. They were counting on her. Who? What was counting on her? Trunks? She yelped at that name, the name of her rapist and her son. Her little baby, her violent offender. Both shared the same name yet were so different.

She saw blurs at first. White and gray blurs. So different, it was as if she was being born again, born to be new and oh so lovely and so full of quality. Not the mangled thing she was yesterday and the day before that, and the year before that, and her life before that.

Bulma, it was a kind whisper and she embraced it. So new, so new to her. Being born again.

Hang on. She felt so cold though. She began to shiver as the white turned to black.

Hang...on. The whisper was so distant now and she began to look for the light. She lost her tongue and could only whimper, she was blind and could only grope and grab, she was deaf and could only hear her heart beat dim with every second.

BULMA. The whisper became a yell. Bulma could not hear it.

She saw a light. It was beautiful. She began to laugh and walk towards it, putting out her hands, acting like a toddler. I love you, she said to the light. She didn't know why she said that or why she was here, but she loved the light. For guiding her, for bringing her out of her misery. She had been here so long for so many years. It felt like years, at least; it felt like centuries even. But, she laughed. That wasn't true. And she loved the light.

HANG ON. It had become a howl behind her back. All she could know was the light.

COME BACK. It was a violent scream this time. Then she heard it, and the light was gone; she was no longer blind, deaf, and mute.

Vegeta, she whispered. She felt like pink cotton candy again.