Last time:
"Besides her parents, yes." He pushed himself off the fridge and took deliberate steps forward. He stopped inches from his uncle, and leaned in, their noses nearly touching. "And if you say ONE word about this to ANYONE, I'll make you wish you never started shit with me."
He walked out without another word. Bulma was the only thing on his mind, and she needed him.
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For months Bulma lived her life on the run. Between rehearsals, filming, and going back and forth to Satan City, she had almost no time for her schoolwork, and absolutely none in the lab. True, she was home schooled and did her work according to her schedule, but it seemed she had less and less time for it. Her parents were not happy.
She struggled to learn her lines, to get along with the director and the other actors. But, in the end, she walked off the set more times than anyone could count. The movie was due out in two months, after intense editing and advertising. For the first time in four months she had a chance to sit down and take a breather.
And then the phone rang.
"Hello?" she sighed, half-annoyed. It was the first day after the movie was completed. She didn't want to see or hear from people today. Not even Vegeta.
"Hello. Is Bulma there?" came a familiar, shy feminine voice.
"Speaking."
"Bulma?" There was a long pause. "It's Chi-Chi."
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Watanabe City, though being known for its great movie star population, did have some very quaint and warm little shops dotted throughout its grandness. One such place, a bustling café just next door to Bulma's favorite bookshop, was her preferred place for meetings; directors, other actors and actresses, producers, her agent—now it held so much more meaning.
She loved every inch of this small café, from its gaudy pale yellow walls, hung with cultural black and white images, to its mismatched array of tables and chairs, the napkins folded fancily. The silverware was worn and generic, but the coffee and tea were the best in the city. And no one could make a better pumpkin pie.
"I could live off this tea," Bulma commented, holding the steaming cup under her nose, its perfume wafting into her nostrils.
"It's very good," Chi-Chi said, her hand nervously stirring the contents of her cup. They'd hardly said two words to each other since Chi-Chi had gotten off the bus. It had been a tense and exciting moment for both girls; they embraced as if they were the best of friends, but, once they were in a cab headed for the café, their mouths seemed to seize up to anything but mundane conversational phrases. "Bulma, I have to say something before I explode," Chi-Chi suddenly blurted out, her hands now firmly gripping the edge of the table. Bulma reached across the table, touching one of her hands lightly; a small gesture that she hoped would help her to relax. She knew nothing else in that moment. "It's been eating away at me and I-I…I can't stand being without you anymore…"
Bulma lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushed pink. And for the life of her, she could not figure why she was embarrassed.
"I know you regret leaving," she continued, her words more hurried, as if she feared she would never get them all out. "I could see it in you that first night, but Kami, I was so stubborn. I didn't want to see that you were upset too, that you missed us just as much as we missed you…I let my anger get the better of me…Please, forgive me."
"You," Bulma said, raising her head, her voice firm, "have nothing to be sorry about. I am the one who should be asking for forgiveness."
"No, I'm the one who didn't understand. I was so stubborn I didn't see what was plain as day!" she whispered almost hysterically, her hands still gripped at the table.
"And I'm the one who left and never gave an explanation for why I didn't return…" she sighed, leaning back in her chair.
"Then I suppose we can both accept the apologies," Chi-Chi suggested, casting her eyes into her teacup.
Bulma smiled almost sheepishly as she stood and took the seat directly beside her long lost friend. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, her head resting there as she held her tightly.
"I've missed you so much," she sobbed, her eyes laced with tears, though her cheeks were dry. She'd become an expert at withholding them.
"Oh Kami," Chi-Chi moaned. "Me too!…Me too…"
"And I swear, if it kills me, I am going to tell you and everyone else why I never came back, because I could never willingly stay away."
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Her reunion with Goku was different, to say the least. He was waiting at Chi-Chi's house when they walked in, arm in arm, laughter ringing from their mouths. As soon as she laid eyes on him, Bulma's heart sank and there was the deepest, most agonizing silence she had ever experienced.
Slowly, and with much deliberation, he rose from his place on the couch, abandoning his Coke and bowl of popcorn; the movie playing on the TV was only background noise now. When he was finally in front of her, all he seemed to be able to do was stare, his eyes transfixed on hers. She could literally feel the hairs on her arms stand on end; and she knew they could feel her tension as well.
But then he smiled—that almost lopsided goofy grin she remembered so well—and the entire room relaxed. Even the people on the television looked more at ease.
"I don't know what to say," Bulma finally said, wanting desperately to look away but knew she should not.
"You don't need to say anything," he sighed, pulling her into a massive bear hug. "I trust Chi-Chi's judgment…Besides," he added, leaning back to better see her, "I was always willing to forgive you."
"Then why did you let me believe you were angry?" There was nothing accusatory in her voice.
"Because I knew that's what you wanted."
She nodded knowingly and surrendered to his warm embrace once more. The picture was almost complete; there was only one thing left for her to do. She only hoped she had the strength for it…
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"Oh Vegeta!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her into the air, her legs clamping around his waist. "It was so amazing!" She couldn't remember a time she'd been so completely and utterly happy—she had Vegeta, she had all her friends back, her career was going great, and Takao was gone like a bad dream—it was perfect, finally. "They're back! They're all back!"
He kissed her firmly before his exploded from anticipation, then set her on her feet.
"I hate to burst your bubble—"
"Liar," she laughed.
"Won't they want to know why you haven't reconciled with me yet?"
"Kuso," she swore, taking an unintentional step back. "I forgot about that. I guess I just figured—Kuso!"
"Do you want me—"
"Are you crazy?" she snapped. "Sorry. I mean, it's best that I tell them. If you did it'd seem like I was cowering out or something. I want everything to be perfect this time. I want nothing to ruin what I have now. I've been dreaming about it for too long. I—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes falling on a printout that lay on his desk, the words: Paranoid Mood Swings in bold at the top. "What is that?" She did not like the looks of it. Further down on the page she noticed the word: Psychotic and then just below that: Should seek medical help.
"Research for a project," he said without skipping a beat, his eyes hard and void of emotion.
"You're lying," she said firmly, and attempted to reach for it. He was too fast, however, and shoved the ten-page printout into the top drawer, slamming it shut. Quickly her genius brain put the pieces together, and she let out a stunted gasp. "It's about me, isn't it?"
"You don't believe me?" he asked sternly.
"No, Vegeta, I don't. I think you think I'm insane and those papers have something to do with me, and if you don't tell me I'm walking out that door!"
"I do not think you're insane," he sighed, rolling his eyes. How was he supposed to respond in a situation like this? Of course the papers were about her; he'd never had a chance to bring them up and, just before she showed up, he had been looking them over and forgot to hide them again. "Don't assume things you know nothing about."
"Then you won't mind if I look at them, will you?" He cringed inwardly. How could he have not seen that coming?
"Why are you so interested in them?" he shot back.
"Why are you so protective of them if they're nothing bad? A research project is nothing to be ashamed about."
"And it's nothing interesting either."
"I never said I wanted to see them for interest." For thirty seconds they stared either other down, and then, at a speed that amazed even Vegeta, she pulled open the drawer, grabbed the printout, and ran out the door. She made it to the living room before he caught up to her.
"Woman!" he hollered into the dark room as he fumbled for the light switch. When he found it, and the room was flooded with light, she was across the room; she was backed into a corner. Before she had a chance to raise the papers and get a closer look, he was already headed in her direction. "Give those back or you'll regret it!" he snapped before he could stop himself.
"I will not!" she retorted, clutching the papers to her chest. She faked right, then ran left, just barely escaping his grasp as she jumped up on the couch. But, unfortunately, this slowed her considerably, and he tackled her into the soft cushions. "Get off me you oaf!" Her small fists pounded into his rock hard chest, having no effect whatsoever, the papers scattered on the floor.
"Quiet woman," he demanded, attempting to cover her mouth, but to no avail; he didn't want to lose his fingers; he didn't doubt she would bite him, and hard. "Do you want to wake up the entire house?"
Immediately she went rigid, her eyes wide.
"I have to go," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible.
"What are you talking about? You just got here." He frowned deep.
"Please, Vegeta, get off me. I have to leave. Don't make this hard for me."
"How long do you think you can keep this from Taisho? He'll find out when the others do."
"Vegeta, please," she whimpered, her eyes shrink-wrapped with tears. "I don't want—I—There are things about me I don't want you to witness. Not yet. I just need time to think…I'll come back next week."
"That's not good enough," he grunted, but eased off her and allowed her to sit up. He pulled her close, her head resting on his shoulder. "I should know everything."
"I know," she sighed, their fight completely forgotten. She'd ask him about the papers later. "And you will, just give me time…"
"Fine…You win…This time."
She smiled sadly up at him; he obliged by giving her a firm kiss on the forehead.
"It kills me to do this," she said when they were at the front door. "I'll call you tomorrow. Ok?"
"If I'm around."
"Don't get cold with me, Vegeta."
He nodded, his frown still very much realized. They embraced one last time, kissed once more, before she walked outside and pulled the door shut behind her. Vegeta sighed deeply, his back against the door, head down. How could he help her if he knew next to nothing about her? It was like she was a total stranger.
After a few minutes, he gathered himself up and walked into the living room to retrieve the fallen papers. He was reaching for the last one when he heard a noise by the stairs. He grabbed the paper and looked up, completely unprepared for what he saw.
"Why do you give me so many reasons to loathe you?" Taisho snapped, cheeks wet with tears. For a long while Vegeta was still, his back slightly crouched, eyes on his cousin, who stood with his hands in fists at his sides, a look of pure rage in his eyes. The only thought in his head at that moment was getting the printout hidden from those who knew nothing of Bulma's past; e.i. Taisho.
"Cousin," he finally said, straightening up. He slipped the partially folded papers into the back of his jeans, pulling his shirt over them. "You just missed her. I didn't think you were home."
"Fuck you, Vegeta. How long do you think I've been standing here?"
"Do you mean metaphorically?" Vegeta mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your whole life?" he laughed, his voice deep and cynical. What was the use? He knew now. Bulma was not going to be happy.
"I saw you kiss her, Vegeta! You tell me what's going on!" A noticeable crack broke his voice; Vegeta couldn't remember seeing him this angry before. It was the anger of his father, not Taisho. "And you tell me right now." He took a few steps forward, stopping just behind the couch.
"If you saw that, cousin, then there's nothing to tell. I think the scene speaks for itself."
Taisho's glare deepened, his lip curling into an almost snarl.
"What? Did you expect me to lie? 'No, Taisho my friend, me and Bulma mean nothing to each other.' Who do you think I am? Do you even remember four years ago?" It was Vegeta's turn to advance; they were a mere foot apart. "Do you remember what her leaving did to me!" he hissed, grabbing his cousin's shirt collar and giving it a rough tug. "If you knew Bulma half as well as you believe you do then you would have seen it so much sooner," he said through his teeth. "And don't you dare make a fuss about this with her, because I swear to Kami if you make her upset I will do all in my power to make you regret it. Family or no, you will know what she means to me."
"Vegeta, please," Taisho said, his voice back to normal, his face issuing none of the anger it had only a moment before. Vegeta slowly released his grip and took a step back. "I won't say anything to her if you don't want me to…I just…I always suspected you liked her, I just never knew you loved her…so much…"
Vegeta's eyes softened. No, rage was not good for Taisho, and he regretted being the one to bring it out so prominently in him.
"Just keep your mouth shut," he said after a moment, then shoved by him and up the stairs. What else was he supposed to say?
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"Went to a movie. Be back late," Bulma read of the note on the kitchen table. "Dinner is in the fridge. Love, mom and dad." She sighed deep and opened the fridge, finding none of its contents even remotely appetizing. She couldn't even begin to place how she felt right now—somewhere between sadness and recklessness. Mentally she pictured the words as cities, Insanity being the next town over. "Who am I kidding?" she groaned as she climbed the stairs to her room. "I am crazy…"
As she drew her usual "stress bath", adding a capful of bubble bath to the steaming water, she couldn't help but wonder why she had felt that sudden need to be home, in Watanabe City, and as far from Vegeta as possible. For some time now, she'd felt a certain degree of paranoia around him from time to time, the feeling flaring and fading as her comfort level fluctuated. She knew she was in no danger with him, in fact, she was probably most safe when his arms were protectively wrapped around her, as if he were intentionally keeping her from harm at every second they were together. His temper was the only thing that seemed to effect her negatively, though today she had held out much longer in their heated dispute than normal—her pain was easing; she was getting stronger.
She slipped carefully into the bath, giving a small moan of pleasure as the warm water enveloped her entire body. She imagined the mounds and peaks of bubbles as mountains and buildings, pretending to be a giant as she sliced through them with her fingers. This little game only occupied her wandering thoughts for a moment, however, and soon she was back on Vegeta. She submerged her entire body in the tub and held her breath for as long as she could. Gasping, and slightly frightened, she clung to the side of the tub, her breathing labored as she dripping pools of water on the floor.
"Now why would you try to kill yourself, my pet?"
Bulma's fingers slipped from the ledge and she went splashing back into the bathtub, her entire form completely frozen. She closed her eyes, covered her ears, and curled into a ball under the water. She wanted to die, to stay in the tub and drown into the next world.
A painful yank at the back of her head pulled her from the water, and from the tub. She laid sprawled, cold and naked, on the icy tiled bathroom floor, her legs curled instinctively into her body. It was five months ago and she was going to die.
"Come my love."
She was to her feet without knowing how, a fluffy white robe wrapped tightly around her dripping body. And, as she was placed on the bed, her body limp and unwilling to defend itself, all she could think was, "I love you, Vegeta. I love you and I'm sorry…"
His face loomed over her in such gorgeous perfection she didn't believe what she was seeing for a moment. Her eyes focused, then blurred as the usual tears began to form.
"What? Nothing to say to me, darling?" he whispered huskily, his hand resting unnervingly far up on her leg. "Aren't you glad I've come back? Did you miss me? I missed you." His lips curled into a smile, his deep eyes reflecting years of pain and cruelty. "Do you know why I'm back?"
"N-N-No," Bulma managed to get out, her fingers trembling at her sides. Run. Run, damn it, run! But her legs were made of lead, her will crumbling. Is this what her life was meant to be? An endless circle of tears and abuse?
"I came to get you," he said, his voice light and sweet. It sickened her that she had fallen in love with that voice. "We're going on a trip. I've already made all the arrangements. I have such a wonderful surprise for you, my love."
"Where are you taking me?" she asked meekly.
"Anywhere I wish." And though his voice remained low and calm, she could feel the cynicism in the words. He'd often told her she was his property, a thing to do with as he pleased, and he never failed to treat her as such. "Your apprehension pains me." He frowned. "Should I spill my secret and tell you the surprise? Would that make you feel better?" He reached forward and pulled her into his lap, holding her slightly shivering body close to his chest. His little doll. "We're getting married, darling," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm and vile. "In three days we will be man and wife and then nothing can keep us apart."
A million and one thoughts rushed through Bulma's mind, crippling it to any real thought. For a long while she did nothing, made no noise or movement, her eyes blank and almost dead looking. And then, to her own shock, and very much to his, she sprang up and ran for the door, nearly stumbling on her wobbly and uncertain legs.
"What are you doing, Bulma dear?" he called after her, his footfalls loud and sharp on the wooden flooring of the hall and stairs. When he found her, she was in the kitchen, a serrated knife clutched in her hand, her back pressed against the fridge. "I hope you don't plan to use that on me."
"Stay away from me!" she screamed, jabbing the blade into the air between them. "I will kill you, I don't care what happens to me!"
"Well you shouldn't," he laughed, his brow narrowing. "If you don't put that knife down right now and agree to come with me I will make you pay in a way you never imagined."
"Try me, asshole!" she hissed, her eyes fiery, her lips trembling. It was the first time she'd really stood up to him, and, before he opened his mouth again, she actually thought she had a chance to escape him.
"Your little friends in Satan City," he said, a fierce smile stretching out his mouth, "how tragic it would be if they all had some horrible accident."
"How do you know about them!" she cried, knife still out and ready.
"I read the papers, my love. But no, I won't touch them. That would do no justice for the disobedience you're showing me right now."
"I belong to no one!"
"Not even your lover?"
Bulma's heart stopped and her grip loosened on the blade.
"You think I know nothing of your adulterous relationship with that child?" he snapped, taking a few deliberate steps forward. "I've seen you bring him into this very house! I saw that disgusting picture of you and him in your bedroom, next to the bed we used to share together!"
"Takao, please," she whispered, her voice small and hoarse again. How had she lost control so quickly? She was the prisoner again. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor. "Don't hurt anyone. Don't hurt him. I'll do whatever you want."
"What's his name?" he growled.
"His name isn't important. I'm yours, Takao, and I always was. I never should have doubted that…Please forgive me."
"Oh, my darling," he sighed, closing the gap between them, his strong confining arms wrapped around her. "Of course I forgive you. I love you, don't you know that?"
"Of course I know that," she said into his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. "I-I…I love you too." She lifted her head and put on her old smile. "Now let's get married."
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---Chapter 10!!! Holy Kuso! What the hell just happened there! Bulma! No! Why! Why!…I am SO cruel :D
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)
Next time: Oh, this is too fun…No hints! :P
"Besides her parents, yes." He pushed himself off the fridge and took deliberate steps forward. He stopped inches from his uncle, and leaned in, their noses nearly touching. "And if you say ONE word about this to ANYONE, I'll make you wish you never started shit with me."
He walked out without another word. Bulma was the only thing on his mind, and she needed him.
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For months Bulma lived her life on the run. Between rehearsals, filming, and going back and forth to Satan City, she had almost no time for her schoolwork, and absolutely none in the lab. True, she was home schooled and did her work according to her schedule, but it seemed she had less and less time for it. Her parents were not happy.
She struggled to learn her lines, to get along with the director and the other actors. But, in the end, she walked off the set more times than anyone could count. The movie was due out in two months, after intense editing and advertising. For the first time in four months she had a chance to sit down and take a breather.
And then the phone rang.
"Hello?" she sighed, half-annoyed. It was the first day after the movie was completed. She didn't want to see or hear from people today. Not even Vegeta.
"Hello. Is Bulma there?" came a familiar, shy feminine voice.
"Speaking."
"Bulma?" There was a long pause. "It's Chi-Chi."
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Watanabe City, though being known for its great movie star population, did have some very quaint and warm little shops dotted throughout its grandness. One such place, a bustling café just next door to Bulma's favorite bookshop, was her preferred place for meetings; directors, other actors and actresses, producers, her agent—now it held so much more meaning.
She loved every inch of this small café, from its gaudy pale yellow walls, hung with cultural black and white images, to its mismatched array of tables and chairs, the napkins folded fancily. The silverware was worn and generic, but the coffee and tea were the best in the city. And no one could make a better pumpkin pie.
"I could live off this tea," Bulma commented, holding the steaming cup under her nose, its perfume wafting into her nostrils.
"It's very good," Chi-Chi said, her hand nervously stirring the contents of her cup. They'd hardly said two words to each other since Chi-Chi had gotten off the bus. It had been a tense and exciting moment for both girls; they embraced as if they were the best of friends, but, once they were in a cab headed for the café, their mouths seemed to seize up to anything but mundane conversational phrases. "Bulma, I have to say something before I explode," Chi-Chi suddenly blurted out, her hands now firmly gripping the edge of the table. Bulma reached across the table, touching one of her hands lightly; a small gesture that she hoped would help her to relax. She knew nothing else in that moment. "It's been eating away at me and I-I…I can't stand being without you anymore…"
Bulma lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushed pink. And for the life of her, she could not figure why she was embarrassed.
"I know you regret leaving," she continued, her words more hurried, as if she feared she would never get them all out. "I could see it in you that first night, but Kami, I was so stubborn. I didn't want to see that you were upset too, that you missed us just as much as we missed you…I let my anger get the better of me…Please, forgive me."
"You," Bulma said, raising her head, her voice firm, "have nothing to be sorry about. I am the one who should be asking for forgiveness."
"No, I'm the one who didn't understand. I was so stubborn I didn't see what was plain as day!" she whispered almost hysterically, her hands still gripped at the table.
"And I'm the one who left and never gave an explanation for why I didn't return…" she sighed, leaning back in her chair.
"Then I suppose we can both accept the apologies," Chi-Chi suggested, casting her eyes into her teacup.
Bulma smiled almost sheepishly as she stood and took the seat directly beside her long lost friend. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, her head resting there as she held her tightly.
"I've missed you so much," she sobbed, her eyes laced with tears, though her cheeks were dry. She'd become an expert at withholding them.
"Oh Kami," Chi-Chi moaned. "Me too!…Me too…"
"And I swear, if it kills me, I am going to tell you and everyone else why I never came back, because I could never willingly stay away."
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Her reunion with Goku was different, to say the least. He was waiting at Chi-Chi's house when they walked in, arm in arm, laughter ringing from their mouths. As soon as she laid eyes on him, Bulma's heart sank and there was the deepest, most agonizing silence she had ever experienced.
Slowly, and with much deliberation, he rose from his place on the couch, abandoning his Coke and bowl of popcorn; the movie playing on the TV was only background noise now. When he was finally in front of her, all he seemed to be able to do was stare, his eyes transfixed on hers. She could literally feel the hairs on her arms stand on end; and she knew they could feel her tension as well.
But then he smiled—that almost lopsided goofy grin she remembered so well—and the entire room relaxed. Even the people on the television looked more at ease.
"I don't know what to say," Bulma finally said, wanting desperately to look away but knew she should not.
"You don't need to say anything," he sighed, pulling her into a massive bear hug. "I trust Chi-Chi's judgment…Besides," he added, leaning back to better see her, "I was always willing to forgive you."
"Then why did you let me believe you were angry?" There was nothing accusatory in her voice.
"Because I knew that's what you wanted."
She nodded knowingly and surrendered to his warm embrace once more. The picture was almost complete; there was only one thing left for her to do. She only hoped she had the strength for it…
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"Oh Vegeta!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her into the air, her legs clamping around his waist. "It was so amazing!" She couldn't remember a time she'd been so completely and utterly happy—she had Vegeta, she had all her friends back, her career was going great, and Takao was gone like a bad dream—it was perfect, finally. "They're back! They're all back!"
He kissed her firmly before his exploded from anticipation, then set her on her feet.
"I hate to burst your bubble—"
"Liar," she laughed.
"Won't they want to know why you haven't reconciled with me yet?"
"Kuso," she swore, taking an unintentional step back. "I forgot about that. I guess I just figured—Kuso!"
"Do you want me—"
"Are you crazy?" she snapped. "Sorry. I mean, it's best that I tell them. If you did it'd seem like I was cowering out or something. I want everything to be perfect this time. I want nothing to ruin what I have now. I've been dreaming about it for too long. I—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes falling on a printout that lay on his desk, the words: Paranoid Mood Swings in bold at the top. "What is that?" She did not like the looks of it. Further down on the page she noticed the word: Psychotic and then just below that: Should seek medical help.
"Research for a project," he said without skipping a beat, his eyes hard and void of emotion.
"You're lying," she said firmly, and attempted to reach for it. He was too fast, however, and shoved the ten-page printout into the top drawer, slamming it shut. Quickly her genius brain put the pieces together, and she let out a stunted gasp. "It's about me, isn't it?"
"You don't believe me?" he asked sternly.
"No, Vegeta, I don't. I think you think I'm insane and those papers have something to do with me, and if you don't tell me I'm walking out that door!"
"I do not think you're insane," he sighed, rolling his eyes. How was he supposed to respond in a situation like this? Of course the papers were about her; he'd never had a chance to bring them up and, just before she showed up, he had been looking them over and forgot to hide them again. "Don't assume things you know nothing about."
"Then you won't mind if I look at them, will you?" He cringed inwardly. How could he have not seen that coming?
"Why are you so interested in them?" he shot back.
"Why are you so protective of them if they're nothing bad? A research project is nothing to be ashamed about."
"And it's nothing interesting either."
"I never said I wanted to see them for interest." For thirty seconds they stared either other down, and then, at a speed that amazed even Vegeta, she pulled open the drawer, grabbed the printout, and ran out the door. She made it to the living room before he caught up to her.
"Woman!" he hollered into the dark room as he fumbled for the light switch. When he found it, and the room was flooded with light, she was across the room; she was backed into a corner. Before she had a chance to raise the papers and get a closer look, he was already headed in her direction. "Give those back or you'll regret it!" he snapped before he could stop himself.
"I will not!" she retorted, clutching the papers to her chest. She faked right, then ran left, just barely escaping his grasp as she jumped up on the couch. But, unfortunately, this slowed her considerably, and he tackled her into the soft cushions. "Get off me you oaf!" Her small fists pounded into his rock hard chest, having no effect whatsoever, the papers scattered on the floor.
"Quiet woman," he demanded, attempting to cover her mouth, but to no avail; he didn't want to lose his fingers; he didn't doubt she would bite him, and hard. "Do you want to wake up the entire house?"
Immediately she went rigid, her eyes wide.
"I have to go," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible.
"What are you talking about? You just got here." He frowned deep.
"Please, Vegeta, get off me. I have to leave. Don't make this hard for me."
"How long do you think you can keep this from Taisho? He'll find out when the others do."
"Vegeta, please," she whimpered, her eyes shrink-wrapped with tears. "I don't want—I—There are things about me I don't want you to witness. Not yet. I just need time to think…I'll come back next week."
"That's not good enough," he grunted, but eased off her and allowed her to sit up. He pulled her close, her head resting on his shoulder. "I should know everything."
"I know," she sighed, their fight completely forgotten. She'd ask him about the papers later. "And you will, just give me time…"
"Fine…You win…This time."
She smiled sadly up at him; he obliged by giving her a firm kiss on the forehead.
"It kills me to do this," she said when they were at the front door. "I'll call you tomorrow. Ok?"
"If I'm around."
"Don't get cold with me, Vegeta."
He nodded, his frown still very much realized. They embraced one last time, kissed once more, before she walked outside and pulled the door shut behind her. Vegeta sighed deeply, his back against the door, head down. How could he help her if he knew next to nothing about her? It was like she was a total stranger.
After a few minutes, he gathered himself up and walked into the living room to retrieve the fallen papers. He was reaching for the last one when he heard a noise by the stairs. He grabbed the paper and looked up, completely unprepared for what he saw.
"Why do you give me so many reasons to loathe you?" Taisho snapped, cheeks wet with tears. For a long while Vegeta was still, his back slightly crouched, eyes on his cousin, who stood with his hands in fists at his sides, a look of pure rage in his eyes. The only thought in his head at that moment was getting the printout hidden from those who knew nothing of Bulma's past; e.i. Taisho.
"Cousin," he finally said, straightening up. He slipped the partially folded papers into the back of his jeans, pulling his shirt over them. "You just missed her. I didn't think you were home."
"Fuck you, Vegeta. How long do you think I've been standing here?"
"Do you mean metaphorically?" Vegeta mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your whole life?" he laughed, his voice deep and cynical. What was the use? He knew now. Bulma was not going to be happy.
"I saw you kiss her, Vegeta! You tell me what's going on!" A noticeable crack broke his voice; Vegeta couldn't remember seeing him this angry before. It was the anger of his father, not Taisho. "And you tell me right now." He took a few steps forward, stopping just behind the couch.
"If you saw that, cousin, then there's nothing to tell. I think the scene speaks for itself."
Taisho's glare deepened, his lip curling into an almost snarl.
"What? Did you expect me to lie? 'No, Taisho my friend, me and Bulma mean nothing to each other.' Who do you think I am? Do you even remember four years ago?" It was Vegeta's turn to advance; they were a mere foot apart. "Do you remember what her leaving did to me!" he hissed, grabbing his cousin's shirt collar and giving it a rough tug. "If you knew Bulma half as well as you believe you do then you would have seen it so much sooner," he said through his teeth. "And don't you dare make a fuss about this with her, because I swear to Kami if you make her upset I will do all in my power to make you regret it. Family or no, you will know what she means to me."
"Vegeta, please," Taisho said, his voice back to normal, his face issuing none of the anger it had only a moment before. Vegeta slowly released his grip and took a step back. "I won't say anything to her if you don't want me to…I just…I always suspected you liked her, I just never knew you loved her…so much…"
Vegeta's eyes softened. No, rage was not good for Taisho, and he regretted being the one to bring it out so prominently in him.
"Just keep your mouth shut," he said after a moment, then shoved by him and up the stairs. What else was he supposed to say?
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"Went to a movie. Be back late," Bulma read of the note on the kitchen table. "Dinner is in the fridge. Love, mom and dad." She sighed deep and opened the fridge, finding none of its contents even remotely appetizing. She couldn't even begin to place how she felt right now—somewhere between sadness and recklessness. Mentally she pictured the words as cities, Insanity being the next town over. "Who am I kidding?" she groaned as she climbed the stairs to her room. "I am crazy…"
As she drew her usual "stress bath", adding a capful of bubble bath to the steaming water, she couldn't help but wonder why she had felt that sudden need to be home, in Watanabe City, and as far from Vegeta as possible. For some time now, she'd felt a certain degree of paranoia around him from time to time, the feeling flaring and fading as her comfort level fluctuated. She knew she was in no danger with him, in fact, she was probably most safe when his arms were protectively wrapped around her, as if he were intentionally keeping her from harm at every second they were together. His temper was the only thing that seemed to effect her negatively, though today she had held out much longer in their heated dispute than normal—her pain was easing; she was getting stronger.
She slipped carefully into the bath, giving a small moan of pleasure as the warm water enveloped her entire body. She imagined the mounds and peaks of bubbles as mountains and buildings, pretending to be a giant as she sliced through them with her fingers. This little game only occupied her wandering thoughts for a moment, however, and soon she was back on Vegeta. She submerged her entire body in the tub and held her breath for as long as she could. Gasping, and slightly frightened, she clung to the side of the tub, her breathing labored as she dripping pools of water on the floor.
"Now why would you try to kill yourself, my pet?"
Bulma's fingers slipped from the ledge and she went splashing back into the bathtub, her entire form completely frozen. She closed her eyes, covered her ears, and curled into a ball under the water. She wanted to die, to stay in the tub and drown into the next world.
A painful yank at the back of her head pulled her from the water, and from the tub. She laid sprawled, cold and naked, on the icy tiled bathroom floor, her legs curled instinctively into her body. It was five months ago and she was going to die.
"Come my love."
She was to her feet without knowing how, a fluffy white robe wrapped tightly around her dripping body. And, as she was placed on the bed, her body limp and unwilling to defend itself, all she could think was, "I love you, Vegeta. I love you and I'm sorry…"
His face loomed over her in such gorgeous perfection she didn't believe what she was seeing for a moment. Her eyes focused, then blurred as the usual tears began to form.
"What? Nothing to say to me, darling?" he whispered huskily, his hand resting unnervingly far up on her leg. "Aren't you glad I've come back? Did you miss me? I missed you." His lips curled into a smile, his deep eyes reflecting years of pain and cruelty. "Do you know why I'm back?"
"N-N-No," Bulma managed to get out, her fingers trembling at her sides. Run. Run, damn it, run! But her legs were made of lead, her will crumbling. Is this what her life was meant to be? An endless circle of tears and abuse?
"I came to get you," he said, his voice light and sweet. It sickened her that she had fallen in love with that voice. "We're going on a trip. I've already made all the arrangements. I have such a wonderful surprise for you, my love."
"Where are you taking me?" she asked meekly.
"Anywhere I wish." And though his voice remained low and calm, she could feel the cynicism in the words. He'd often told her she was his property, a thing to do with as he pleased, and he never failed to treat her as such. "Your apprehension pains me." He frowned. "Should I spill my secret and tell you the surprise? Would that make you feel better?" He reached forward and pulled her into his lap, holding her slightly shivering body close to his chest. His little doll. "We're getting married, darling," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm and vile. "In three days we will be man and wife and then nothing can keep us apart."
A million and one thoughts rushed through Bulma's mind, crippling it to any real thought. For a long while she did nothing, made no noise or movement, her eyes blank and almost dead looking. And then, to her own shock, and very much to his, she sprang up and ran for the door, nearly stumbling on her wobbly and uncertain legs.
"What are you doing, Bulma dear?" he called after her, his footfalls loud and sharp on the wooden flooring of the hall and stairs. When he found her, she was in the kitchen, a serrated knife clutched in her hand, her back pressed against the fridge. "I hope you don't plan to use that on me."
"Stay away from me!" she screamed, jabbing the blade into the air between them. "I will kill you, I don't care what happens to me!"
"Well you shouldn't," he laughed, his brow narrowing. "If you don't put that knife down right now and agree to come with me I will make you pay in a way you never imagined."
"Try me, asshole!" she hissed, her eyes fiery, her lips trembling. It was the first time she'd really stood up to him, and, before he opened his mouth again, she actually thought she had a chance to escape him.
"Your little friends in Satan City," he said, a fierce smile stretching out his mouth, "how tragic it would be if they all had some horrible accident."
"How do you know about them!" she cried, knife still out and ready.
"I read the papers, my love. But no, I won't touch them. That would do no justice for the disobedience you're showing me right now."
"I belong to no one!"
"Not even your lover?"
Bulma's heart stopped and her grip loosened on the blade.
"You think I know nothing of your adulterous relationship with that child?" he snapped, taking a few deliberate steps forward. "I've seen you bring him into this very house! I saw that disgusting picture of you and him in your bedroom, next to the bed we used to share together!"
"Takao, please," she whispered, her voice small and hoarse again. How had she lost control so quickly? She was the prisoner again. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor. "Don't hurt anyone. Don't hurt him. I'll do whatever you want."
"What's his name?" he growled.
"His name isn't important. I'm yours, Takao, and I always was. I never should have doubted that…Please forgive me."
"Oh, my darling," he sighed, closing the gap between them, his strong confining arms wrapped around her. "Of course I forgive you. I love you, don't you know that?"
"Of course I know that," she said into his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. "I-I…I love you too." She lifted her head and put on her old smile. "Now let's get married."
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---Chapter 10!!! Holy Kuso! What the hell just happened there! Bulma! No! Why! Why!…I am SO cruel :D
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