Last time:
"Does the fox have a name?" Bulma asked, her eyes proverbially glued to the gorgeous man that sat across from her. Maybe agreeing to go on this date wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"My name is Takao," the man said, reaching for her hand, which he kissed gently, giving her the most sensual of chills. "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw your picture. And I will do whatever it takes for you to marry me."
End Flashback
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Chi-Chi sat shivering on her living room couch, her friends surrounding her, eyes wide and unbelieving. How could her story be true? Bulma and Vegeta together? Bulma beaten by her ex? Bulma kidnapped by her ex? None of it made sense, but only because she had told none of them these things. Wouldn't she have? Weren't they important enough to her that she would tell them?
But Chi-Chi's fear was enough to convince them all.
"Is there anything we can do?" 18 whispered, her voice trembling. Krillin sat at her side, holding her hand firmly.
"Mrs. Briefs said there was nothing. If-If…" She choked down a sob and shook her head. "If anyone tries, he might hurt her."
"We should have listened to her that first night," 18 said suddenly after a long, agonizing silence. "She was trying to tell us! And we were too stubborn to listen!"
"It's not your fault, 18," Krillin tried to reason. "She could have told you other times." Immediately he realized the harshness of his words and quickly added, "She was probably afraid."
"Someone should tell Taisho and 17," Goku said, glancing at the phone on the side table. No one moved to grab it. No one wanted to be the bearer of bad news. Or maybe no one wanted to admit to another the fear and anxiety they were feeling—they still wanted to believe it wasn't true.
Goku reached for the phone.
"No," 18 said, pulling his hand back. "He's my brother. I'll tell him."
"And Taisho?"
"I can tell him too." She stood, pressing on Krillin's shoulder so he wouldn't follow her, silently telling him that she needed to do this alone. She was out the door without another word.
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Vegeta lay, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling as if it would somehow produce the answers he so desperately sought. Why, in Kami's name, would she willingly go with that man? Had she tried to fight him and failed? Had he threatened her life? Had he hurt her in any way?
He closed his eyes tight and rolled to his side, trying to no avail to push images of her in pain from his mind. When had life hurt so bad?
"Vegeta," called a feminine voice from the hall. There was a soft knock at the door, followed by the turning of the knob.
"I told you I wasn't hungry," he said as she approached the bed. He felt the mattress give way a little as she sat beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder.
"You haven't eaten in two days." Her voice was desperate and pleading. He didn't understand why she cared so much. "I could bring it up to you if you don't want to come down."
"When I see Bulma," he said, opening his eyes, "I will eat. Not until."
"Oh Vegeta," she sighed as she stood. "At least call your aunt. She must be worried sick wondering where you are."
"Kick me out if you want," he mumbled, closing his eyes again. "I'm not going on my own."
Mrs. Briefs sighed, defeated, and exited her daughter's room fighting tears. She had to be strong with Vegeta here; she had to be strong for herself. If she thought too much about Bulma, she would not be able to endure her absence, however long that might be.
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Bulma opened her eyes as the smell of fresh, warm cinnamon buns floated through the air. She glanced at the bedside clock and sat up; it was well passed noon. Why hadn't Takao woken her? And where was he?
A sudden sound from the next room gave her the answer. The sound of metal on metal; he was bringing her breakfast in bed. She frowned suddenly at the thought of food and pulled the fluffy comforter close to her now shivering body. It was so familiar being here, in this old apartment, high up in the clouds; one of those huge places that appear to be homes when you're inside, and business skyscraper when on the outside. They were back in Tokyo and she heart was aching for anywhere else.
But it was too late for that now, wasn't it? She'd told her parents that she was in love with this awful man and that she would marry him. And, if this was what her life was meant to be, then she didn't want to go back to Watanabe City. She would live out her life with Takao here, in Tokyo, and be just as big a superstar as she was now. She would visit her family on holidays, or, if it hurt too badly, she would bring them here. Surely her husband wouldn't refute that request? Seeing her friends again would be impossible, however, she knew that without having to test it. Seeing them, in Takao's eyes, would lead to seeing Vegeta, who she prayed she would be able to forget. If she couldn't be with him, she didn't want to know him, or, most importantly, love him.
"How am I going to do this?" she whispered into her knees, pressed almost painfully against her chest. But the answer was simple enough. Acting. It was her job, her talent, her only refuge now. She would pretend for the rest of her life; pretend to be happy; pretend to want Takao; pretend to hate Vegeta, or at least, to not love him; pretend that the world was good and that she could survive this way.
She closed her eyes and saw the steaming tub she'd been in last night, wondering if she had really meant to taker her life under the water. Certainly she had not, but now, as the thought wove it's way through her mind, she couldn't think of a logical reason NOT to. She prayed for some freak accident, and sighed. She would never have such luck. And the strength to do the deed herself? Never…
"I'm so weak..." She wanted to cry, to get her ever-building frustration out, but that would only lead to unwanted questions and accusations. It was the last thing she needed after the night she'd had last night. Her life as she knew it was over and she was going to have to accept that one way or another.
"You're awake," came Takao's deep voice, nearly startling her. He came to her side immediately, a silver tray piled with breakfast foods and drinks. He set this on the bedside table and leaned in to give her a quick kiss. It was useless to resist, and so she began her life of pretending. "Did you sleep well?"
"I slept so long," she sighed, leaning back into her soft pillows. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You looked so peaceful," he replied with that fake loving tone she'd been so used to. "And after giving you such a start last night, I thought you needed the extra sleep."
Bulma smiled meekly, unsure of how to proceed. He may very well have acquired new rules of which she would have to obey. She didn't want to move for fear of breaking any.
How had she become so pathetic? Surely she'd been strong in the past. But the memories were fading and it made her head ache.
"Thank you," she said after a moment. "I did need to sleep."
"Here." He reached over and lifted a silver plate from the tray; the cinnamon buns she'd smelled earlier. Her stomach churned as he handed it to her. She was so hungry, but to eat his food? It sickened her. "They're your favorite, right?"
"I knew you would remember," she said sweetly, bringing the warm pastry to her lips. She took a small bite and smiled. She should win an academy award for her performance; expertly she held down the bile in her throat and swallowed her food. "Do we have any plans for today?" she asked, setting the bun on the plate.
He handed her a glass of orange juice, extra pulp, and nodded.
"Can I ask what?"
"It's a surprise, of course," he laughed, as he stood. "When I come back I expect that food to be gone." A flash of that deep-seeded rage, almost to quick to see. "I'll just clean up my dishes." The second he was out of sight, she shoved the remainder of the cinnamon bun into her mouth, nearly gagging herself. She finished her meal in five minutes, and sat back, allowing her stomach time to settle before she had to get out of bed.
She was about to get up and stretch, when she heard the faint ringing of a phone. She looked at the telephone in the room, wrinkling her brow. It wasn't coming from there. And then, with horrifying realization, she stumbling gracelessly out of bed and dove at her duffel bag that lay on the floor only feet away.
It was her cell phone, and she wasn't the only one who'd heard it.
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Two weeks passed with agonizing slowness, and still Bulma had made no contact. No sign that she was safe. Nothing. Vegeta was numb with pain and worry; if he ate, it was to stop his aunt from yelling that he was starving himself. Of course she meant well, but how could he eat when she was in danger?
It was six AM, and his alarm was going off. He ignored it, as usual, and rolled over. He'd been to school three times since she was gone, but only when forced, and it never accomplished a thing. He didn't do work, didn't talk, hardly moved, and never brought home books. His teachers tried to be sympathetic to his tragedy, but no one was even sure there was anything to worry about. Bulma had left on her own! It was all over the news. Most people thought he was crazy, thinking that he'd had a relationship with Bulma Briefs.
"Vegeta!" called his aunt, as she opened his bedroom door. He would have locked it if his uncle hadn't broken the lock last week, banging on the door for him to come out and go to school. "Vegeta, please get out of bed. You have school in twenty minutes."
"I'm not going," he sighed, not looking at her. Of course, she expected this and only shook her head. It hurt her to no end to see Vegeta, the iron heart, in such a deep state of depression and sadness. This was not her nephew.
"It'll keep your mind busy." How many times had she said that? "Come on." She was at his side now, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him to sit up. "Please, you know how much I hate getting your uncle involved."
"Get him involved," Vegeta spat, lying back down. He doubted very much that she would go through with it. She understood what he went through, because she loved her husband as deeply as he loved Bulma, though he never quite understood what she saw in his uncle.
"Vegeta," she sighed heavily and took a seat beside him. She placed her hand lovingly on his side. Though neither spoke it, they had shared a strong connection since he came to live with her. "I understand what you're going through. But—"
"How can you possibly understand? You have your husband and you're happy. Stop patronizing me and go away."
"Believe it or not, I loved someone before I met Okura." Vegeta's ears perked, but there was no way for his aunt to know that he was actually listening. "I was sixteen," she said, her lips stretching into the most serene of smiles. "Don't think I don't love your uncle. I love him with all my heart, but only because I lost my old love." Her eyes misted and she ignored the tinge between them. "I would have followed Teika anywhere had he asked…We were walking home, in the dark. It was raining." She paused suddenly and turned away. "We never saw the car until the headlights were in our eyes…Teika pushed me out of the way…He…He died instantly…"
Vegeta was sitting up now, yet he didn't recall consciously doing it. His aunt sat sniffing softly beside him. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, laying his head against her. She held him close to her, kissing his forehead tenderly, the way she had when he was very young and would allow such things.
"So please don't tell me I don't understand," she said after a moment. "I understand better than you know. You still have your chance to get her back. You've seen her in the papers, walking arm in arm with that man. She's alive and you still have a chance. Don't wallow here waiting for her. When she can, she'll escape and come back to you. I know she will."
"And what makes you so sure she can? Don't you think he expects it?"
"She loves you more than you could ever realize, Vegeta. I never knew you two were together, but when I saw the way she looked at you when she first came back, I thought, 'I know exactly how she feels.' She couldn't stop looking at you, no matter how angry she was supposed to act."
"And me going to school?" he asked, his voice low and unthreatening. He didn't want to upset her anymore than she already was on account of him and his stubborn anger. "What will that do? I can't forget about her, you should know that," he said almost harshly. He sighed, bowing his head. He hadn't meant that.
"I think you need to start getting back into normal routine," she answered, ignoring his rudeness. "Lying in bed all day isn't going to bring Bulma back."
Vegeta frowned and pulled his covers back. His aunt smiled and stood to leave, offering him her hand. He refused, trudging to his dresser. She knew that would work, no matter how it pained her to think about it. Her fallen love…
She prayed only that Vegeta would get Bulma back before it was too late.
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Bulma stood in front of the full-length mirror, a glowing smile gracing her lips; she looked more than beautiful in the white designer gown. Her dressing attendant stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing her hard work with an approving smile. For weeks she'd been back and forth to the dress shop, trying this and that dress and finding many she liked but none she loved. Of course, this was all a ploy to stretch the date until the wedding. Her smile was a beautiful work of art, a mirror of a true smile.
"You make a gorgeous bride, Miss Briefs," the woman said with a heavy Spanish accent. "This dress is perfect for you."
"Only because you made it that way," Bulma said shyly, her eyes on her reflection. After much "persuasion" from Takao, Bulma finally picked a gown she wanted, but insisted it be altered to her specifications. That was where the seamstress came in, and, though it was by no means a happy occasion for Bulma, she couldn't deny how wonderful the dress looked. If only she were wearing it for another person. "Thank you so much for being patient with me. I just wanted it to be—"
"Perfect?" she cut in.
"Yes," she sighed, forcing her smile to remain. "Perfect…"
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"Flowers!" Takao bellowed, his fists clenched at his sides. Bulma stood on the opposite side of the room, pressed to the doorway, ready to flee if he should choose to get violent, again. "You want to postpone the wedding further because you don't like the damn flowers!"
Bulma nodded quickly, her knuckles white as she clutched the doorframe.
"What is so bad about the flowers we have?" He lowered his voice considerably and motioned for her to come to him. She hesitated, then rushed into his arms.
"Forgive me," she whispered into his chest. He was so strong. "I only want everything to be perfect." The words she'd used only hours ago in the boutique. But they were so useful. "You know, darling," she said, lifting her head to look him in the eye, "the way I always dreamed when I was a little girl."
"Very well," he sighed, giving in. "But this is the last change you make, is that clear? The wedding is in five days, no matter what."
"Of course," she said sweetly, leaning up on her tiptoes to give him a loving kiss on the lips. He wrapped his arms, with their thick corded muscles, around her tiny body, deepening the kiss. Within seconds, they were on the bed and Bulma felt herself shudder. This moment she had avoided for weeks, feigning sleep or hunger or some other equally ridiculous excuse. Now that she had foolishly given him the green light, though she hadn't known or wanted to—the kiss had been an apology, a way to keep her safe for another day—she was stuck; she would have to go through with it.
"You're trembling, my love," Takao whispered huskily into her neck, giving it hot kisses and small painless nips.
"I've been so long without you," she replied, straining a meek, embarrassed-looking smile.
"Then I'll be slow with you." He covered her mouth with his, bringing a hand up into her loose aqua locks. "You have no idea how long I've waited to have you back," he said, his other hand pulling at her robe tie and separating the flaps. She wore only one of the silk teddies he'd bought her and said she "should" wear after bathing. She cursed herself for taking that long bath after going to the dress shop; but Kami had she needed it, and the break from seeing or hearing her fiancé.
He was about to remove her robe completely, when the desk telephone rang. He swore under his breath, then stood to answer it.
"What?" he snapped at the man on the other end of the line. "What do you mean, there's a problem with my account?…Identity theft!…Can you find out who stole my card?…Yes, of course…Thank you. Good-bye."
Bulma slid off the bed and came to his side, wrapping her small arms around his middle. Kami, they had good timing.
"Forgive me, my love," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I have to get to the bank and straighten this matter out."
"You're worth the wait, darling," she whispered, giving him a tight squeeze.
The second he was out the door, she ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of her stomach. In five days she would be married; in four she planned to end her life…
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---Chapter 12! Meep! Poor Bulma and Vegeta! :( Damn that bastard Takao!…Bulma can't kill herself! No! Vegeta has to save her!
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)
Next time: Will they get married? Will Bulma go through with her plans? Will Vegeta save her? What will happen!!!!
"Does the fox have a name?" Bulma asked, her eyes proverbially glued to the gorgeous man that sat across from her. Maybe agreeing to go on this date wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"My name is Takao," the man said, reaching for her hand, which he kissed gently, giving her the most sensual of chills. "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw your picture. And I will do whatever it takes for you to marry me."
End Flashback
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Chi-Chi sat shivering on her living room couch, her friends surrounding her, eyes wide and unbelieving. How could her story be true? Bulma and Vegeta together? Bulma beaten by her ex? Bulma kidnapped by her ex? None of it made sense, but only because she had told none of them these things. Wouldn't she have? Weren't they important enough to her that she would tell them?
But Chi-Chi's fear was enough to convince them all.
"Is there anything we can do?" 18 whispered, her voice trembling. Krillin sat at her side, holding her hand firmly.
"Mrs. Briefs said there was nothing. If-If…" She choked down a sob and shook her head. "If anyone tries, he might hurt her."
"We should have listened to her that first night," 18 said suddenly after a long, agonizing silence. "She was trying to tell us! And we were too stubborn to listen!"
"It's not your fault, 18," Krillin tried to reason. "She could have told you other times." Immediately he realized the harshness of his words and quickly added, "She was probably afraid."
"Someone should tell Taisho and 17," Goku said, glancing at the phone on the side table. No one moved to grab it. No one wanted to be the bearer of bad news. Or maybe no one wanted to admit to another the fear and anxiety they were feeling—they still wanted to believe it wasn't true.
Goku reached for the phone.
"No," 18 said, pulling his hand back. "He's my brother. I'll tell him."
"And Taisho?"
"I can tell him too." She stood, pressing on Krillin's shoulder so he wouldn't follow her, silently telling him that she needed to do this alone. She was out the door without another word.
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Vegeta lay, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling as if it would somehow produce the answers he so desperately sought. Why, in Kami's name, would she willingly go with that man? Had she tried to fight him and failed? Had he threatened her life? Had he hurt her in any way?
He closed his eyes tight and rolled to his side, trying to no avail to push images of her in pain from his mind. When had life hurt so bad?
"Vegeta," called a feminine voice from the hall. There was a soft knock at the door, followed by the turning of the knob.
"I told you I wasn't hungry," he said as she approached the bed. He felt the mattress give way a little as she sat beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder.
"You haven't eaten in two days." Her voice was desperate and pleading. He didn't understand why she cared so much. "I could bring it up to you if you don't want to come down."
"When I see Bulma," he said, opening his eyes, "I will eat. Not until."
"Oh Vegeta," she sighed as she stood. "At least call your aunt. She must be worried sick wondering where you are."
"Kick me out if you want," he mumbled, closing his eyes again. "I'm not going on my own."
Mrs. Briefs sighed, defeated, and exited her daughter's room fighting tears. She had to be strong with Vegeta here; she had to be strong for herself. If she thought too much about Bulma, she would not be able to endure her absence, however long that might be.
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Bulma opened her eyes as the smell of fresh, warm cinnamon buns floated through the air. She glanced at the bedside clock and sat up; it was well passed noon. Why hadn't Takao woken her? And where was he?
A sudden sound from the next room gave her the answer. The sound of metal on metal; he was bringing her breakfast in bed. She frowned suddenly at the thought of food and pulled the fluffy comforter close to her now shivering body. It was so familiar being here, in this old apartment, high up in the clouds; one of those huge places that appear to be homes when you're inside, and business skyscraper when on the outside. They were back in Tokyo and she heart was aching for anywhere else.
But it was too late for that now, wasn't it? She'd told her parents that she was in love with this awful man and that she would marry him. And, if this was what her life was meant to be, then she didn't want to go back to Watanabe City. She would live out her life with Takao here, in Tokyo, and be just as big a superstar as she was now. She would visit her family on holidays, or, if it hurt too badly, she would bring them here. Surely her husband wouldn't refute that request? Seeing her friends again would be impossible, however, she knew that without having to test it. Seeing them, in Takao's eyes, would lead to seeing Vegeta, who she prayed she would be able to forget. If she couldn't be with him, she didn't want to know him, or, most importantly, love him.
"How am I going to do this?" she whispered into her knees, pressed almost painfully against her chest. But the answer was simple enough. Acting. It was her job, her talent, her only refuge now. She would pretend for the rest of her life; pretend to be happy; pretend to want Takao; pretend to hate Vegeta, or at least, to not love him; pretend that the world was good and that she could survive this way.
She closed her eyes and saw the steaming tub she'd been in last night, wondering if she had really meant to taker her life under the water. Certainly she had not, but now, as the thought wove it's way through her mind, she couldn't think of a logical reason NOT to. She prayed for some freak accident, and sighed. She would never have such luck. And the strength to do the deed herself? Never…
"I'm so weak..." She wanted to cry, to get her ever-building frustration out, but that would only lead to unwanted questions and accusations. It was the last thing she needed after the night she'd had last night. Her life as she knew it was over and she was going to have to accept that one way or another.
"You're awake," came Takao's deep voice, nearly startling her. He came to her side immediately, a silver tray piled with breakfast foods and drinks. He set this on the bedside table and leaned in to give her a quick kiss. It was useless to resist, and so she began her life of pretending. "Did you sleep well?"
"I slept so long," she sighed, leaning back into her soft pillows. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You looked so peaceful," he replied with that fake loving tone she'd been so used to. "And after giving you such a start last night, I thought you needed the extra sleep."
Bulma smiled meekly, unsure of how to proceed. He may very well have acquired new rules of which she would have to obey. She didn't want to move for fear of breaking any.
How had she become so pathetic? Surely she'd been strong in the past. But the memories were fading and it made her head ache.
"Thank you," she said after a moment. "I did need to sleep."
"Here." He reached over and lifted a silver plate from the tray; the cinnamon buns she'd smelled earlier. Her stomach churned as he handed it to her. She was so hungry, but to eat his food? It sickened her. "They're your favorite, right?"
"I knew you would remember," she said sweetly, bringing the warm pastry to her lips. She took a small bite and smiled. She should win an academy award for her performance; expertly she held down the bile in her throat and swallowed her food. "Do we have any plans for today?" she asked, setting the bun on the plate.
He handed her a glass of orange juice, extra pulp, and nodded.
"Can I ask what?"
"It's a surprise, of course," he laughed, as he stood. "When I come back I expect that food to be gone." A flash of that deep-seeded rage, almost to quick to see. "I'll just clean up my dishes." The second he was out of sight, she shoved the remainder of the cinnamon bun into her mouth, nearly gagging herself. She finished her meal in five minutes, and sat back, allowing her stomach time to settle before she had to get out of bed.
She was about to get up and stretch, when she heard the faint ringing of a phone. She looked at the telephone in the room, wrinkling her brow. It wasn't coming from there. And then, with horrifying realization, she stumbling gracelessly out of bed and dove at her duffel bag that lay on the floor only feet away.
It was her cell phone, and she wasn't the only one who'd heard it.
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Two weeks passed with agonizing slowness, and still Bulma had made no contact. No sign that she was safe. Nothing. Vegeta was numb with pain and worry; if he ate, it was to stop his aunt from yelling that he was starving himself. Of course she meant well, but how could he eat when she was in danger?
It was six AM, and his alarm was going off. He ignored it, as usual, and rolled over. He'd been to school three times since she was gone, but only when forced, and it never accomplished a thing. He didn't do work, didn't talk, hardly moved, and never brought home books. His teachers tried to be sympathetic to his tragedy, but no one was even sure there was anything to worry about. Bulma had left on her own! It was all over the news. Most people thought he was crazy, thinking that he'd had a relationship with Bulma Briefs.
"Vegeta!" called his aunt, as she opened his bedroom door. He would have locked it if his uncle hadn't broken the lock last week, banging on the door for him to come out and go to school. "Vegeta, please get out of bed. You have school in twenty minutes."
"I'm not going," he sighed, not looking at her. Of course, she expected this and only shook her head. It hurt her to no end to see Vegeta, the iron heart, in such a deep state of depression and sadness. This was not her nephew.
"It'll keep your mind busy." How many times had she said that? "Come on." She was at his side now, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him to sit up. "Please, you know how much I hate getting your uncle involved."
"Get him involved," Vegeta spat, lying back down. He doubted very much that she would go through with it. She understood what he went through, because she loved her husband as deeply as he loved Bulma, though he never quite understood what she saw in his uncle.
"Vegeta," she sighed heavily and took a seat beside him. She placed her hand lovingly on his side. Though neither spoke it, they had shared a strong connection since he came to live with her. "I understand what you're going through. But—"
"How can you possibly understand? You have your husband and you're happy. Stop patronizing me and go away."
"Believe it or not, I loved someone before I met Okura." Vegeta's ears perked, but there was no way for his aunt to know that he was actually listening. "I was sixteen," she said, her lips stretching into the most serene of smiles. "Don't think I don't love your uncle. I love him with all my heart, but only because I lost my old love." Her eyes misted and she ignored the tinge between them. "I would have followed Teika anywhere had he asked…We were walking home, in the dark. It was raining." She paused suddenly and turned away. "We never saw the car until the headlights were in our eyes…Teika pushed me out of the way…He…He died instantly…"
Vegeta was sitting up now, yet he didn't recall consciously doing it. His aunt sat sniffing softly beside him. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, laying his head against her. She held him close to her, kissing his forehead tenderly, the way she had when he was very young and would allow such things.
"So please don't tell me I don't understand," she said after a moment. "I understand better than you know. You still have your chance to get her back. You've seen her in the papers, walking arm in arm with that man. She's alive and you still have a chance. Don't wallow here waiting for her. When she can, she'll escape and come back to you. I know she will."
"And what makes you so sure she can? Don't you think he expects it?"
"She loves you more than you could ever realize, Vegeta. I never knew you two were together, but when I saw the way she looked at you when she first came back, I thought, 'I know exactly how she feels.' She couldn't stop looking at you, no matter how angry she was supposed to act."
"And me going to school?" he asked, his voice low and unthreatening. He didn't want to upset her anymore than she already was on account of him and his stubborn anger. "What will that do? I can't forget about her, you should know that," he said almost harshly. He sighed, bowing his head. He hadn't meant that.
"I think you need to start getting back into normal routine," she answered, ignoring his rudeness. "Lying in bed all day isn't going to bring Bulma back."
Vegeta frowned and pulled his covers back. His aunt smiled and stood to leave, offering him her hand. He refused, trudging to his dresser. She knew that would work, no matter how it pained her to think about it. Her fallen love…
She prayed only that Vegeta would get Bulma back before it was too late.
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Bulma stood in front of the full-length mirror, a glowing smile gracing her lips; she looked more than beautiful in the white designer gown. Her dressing attendant stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing her hard work with an approving smile. For weeks she'd been back and forth to the dress shop, trying this and that dress and finding many she liked but none she loved. Of course, this was all a ploy to stretch the date until the wedding. Her smile was a beautiful work of art, a mirror of a true smile.
"You make a gorgeous bride, Miss Briefs," the woman said with a heavy Spanish accent. "This dress is perfect for you."
"Only because you made it that way," Bulma said shyly, her eyes on her reflection. After much "persuasion" from Takao, Bulma finally picked a gown she wanted, but insisted it be altered to her specifications. That was where the seamstress came in, and, though it was by no means a happy occasion for Bulma, she couldn't deny how wonderful the dress looked. If only she were wearing it for another person. "Thank you so much for being patient with me. I just wanted it to be—"
"Perfect?" she cut in.
"Yes," she sighed, forcing her smile to remain. "Perfect…"
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"Flowers!" Takao bellowed, his fists clenched at his sides. Bulma stood on the opposite side of the room, pressed to the doorway, ready to flee if he should choose to get violent, again. "You want to postpone the wedding further because you don't like the damn flowers!"
Bulma nodded quickly, her knuckles white as she clutched the doorframe.
"What is so bad about the flowers we have?" He lowered his voice considerably and motioned for her to come to him. She hesitated, then rushed into his arms.
"Forgive me," she whispered into his chest. He was so strong. "I only want everything to be perfect." The words she'd used only hours ago in the boutique. But they were so useful. "You know, darling," she said, lifting her head to look him in the eye, "the way I always dreamed when I was a little girl."
"Very well," he sighed, giving in. "But this is the last change you make, is that clear? The wedding is in five days, no matter what."
"Of course," she said sweetly, leaning up on her tiptoes to give him a loving kiss on the lips. He wrapped his arms, with their thick corded muscles, around her tiny body, deepening the kiss. Within seconds, they were on the bed and Bulma felt herself shudder. This moment she had avoided for weeks, feigning sleep or hunger or some other equally ridiculous excuse. Now that she had foolishly given him the green light, though she hadn't known or wanted to—the kiss had been an apology, a way to keep her safe for another day—she was stuck; she would have to go through with it.
"You're trembling, my love," Takao whispered huskily into her neck, giving it hot kisses and small painless nips.
"I've been so long without you," she replied, straining a meek, embarrassed-looking smile.
"Then I'll be slow with you." He covered her mouth with his, bringing a hand up into her loose aqua locks. "You have no idea how long I've waited to have you back," he said, his other hand pulling at her robe tie and separating the flaps. She wore only one of the silk teddies he'd bought her and said she "should" wear after bathing. She cursed herself for taking that long bath after going to the dress shop; but Kami had she needed it, and the break from seeing or hearing her fiancé.
He was about to remove her robe completely, when the desk telephone rang. He swore under his breath, then stood to answer it.
"What?" he snapped at the man on the other end of the line. "What do you mean, there's a problem with my account?…Identity theft!…Can you find out who stole my card?…Yes, of course…Thank you. Good-bye."
Bulma slid off the bed and came to his side, wrapping her small arms around his middle. Kami, they had good timing.
"Forgive me, my love," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I have to get to the bank and straighten this matter out."
"You're worth the wait, darling," she whispered, giving him a tight squeeze.
The second he was out the door, she ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of her stomach. In five days she would be married; in four she planned to end her life…
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---Chapter 12! Meep! Poor Bulma and Vegeta! :( Damn that bastard Takao!…Bulma can't kill herself! No! Vegeta has to save her!
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Next time: Will they get married? Will Bulma go through with her plans? Will Vegeta save her? What will happen!!!!