"No it won't," he shuddered against her, clutching her shoulders. The only other time his aunt had seen him cry was when his parents died. She could feel the tears brimming in her own eyes. How badly she wanted to take away his pain, but she didn't know how! She didn't even have a clue as to where to begin. "She'll marry him…She'll marry him and she won't even tell me why…"
"Maybe—"
"Don't," he sighed, pulling back and wiping his eyes. "Don't…"
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The chapel was small, its four white walls nestled comfortably into a patch of lustrous green grass; how amazing this little place could be found in a city as grand as Tokyo. The wedding party was just as small, a gathering of mostly business friends and no family. The paparazzi sat in sleek black cars, awaiting the arrival of the bride and groom. No one could figure how the papers had found out, though, after having been in the spotlight most of their lives, no one really gave them a second glance. After all, there were very few of them, and they were behaving themselves…so far.
"I can't believe they're really getting married," said one woman to another; old acquaintances of both Bulma and Takao; actresses they had worked with at one time or another.
"I know," the other woman said, her voice holding the same mild shock. "They only dated a few months, and then Bulma was with that no-name boy from Satan City. What happened to him?"
"Takao had to leave for a while," a man butted in. They smiled and welcomed him to their conversation. "Something urgent came up and he didn't know how long he was going to be gone, so they split up."
One of the women gasped quietly and touched her chest.
"Months later," the man went on, "Bulma reunited with some old school friends in Satan City. That no-name boy was an old flame."
"But then Takao came back?" the shorter of the two women asked.
"Exactly," he said, sighing a little. He was a very good friend of Bulma's, as old as he was. They had worked together on several projects, and though they had nearly been intimate, he saw her only with fatherly eyes now. And he did not trust this fiancé of hers in the least.
"What is your name?"
The man looked up and smiled. It occurred to him that he knew who these women were, had seen their faces in many different places, but they had never met. Beautiful, young, new actresses, the same as his Bulma had been. But he was getting carried away in his thoughts. At forty-three, he was much too old to be flirting with twenty-something women, though he knew he could very well get them if he tried. And try he had with Bulma Briefs. If she hadn't been a virgin then, he may have accepted her offer to join her in her hotel room. But she had been, and still was, but a child! Sixteen years old and she was trying to seduce him, and doing a wonderful job at it. She was eighteen now, a little more filled out, and far more mature, but still so young.
"Aida," he said, extending his hand to one, then the other. He should not be thinking such things in a room full of people. "Monzaemon Aida."
The girls gasped in unison. He laughed softly under his breath. Perhaps he looked different in person. He offered the girls his arms, and escorted them out of the hall and into the chapel.
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"Is this really necessary?" Vegeta huffed, glaring at his aunt through the mirror. She smiled and continued to straighten his tie.
"Of course it is," she said. "How do you expect to blend in at a wedding without a tux?"
He was beginning to dread having asked for her help. But there was no doubt in his mind that he desperately needed the help. His friends would, of course, offer their help in a heartbeat; but this was just something he knew he needed to do without them. If she really married this man, it was him that she would never see again, not the others.
It was four years ago and his heart was broken again.
"Vegeta," his aunt sighed, pulling him to her, her head resting on his back. It was affection he reserved only for Bulma, and though he allowed her to do this. Maybe there was a deeper connection with his aunt that he never knew existed until now. The thought frightened him slightly; could he have been missing out all these years? He decided it was best not to think about it right now. "I'm so happy you asked me to help you. And you love Bulma, you really love her. You can't know how good it is to know that. Your uncle thinks you're hopeless, but I've always had faith in you. I know you can win her back."
Vegeta grabbed her arm suddenly and held it, pressing it to his chest; a simple gesture that displayed a world of meaning. He was accepting her words and telling her silently that he was not going to mock her, or give some crude remark that would ruin the moment. And he was thanking her for being there for him.
Their world was forever changed.
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Bulma smiled despite the sickening depression that stirred in her soul. The seamstress was there, giving her dress last minute adjustments, and the last thing she wanted was word to get back to Takao that she was unhappy on their wedding day. Thankfully, her bruises were light enough that make-up could hide them and there would be no questions.
"Gorgeous," the seamstress said, eyeing her work. "Every woman here will be jealous of you, Bulma."
"Thank you," she said, turning and clasping her hand. "You've been so patient with me. Thank you so much."
"It's my job, miss. But I do so enjoy what I do." She pulled away and gathered her belongings. "I will see you at the reception, Bulma. And congratulations."
Bulma smiled and nodded as she backed out of the room. The moment the door closed her lips sunk into a frown and she turned away from the mirror. A wedding dress at her age! Where was a bathroom when she needed one?
She was about to take a seat at the vanity, to compose herself before she was wanted in the main chapel, when there was a soft knock at the door. She groaned under her breath, but told them to come in. Why not?
But when the door opened she couldn't believe her eyes and her breath caught in her throat for a moment. Maybe she could find the silver lining in this horrible day?
"Monzae!" she cried, jumping into his arms, indifferent to the fact that she was possibly ruining her dress. What did she care for the thing anyway? It represented so much she hated. "Kami, I've missed you! Where have you been?" She hadn't meant to, but as she kissed his face wildly in unbridled excitement, her lips made contact with his. Immediately she took a step back and smiled awkwardly up at him, a deep blush in her cheeks. The last time she let her excitement get the better of her they ended up half naked in the back of a limo. And while she didn't feel the same now as she had then for this man, she could not deny her attraction to him. If there was no Takao, or no Vegeta, she would want this man. But she mustn't think about Vegeta right now, lest she cry and ruin her carefully applied make-up. And Takao, well, Takao would always be on her mind in one form or another; and it was imperative that she think of him now, or her excitement would get the better of her. How she had missed Monzaemon in these long months.
"I've had so much going on, child," he said, stroking her cheek lovingly. She frowned and looked away.
"Don't call me that," she said. "I'm not so young. You wanted me once." She lifted her eyes and looked directly at him. Yes, forget about Vegeta and all the pain that such thoughts bring. He is gone forever, and I have to move on. Nothing good can come from thinking about something that I will never have.
"I was a bad man then," Monzaemon said with a heavy sigh. How wrong for him to still want her now. But he should never let her know that. There was something off about her fiancé. He doubted not the severity of the hold he had on her. "And you are a child, Bulma. I'm twenty-five years older than you, for Kami's sake. I told you that two years ago."
"How modest you are," she laughed. Oh how good it felt to laugh. If Monzaemon could be with her, be her friend for the rest of her life, then maybe she could get through it. "You think I still want you?"
He frowned, his cheeks reddening noticeably.
"I only—"
But his words were cut off abruptly as her soft warm lips made contact with his. A crude and agonizing guilt rose in her immediately, the thought that she was betraying her love for Vegeta by coming onto this man. But it was passion that could numb her mind, force her painful thoughts away for a few sweet moments. And she needed that desperately. That, and it could make her feel a world better when she next saw Takao. Like she was saying, "Ha! I cheated on you, you bastard!" Though she would never say such things to him.
"Bulma, no," Monzaemon said firmly, pushing her back. She looked up at him, first in horror, and then in anger. How dare he! "I can't."
"Like hell you can't," she snapped, stepping back. But she was so unbelievably relieved that he'd stopped her. What a horrible mistake she could have made. It was embarrassment that made her yell at him now. "Go away. Get out of the room. I don't want to see you right now."
"But Bulma—"
"Get out!" She grabbed something and threw it at him. It shattered, whatever it was, as it crashed into the door. Monzaemon tried to grab hold of her, to calm her, but she wouldn't have it, and it only accomplished annoying her further. By the time he was out of the room, she needed to redo her hair.
The wedding started in twenty minutes.
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Vegeta allowed his aunt to embrace him one last time before he got out of the car. In his generic black tuxedo, and more than good-looking features, he blended right in with the crowd that still hadn't entered the chapel yet. Old friends and associates catching up before they had to go in and be silent for an hour. He stood, hands in his pockets, at the base of the stairs, as if waiting for some signal that would tell him when to do what he planned to do. Hopefully, in the rush these people would create going into the building, his lack of invitation would go unnoticed.
One hand was gripped firmly on the railing; a thin layer of sweat began to collect on his brow. He wiped it away with the other hand. And all the while he could think only one thing: She's in there! I'm so close!
And then his thoughts separated and drifted. He was in his basement, his knuckles raw and bleeding, his lips curled into a constant grimace, and his heart full of pure hatred. His punches had been meant for her then, powered by a fiery passion and a deep-rooted sadness that he chose to ignore rather than deal with. And now—standing at the bottom of the chapel's steps, the love of his life held captive inside and about to be taken away forever—he could not believe that he had been that person and that he had ever tried, even for a moment, to forget Bulma and all she stood for.
He turned suddenly at a rustling in the crowd. Someone new had arrived, and they were causing quite a stir. And he could not tell by the looks on the people's faces whether it was a good stir or not. He heard clips of conversation and gossip in low, frantic whispers.
"Where has she been?"
"When did they—"
"I haven't seen her in—"
He stepped away from the railing to get a look at this woman. She walked slowly towards the chapel, having driven and parked her own car, her long black hair flowing in her wake. She wore a simple dress with short sleeves and a hem at the knees; and it was black. Black as the small hat she wore, adorned with a sheer black veil that came to her chin. She was dressed for a funeral.
And then the bell tolled and the guests rushed into the church as if they were cattle being herded by their master. Vegeta stayed behind, as he had planned to, unable to keep his eyes off this woman. There was something so intriguing and familiar; and she was doing a horrible job at looking inconspicuous. A five minute walk from the parking lot with traffic, took her ten minutes without. She was waiting for something too.
"Focus," he told himself, turning away from her. But what if she would get in his way? What if Takao expected him to crash the wedding and had sent this woman to stop him? Was that what she was looking around for?
He shook his head and climbed the stairs. But, to his complete horror, when he pulled at the doors, they didn't even jiggle. They'd been locked and he saw no other entrance he could conceivably get through in time. And the woman, she was advancing at him in a sudden rush of speed. He took a deep breath and concentrated. He was not paranoid!
"Excuse me," came a soft feminine voice from behind him. He went rigid, his hand still clutching the door handle.
"I don't have time," Vegeta shot back, giving the chapel doors another furious tug. But it was no use and he knew that.
"Well neither do I, but you don't see me being rude." Something in her tone made him drop his hands and turn around.
"Look lady, I'm not going to this wedding to watch the 'happy couple' ruin their lives. Now leave me alone." He was about to walk down the stairs and search for another entrance, when she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
"I think we have the same motives."
Vegeta arched an eyebrow at her. Who was this woman?
"My name is Aki Daishi, and the groom is my brother…"
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Monzaemon sulked in the furthest pew back, his matching gray hat in his lap. He had abandoned his young beauties upon reentry, but they hadn't really wanted him at any rate; they'd found a new beau to ogle over, a man closer to their age and far better looking, by his standards anyway. They had only wanted him for his fame and fortune, but Bulma, ah, she had wanted him for love and companionship. Well, that had been the case two years ago. Now she was desperate for affection from anyone, though he doubted Takao fit her profile.
And there was something else too, wasn't there? The look in her eyes as she screamed at him to leave. She was hurt, a deep and ever-growing emotional pain that he knew all too well. His first love, at the age of seventeen, had been taken from him by illness. She was dying inside and it seemed he was the only one who noticed.
But another, though equally disturbing, thing caught his attention as well. Where were the families of the bride and groom? Surely their parents should be here?
He sat back and sighed. How awful that a girl so young and beautiful and talented could have so many skeletons in her closet. He was about to give reconciliation another try, when the bell tolled and he sat back down. Perhaps she would speak with him after the ceremony, when her nerves weren't so tightly wound. A light, fluttering music commenced at the front of the chapel and everyone's attention was turned to the doorway just behind him. He didn't bother to turn around; it was a freak show as far as he was concerned. Married at eighteen? No. He did not want to see this.
Quickly, before any of the brides' maids and ushers started to parade in, he slipped out of his pew and out the doorway. He collected his coat by the outer door and went out onto the small cement porch. What a relief to be out of such a stale, stuffy environment. Now he could breath.
He was halfway down the steps, when he heard hushed voices from around the corner of the building. Quietly, he inched his way behind a bush, ducking so they wouldn't spot him. And, upon seeing who it was, he had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from gasping aloud.
Aki Daishi! Takao's sister!
He crouched lower and listened.
"You could have stopped it and you didn't!" the unfamiliar man snapped, looking for all the world to be a madman. And how young he was! Couldn't be more than twenty.
"I was as helpless as she was!" Aki shot back, his small fists clenched at her sides.
"You chose to do nothing!"
"You have no right saying these things to me, you, you—"
"What? Nobody?"
Even though Monzaemon couldn't see her face clearly, he could tell she was embarrassed. Her shoulders sunk and she took a step forward, clasping the man's hand suddenly.
"We can save her now," she whispered frantically. The man's eyes widened, then narrowed and he pushed her back.
"What makes you think I'll trust you? And, even if we got into the church, how are we both going to get by unnoticed? Everyone knows who you are!"
"I can get you passed them," Monzaemon said, his words coming before his thoughts. He emerged from behind the bush and came forward. Aki stared at him, shocked for a moment, then smiled. "I have an invitation and I would do anything to protect Bulma."
Vegeta looked at this new stranger with nothing short of contempt. But then, just when Monzaemon thought he would deny him, the young man's face softened and he nodded.
"I am not going to lose her this time," he said firmly. "Now, how do you plan to get us in?"
Monzaemon only smiled and motioned for them to follow him.
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---Chapter 14!!! :) Meeeeeeeep! Can they get her back! PLEASE! SOMEONE! SAVE HER!!!
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)
Next time: A rescue? Find out!
Note: No, Bulma is NOT a whore. She was only latching onto Monzaemon because she was scared and needed comfort, and in her state of mind, that could mean sex. I mean, she's not very stable at all. She needs medical help, so don't judge her! :(
Note 2: The reason Vegeta knew the location of the wedding was because he called a newspaper and told them that Bulma Briefs and Takao Daishi were getting married. The paper did the research, found the location, then told him where it was going to be. They would have paid him, but he only wanted the information, and they had no problem giving that out…Does that make sense?