Rainwater
Chapter 1: Breaking-Point
Rating: R for sexual situations and suggestions, adult topics and language.
WitchyPrincess
Breaking-point
Look at me; tell me what you see. There's a girl there who stands proud. Her head is held high, her shoulders squared. Her smile is in place and her eyes shine with mirth. You see the laughter in those eyes, right? You see the joy, the strength, the beauty.
But who ever sees the pain?
There can't be anything significant behind all the mounds of make-up. Nothing worth digging for, worth fighting for. There's no reason to try and scratch the surface, beyond that everything's hollow. No matter if the assumption is true or not, no one has bothered to give it the proper test. Certain people are expected to be certain things and we can all be no more or less than what we are. What we are expected to be.
So look at me, this is me: The product of a genius and a man of brutal strength; beauty with no brains, temper with no force.
One thing's for certain, men may flirt with girls like me, but they don't marry them.
—Bra Briefs
#######
It was bitter outside, the kind of cold that seeped from the air and ached right into your bones. The wind was whipping around, blowing at any and everything it came in contact with. For a moment, Bra thought she'd be blown away before she made it into her own house for her own party.
She was an hour late, her mother was going to explode, but she didn't care. It didn't matter; nothing had mattered for a long time. She closed her eyes, placing her small hand on the doorknob, and drew in a deep breath of air before twisting it. The door swung open without her having to push on it as the wind did it's part in getting her inside.
The entrance was quiet as she forced the door shut and pulled her jacket off. She threw it on the coat hanger and cast a fleeting glance at the stairs. For a moment she thought of heading up those stairs and camping out in one of the guest rooms until it was all over. But she knew she couldn't, if nothing else, her father would find her. Her stomach clinched as she fought a wave of nausea, closing her eyes again.
She was going to make it through this, it was only one night. One night and then she'd never have to do this again because she wasn't coming back, she reminded herself. No one else knew that, but she knew it with every piece of her being, and that was all that mattered.
They'd been taking too much from her for too long. She refused to stand by and let them keep snatching. Her heart was hers, it would belong to her again. Her pride was hers, her dignity hers, she would not let them in so they could grab at the only thing she was clinging to and rip it away from her. It was hers and they would not possess it. She was getting far away from this place and she wasn't looking back.
They could say whatever they wanted once she left. They could think whatever they wanted of her but she would not falter in her dreams. She would rise and rise until they couldn't reach her to tear her apart. She wouldn't let them win; this was war and she wasn't going to stand by and be torpedoed.
She squared her shoulders and pushed her head up, forcing a sweet smile on her lips. This was the last battle before the peace treaty, all she had to do was get out alive. She started to walk towards the den when a voice halted her in her steps. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard it.
"You're late." It was her father, leaning against the wall next to the stairs. She hadn't even seen him there, sensed him there. How did he do that? She turned to the side, to face him, and tilted her head, her phony smile still on her lips.
"I'm sorry, daddy, but I had a lot of things to buy." She bit her lip, waiting for his response, hoping he wouldn't make one last attempt at trying to talk her out of something she was determined to do. He grunted but didn't say anything for a minute.
The air was thick with apprehension as she waited, knowing he was the only one that could truly stop her from doing what she was going to do. No, she promised herself, not stop her. He could deter her, force her to wait a little longer, but he could not stop her. She'd leave sooner or later, with or without his consent.
"Your mother's going to be angry. I don't want her complaining to me." Then he turned and started to walk towards the stairway.
For a second she didn't move, her heart pounding roughly in chest. A lump formed in her throat as she swallowed, a part of her very disappointed. She had expected him to at least try and talk her out of it. Or ask her one last time if she knew what she was doing. She looked up at him as his head disappeared up the stairs and her mouth dropped open in shock and frustration.
He could at least stay for her party. Who did he think he was? Her stomach churned with anger and disgust. She was his only daughter and he wasn't even going to miss her. He wasn't going to demand she stay or ask her if she wouldn't reconsider. Wasn't he even going to wish her good luck?
He had one night left with his daughter and he was going to spend it in his room? She had to remind herself a few times that he didn't know she wasn't coming back. That this was Vegita, not the regular husband and father, and she couldn't expect him to wear his feelings on his sleeve. He didn't want to see her right now, he had to be angry. Or hurt. Or something that she couldn't and wouldn't possibly be able to understand until she had children of her own. If she ever had children of her own. She had to promise herself that he was actually going to miss her. She had to force herself not to cry.
If her father wasn't even sorry to see her go, there was no telling what everyone else felt. She braced herself, her body tensing, as she turned again and headed for the den. She knew, even before entering, that she was she was about to walk into a party. Not a farewell party, like the one that was planned, not her party, but a real party. People were going to be smiling and drinking, laughing and dancing, having a general good time. They wouldn't even notice that she hadn't been there.
She prepared herself for it, mentally made herself steel her emotions before she pushed open the swinging doors. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw first.
#######
Pan was tired and incredibly annoyed. What type of girl didn't show up for her own party? And what people made their child attend a party for someone who wasn't even going to be there? She could have been at home, resting and watching television but she was here instead. Waiting to say goodbye to someone she didn't like, who probably wasn't even going to show.
That was Bra for you, selfish until the very end. It would be just like her to miss her own party. It probably 'slipped her mind' or something like that. Pan wished the girl were here now so she could tell her exactly what she thought about her. So she could tell her that she was glad she was leaving and that she wouldn't miss her.
She sighed, knowing full well that she'd never utter those words out loud. But it was the truth. For the majority of Pan's life Marron and Bra had set out to make her a walking joke. They never let up and she never once thought anything they did was funny. So, with one less enemy to deal with, Pan was not happy pretending to be sad that Bra was leaving. Good riddance, she thought evilly.
The only good thing about this party was that Trunks was here. She smirked lightly, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear and scanning the room for him again. Was he still with that business man? She hoped not because she wanted him all to herself. She was twenty-one now, very legal and very ready to claim what was hers. And Trunks was definitely hers, she'd written her name on him when she was seventeen and she hadn't let up since. It was time he knew she had no intentions to and accepted his fate.
She spotted him over by the drinks, talking to someone with long, red hair. Pan didn't know who the person was, but she had a sneaking feeling that whoever he was talking to wasn't a business man. She wasn't even a man at all. Pan clenched her fists, sighing softly, and made her way over to the drinks. She hated having to do this.
#######
Trunks tensed as he felt hands wrap around his eyes, trying hard not to swear. He detected her ki instantly, but too late. He hadn't even sensed her approaching until the very second she touched him. He sighed as she leaned against him, feeling her move on tip-toes to whisper just loud enough for the pretty girl that he was talking with to hear.
"Baby, I've been looking for you. Why didn't you come and find me when you got finished talking to Arthur and Scuts?" She purred, moving her hands away from his eyes in time for him to see the pretty red-head, Lavender, walk off. He scowled, hating when she did that and hating her.
"It's Mr. Rhuge and Mr. Henley, not Arthur and Scuts, first of all. Secondly, I'm not your baby. My name, Pan-Chan, is Trunks. Trunks-San to you."
"You don't have to sound so grumpy, Mr. Bad Attitude, I was only coming to introduce myself to your friend. But I guess she wasn't a friend after all, since she just walked away without even a good-bye." Pan smirked, running her fingers softly down his arm before coming around to face him, a devious smile on her face. He growled, low in his throat, and turned away from her.
"Oooh, I like it when you get all angry and silent." She teased, following behind him as he started to walk off.
What was wrong with this girl? Couldn't she take a hint? Trunks drew in a deep breath as he tried his best to ignore her, knowing his anger was too close to a boil right now. He was worried about his sister, who still hadn't showed up, for one thing. And then he had to deal with the business. Now Pan was here, hanging over him again, and he didn't think he could last without bursting.
She used to be such a sweet girl. Always stubborn and disagreeable, yeah, but at least she showed him some forms of respect. But for the last couple of years she'd done nothing except throw herself at him shamelessly. And she wasn't the least bit appealing. She was skinny, yet muscular, and, for her age, incredibly under-developed. He'd never seen her in a dress or acting the least bit lady-like, and he could not even imagine being interested in someone like her. Not that he would have even considered her if she was beauty-queen material. It wasn't so much her looks as it was her personality. He couldn't stand her personality.
She was more stubborn than he was. She argued with him about any and everything. She lost her temper quickly and could never take the hints he sent her to go away. Not to get him wrong, he loved Pan, he just couldn't stand her most of the time. She was like a little sister to him, one you didn't want to be around but wouldn't want to live altogether without. Though, at the moment, some distance would be really great and she just wasn't getting the hint.
"Trunks," She called following him as he walked out of the den and into the kitchen. "What's wrong? You look upset."
"I am upset, Pan, and you're not making things any better." He told her, spinning around and glaring at her. "Stop following me."
"But I could make things better. I'd be much more interesting than that red-head." She winked, drawing closer to him and running one of her fingers down his chest. He sighed, grabbing her hand and pushing it away.
"What will it take, Pan? What do I have to do to get you to go away?" His voice held a note of exasperation along with a strong sense of annoyance, but Pan seemed to ignore it completely.
"All you have to do is admit how in love with me you are. And then I'll go away, for now." She added the last part slyly, her deep brown eyes glinting with mischief and innuendo. Trunks scoffed at her hopelessness.
"You've got to be kidding me." He closed his eyes, trying to call some patience to himself before yelling her head off.
"No, I'm not. You know you want me Trunks. I can see it in your eyes, even if you won't admit it." She continued, walking closer to him with that look in her eyes again. He shuddered.
"Pan, stay away from, okay. I'm really not in the mood. I don't trust myself not to hurt your feelings." He warned, looking at her seriously.
"I'll risk it, I don't think you've got it in you to hurt me." She challenged, still walking forward.
"And if I do?" He questioned, eyebrows raising.
"I'll leave you alone." She paused, biting down on her lip and smirking. "I've got a proposition for you, Trunks, and if you take it up you'll get what you want. What you really want." She informed, placing a hand on her small hip. He looked down at her, doubtful, and waited for her to continue.
"You say you want me to leave you alone," She continued. "But you haven't proven it. So this is what I suggest. One kiss, and I don't mean a peck on the cheek, it's nice to see you, kind of kiss. I mean a serious, open-mouthed, passionate kiss. Just one and if you can pull away, if you can look at me and honestly say you felt nothing, then I'll go. And not just for today, Trunks, I'll go for good. I won't bring 'us' up again."
"One kiss?" He asked, slightly revolted by the idea. "Just one? You promise on your Saiyan honor that if I can prove I'm not interested after this kiss, you'll leave the whole concept of you and me alone? Forever?"
"Promise." She nodded, holding her pinky out. "Pinky-swear it." He held his own out, linking them together while refraining from mentioning how childish the motion was. At least he knew she was serious.
"All right, Pan." He agreed, nodding his head and hoping she held up her end of the bargain. As for his part, he was fully confident he would be able to pull away from her.
#######
Bra drew her shoulders back, pushing a smile back onto her lips, and tried to stop the automatic lurching of her stomach; it didn't work. She was able, however, to suppress the urge to hurl. There before her, the first thing she saw, was them. Kissing. She felt the instant and familiar sting of anger curl up inside her, swirling around in her stomach and making silly patterns of fury.
She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her skin, and sucked in her breath. There she was, dark hair spiraling down past her shoulders in voluminous waves, arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him. How dare he kiss her when Bra was late to her own party? How dare he not be worrying about Bra instead? How dare he not even notice she'd just walked in?
She knew her thoughts were slightly ridiculous but she didn't care. She hoped Paris choked on his saliva and died. Then she thought about how sad that would probably make Goten, how sad she would be watching him be sad, and changed her mind. Instead, Bra wished she would keel over and die; maybe Goten would miss her if she were dead. He would, she nodded, they all would, especially her father.
She mumbled a curse under her breath and walked further into the room, noticing her mother heading in her direction with fire dancing in her eyes. She was in for it. It was too bad she didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed or ashamed. She was only angry, and even her anger was being clouded over with pity and frustration. Even her anger was ebbing away, being replaced with an empty, fading feeling. She felt her eyes burn, knowing no tears would fall, as she accepted the fact that she was invisible to him. No wonder she was leaving, he looked right through her anyway.
How was it that the only person that ever managed to really see her, to see her pain, her intelligence, her heart, was the same person that managed to look right past her? How could he not see how much he meant to her, how much she needed him? What did she have to do? Pain it on her forehead? Probably, she thought sadly. But she wouldn't because he loved Paris. He'd told her, he'd told everyone, last week how much he loved Paris. She couldn't do that to him, couldn't complicate his life the way hers was complicated.
She only ever wanted him to be happy. And he looked happy shoving his tongue down Paris' throat. Too bad it wasn't contagious, she couldn't remember the last time she had smiled and meant it.
No, that wasn't true, she could remember. It was when she fell in love with him. She let the memory of that day take over her brain as her mother approached her, yelling in a soft whisper about how angry she was. Bra placed a contrite look on her face and drifted back in time, ignoring her mother completely.
She remembered being upset, thinking that her life was over. But at the age of sixteen, every little thing made you feel that life was over. Goten had been there when she was distraught, reading it in her eyes when even her mother had missed it. Her mother, who was usually very perceptive about such things. He had asked her what was wrong and she'd told him about the guy she'd been dating. For her age, they had been very serious, and she was very upset about the way things ended. She was telling about what a jerk he'd been and Goten had simply smiled lightly, kissed her cheek, and told her that any guy that couldn't treat her as good as, or better than, the way Goten treated her, wasn't worth her time.
And that was it. All it took. She'd beamed up at him, ideas being planted dangerously in her head like seeds, and sprouting there. Before she could stop it, the weeds had festered and took over her mind. She was in love with him and all he'd had to do was say a few simple words. But it was more than that, it was the way he saw her, clearer than anyway else. It was the way he smiled at her and made her feel like no one else mattered. It was the way her heart skipped when she saw him and her hands shook. It was everything mixed into one thing, and there was no changing it.
Over the years, it had only gotten stronger and more serious. Only more painful, more heart wrenching. Then he found Paris and her heart shattered and splintered into a million pieces. Before Paris, Goten hadn't dated the same girl for more than three weeks, one month tops. But Paris and Goten had been getting together and breaking up for almost four years, and there was nothing Bra could do to protect her heart. It was too late, she couldn't take it back.
Yet, she was past the age of believing everything was possible; she knew fairy tales weren't real. And it hurt to love him, really hurt to care about him. Knowing that it would always be unrequited; knowing there would never be anyone else like him, no one that made her feel the way he did, and she wouldn't settle for less—he had specifically told her not to and she'd take that instruction to heart—made her heart hurt all the more genuinely.
And now she was stuck. Loving him but not liking him for it, needing him but not wanting him. Hurting and not being able to escape it. This year alone she'd gone out with a different guy every two weeks, broken up with at least twenty guys, maybe more, and never had a relationship that had lasted more than four weeks. This year alone she'd been crowned the queen of flirting, the life of the party, and the sunshine during the storm. Dende knew she had no idea how, either. Bra was the saddest person on earth and no one seemed to notice.
Trunks had asked her once, once he'd had the intuition to wonder what was making his sister bounce from guy to guy, but it had resulted in an all-out fight. It was none of his business what was eating her up inside. It was none of his concern why she was so unhappy. She wasn't unhappy, she promised him, just confused. That was when New York was first brought up. They had an art school there, he'd told her softly. They had new opportunities there and, maybe it would do her some good to get some fresh, new air. Make new friends and try and find herself again. At this, she'd lost it completely, screaming that she wasn't 'lost' to herself and she would do what she wanted, when she wanted. If he didn't want her around, all he had to do was say so.
He hadn't mentioned it again. But his advice had not gone on deaf ears. She'd thought about it for months before she brought it up to her parents. Then they'd thought on it for months before they finally accepted the idea. When it finally got back around Trunks, what she was going to do, she was sure he'd forgotten that he even mentioned it in the first place. He certainly didn't make a show of gloating about it. Telling her that he'd told her so. In fact, he hadn't been saying much of anything to her lately and that thought made her blood run cold.
Her brother was, by far, her best friend. She'd told him every thing until her feelings for Goten started screwing up her life, and he had always come to her for advice. They had always been open with each other until she started to spiral downward. And now, now he couldn't even look at her without seeming upset. It made her sadder than anything to know she'd lost the only person she'd ever truly had loving her unconditionally. That was the last straw, the real reason she needed to get away. Besides not wanting to be here when Goten decided he wanted to marry Paris, she didn't want to see the disappointment in her brother's eyes. She used to be his prize.
She was turning out to be nothing more than a big mistake. She was sure that was how her parents felt. That was how she felt. Looking distastefully about her, realizing that her mother was still yelling at her in a whisper, she couldn't concentrate on anything. She didn't even realize her breathing had started to come in rapid succession. The room started to drift away from her, everything became distant, faded. She felt the world spinning, slipping away, felt herself slipping and gladly welcomed the fall.
Everything blacked then came back quickly, like strobe lights were flashing. Only, when she opened her eyes again, everything was gray. All color had faded. Her mother was hovering over her, a worried look on her face, a crowd beginning to gather, and the world was upside down. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting darkness envelope her and praying that the feeling lasted forever. They would all miss her if she died...
#######
She approached him timidly, not really knowing how he would react to her proposition. But he didn't seem concerned, she'd just have to prove to him that she was something to get worked up over. She was going to make him stutter, she thought confidently, after he nodded his head in confirmation. She fought back the smirk that wanted to conquer her lips, but it won. Sighing contentedly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and got up on her tip-toes, heart pounding wildly.
This was all she'd ever wanted in life. To be in his arms, to be this close to him for eternity. To be held and secured by his strong hands, his muscled arms. He meant the world to her, couldn't he see that? She knew that all he had to do was search his heart, his soul, and he'd find her there. That he went from woman to woman because he was really looking for her. She was ingrained in his heart and she would fight to her death to make him see it.
She couldn't help the way she felt, with all of her heart and soul, with her entire being. She just couldn't stop it, fight it, she couldn't control it. There was no one like him, no one that she wanted to touch as bad as him, there was no place she wanted to be that didn't include him. She was addicted to him and loved every moment of it. Everything she did in life, every breath she took and step she made, was because he'd influenced it. And if that wasn't worth fighting for, worth putting everything on the line for, if that wasn't worth trying for, she didn't know what was.
She'd do anything for him, even if it meant leaving him alone forever. But she didn't think that would be necessary, there was no way he wouldn't feel this. The passion she felt for him existed in every part of her being, from her toes all the way to the roots of her wild black hair, and she was going to shove every bit of it in this kiss. He'd choke on his own tongue before he told her that she meant nothing to him, that this kiss meant nothing.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head up, pressing her lips against his with a fierceness. His lips opened willingly against hers, as part of their deal, and her mouth parted to accommodate his. Her body leaned against his, her mind willing her body to press every bit of love she had for him into his body, onto his lips. Her tongue snaked from her mouth and into his own, his head dropping down farther, letting her in. She felt his hold on her relax and then tighten, fight his inner fight, and inwardly she smiled. She had him.
But just as quickly as the triumph tickled from her brain, down her spine, filling her with hope, it was sucked back up. His head jerked back, slightly slower than if he had been shocked, but not slow enough to suggest he was reluctant to pull away, and he glared down at her.
"Are you happy?" He questioned, backing away from her as she tried to clear the dazed expression on her face. "I pulled away."
"No I'm not happy, Trunks," Pan announced, frowning up at him in disbelief. Was he serious? Did he think she wasn't there while they kissed? It was magical, electrical. She couldn't have felt that alone. She had felt him get lost in her. "You haven't said that you didn't feel anything. And it doesn't matter if you look me in the face and lie, I know you felt that. I was there, remember? So, you see, you lost." She pointed out, her eyebrows drawing together as she dared him to challenge her.
"Pan," He paused, lifting his own eyebrows and smirking at her. She felt her heart drop from fear, wondering what he was about to say. He had that look on his face that suggested he was about to crush a business partner without mercy. He could be quite ruthless when he wanted to be. But he'd never looked at her like that before, she had never been afraid that he might hurt her.
Now she knew he would.
"I hate to crush your childhood dreams but I didn't feel anything from that kiss but your lips. And then you tongue. Trust me, it was none too pleasurable for me. Besides, why would I lie about it?" He questioned, amusement glittering in his eyes as if he thought she was the stupidest, funniest thing he'd ever come across. She felt her stomach drop. He wasn't lying. Trunks couldn't look someone straight in the face and lie. At least, not her.
She was stunned, speechless for a moment before she regained herself. The anger and embarrassment gathering up in her heart and heating up her face. He couldn't be serious. He had to be lying. There was no way he couldn't have felt that. But tiny shivers of doubt danced up and down her spine as she thought it. There was a way. Trunks had probably kissed millions of girls, experienced girls, and didn't need to be impressed by her. She didn't have a lot of practice and she certainly wasn't the most talented. But she loved him! She had to be the only one that had ever kissed him like that because none of the others loved him like she loved him. It wasn't possible that someone else had made him feel the way she felt about him. It couldn't be possible.
"You know what your problem is Trunks? You just don't want to admit what I did to you. You don't want to be honest and say that you felt that. You're lying, you're a dirty liar, I know you are."
"We made a deal, Pan." He told her, the anger evident in his eyes now. "You said that you would leave me alone if I told you, honestly, that this kiss meant nothing. And I did. I expect you to abide by it."
"Ne-ver." She nearly shouted, fighting back the sting in her eyes that told her she was about to lose it. "I won't keep promises to people that lie without blinking. How could you?"
"Pan, I don't know what I have to do to make you see that I don't want you. That I'll never want you. What do you have to hear? Huh?"
She rocked back on her feet, glaring at him and throwing her hands on her under-developed hips. "There's nothing you can say. I don't listen to liars." She informed him softly, deadly, eyes narrowing.
"No? You don't? Well, will you listen to this then? Listen to how I couldn't be interested in you, ever, how I could never be in love with a little girl. Don't you see how sick that is, Pan?"
Her breathing hitched, eyes closing as she shook her head, trying to speak but not being able to. A lump built up in her throat as she tried to open her mouth and counter him. She wasn't a girl, she was twenty-one. She was grown, legally grown, couldn't he see that?
As if reading her mind, he continued. "Can't you see that no matter how old you get you'll always be a child to me? Can't you see that even when you age, so do I, and my interest in women changes? That you'll never be my type, ever, Pan?" She shook her head again, defiantly. His words ripping at her soul as she tried not to cry.
"Oh, you can't? Well, let me help you see, why don't I?" He challenged, putting his hand on her chin and squeezing until she opened her eyes to glare at him fully. "And you'll look at me while I tell you this, look me in the eyes so that you'll know I'm not a 'dirty liar'. You'll look at me and listen to me and you won't interrupt a word of it. Do you understand me?"
He squeezed her chin until she nodded before continuing, anger clouding his cerulean eyes and making them turn a deep, dark blue. "I will never be interested in you, Pan Son, no matter how old you are because you are very immature. You're pushy, you talk too much when you're not supposed to, not enough when you are. You're spoiled and you whine, you expect your own way in everything, you're more self-involved than anyone I've ever met, and to top it off, you're not exactly pretty." He paused and she snatched her chin from his grip, looking him right into his eyes out of spite. Her eyes, she could tell, had glazed over, and she was trying hard not to cry.
Her body was shaking, she wasn't sure if she was very angry or very hurt, and her mind was spinning a mile a minute. How could he say those thing to her? Each word, each insult, each thing he said, tearing a bit of her pride and ripping into her soul. But he wasn't through, he kept on, pouring salt onto her open wounds. She drew in a breath, keeping herself under control, pushing her ki down forcefully, trying not to break apart. Feeling her heart crush, shatter, and spill on the floor. She never imagined it would be possible to hurt this much and couldn't imagine feeling more pain.
But every time she had the thought, her heart throbbed again, until she was positive that it couldn't get any worse. It did.
"What you lack in grace, you insult by adding your tomboyishness to," He continued, glaring at her and ignoring the fact that she was clearly trying to keep her cool. Clearly trying not to lose her composure. Clearly trying not to fall apart and tear him to smithereens. "You fight, you spit, and you behave just like a boy. You're lewd, loud, and lack delicacy and tradition." Just when she thought he was finished, he said the one thing she knew hurt more than any other put together, "You need home training, and, in all honestly, you need to learn how to be submissive. No, Pan you're not a woman and you've got a long way to go yet. By the time you get there I'll be too old and still, I won't be interested."
"Submissive?" She repeated, cutting him off before he could think up more insults. Her voice was weak, shaky. She sounded as if she'd been screaming for a very long time and it was finally taking a toll on her. In a way, she had. She'd been screaming on the inside the whole time he talked to her. "Well, I hope you're done, Trunks! I hope you got it all off your chest! Is there anything else you'd like to say before I tell you why you would be lucky if I ever show interest in you again? Why you're going to regret the day you ever opened your mouth to tell me why you couldn't love me? Why you're going to wish you had held your tongue years from now?"
He sighed, closing his eyes in what appeared to be annoyance, and rocked back on his feet. But she didn't care. He was going to hear this if it killed her.
"Because," She continued, her voice still horse. "Because you're wrong, I'm not a girl. I may not be a woman, but one day I will be. And when I am, you're going to regret it, you're going to hate yourself. And not because you could have had me but didn't get me, but because you didn't get anyone. You're a double-faced liar, Trunks. You are despicable and no one is more self-involved than you. You're a coward, Trunks Vegita Briefs, a self-involved, insecure, lowlife of a coward.
"You can't leave your mother, you can't find a job you love, you couldn't make a success of yourself alone, and you couldn't capture any other woman's attention for the long run. And you know what? You'll never be able to. You'll always rely on your mother for everything because you'll always be a coward. You'll never make anything of yourself because you'll always be a lowlife. And no woman will ever look at you and see you for who you really are, what you want them to see about you because they'll never understand you the way I do.
"You know why? Because you're rich, famous, and alien. News flash Briefs, I was your last chance and you just blew it. Any one else you ever come across will never know all of you. They'll see your money and be disgusted by your ancestry or they'll see you for who you are and be distracted by your wealth and fame. No one will ever accept it all. The decent women hate that you're in the spotlight, the frivolous ones are repulsed by your superhuman strength. This was it for you buddy."
She spat viciously, still thinking about the way he'd just come up with all those insults he'd said to her. He hadn't thought about them for long and, yet, he'd meant every word. It was as if the thoughts had been festering in his head for a long time and just waiting to burst out. And they probably had. That hurt more than anything he could have ever done to her. He'd captured every single one of her insecurities and pointed them out as flaws. The only person she'd ever loved more than life, more than the air she breathed, had just told her every single reason why she wasn't perfect and that he'd never care for her because of it.
She hated him. She hoped he fell off the face of the earth, right into the pit of hell, and burned for all eternity.
He was glaring at her, gripping his fists tightly, as he watched her bite down on her lip. She felt blood trickle down the side of her lip as they stared at each other, glaring dangerously. Neither said a word, both their breathing labored, as Pan turned around and walked out of the kitchen, feeling Trunks follow her.
There was a crowd in the den, gathered around something or other, but she couldn't see anything. Only red. She didn't look back as she walked out of the den, down the hall and out the door. Tears were threatening her, begging to fall, but she sucked in a breath and shook her head. She'd never cry over him, she would never let him affect her like that, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He didn't deserve it. She wasn't some child that couldn't control her emotions. She would never cry over this. She'd show him. She'd never love him again, and she'd never forgive him. And, even if it killed her, she'd never see him again. She'd promised him that she would leave him alone, if he could convince her that she meant nothing to him, and he'd done it. She was going to keep her promise.
From this moment on, Trunks-San did not exist. Even as she thought it, the tears slipped past her defenses and rolled down her cheeks.
To be continued...