Rainwater
Chapter 3: Senseless
Rating: R for sexual situations and suggestions, adult topics and language.
WitchyPrincess

Senseless

My world moved so fast today, my past seemed a million years away. Everything flashed before me in a rush - making me hold my breath; life squeezed so tight I couldn't breathe.

Sometimes I feel like things aren't really real. Like I'm drifting, but I don't really exist. It's amazing, the way I float away. The way I lose myself to it all. I try to stop it but I can't. Because I'm trying so hard - too hard - to be what everyone else wants me to. And every time I try to be what someone else thinks of me, I'm not able to achieve. It kills me to admit it, even to myself.

I look around me, at my friends, at my family, and wonder where my spark has gone. Where my fire went. Why am I just wandering, drifting from one spot to another the way I am? Crying for help, searching everywhere but inside of me, looking for something I'll never be able to find?

Deep inside me I know what I'm looking for. I know where to find it; I've got to dig within me. I've got to find it in myself. And I've made up my mind: I'm not going to drift anymore, I'm not going to be lost; I'm going to define my own destiny.

I'm going to, and she's going to help me do it.

—Bra Briefs
#######

Bra realized, too late, that she was biting the tips of her fingernails. Her mother was giving her a hard frown from across the table and she knew that, if the woman could, she'd reach across and knock some sense into her. But it didn't matter, she couldn't reach. Bra pulled her manicured fingernail away from her lips anyway, honestly just as annoyed with herself for having slipped.

The table was long, square mahogany wood. It was covered by a white-satin cloth, a red laced cotton tablecloth on top of the satin one to give it decorative edge. There were four red candles lined up, one in front of the other on each end of the table, and silverware and fine china set out for fifteen places. For Bulma, this was a small, intimate gathering - just the way Bra had requested it. Nothing big.

There was no one at the table now though, only Bulma and Bra. Vegita didn't want to come down until the food was out in front of him and Trunks had run off somewhere without telling anyone what he was doing. That was why Bulma was so uptight. Her own son would be late for the party, how would that look in front of everyone? She knew she needed to keep a closer watch on that boy.

He was becoming more and more of a handful lately. Going in to work at any hour of the day, coming home when he wanted, not coming home at all. True, he was very grown and very old to still be living under her roof. And true, since the company was now legally his, he was legally living under his own roof; but as long as she was his mother he would respect her. And that meant telling her that he was alright sometimes. That meant calling, if only just to ask how his mother was doing.

Trunks knew her children were her whole world. And Bra had been away for so long that it seemed like he was all she had. Why did he insist on worrying her?

What had she done so horribly wrong?

Her children didn't smile anymore. They didn't laugh and their eyes didn't light up. What they did, when they turned their lips up into what was supposed to be a joyful expression, was a sorry excuse for something that came close to a sneer. But it definitely wasn't a smile. It had taken her four years just to convince her daughter that things were going to better for her somehow, four years to get the young girl home.

But what had she done to run her off? And what could Bulma do to keep Bra here this time? She needed to know, and she needed to know quickly because whatever was killing Bra, it was taking Trunks with her. There was nothing more frightening than watching your own flesh and blood fall apart before your very eyes, knowing there's nothing to be done. That even if you knew what was wrong, you probably couldn't fix the wound, mend the heart, make the smile feel real. Who do you blame when you run out of pointing fingers?

The doorbell rung and Bulma watched with a curious eye as her daughter nearly jumped out of her skin from fright. It only made Bulma all the more concerned and curious to see her daughter react like that. Bra knew they were expecting company and she should have been expecting the doorbell to ring. What would make her react as though she were in a secluded area somewhere and she never, ever heard the sound?

"I'll get it." The elder woman replied, giving her daughter a calculating gaze as she got up. She ran her fingers through her short blue hair, brushing strands into their place. Then straightened her form-fitting red dress as she walked down the hallway toward the front door.

Bra sighed, leaning back into the wooden chair. It made a squeak as she positioned herself, resting her head on the table for a moment as she remembered how to breathe. What was the matter with her?

All she kept thinking about was how many things could go wrong. What if Pan didn't show? She knew she would, her brother had told her so, had promised he'd make sure she was there...But what if she didn't? This was crazy, she knew Pan would. And if she didn't Bra would simply have to go find the girl and talk to her some other time.

But what if Pan didn't like Bra? She had never been particularly nice to the quarter-saiyan, she hadn't gone out of her way to please her or be great friends with her. But then, she hadn't done anything to displease...much. She winded at the thought before brushing it off as inconsequential. So they hadn't been the best of friends, big deal. Pan had spent all her time chasing snakes, dragon balls, and Trunks. Bra simply couldn't keep up with her.

Bra was a changed person now and Pan would see that. Pan would show. Bra tried to soothe her nerves, while trying to get her mind off of what she was really thinking. What if he didn't show?

It was completely possible that he would show. Trunks had said Goten was going through some tough times now, though he wouldn't say what they were. Not to mention, Goten and Trunks weren't exactly the best of friends anymore. Her brother had told her that also. Now what if Goten didn't show up to see her at all? Would she be bothered by that? Would it hurt that he ignored her that way?

No, what she really wanted to know was...what if he did show up? Would she be bothered then? Would he stop her heartbeat still? Who was she kidding, he was already stopping her heartbeat and he hadn't walked into the room - might not even walk into it at all. She had to get a grip. Goten was not the beginning or the end of the world. She could live without him. She had lived without him. And whether he showed or didn't show wouldn't make a difference.

She had settled on that thought when her mother walked back into the room with someone right on her heels. Of course it was Goten. And he was alone. Bra closed her eyes for a long second, not allowing herself to feel the rush of emotions that washed over her body, flooding her mind and drowning her senses.

It doesn't make a difference. She chanted in her head as she rose from her chair, regal grace behind her every action. It doesn't make a difference anymore.

It might not have if his hair hadn't been trimmed, if his smile hadn't curved his lips just the right way. Maybe if he hadn't been wearing all black, from the sexy turtle neck, down to the black dress pants and shoes. If he wasn't wearing sunglasses in November, at seven at night, making him look dangerous and sexy. Maybe if he didn't smell like heaven and forbidden fruit all rolled into one or if her stomach had not shot down to her knees within a matter of seconds, it wouldn't have mattered. But everything happened fast and none of it could be avoided or ignored. And it most certainly all did happen. She was still in love with him.

She shouldn't have come home. But she had. She hadn't had a choice in the matter, her parents had made sure of that. Dende, she needed Pan, and quickly.

#######

She was rummaging through her cabinets, putting her clean dishes away, when her buzzer sounded. She thought it might be her mother, asking her to change her mind, asking her to apologize to her father, and so she didn't answer. The woman knew the code, she had a key, she could find her own way up to her apartment door if she wanted to. Besides, she didn't need this. Maybe her mother would get the point and leave her alone.

Of course, it could be her uncle, needing to spend some quality time with her. He hadn't been feeling too well lately, with everything going on, and he'd been talking to her a lot about it. But he was going to Capsule, he'd told her. He wanted to 'clear his head'. And he wanted to see Bra again, he hadn't talked to her for a long time. And Bra had been like another niece to him, she knew he missed her. So, it wasn't Goten, which meant it had to be her mother. Or...she thought, placing a pot in the cabinet, it was someone else...

It was as she had the thought that she looked up, out of her balcony window, to see a figure outlined in the night light. She frowned, not believing what she was seeing. Not truly ready to accept what was before her eyes - who was before her eyes. It couldn't be him. She thought, shaking her head and walking over to the balcony. She was imagining things.

She walked right up to it and pushed it open slightly, sticking her head out with a frown. Sure enough, it was him. The exact him she'd promised herself four years ago that she'd never see again, if she could help it. And for the most part, she'd kept her promise to herself.

He was dressed in a baby blue collared shirt with three buttons at the top, two of them undone so that the white of the shirt he was wearing under it could be seen. His pants were black khakis that were creased down the center, and his shoes were black dress shoes that somehow looked casual on his feet. The only thing that seemed out of place at all was the fact that he wasn't wearing a blazer. That and the nasty scowl that pressed on his face as he stood there, arms crossed, lavender hair being blown in the wind. She sucked in a breath, looking at him for the first time in years and feeling butterflies, that she thought were long dead, zoom around her stomach.

She pulled her head back quickly, trying to shut her balcony door, but his hand moved with the speed of lightning, catching the door and pushing it open. He stepped in her apartment, pushing her aside as if he owned it and she was the guest, closing the balcony door behind him. She frowned, rolled her eyes and walked back toward the door without a word. She opened it and motioned for him to leave, not bothering to open her mouth. He didn't move.

"Look, I left a message." She stated tersely, trying to keep her calm. He quirked an eyebrow, nodding at her.

"I heard it." His eyes scanned her body, from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. She was wearing a pair of gray sweat pants and a white camisole that clung to her skin. Her hair was tied into a very messy bun, strands of black falling in various places. The only sign that she might have been anywhere that day was the silver watch she had clasped to her right wrist. But it could be as casual as it was formal, so he disregarded it and said, "You don't look busy to me."

"I never said I'd be busy, Trunks-San." He frowned at the way the 'San' rolled smoothly off her lips, barely a pause between his name and the formal word of respect, as if it had always been there. She was older now, and her calling him anything 'San' just made him feel ancient but he didn't bother to tell her that, he'd spent too long getting her to say it to tell her not to now.

"If you weren't going to be busy then why did you say you weren't coming to the party, Pan-Chan?"

She had intended to be civil with him. To tell him quickly that she wouldn't change her mind and then show him to the door, politely. Like pulling off a band-aid, swiftly so that it would be over with without much pain. But he had just struck a nerve she couldn't ignore. How dare he call her that, like they were good friends or like she was four years old?

"You know perfectly well why I'd skip that party Trunks-San and I'm not going to change my mind because you're standing here trying to intimidate me." She told him, voice cold and detached, crossing her arms to let him know she was serious.

"I don't know why." He feigned innocence, which only served to piss her off more. "Care to tell me?"

"I-don't-like-you." She spoke the words slowly, enunciating every syllable to make sure he got the point.

"You hardly know me." He brushed her words off. "You haven't seen me in two...maybe three years, Pan. Haven't had a conversation with me in four." She snorted.

"Still that was too soon."

"There's no need to get rude-" He started, his temper rising again. He was already furious with her, the last thing she needed to do was get him more upset by insulting him. But she did him one better, she cut him off.

"There's plenty of need to." She informed him before he could continue talking. "And I think we've said all we need to say to each other. Ever. So, excuse me Mr. Briefs," She placed a hand on his back, turning him towards the door, and gave him a solid push in that direction. "But you should leave now." Her tone was formal and distant, not at all the Pan he used to talk with, the Pan he went into outer space with. This was some other girl completely. Someone who truly hated him.

He couldn't say he'd expected something different, but actually encountering it was something all together new to him. He had never been treated so causally, so small. He had never had a woman glare at him, so coldly and angrily, like she did. He'd never had chills slide all the way down his back by a simple frown from someone else. He was a business man, he was used to people hating him. This shouldn't be affecting him the way it was. He hated her, he reminded himself. He didn't care what she thought of him. He didn't care how much she disliked him.

So why was there guilt bubbling at the pit of his stomach? Why did he feel the need to apologize? Why did he want her to stop looking so angrily at him, wishing that she would adore him the way she used to? He hated that too. He couldn't stand her blind adoration of him, so he certainly shouldn't be wishing for it now. Except that he needed her to come to this party. She had to.

He brushed her hand off his shoulder and frowned at her, giving her a firm, settling look. "We have plenty more to say. Starting with what you're wearing to my sister's party." He told her, crossing his arms in a stubborn fashion.

"I'm not going!" She nearly shouted, all patience lost. "And how dare you come in here and assume that you could make me? I'd sooner take you outside and give you the beating I should have given you years ago. You no good, low-life, scum sucking-"

He moved so fast she barely saw him coming. His arms encircled her waist and he flipped her over his shoulder, her feet flailing as she realized what was happening.

"Put me down asshole." She told him evenly, the threat clear in her voice. To her annoyance, he chuckled.

"You can beat me up after the party, Pan." He told her, heading down the hallway. "Which one of these doors is your room?" He shifted her weight slightly on his shoulder, almost losing his balance from the strength of her resistance.

"You're never setting foot in my bedroom, Trunks."

"We're even now." He informed, smiling secretly to himself.

"What?" She squirmed, beating her fists into his back. "Oh, never mind; I mean it, put me down!"

"You've hated me for four years for telling you that same thing. Now we're even. And I will put you down, the second you tell me which door." There were four doors, three of them next to each other with a little wall space in between each one, the other on the opposite side of the hall.

"Figure it out on your own." She told him, slamming her elbow into the very bottom of his back. He hunched over, not loosening his grip on her waist, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

"Stop fighting me, would you?"

"I'll yell rape so loudly the whole building will be knocking on my door if you don't fucking put me down!" She screamed, beating into the sides of his stomach as she talked.

"Go ahead." He shrugged, moving her body up and then back down with the flow of his shoulders.

"Dammit!" She was screeching now, trying to fight her way away from him. His body rocked with the force she was using.

"Don't make me go Super. But make no mistake, I will Pan."

"Why?" She cried, falling limp against his body. "Why do you want me going to this stupid party anyways?"

"Because, your being there seems to mean a lot to Bra. And Bra means a lot to me." He told her, picking a door and pushing it open. Wrong one, it was guest room. He could tell because everything was nice, neat, and covered with dust.

"Don't have much company?" He commented, raising an eyebrow as he shut the door.

"Oh no, I do. I just never need a spare bed." There was a slight hint of mischief in her voice, a lingering insinuation as she responded. He didn't like the tone or what it suggested.

"Sounds a little slutty, Pan." He told her with a frown, pushing open the next door. It was the bathroom.

"Sounds like it's none of your business, Trunks-San." She elbowed him again. He groaned this time, having relaxed his guard since she calmed down. Before either of them said anything else he had found the right room and was throwing her onto her bed.

She made a loud sigh of protest, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "I'd like to see how you're going to make me go to this thing." She replied defiantly. He countered her sigh with one of his own before pulling the only door in her room open and smiling dangerously.

"What do we have in here? Let's see, shall we?" He turned his head to her, eyebrows lifting in question as though he was giving her an option. He never waited for her to respond though, simply turned back and began to rummage.

"What the hell are you doing?" She spat angrily, pure venom in her voice.

"Finding some appropriate attire. You're going to this party and you're going to look like you want to be there - do I make myself clear?"

"My father doesn't even talk to me like that." She swallowed her immediate response to chuck something at his head as she told him this, eyes narrowing to little slits as she studied the back of his head.

"I'm not your father Pan, and I won't hesitate to kick your ass." He was using a clipped tone as he told her this, still flipping through the outfits hanging in her closet. "Don't you even own a dress?"

She smiled at the frustration she heard in his voice. "What if I don't?" she challenged, almost forgetting the threat he'd just made. Almost.

"Then you'll own plenty in a few minutes. Do you really want me to call a department store and get them over here?"

"I wouldn't tell you my size." She wrinkled her brow at the thought. He turned around slowly, smirk in place as his eyes scanned her. There was a sensuous, predatory feel to the look on his face, eyes sweeping over her as if he were hungry and she was the main course. She shivered despite herself.

"You wouldn't have to." He finally informed, eyes glittering as he turned back around.

She crossed her arms more protectively over her chest. "Like you could tell by looking." There was a challenge there.

"It doesn't matter if I could or couldn't." He shrugged as she lifted an eyebrow at him, trying to understand. "I just shifted through your entire closet, sizes are written on clothes you know."

She was curious, she had to know. "Then what size am I?" She leaned over a little, watching to see if he pulled out a tag to check. He didn't.

"Four in dresses." He turned around again, giving her that look, this time with slightly more thought. "Five or six in pants...at least a five." His eyes dared her to tell him he was wrong. She couldn't.

She felt naked and uncomfortable. He'd never once looked at a tag...

"Get out of my room." She spoke suddenly, defensively as if he'd just walked in on her in the shower. He chuckled, crossing his own arms and turning to face her directly.

"Or what?"

"I'll show you exactly why you could never kick my ass." She threatened, her gaze penetratingly boring into him. He felt slightly nervous with the way she seemed to hate him so easily.

"Not until you're dressed and ready for this party."

"I wouldn't get dressed in front of you if you paid me, you pervert. And I'm not going-"

"You're going or I'm not leaving your apartment." Her face blanched.

"What did you say?" She questioned slowly, imagining the possibility of having to continue being annoyed by him.

"And, I'll make sure you see me every day. Every day, Pan."

"I want your feet moving out of my room and your ass out of my apartment. I mean it, Trunks!" In her anger she forgot the 'San'. His lips twisted into a satisfied smirk.

"No thanks."

She almost screamed, but fought the urge, shooting up abruptly. Her hands were around his neck so fast he didn't have time to prepare himself. The force of her weight as she charged into him knocked him over completely.

She landed on top of him, legs on either side of his waist. Her hands tightened dangerously as her eyes flashed fury. She dug her hands deeper, pressing firmly against his skin, drawing her fingers closer together in blind rage.

"I-hope-you-die." She whispered, her voice filled with malice. She tightened her hands some more, rocking her body with each word she spoke, not realizing, until too late, that his hands had moved around her waist.

He grabbed her with urgency, genuinely afraid that she would try and kill him. His face had turned red and his air supply was completely cut off. As quickly as possible, he pushed, using all of his strength, against her stomach, trying to throw her off balance. It worked, she fell over with a shriek, pulling him with her, her hands still firmly around his neck.

It was him landing completely on her that did it. It shocked her so thoroughly her hands fell from his neck as she let out a little groan of outrage. She tried to push him up but it was like heaving a dead body, he wouldn't budge and she was suffocating under him as he frantically tried to catch his breath.

"Trunks," She whimpered, pushing her hands against his shoulders in a desperate motion. "Please,"

If it hadn't been for his current situation he might have noticed how sexy her little plea had been. Not only had she said his name without the attachment, but she followed it with 'please'. All the while she was whimpering, he was on top of her, and they were both panting for breath. Had he not been so involved in trying to save his life, he would have noticed how much this entire situation could have turned him on.

But as it was, he had nearly suffocated to death and he found nothing alluring about that fact. Or her damned temper.

"Get off me!" Her voice came out choked and fading, barely audible. She felt like crying, she couldn't breathe. She was going to die. He would kill her because she'd tried to kill him. His arm was directly on her neck, cutting off her circulation. His body weight pressed right on her stomach and he was heaving in and out. She doubted, even if he'd wanted to, that he could get up. They might both die and it'd be all her fault.

"Please," she tried to ask again through broken words - she could hardly get any air to speak. "I'll...do...anything."

He finally realized that she was choking and he'd caught enough air to move when he heard the words. He slowly lifted one of his arms, starting to get up, danger glinting in his eyes.

"Remember you...remember you said that." He told her through pants for air as he pushed his body off of hers. "Oh, and don't...don't ever...try to...to kill me...again." He finally managed through his coughing fit.

"I'm not making promises." She grabbed her neck, immediately getting up and doubling over to catch her breath. "Sick bastard," she mumbled through thick heaves of air. He glared at her.

"You're the one that tried to kill me." He reminded.

"So, I guess you want me to go to this stupid party as the 'anything' I said I'd do, huh?" She asked after a moment of silence that she used to catch her breath. He tilted his head, giving her the smile he'd picked up from Bulma when she had a plan.

"Is that what you think I'd pick? Out of anything?" He was nearly laughing. "After you almost killed the both of us? Pan, Pan, Pan..." He was shaking his head and giving her a smile that scared her senseless. What the hell had just happened here?

To be continued...