Last time:
"Sounds like a plan, little lady." He glances at his watch then swears and collects his briefcase. "I'm going to be late." Before he leaves, in his massive hurry, he manages to give me a quick kiss on the forehead, then bolts out of the second floor café to his office on the fourth floor.
It's the start of another busy day, and already I'm beat.
And I've never wanted a baby more.
When everyone else is leaving the building around eight, the stragglers—maintenance, janitorial, etc.—me and Vegeta are still here, working away like good little worker bees. Our project has a shell, an energy source, and the innards are mostly done, with a few minor adjustments needed here and there.
I try not to think about it, because I don't want to jinx myself, but Vegeta has hardly said a word to me since we've been here. Only a few things here and there about the project, and then silence for long stretches of time. It's so peaceful, so quiet, so…boring.
Damn it!
With my pencil that I pull out from behind my ear I poke him in the rips. He turns sharply and demands to know what I want.
"Let's take a break," I say, cracking a smile. That bruise really is covering most of his cheek. All day long I eavesdropped on conversations about how he got it; each funnier than the last. "My neck's cramping up."
"Take a break then," he says and turns back to his work. Well now, this isn't the Vegeta I know and hate. He can't be serious. No fights? No jabs? Not even a sideways look? What gives?
"Did someone die?" I ask bluntly. No, of course not. Goku would have warned me this morning and I would have known to not push his buttons. It was like that a few years back when his girlfriend at the time left him for his other ex; I haven't heard about him dating since.
"Woman," he says through his teeth. Oh he's angry. But why? I decide to push the subject. Who knows, maybe I'll find out something interesting, something that gives me some clues about him. Goku and 17 and 18 won't say jack about his past; it's confidential, even to me, one of their best friends. They have to remind me that he is one of their best friends too, and that's where the conversation ends.
"What? I thought nothing got to you, Vegeta."
I'm looking up at him, on my back, before I even know he's gotten up. He's looming over him, his teeth clenched so hard I picture them breaking and falling out one by one; clink, on the floor.
Well this is somewhat familiar.
I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at him with the most passive face I can muster. I'm not angry; I knew that something would happen if I pushed him, and this just happens to be what that something was.
"Mind telling me what that was all about?"
His eyes narrow and I can't even see his eyes anymore.
"Don't test me today, woman. Just do your damn work and leave me the hell alone."
"Tell me and I'll go back to my work."
"No." Clink. Clink. Clink.
"Did something happen this morning? Or is this like one of those anniversary things?"
He sighs irritably and offers me his hand.
Ok, this is not what I was expecting in the least. But I take his hand and allow him to pull me to my feet; big mistake. Not even a milli-second passes and he has me prostrated on his desk, his fingers wound tightly around my neck; and with hands as big as his he only needs to use one.
When I can't take it anymore, I kick my legs out, telling him that I can't breath. Reluctantly he let's go and I whisper hoarsely, "Why did I deserve that?" And I know I did.
"You really don't know?" His face his so hard it could have been chiseled from marble.
"Know what? What happened to make you such an ass?"
"Kakarot didn't tell you?" he demands, his voice rising slightly, as if he can't believe it. Well I know he can't believe it. He thinks Goku tells me everything under the sun. But Goku is a very loyal friend to all his friends. A secret's a secret's a secret; simple as pie. And Goku loves pie.
"No one tells me anything about you," I say, confessing my ignorance. But I can handle that if it means I'll finally find out what makes him tick. "All I know is you're nasty and I'm not at all fond of you."
"Likewise," he hisses. His hand is still on my neck but he's not squeezing, merely holding me down. And, oddly enough, I don't find this uncomfortable or scary. Yamcha was never one for being rough with me; truth is I like being rough every now and then. I like—Ok, back to the subject at hand. I don't need to be thinking about Vegeta this way; that would be just another problem to add to my mile-long list.
"Are you going to tell me? Or do we play this game for another ten minutes?"
"Shut up."
"Tell me."
"Shut up."
"Tell me."
"Shut." Squeeze. "Up." Squeeze.
And wham! My knee goes right into his jewels and he staggers back, holding himself as if it would fall off if he didn't. And before he can regain composure, I lunge at him and now he's the one with hands around his neck, pressed firmly against the wall.
"Tell me," I say through my teeth for emphasis, thinking, This is so dumb, so childish, but it's so fun and invigorating at the same time! Who cares if I haven't grown up yet. Growing up is over-rated. People who hated their childhoods grow up. People who want to die grow up. I don't want to grow up, not ever. And as long as me and Vegeta keep the majority of out immature fighting to ourselves then there's no reason we have to be grown up all the time; these nights can be about cheap, useless fighting that makes us feel young.
How pathetic am I?
"It's the second," he says, looking away. Is that pink I see on his cheeks? No; it can't be.
I think back.
"Anniversary of what?"
"It's the anniversary," he says, sighing, stalling, wishing he was somewhere else, "of the day my parents died, ok? Feel better now woman? Glad you pushed me? I bet you feel real great knowing that now, huh? Now you can analyze me and say, 'Yeah, that's exactly why he acts like that.' But just know," his teeth are clenched again, "that none of that matters to me. I don't care how I act or why. And I don't give a damn what you think of me for it. Well? Go ahead. Say what you're thinking. But don't you dare pity me, Kami damn it."
I lower my hands to his shoulders, my eyes holding his. Dead? His parents are dead?
"When?" is all I can think to say.
"Twenty-six years ago."
"You were adopted?"
"Ha!" I can feel myself flinch like a scared puppy whose master is yelling at them for pissing on the carpet. "Can you see a nice little happy couple adopting me? Not on your life, woman. I'm the wonderful product of the Japanese orphanage and foster family systems. And you wouldn't believe how many unwanted kids there are at those places; it would really give you a reason not to sleep."
"You grew up in an orphanage?" I try not to think it, the stereotype, but then I do: It all makes sense now.
"Yes woman," he sighs, annoyed. "And on my thirteenth birthday the government decided I should try a foster family. Well, twenty-some foster families. I lost count. And after high school I didn't need them anymore. And don't you dare look at me that way. I told you not to pity me."
"I could never pity you," I lie. I've always pitied him for one reason or another. And now I really pitied him. I made a mental note to add a couple of orphanages to my list of charities.
So slowly that I almost don't notice it, he leans forward, his nose almost touching mine. I can smell the spearmint gum he was chewing before. And I can't keep the image of him holding me down on the desk out of my head. This is what I get for accepting the easy life and moving in with Yamcha; he's safe and easy. When did I think I didn't need excitement? Stupid ethics.
"You're lying." His nose touches mine and I shiver. Why does he have to be gorgeous? It makes hating this so much harder. "Tell me something."
I make no acknowledgment that I heard him.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Why didn't you?"
"How do you know I didn't?"
"Did you?"
He smirks and I feel his hands rest on my hips. And immediately my brain registers the fact that Yamcha is in the Netherlands and I want to slap myself. I'm convinced I have a split personality; an evil side.
"No," he finally says. "I didn't."
"Don't do it," I whisper. And I think, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, but I can't make myself say it.
"Do what? Tell anyone? Why would I now after all this time?"
"Not that."
He gives me a strange look and then his smiles as he realizes what I meant. And then he does it, and instead of kneeing his crotch again like I planned, I allow it like the weak evil person that I am.
When our lips finally part my head is spinning so fast I hardly hear him speak.
"I don't think nothing happened that night," he says, one of his hands going up into my hair behind my ear. Oh Kami! What the hell is going on! Vegeta just kissed me—and I let him! This is not what people meant by getting along. "I think a hell of a lot happened, and I think it should happen again."
"Nothing happened," I say firmly, finding my voice. "And nothing happened tonight." But when I try to turn away, he pulls me back, capturing my lips once more. And then it's like my brain doesn't even matter; my body has complete control and my body wants to surrender. "Why are you doing this?" I whisper when he finally pulls his head back.
I think of Yamcha.
I am scum. I am scum.
"You're not happy," he says matter-of-factly. "Your man doesn't make you happy; work doesn't make you happy."
"And you think you can?"
"I think I can make you forget about all that stuff for awhile."
"And why exactly would you do that for me?"
"You act like I wouldn't get benefits from it."
"You've lost your mind, Vegeta." And I think, We are the only ones in the entire complex, other than the housing portion; and my parents are asleep by now. And Yamcha is in the Netherlands, not Japan. And I should drop dead right now for thinking any of this.
"Why don't we do a little experiment?"
I don't dare ask.
"And when you tell me to stop, I'll stop."
"You're not making any sense, Vegeta. What's this all about all of a sudden?"
"You think this is sudden?" he laughs. "Really?"
I nod. I don't know what alternate universe he's living in, but the last time I checked we hated each other pretty passionately.
"I'm thinking the age-old attraction. Pulling pigtails and all that good stuff."
"We need to get back to work."
"I thought you wanted to take a break."
"And I thought you were mourning your parents." Oh shit…
I expected the anger; I expected his hands to roughly grab me and slam me down on the desk. But what I also expected was a punch or a slap or something else of that nature; but instead his lips found mine again, his hands holding my wrists tight, trapping me beneath him on his desk.
"Oh I knew you were that kind of girl," he laughs in my ear. "It's a shame I don't keep an extra set of handcuffs in my desk."
"Shut up, Vegeta," I snap, pulling his head back down to mine. I won't let myself think of Yamcha, or anything else but this moment, this passion, this intense need that I never knew was there until right now. And I know—in that way that you don't need to be psychic to know things—that this will not be the only time this happens, because now that I know what Vegeta has to offer me I never want to be without it.
I'm choosing lust over love. But is it really love that I have with Yamcha? I mean, yes, I love him, but do I truly love him? Like the soul mates, want to spend the rest of my life with him love? The more I think that I'm glad he's in another country, the more I know that it's the love I have for my friends that I have for him. And I think I've always known that.
I don't think I'll ever find true love.
"Why did you stop?" I look up at him and he's frowning. Don't tell me you're only going this far after I've completely ruined myself. No way mister!
"This is awkward," he says.
"Excuse me?"
"The desk," he corrects, smirking. "Are there any cots in here?"
It's my turn to smirk. The more time I spend with this enigma, the more I become him. The more I want him, and the more I hate myself. But right now—my breathing slightly labored, and his hands still on me—I don't care. I'm evil and stupid and lustful, and I don't care.
"Storage room." And it takes less than twenty seconds for us to be settled on one of the half-dozen cots that, up until now, were only used to rest on during lunch hours. Who knows; maybe we weren't the first ones to have this idea. But that doesn't matter right now. Nothing does, expect for his hands and mouth on me.
Now I know what all that staring was about.
It's when we're both completely naked that I feel the need to say something. We haven't reached the point of no return, not yet.
"This is the end of something," I say into his shoulder.
"Don't get sentimental on me, woman." He kisses my neck, my cheek, my forehead, my lips. "Besides, it's the beginning of something so much kinkier."
"How long have you been waiting for this?" And of course he has. These things don't just happen like they do in the movies. He's been planning this, even if he doesn't know it. And I guess that means I have too. And I wonder, When did I become this hollow? I don't even care who I hurt. Maybe that shrink wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"Since Kakarot's party," he admits as if he were giving an answer in class. "I hated the idea that I potentially missed out on having…well…this," he whispers, leaning his head down to capture one of my nipples in his mouth. Kami! How is it that he can be so callous with words, yet so passionately gentle with his hands and mouth?
"Vegeta?"
"What?"
"Skip the foreplay tonight."
"Does this mean I have a rain check?"
I answer him with a rough kiss and a very unladylike thrust of my hips. But I can't stand it anymore. He showed me a glimpse of the passion he possessed, and now I want it all.
"You're perfect, you know what woman?" he whispers huskily in my ear. And then, all at once, he's in me and I can't control my vocal cords. I have completely no control over my body for the very first time. And he's going so fast I can hardly keep pace; where did he learn this? Are orphanages breeding future sex stars? What a horrid thought! What a—
"Vegeta," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. I'm barely aware of the fact that I've shut my eyes and I'm biting my lower lip to keep from crying out. And then it happens, and it's like I'm having a seizure; how long has it been since I felt that? Oh Kami, too long.
Moments later he climaxes and I thank Kami that I've never forgotten to take my birth control pills. No, what I forget are my morals and my fidelity. Good luck getting those back Bulma, you moron.
"Vegeta."
"I know," he whispers, his breathing labored, his face buried in the crook of my neck. The thin layer of sweat on his body is wonderfully intoxicating.
"You know what?"
"You're happy."
And I am.
Chapter 4! Well, I bet no one was expecting that from me. Marci never throws Bulma and Vegeta into bed together by chapter 4! Ahh! The universe is going to implode!—No, don't worry :P I have this all planned out perfectly. This is all part of the plan. I know what I'm doing :) Trust me my lovelies.
REVIEWing makes me smile :D
Next time: Does Bulma really not care? Or was she just telling herself that? Hmm…And what happens when Yamcha returns? Meep!
