Last time:

"Vegeta?"

"Hmm?" His cheek is resting on the top of my head.

"I'm so happy right now…"


Flashback:

I felt someone lurking behind me, but I didn't turn around because whoever it was I was in no mood to talk to them. It had been two weeks since I got out of the hospital and still everyone stared after me and talked about me, like I was some damn specimen! Couldn't they just mind their own damn business? Why did I always have to be the focus of people's attention? If it wasn't the accident, then it was my family or the company or some other ridiculous thing.

All I ever wanted was to be normal.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and turned around, coming face to face with my worst enemy.

"What are you doing, Vegeta?" I snapped, wanting to slap him. He'd been acting so weird since I got back. Not like Vegeta, but not so unlike him that I could tolerate it.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, his eyes level with mind.

"And what am I thinking?"

"You're confused. You've been confused ever since you woke up, and I know why."

"Why is that?" I sighed, rolling my eyes.

He was about to open his mouth and answer, when suddenly his brows narrowed into an almost sad look and he bowed his head and muttered, "Nevermind…"

"Whatever. Try not to talk to me again, Ouji." I was sick of his little game before it even started.

"Screw you, woman," he hissed, clenching his fists at his sides. "I'm trying…I'm trying…I—Uh! Just go off and have your happy little life with that screw-up of a boyfriend of yours! I don't give a shit anymore! It's not worth it!"

"What the hell are you babbling about, Vegeta?" And what did he mean by anymore?

"Nothing," he said shortly, then turned and stomped down the hall in the opposite direction I'd been going.

"Well fuck you!" I called after him.

"Drop dead!" he answered, then disappeared around the corner.

End Flashback:


I bolt upright in bed and run into the living room. Luckily Yamcha is a heavy sleeper, and doesn't wake at my clumsy exit.

I snatch the phone off the receiver on the desk, dialing a number with nervous, shaking fingers.

The ringing is almost more than I can take, but finally someone picks up.

"Whoever this is better have a damn good reason for calling this late."

"Thank Kami you picked up," I sigh, easing into the desk chair.

"Woman?" comes Vegeta's shocked voice. "Why are you calling me?"

"Vegeta, I have to know something. It's important."

He hesitates, then asks what.

"I've been having these weird dreams lately. All about high school, and you're always in them. Sometimes they're memories, other times it's the weirdest situations imaginable. And tonight I had a memory dream." I'm talking so fast I wonder if he's catching any of it. "You were following me in the hall, just after the accident, and I turned around and asked you what you wanted. You said you knew what I was thinking, why I was confused, and when you went to tell me the reason you just seized up and said nevermind."

"And?" he sighs, none too thrilled.

"After that I told you not to talk to me, and you just blew up. You were stammering, I forget what you were trying to say, but then you yelled about Yamcha and said you didn't care anymore, and it wasn't worth it…What were you talking about?"

Again there was silence. This time much longer. And I thought, this could be it, this could be what I've been waiting for—the answer!

"I don't remember," he says finally. And my heart drops. "That was so long ago, Bulma. How the hell can I remember every little fight we've ever had?"

"You're lying," I say, testing him, calling what I hope is a bluff.

"Why would I remember something as trivial as a tiff in the hall with you?"

"I never said we were at school," I lie.

"Yes you did," he insists, his voice slightly off.

"No," I stress, "I didn't. What are you keeping from me?"

"Don't call me anymore," he snaps.

And then the line goes dead.


I decide not to bring up our little late-night phone conversation with Vegeta the next day at work. Or the day after that, or the day after that. Everything goes back to normal—well, as normal as it has been for this past week. No one, not even Chi-Chi, brings up any of the incidents where I'd acted quite a bit less than ordinary. It's like everyone is an expert at being a con, and I'm out of the loop, but not really. I know that I'm being conned. I know there is information, just not what. I'm playing the roll of the downtrodden, overworked technician who hasn't had a good night's sleep for so long that she doesn't know whether she is awake or asleep sometimes.

Well, ok, so that's who I really am, but I'm milking it a little. What I'm shooting for is guilt, from anyone who has something to hide from me. Chi-Chi, Goku, Vegeta, anyone. I know they all have something that I want and I will get it. If they can be such great friends and keep things from me, then I can be such a great friend right back and guilt-trip them into spilling their hearts.

Ok, I know I'm sounding a little ruthless, but what do I have to lose? My life? I threw that away the moment I let Vegeta kiss me.

Maybe I am overreacting a little bit. Maybe there is nothing they're keeping from me. I'm already seeing a shrink, maybe the next step is the nuthouse.

Maybe I really am crazy.

But there's only one way to find out…


When my next shrink appointment comes around, instead of ditching out on it like I had planned to, I decide to go. In the past week my mind has become so scrambled I've begun to question events that I know for a fact happened.

This is no way to live a life.

"Good afternoon, Bulma," my shrink says, and I take a seat on the couch opposite her. She has her hair up today, unlike the first time I met her. It looks much better that way.

"Hey," I say, and sink deep into the cushions. I must look like such a child, but in this moment I really don't care. I need help, that's what I'm here for, and it's her job to help me.

"Should we beat around the bush for another five minutes, or do you just want to get to the point of these meetings?"

I sigh and glance over at her. And to my surprise, she's not holding her notepad. I turn my head away, not wanting to stare.

"I've been living with my boyfriend, Yamcha, for a long time now," I say, the words flowing from my lips as if they were not my story at all. How is it that this woman can make me feel so comfortable? "Ever since we were out of college…We've been together for almost ten years."

At this she shifts her weight, and I wonder if it's a reaction to my words or she's simply uncomfortable.

"We're not the perfect couple," I laugh bitterly, "but he's so good to me. I couldn't ask for anyone better."

"But something tells me you've found better," she says boldly.

"Not better," I sigh—he's awful and pig-headed! "Just…different…"

"A lot of people seek comfort in the arms of others."

"I'm not one of those people," I say stiffly. "Not until two weeks ago…Kami!" I cry, burying my head in my hands. "I'm such an awful person!"

She's at my side within seconds, rubbing my back in slow, calming circles, and saying things like, "It's ok" and "Let it out" and "Everything will be alright."

"Nothing will be alright, not ever," I say, almost harshly, and sit back away from her. "I've been cheating on my boyfriend of ten years, I'm not happy in a job that used to be my refuge, and everyone around me has been keeping things from me. I know it."

"Are you sure of this?" she asks.

"As much as I can be. Vegeta, the man I'm having the affair with," I say, the words sticking in my throat, "knows something and acknowledged it, but said it's not the right time."

"And this means everyone else is being secretive too?"

"It's what I feel," I sigh. "I know it's probably nothing, but I can't help but feel that every time I'm out of the room they talk about me and know things that I should know but never will…I know I must be the millionth person to be paranoid like this, but it's just such a strong feeling, like someone else is telling me that they're hiding the truth."

"I don't think you're paranoid," she says, and smiles a little. "I think you're lost and your path just isn't in sight, and that's why you're here. Not because you're paranoid, or crazy, or suicidal. I believe most of my patients have the same mentality as you. Believe it or not, Bulma, most people who seek therapy simply need someone to talk to that isn't close to them. They find it easier and more comfortable."

"What do I do about Vegeta?" I ask, gripping the cushion beneath me.

"That all depends."

"On?"

"On what you want. What do you want, Bulma?"

"I want to not feel like this," I sigh. "I want to be happy and in love, and I want a baby."

"A baby?"

I nod slowly.

"I've wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. My friend, Chi-Chi, she's seven months pregnant."

"That must make it even harder for you," she says bluntly, obviously.

I nod and sigh.

"And you said you wanted to be in love? You're not in love with your boyfriend or this Vegeta fellow?"

"No," I whisper, feeling the tears begin to well once more. I don't think I've cried this much since the accident. And still I don't really know what exactly it is that I'm crying about. "Definitely not."

"How long have you known these men?"

Men? I think, wanting to laugh. They're both more childish than elementary children.

"Most of my life," I say, remembering the first time I met Yamcha, a little spiky-haired child of ten in grade school. Vegeta I've known since before I could form thoughts to remember him by. "They've always been there…Only…" But I trail off, unsure suddenly of what I'm saying.

"Only what?" she presses.

"I know I came here to understand why I did what I did, but it's still baffling me…I've known them both since I was a child, Vegeta just a bit longer than Yamcha. Me and Yamcha connected immediately, and started dating in high school. But Vegeta," I sigh, the doll-destroying incident re-playing in my mind again. "Me and him never got along. Not once. It wasn't until just last week that I found out he spent most of his childhood in an orphanage. How I managed to come into contact with him before kindergarten is beyond me…My point is that me and Vegeta have not only not gotten along, but we've been enemies since as long as I can remember." Beheaded doll in second grade. "We tormented each other all throughout school, and it hasn't ended yet. He went away to college for four years, but now he's working in the same laboratory as me at Capsule Corp. and up until two weeks ago we were always at each other's throats…I really don't know how we ended up sleeping together…"

My shrink is silent for a long while, probably thinking that she should have written some of this down, but doesn't have her little notepad like always and therefore can't and must find another way to remember it all and give me a diagnosis. Maybe this is when I'll find out that I have that fatal disease I've been wondering about for so long.

But I don't think I'm that lucky.

"Who made the first move, Bulma?" she finally asks. I knew that was coming.

"He did," I say honestly. "We were fighting, really fighting, one night and he just kissed me."

"What do you mean by really fighting?" She squints her eyes slightly as if she suddenly cann't see me as well.

"He wasn't acting like his normal self that night—i.e. not being an ass—and I asked him what was up and he told me to drop it. So, in the nature of being his enemy, I egged him on and he shoved me on the ground." She gave a small startled noise, having not expected that. Kami, everyone is all the same! What's the big deal? "When I got up I pushed him into the wall and we argued some more and then, I don't know how, but I just knew what he was thinking and I told him, 'No,' but he kissed me anyway."

"Did you try to resist him after that?"

"He didn't rape me," I say almost angrily, looking up at her. I must have glared, because her expression is truly apologetic. "Vegeta is a lot of terrible things. He's mean and rude and arrogant and pig-head, but he is not a rapist."

"Forgive me," she says. "But it's almost required that I ask."

"I know," I say. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to have that picture of him."

"Why?" It was such a simple question, with such a deep and forthcoming answer. I would be admitting to something far more complicated if I defended him any further. But somehow that didn't scare me as much as it should have. Kami, stop the presses, Bulma Briefs might be maturing.

"Because he's not a totally bad guy. Ever since we started…Since two weeks ago he's been really different towards me…The other night I sort of broke down and was crying and he actually comforted me. And Vegeta never comforts anyone, not even his best friends."

"Then he's not anti-social?"

"He's very complicated," I say, only realizing just then just how complicated he really was. "He can be such a jerk sometimes, but when someone needs him he'll be there for them one hundred and fifty percent. He likes to keep most of himself a mystery, but he has several close friends, one of which he lives with. He acts like he hates everyone, and for so long I had him pegged as the typical badass bully in high school, but then one day one of his friends came out of the closet and I had thought he would shun him, but I don't think they've been closer."

"People can amaze you sometimes," she laughs. And then she grows very quiet, and the room is enveloped in utter silence. "I think our secession is almost over," she says finally, and stands, expecting me to stand as well. There's something she's not saying, something that's on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps she thinks it's too soon in the "treatment" to tell me, but, in my stubbornness, I want to know now.

"Was there something else?" I ask, finally standing too.

"Something else?" she repeats, the way a person repeats something when the answer is what the other person is looking for, the answer they don't want.

"Yes, something you wanted to say. Something about me, perhaps."

By the look on her face—which I wouldn't have noticed had I not been scanning for signs—I can tell that she's having a little battle in her mind whether or not she'll tell me. Silently I root for the part of her subconscious that's on my side.

"How much did your family and the doctors tell you about your accident, Bulma?"

Ok, I wasn't expecting that.

"Everything," I say without hesitation, giving my shoulders a little shrug. "I have all the medical papers and newspaper clippings in a box in the closet. Why do you ask?"

Her lips come together in that all-too-familiar way I always dread. The way that means she is struggling to tell me something, something that she's knows she should not. It's the same thing everyone else does with me, only it's all the time and I never know a thing. For as smart as I am you would think I could figure this out on my own.

"All the papers and clippings?" she asks, not looking at me.

"Yes," I say confidently. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? My mom cut out the articles for me every time I was mentioned in any newspaper."

"Do me a favor, Bulma," she says, her voice changing tone slightly. We were no longer doctor and patient in this moment. "When you go home tonight, take out that box and exam everything carefully."

"Why?"

"You do want answers, don't you?" I don't think she meant to be condescending, but that's exactly how it came out.

"And I should bring in this stuff? Or do you want me to just tell you what I found?"

"If you wouldn't mind then bring it in. If not, that's fine too."

"Am I supposed to not understand what's going on?"

She gives a small laugh, then nods and says, "Yes Bulma, that's exactly how this works…Good luck."


Yamcha is in the shower when I get home that night, after another long night at the lab. I never fail to feel completely like shit when I'm in his presence, especially right after work, after I've been alone with Vegeta and—

I rush immediately to our bedroom closet and pull out the regular-sized box with all the accident-related papers inside. And it dawns on me, just as I peal the lid off, that this is the first time since high school that I've actually looked in this box, the first time I've really acknowledged its existence.

The medical papers are on the very bottom, then the clippings my mom cut from the newspapers, and then, on the very top, is the plastic medical bracelet I wore for so long. I reach into the simple-looking cardboard box and pull out the bracelet, telling myself over and over that it was just a normal bracelet, nothing to get worked up about. But I can't help but be shot back into the past, that first terrible day when I woke up in the hospital bed with no idea how I'd gotten there.

"Bulma?"

I jump and drop the bracelet, whirling around to come face to knees with Yamcha.

I look up and glare.

"You scared the shit out of me," I snap, feeling suddenly unsafe, as if I need to guard my box of papers.

"Have you been feeling well lately?" he asks, taking a seat on the bed behind me.

"I'm fine," I say, hoping it's convincing and knowing it's not.

"Ever since I came home you've been acting…off."

Why don't you just say crazy and get it over with? Sheesh.

"This project is really wearing me down," I say, which is not entirely a lie.

"Why are you looking through that stuff?" He stops himself before wrinkling his nose. I never really could talk to him about the accident, not as much as I would have liked. He always found some way to change the subject when I brought it up, so I learned not to go to him with my woes. Maybe that's when we began to drift.

"I just realized that I haven't looked in here in a long time," which is the truth, "and I wanted to go through it again," which is a lie. I never want to see this shit again! But if the doctor says it'll help, then maybe it'll help. I may have a PhD, but I'm far from qualified enough to know what I need right now.

"Are you ok, B.B.?" I force myself not to cringe at the unbearable nickname.

"I'm great," I say, giving him my best realistic smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

And to my surprise it works, and he leaves me alone. Whether or not he believes me, I don't care right now. I think my health is a little more important than him having a happy peppy girlfriend all the time.


Chapter 9:) Weeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeee:D I know that was a lot of doctor/Bulma talking, but there's a lot of excitement headed your way! Trust in me:P

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Next time: What does Bulma find in the box? Nothing? Something profound?