Last time:
"Bulma, are you—"
"This is going to be a long night…"
"You're having Vegeta's baby?" 17 whispers, as if it were a secret that would never be known outside our circle.
"Yes," I say, lifting my chin. "17, I've wanted a baby for so long that I don't care under what circumstances I have it. Even surrounded with all these lies and deceit, I want this baby more than anything. If it's Vegeta's then so be it."
"But you're happy that it's Vegeta's, right?" His voice is lower, and slightly nervous.
"I think so." But I know that I am. I know now that I wouldn't want it to be anyone else's. Though, as things are now, I don't see how I could stand to be around him enough for us to actually raise the baby together. When I first found out I was pregnant that's all I wanted, for me and Vegeta to have a little family. Not necessarily get married, but to be together with our child. That was before I knew that I loved him, before my father told me the truth and changed my life forever. I still don't know if he loves me too, and I suppose I never will. "Yes," I say more firmly. "Yes, I'm glad it's Vegeta's. I don't know if I could have it if it was Yamcha's."
"So you've broken it off with him?"
I nod and sigh. Today has been such a heavy day.
"Are you going to be with Vegeta then?"
My eyes widen, then shrink to slits and I step back. It seems to have just dawned on me that 17 is in fact one of those people who have kept my own life a secret from me for so long. I want to scream, to hit him or yell his ear off. But, instead of doing any of that, I give him one last dirty look and leave the room without explanation.
Yamcha should be back to work by now, so I feel it's safe to go back to the apartment. He probably didn't want to stick around there after our less than adequate break-up. And as much as I know he deserves it for not telling me, for staying with me when I was engaged to Vegeta—I can't help but feel the slightest sense of remorse.
Perhaps I'm not the cold-hearted bitch I always thought I was.
It's nearly one o'clock when I pull into the apartment building's parking garage. And, as I expected, Yamcha's car isn't in its spot. As I ride the elevator to the fifth floor, I'm overcome with a fatal dose of bitter reality, and have to grip the sidebars to keep myself steady. Luckily I'm the only one in here and don't have to worry about explaining myself.
Ten minutes later I'm in the apartment, capsule boxes scattered throughout the rooms. I don't even look at what I'm throwing into what box. My line of thought is to get my stuff packed as fast as I can so I can leave this emotion-stunting death trap.
When I get on the road—with only a box full of capsules and my purse in the back seat—I realize that I have no where to go. All of the people in my life that I thought I could depend on turned out to be the ones hurting me all along. For a moment I entertain the idea of showing up at my shrink's doorstep, but think better of it when I remember that she too knew the truth, and would probably tell my family and everyone where I was.
No, I have to go somewhere that no one can find me. I don't care if that means I'm running away, hiding from my problems. I don't even care that I'm abandoning my father's project, because he abandoned me the minute he agreed to leave me in the dark—for nine years!
I know I'm a coward to not confront them, to flee the city with no intention of coming back. When I first started packing I was planning on simply getting out of the apartment me and Yamcha shared to live with my parents until I found a place of my own. But then, as I thought more, I found that I couldn't even go to my parents for solace. I could go to no one, and so I was leaving Satan City, with 17 Gero as the last person I know who will ever see me.
I am never going back.
Tokyo is about twenty minutes from Satan City, and it was my first choice for a refuge. But like so many other points of my escape plan, this proved to be derisory as well. So, after having cut across the city, heading southwest, I pull into a gas station an hour out of the city, fill the tank, and unfold my map of the islands on the hood of my car.
A sign I passed before pulling over said I was in Atami. A thick green line—that starts Morioka, in the far north of the main isle, and ends in Fukuoka, on the southern most island—catches my attention. It's the Shinkansen, a railway that can take me further than I would want to drive, further than anyone would think to look for me. And it runs right through Atami.
I fold up my map, satisfied with my decision, and head for the train station. When my one-way ticket is bought, I sit to await the next train for Fukuoka, which leaves me with a good half hour of good old me time. I already have it in my head that I'm only staying in the city for one night, and then I'll move on to Nobeoka, a smaller city on the east coast of the island. From what I know about it, it's a bustling fishing port with businesses rising in chemicals and textiles. Perhaps they could use a small repair shop. After all, I can fix anything. And I brought enough money with me to last a normal person ten years. I can easily open a shop under an inconspicuous name, dye my hair, and use an alias.
The giant clock on the wall strikes four and a fast, dull voice on the loudspeaker announces my train will begin boarding.
I grab my things with shaky hands and head for the platform, unable to shake the feeling that I'm walking towards certain death.
"Yumiko!" a voice calls the instant I open the front door of my shop. "Good morning!"
"Only if you slept the night through," I laugh, smiling at the sixty-something man that approached me, a stained red apron hugging his stout figure. "How are you, Tetsu?"
"Can't complain. Not many people still like buying from a bakery when they can go to those big supermarkets. But I'm managing."
"Well you look well," I offer, one hand still on the doorknob, my ears perked.
"Don't waste your flattery on an old man like me," he laughs. "You need to find yourself a good man, Yumi dear. Someone who can take care of you and little Trunks." He makes a small frown and sighs. "You've been out of the hospital three days and already you're opening the shop. You need to rest, child. Hire a nanny and put your feet up. You deserve it after all this time."
"Thank you for the concern," I say honestly, "but really, I'm fine. I've been through much worse. Besides, in three days Trunks hasn't caused such a fuss that I would need anyone else to help me."
"Well," he sighs, defeated. "You know where I am if you need me." He motions to the bakery across the street, where a short round woman in a powder blue sundress just exited, her mystical silver hair pulled into a tight bun on her head. She waves sweetly at me and sets out the first fresh batch of rolls and muffins on a rack outside to cool.
"How's Kazue?" I ask, changing the subject. I didn't need Tetsu or his wife worrying about me, they had enough on their plate. As far as they knew I was a widow from Atami starting over in a new city. "She looks good."
"She's well enough," he says, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "She adores you, you know."
"I know. I adore her too. And you too, Tets," I add, patting his back. "But I better get Trunks fed and dressed before anyone comes in wanting me to re-wire another motorcycle." He laughs at my reference to that last time an angry twenty-something kid came barreling in, demanding that I fix his bike before six that night. It ended being only a slight problem, and I had him out the door in five minutes. And I haven't seen him since.
"Well, good luck," he says, picking up his voice to make a point that he would try to worry less about me and the newborn baby I now shared my house/shop with. "I'll see you at twelve o'clock sharp."
"Would I miss a lunch with you, Tetsu?"
He only laughs, a wide smile on his lips, and dashes across the street to help his wife with the tray she was carrying out.
I sigh—wondering if I can ever find someone to spend my life with—and walk back into the shop, passing through it without seeing it, and slip into the back, the house portion. Just enough room for a single mother and her son trying to live a modest and quiet life. Trunks lies wide-awake in his cradle, his small tuft of lavender hair sticking straight up. For an instant I think of his father, but just as quickly I push that thought away. It's been nine months, give or take a few days, since I packed up and left Satan City. Not a day goes by that I don't wish to be back there, but, then again, not a day goes by that I don't curse every one of their names for what they did to me. I'm well aware that I made a rash and sudden decision, within only a few short hours, but there's no changing that now.
Once a month I write to my parents, giving no return address, and pay the mail carrier a hefty tip to keep my whereabouts a secret. He never questions me, and slips the wad of money into his pocket. I don't tell them anything that would give away my location, only that I'm doing well and for them not to worry. I say that I love and miss them, and maybe someday I might see them again, but right now I simply cannot.
After feeding, changing, and dressing Trunks, I go into the shop. I set him in a playpen behind the counter, then pull up my stool and start the hardest letter I've had to write to date.
Dear mom and dad,
It's been such a hectic month for me since I last wrote. I wish so much to see you both, to hear your voices, or at least know that you're alright. But I cannot risk—as I've said before—letting you know where I am, or even having a P.O. Box to receive your letters.
I have some wonderful news. Three days ago I went into labor and gave birth to a healthy eight-pound baby boy. His name is Trunks, and I would very much appreciate it if you could pass this information on to Vegeta. I know that he would want to know if his child is well and what his name is. There is nothing more I wish for you to tell him, as there is never anything I want to say to him. My heart and soul still ache from the indiscretions I've suffered, and I still cannot face anyone I once knew.
Please know that I love and miss you both, and will not fail to write every month until we can be together again. My friends that I always speak of are doing well and still watch over me as if I were the daughter they never had. I'm in good hands. Don't worry about me.
Love,
Bulma
I seal the letter, then go to stand in the doorway to wait for the mailman.
I sit up in bed so fast that I get a head rush. My heart is pounding and the images of my dream/memory are still fresh in my mind. Why do I always have to dream about him? Why can't I just be left alone? Not everyone that loves someone is meant to be with that person, I convince myself.
I climb out of bed and do a quick check of the house and shop, as is my custom when waking in the middle of the night. Everything is just as it should be, so I go into the bathroom, not turning on the light until I close the door. After two months with a new baby I've learned to be more careful about how I move around in my own house.
I'm just about to go back to bed, when something in the mirror catches my eyes. I lean forward, smoothing down the part in my hair, and frown. Some of my blue roots are beginning to show under the black—I'll need to dye it before the end of the week. I don't particularly like the color, it doesn't really go with my eyes, but—seeing as I have little choice with the way I've decided to live my life—I had deal with it. The new cut is cute, long bangs in the front and a boyish bob in the back. If I ever go back to my natural color I'll definitely keep this style.
My head almost hits the pillow as my ears pick up a faint sound outside. I shoot out of bed, grab a wrench from the toolbox on the floor behind the shop counter, and tiptoe to the front window. What I heard was a rustling—someone was outside, and they brushed against the bushes.
But there's no one out there when I look. Only the dull silhouettes of the leaves on the shrubs. I sigh with relief, but then I hear it again. And this time when I look outside, I see a distinct figure. My breath catches and I grip the wrench as if I truly believe it'll save me somehow. No matter how tough I try to appear, I'm really a coward at heart. I mean, come on, look at me! A self-chosen single mother outcast in a fishing port city on the southern most island of Japan, creeping through a pitch black house wielding a wrench for protection. Kami, I'm losing it.
I have my fingers on the doorknob, ready to swing it open and bash the son-of-a-bitch on the head, when they say my alias name.
"Izumo!" I hiss, and whip open the door, poking the wrench into his chest. Inside I'm completely relieved that he wasn't a burglar, or worse!—someone from Satan City who found me!
Izumo is my next-door neighbor, the first person I talked to when I first came here. Him and his twin sister, Izumi, own an antiques shop to the left of mine called Iz Goods. And, surprisingly, their shop does the best out of everyone in our little square. But, they most get tourists, while me and Tetsu get the locals, who are a lot harder to please.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I step outside, pulling the door shut behind me. The moon is just bright enough to make out his features. He stands about three inches taller than me, with longish wavy black hair and the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen. When I first saw him I thought he was the son of my neighbor, only to learn that he was twenty-two and owned the shop with his sister, who looks so much like him that—if I didn't know better—I'd swear they were identical.
"I saw the light come on over here. I wanted to check on you." He smiles meekly, and even in the harsh lighting I can see the pink on his checks. I remind myself for the hundredth time that he's five years younger than me and that I'm not looking for someone right now. I just had a baby and am still in love with the father who lives in the world I left behind. Izumo does not need to get mixed up with me and get sucked into my spiraling vortex of a life. If he found out—if anyone found out—where I came from or why I'm here I would never be able to live it down. I'd have to move again, start over again. I just don't think I could handle that. I already can't handle this!
"I went to the bathroom," I say after a moment. "People get up in the middle of the night, Izzy. I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."
"But you've got a baby now," he points out, as if I'm unaware of my own son. "I'd just feel a lot better if you got a roommate or something."
"And where would they sleep? Look, honey," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder, as if I were his teacher giving him advice. This made him frown—I knew he liked me, Tetsu and Kazue were always telling me how he watched me when I turned my back. And Izumi, well, she outright said that he didn't shut up about me. I felt awful, like I was leading him on or something, because I would never go for him. Not that he isn't sweet and cute and a great guy, but…Ahh, I can't think about this right now. "I'm perfectly safe. And though I appreciate it, I don't need you watching out for me. Tets and ZuZu are my parental figures on this block. Just be my friend. I don't need another guardian."
"I'm only five years younger than you, Yumi," he sighs, shrugging off my arm. "I wish you wouldn't treat me like I'm your son."
"Maternal instinct," I say with a shrug, unable to help the smile on my lips. After so long I finally have what I've always wanted, I'm finally a mother! "Besides, you are like a son to me. I care ab—"
"I really should be getting back," he says shortly, then disappears into the night without a good-bye.
When I get back inside, instead of going back to bed, I drop down onto the couch in the small half-living room. It still amazes me that I'm so comfortable here after having lived in a mansion my whole life. Humility really does wonders.
It isn't long before my mind drifts where it always does. My cheeks are wet before I know I'm crying, and I curl into the fetal position on the couch.
My last conscious thought is of Vegeta. Just him, standing there. And I know, with crushing force, that I've made the biggest mistake of my life out of anger and fear.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, sleep beginning to pull me away. "But I can't ever go back…"
Chapter 12! Well I bet no one was expecting that! Hahaha! It was completely spur of the moment for me, completely unplanned :P Heehee! And I'm very proud of myself :D
REVIEW! My lovlies!
Next time: Will she go back? Will they find her? Meep!
