A/N: To be honest with you, this is my first DBZ story involving love (or something like it), Trunks/Pan, and actual chapters. Which means, to put it bluntly, that this story could turn out to be crap. Worse even. But I'm seriously hoping not. Seriously, seriously hoping. Because I've got some rabbits up my sleeve, if you know what I mean, and I hear you people like that sort of thing. You know, suprises, new ideas, and whatnot. Anyway, I'm politely asking that you'll be forgiving when it comes to my judge of the characters, for they may be just a little out of the ordinary in this fic. Not OOC, or terribly left-field like their slapping hands and saying stupid lines from 80's sitcoms like, "Right off!" and "Dyno-mite!", though that would be terribly, terribly hilarious. No, I'm speaking more along the lines of looking at the characters from another angle. A more comical view you might say, like seeing an actor behind-the-scenes or something glitzy like that. So. Before you grill my posterior with flames, blowtorches, and the like, for making Trunks and Pan behave like absolute morons, consider the fact that I might have made them behave that way on purpose. It's all part of the master plan. You'll see..
Anyway, to rant on, I just want to point out that this story is just for fun. It may or may not have you rolling in the isle or slapping your knee or whatever the heck else you people do when you're amused, but that's ok. As long as you enjoy--even a little bit--then I guess I can live with that. But, ya know, for the record. It's all fun. It's all games. If it's all suck, that's fine, too. Cuz, you know, we can't all be Prize Winning.
Details: This is a high school story. Yeah, yeah. I know. You just cringed in your seat (most likely) becaue you and I both know how those things go. But before you go clicking the back button cursing yourself like an idiot for getting your hopes up etc., let me calm you by saying it's not all about #2 pencils and melodramatic rants in the middle of second period. It's got depth, baby. Edge. So don't throw any stones just yet.
Sheesh! What a massive rant! To the story already! Geez!
CLOSURE
prologue;;
Pan
Before wego through this detailed and somewhat-dramatic tale of my teenage life, I'd just like to point out a few things. Just so, you know, you don't think I'm some raging lunatic or something like that. Though it's entirely possible that you will think so by the time we're through. Or, if not, atleast somewhere in between.
Like derranged, or..mildly psychotic.
Anyway, here it is: I'm not a pack-rat or bag lady. I don't save things in bundles, I don't have newspapers from the last five years piling up in the corners of my bedroom, and I don't hang onto ever single gift-slash-posession that has ever been given to me. If I can throw it away, I do throw it away. And it's as simple as that.
I want you to know this because it's important. Because I don't hang onto everything. Pan Son, daughter of Gohan and Videl Son, age seventeen, only holds onto what she thinks is worth holding onto.
And that something, is Trunks Briefs, my once-upon-a-time boyfriend.
...I know.
Cue the dramatic music, right?
But you have to understand. It's not every day that a girl finds herself in the arms of an older man who is sexy, rich, and, even though it's unbelievably cliche, absolutely perfect.
So, when we broke up for no. apparent. reason. you can bet that I was pissed. Beyond pissed. Beyond pissed and rising. Just talking about it now makes me want to throw my fist through the wall and cause some real household damage, so imagine what it was like in the beginning.
See, the thing of it is..I'm not really mad we broke up. Those things are natural, they occur all the time, and, for the most part, are one of the basic components of teenage life. But what keeps me up at night, gritting my teeth and punching my pillow, cursing and muttering and hating the world, is not the relationship itself, but how the damn thing ended.
It would have been fine, fantastic, way more than acceptable, if he had said something like, "It's just not working out." or "It's not you, it's me." or..well, anything, really. But that's just it.
That bastard didn't say a word. Not a damn word!
He just stood there. Stood there. Like somehow I was pyschic, able to read his thoughts or gather everything from his expression, knodding wisely and accepting it for what it was, all mature and pristine and lady-like.
But I wasn't pyschic. And I couldn't read his thoughts. Or his expression. And no, I didn't knod wisely, or accept it, or be all mature, and pristine, and lady-like, thankyouverymuch.
Instead, I did what any other girl would do: I vowed revenge.