Disclaimer: Do not own Dragonball Z or any of its characters.
AN: Thank you for all the reviews, I am surprised that so many believe this story has some potential to make it as a story among all the rest on this site. I have been asked to think about going into first or third person, since most here are use to that but I wanted to continue with second. I'm not saying second is better then first or third, it's not like that, but I've had this story panned out in my mind for awhile and second seems like the point of view that's never touched upon. I know it might be difficult at first to read but given time, you might all get use to it. You just read the story as if your own life is being dictated, I really hope this is not a problem for anyone and if it is I am apologizing in advance but I do hope you all understand and continue to stick with me.
Bulma will be mentioned in this chapter along with two other's, including someone going by the status of "that person" I am sure you all can guess who he is. Remember that this story is A/U. Here is the next chapter and I hope you all enjoy it.
Title: Story of My Life
Summery: A young Yamcha tells the tale of love gone wrong and the opportunity to gain true love slipping through his fingers. Will he gain what he has always wanted or forever fall short of his desires?
Chapter One: Waters Below Eden
Your memory takes you back a couple of months, to the temperate, tender days of January, the New Year barely broken in. Cold rains of December fade out into brisk breezes of the oncoming spring. Flowers bloom, new generations of fawns are born into the world; it is everything that is described in any book. Everything is perfectly fine and new life fills the air, even the new life of your son. A new year has commenced, giving the world a chance to burry all of the sins from the prior year. Unfortunately, for you, even after you have put down your shovel, there will be more burying to do.
The recollection of it all is still so sharp in your mind you wonder why out of all the things you had in your head it was the one thing the drugs left alone. Though there are times when the memory fades in and out for the most part it is very well intact, simply missing the edges like a letter brought too close to a fire. The memory unfolding before your very eyes was another of the things left that derided you constantly since that faithful day in January.
The house you once shared with your wife looks exactly the way it did on the last night you were there. Wooden walls began to close in on you slowly at first then at a madden speed leaving you trapped in a nightmare you could not have woken up from even if you tried. Somewhere a shadow flashes against the wall and disappears; the faint sound of clicking heels fills the air and brings back so many memories in you that you almost feel yourself choking on them all.
Your wife is close; you can hear her coming closer to you, you can smell the soft fluttering perfume you over time had grown to identify as hers. Those nights when she had fallen asleep in your arms came rushing back to you vigorously. Back then, you use to sleep so much more, awaking every morning with a bounce in your step and the small red lines in your eyes not even planning on making an appearance. Nowadays, that was not the case. Now, if you were lucky, you got an hour or two of sleep and your eyes always look so broken, like shards of a broken mirror complete with deep dark lines of where the damage has been done. Lately, your eyes have been more black than blue, giving the impression so skies after midnight before the holy light of day makes an appearance. Sadly, you know somehow that morning will never come for you. You are trapped in a life of perpetual twilight ht between the haunting darkness and the salvation of morning that will never come.
All around you everything is trapped in the nearly hypnotic stare of those eyes, your eyes, eyes that you could not identify if your life depended on it for they are forever changing. They were trapped in the reflection of what was and yet seemed so surreal to you. Like little dabbles of paint in an abstract painting nothing seemed sharp enough, nothing felt real.
At long last your wife comes into focus and if possible the surroundings blur down further. She takes center stage as she often did with you. The power she has over you is that of a dominatrix, you do what she wants when she wants simply because you are new to this. Love is a prospect that you have no knowledge of, everything you know as of that point you two discovered on your own. The fights and screams you two shared had to be love. How could it not be? You have a son together, you two are married. This has to be love. The abuse and the anger has got to be that way in which you two express the way you feel for each other, because she loves you. Right? Blindly you had followed her into the unknown only to be left there, alone at a later time, scrambling to find a way out alive.
You get the feeling she is about to express herself to you again. Already you can tell that she is highly cross with you again, you can tell by the way her brow is tightly knotted over her light lime colored eyes. As it was most times you have no idea what it is you did to anger her. You would ask, but that would only feed the fire of her fury.
The first day you met she had you at her will and mercy to do with what she wanted whenever she wanted. Life had dealt you a change of events and you knew it. Usually it was you who held the power. Then she had slid into your life like the venomous snake she would later become and wrapped herself around your throat so tightly you had gotten use to her so quickly it amazed you both.
Before you had a chance to wake up, recover from the massive hangover that was your life without her, she was gone. You awoke the next morning in an empty bed with only the lingering trace of her perfume and warmth on the sheets of your bed that seemed bigger than it ever had. There had never been a morning that you had risen in your own bed to the light of the new day alone. Life had started to change the most the day she walked into and out of your life without even looking back.
Currently she stood before you, her plump cherry lips moved in a rapid, angry haste saying words that fell on dead air; you could not hear them.
Strangely enough you somehow get the feeling that this is not the first argument you two have shared that day; that would be too much luck. Her long sandy dark brown hair is flung over her shoulder and you watch it disappear behind her back. She cocks her head to the side, bettering her position in front of you so that you have a perfect sigh of her irritated green eyes. She can tell that you are not paying attention to her and she wants you to as if she wants to see what you are causing her. Her slanted eyes snap like wild fire in a forest, the fire starts to lap at the green of her eyes until they are crystal clear and somewhat frightening.
All the fucking time with you, she hisses like a cobra and that you hear very clearly; you can practically already see her hair standing on edge and flaring out like the hood on the deleterious snake she greatly resembles at the moment. You're never fucking sober. No good bastard.
She is right, an unknown voice agrees, you are no good. No good bastard. No good…no good…no good…
With that she somehow turns around and the next clear image you have of her is her backside, her hips swaying involuntarily while she stomps out of the room with loud steps that hit every wall of the house. Even when you know she has left the premises you can hear the echo she has left behind on the residence you two share, the eternal echo she left sketched into your heart. If you close your eyes at night you can still very clearly hear almost every word to every argument that had even taken place between you two. Every time you replay them you hope that there is a hint as to what made her leave. Every time you lay up in bed afterwards, drained for nothing. You have found nothing again.
You are sure that is when it all went wrong because, after all, that was when her mood started to alter the most. In the lingering days that were to follow her mood went from seemingly annoyed to completely disgusted. She could no longer stand the sight of you and it appeared the only thing you two did was argue. Of course...no one would ever know that. You hid it well along with all the other things you would take to the grave. You convinced yourself that the arguments never took place and after a few smokes and drinks they never had. Unfortunately you were unaware that they were to resurface when you least expected it. If you had known that you would have done a much better job at burying them.
Somehow your body makes its way down to a couch you did not know was even behind you and then it comes into focus more. Real is what you want it to be in that world of shattered memories. You are left on your hands and knees to pick through the derbies of what you once thought was a happy marriage. Now that you are on the outside looking in you realize how wrong you were. At one point, yes, what you two had was love. By the time December and January rolled around though the sparks of that fire had been extinguished by water that had no source. That was until God flashed you one tempting taste of the light in the lives of normal people.
He tossed you the answer in the manner one would to a dog by the table awaiting scraps: with pity. Once you received it you came to the cold realization that perhaps remaining in the dark would have been more comforting. You had been in the dark for so long that the light had startled you so badly your eyes virtually were burned. Once the light cleared the grounds on which your marriage had been crushed remained standing alone. You remember having to rub your eyes again and again to adjust to the sight of your best friend standing in front of you. For a moment you were sure the shock had killed you.
Jordan. A bastard if you had ever seen one. Laying your head back on the couch you spill a curse that held all of your betrayal locked inside of it; a Pandora's Box that God help the man who opened it. You had trained yourself not to think so much about Jordan because the truth of the matter was that he died on that day in January when you figured out it was his arms that had driven your wife away from you. You were well aware of the fact that Jordan had always been greedy. Even on the first day you met him, at the age of eight he had the aura of a boy who had life handed to him though he would later paint it out to be different. Jordan. The bastard, the actor, the bastard, the greedy, scum-sucking bastard.
You remember him very well. He had always been taller than you, taller than anyone Italian should have been, yet he was not built as brawny as he could have been. You knew that if determined you could have beat him in a fight. But back in the days of what you now call The Calm such a thing would have never happened.
He too had a pair of green eyes, but they were different from your wife's—ex-wife you have to repeat to yourself repeatedly. Ex-wife. Ex.
Jordan's eyes had a twinkle of superiority. The Bastard had always been cocky. He had been blessed with a life you now knew he did not deserve. A job that NO ONE in his position could have possibly gained yet he did, he had a girlfriend that adored him, and among other things he had a mother in whose pale gray eyes he could do no harm in. Somehow, someway, Jordan had succeeded in taking the life you envied and flushing it down the shitter in one motion. It was as if he was saying that he was so great that he could take the perfect life and deem it not good enough for him.
Suddenly your thoughts make a sharp turn and hit onto Bulma, Jordan's girlfriend at the time. January had taken its toll on you but it was nothing compared to the way such actions had broken one of the strongest women you had ever known. She had been the only one to share your pain with you. The two of you had gone through exactly the same thing and in the weeks that followed after both Jordan and Alizaé's departure you two were the only thing each other had. Like orphaned children you became each other's confidants, you became the only thing keeping the other from drowning in the oceans you had once played in, oceans as beautifully deep as her soft blue eyes. This time, however, the waters had changed, a storm was coming and soon the waters that had once enveloped you warmly would turn deadly. You wished so desperately with all of your heart that somehow you two would float to ashore on some island where none of this had happened. What you did not know was that you were dammed to float eternally in this. It would haunt you for the rest of your life.
A few days later she was saved by someone you have secretly grown to detest since then. No one would ever know the full extent of your hate for that…person. She was supposed to be with you. If anyone was to save her it was you. You! He had snatched her away from you and dried her off and made it like the whole thing was just an unpleasant memory she would no longer have to dwell in as you nearly drowned again. Her being taken away from you so simply went to show you that you had taken too long. There would be no excuse suffice enough for your lack of ability to take charge. You supposed now that was one of the things which caused so many things to fail in your life. You could never take charge and always had to have people tell you what to do.
Through stained glass containing you in your personal hell you watched Bulma with a mixture of jealously, longing, and a sensation to this very day that had no name. Slowly, but surely, she began to live her life as you floated aimlessly, alone. Her comfort was always with you, her smile like the only sunlight you knew but you still drifted there, alone. The need to drown was tempting. Then another shock came to you as if the first one had not nearly put you out of commission enough.
After you thought the hateful seeds of love were gone for good they budded newly and given the circumstances you had to learn to kill them. It turns out you failed at that as well. They had grown out of control before you could do anything and to this day they flourished wildly. Of course you could say nothing. You did not know about love, you were not expected to.
You had made it out of the waters that nearly took your life only to surface on the Garden of Eden. Your desire for her hung high, an unreachable expectation. There was a reason for that, you were well aware that in the Garden of Eden her role was that of the apple. Though you knew you could easily reach up to take the fruit you craved for so long you also knew the consequences. If you were to sink your teeth in and bask in the soft sponge-like flesh under the rough red exterior and you are outcast back into the dark waters you never want to return to. So, instead, you set up under the apple tree, settling for its shady comfort and the occasional ray of light tossed down from it.
It was then you learned that beggars could not be choosy and had to settle for whatever was given them. A part of your character, a fragment of your pride, was stripped of you leaving you close to nothing. Alizaé had taken extra measure to see that you never returned to your old self. She had done a good job. You can hardly remember the man you were before you met her.
With a jolt you shoot up straight in a chair, your son fast asleep in your arms. Carefully he is laid down into his crib and you make your exit from the room. Reality is welcoming this once. Everything is sharp, clear, and as crisp as it should be.
You are not sure how you return to your room but you do. It does not surprise you anymore. Nothing ever does. After the things you have gown through for something to shock you it has to be a hell of a big deal. Often times you do not even remember anything you say three seconds after you had said it and that does not even faze you. The only thing that does manage to bring a shock to you is when you awaken the next morning, after a complete eight hours of uninterrupted sleep feeling remotely like your old self.
AN2: Should there be another chapter? Let me know. Review, all are welcomed, good or bad. Any questions, do not hesitate to ask.