Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ. Hope you like the story so far.
The Perfect Flaw
Chapter X
After learning the devastating news, Bulma had gone upstairs to take a shower, hoping the warm, relaxing water would help her to forget about her worries. Sadly it didn't. The thoughts instead grew worse through the duration of the cleansing, causing tears to once again threaten her eyes. Desperate, she began to sing. She sang a song that she'd known ever since she'd been a little girl, a song that she'd fallen in love with the first time she'd heard it being sung at the funeral of General Tomat. And it worked. The words poured slowly out of her, and her mind concentrated only on the poetry. It talked of war and honor, which Bulma found almost laughable, considering the fact those heartless monsters had none. How could they possibly call terrorizing innocent civilizations an meaninglessly destroying lives honorable?
After the shower, she pulled on a pair of black pants (spandex?), and a pair of yellow boots that matched her new sleeveless jacket. Gingerly she then ran a brush through her smooth hair and stood back to admire it in the mirror, before deciding to use a head band instead. After doing so she stared back at her reflection with a weak smile. "Much better."
As Bulma made her way into the living room, she drew in a sudden breath when seeing her father on the couch. Did Mom tell him? If she had, he sure didn't seem very concerned; not as concerned as he could and should be.
Cautiously she approached the sofa, noting absently the fresh stain on the carpet from where she'd dropped her plate. Had her mom told him? Or did she perhaps find it better not to inform him of the news due to his illness? "Dad?" Mr. Briefs stirred, turning his head to regard her with glazed eyes.
He smiled. "Hey there, Pumpkin."
"D-did Mom tell you?" she asked abruptly, cutting right to the point.
After a moment, he nodded with difficulty. Bulma's heart sank. When seeing her sad expression, her father's smile broadened in hopes of cheering her up. "Don't worry though, dear," he assured lightly with a painful laugh. "I was going to die anyway."
Bulma was appalled by his sudden words and she didn't know what it was, but she could feel her anger suddenly rise. "What're you talking about!" she shouted in rage, upset with his lack of faith in her. "No one on this planet's gonna die because of those monsters! I'm gonna make sure of it! I'll think of a way to stop it, I swear I will!" She paused suddenly. What the hell was she talking about? How did she possibly expect to stop the Saiyans? When she spoke again, her voice had lost its sudden confidence. "I just . . . don't know how."
Dr. Briefs had listened to his daughter's short speech, admiring the courage and determination that had decorated her tone; except for the last frail sentence. A sudden, brilliant though crossed his mind, causing a genuine smile to touch his lips. "Well, there is one way."
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Geldin 37, 451 a. d.
Dear Diary,
I found out some devastating news this morning. When I made it to Earth (and I did make it to Earth by the way), I had been confident that the Saiyans had stayed behind. After all, what's one slave missing out of trillions, right? Wrong! They actually followed me! And they're undoubtedly searching for me right now. I also fear the possibility of Earth being purged, either for punishment, or for the hell of it.
Will I never find peace in my life? Maybe it's my fate: to be miserable with an omen hovering over me where ever I go.
I know Kett thinks me brave and courageous; but if only he could know . . .
How much I'm shaking right now.
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"Stupid piece of shit!"
The man cursed fervently, hitting the radio in an attempt to release some of the anger that was rapidly building. "Nothing good's on!"
But that wasn't the real reason he was worked up. He had an important meeting to get to; the most important that was putting his very job on the line, and here he was, held up in major traffic. And the radio wasn't helping either: on nearly every station people were rambling on in fret of the Saiyans, questioning aloud if the world was coming to an end. The world will end if I don't get to that damn meeting!
In overwhelming frustration the man stuck his head out the car window, releasing a string of heavy threats and curses to the vehicles in front of him. And finally, as if they had actually heard him, the blue ford before him glided forward, leaving an admirable gap between them. "Finally!"
He began to move forward, a triumphant curve to his lips, before something caught his eye. Dumbfounded he looked up into the night sky, gasping in horror as he locked on to the hovering form that was only feet above them. He was so startled that he didn't even do anything at first; he was just too absorbed into what he was staring at, trying hard to tell himself that it was his mere imagination. It looked like a man . . . in blue spandex, and armor, and . . . a tail.
The appendage wound securely around the figure's waist, just the tip swaying to and fro in eerie stoicism. It was then that the man lost it. He was jerked from his daze as he rammed into the car in front of him, his mouth wrenching open in a very un manly scream. "I-it's a Saiyan! They're here! They're actually here!"
The curses of annoyance and vexation from his action stopped suddenly, and they soon followed the man's gaze to where the being hovered. Each jaw dropped at the sight. It was the monster of all their nightmares; the devil himself: a Saiyan.
The entire crowds of the nighttime city fell to an eerie hush at the announcement, and tensely they continued to study the inhuman being with boggled eyes, all silently wondering what was to come next. Was it just a hoax perhaps: an careless individual somehow creating a levitation device and building a mechanical tail, just for a good prank?
Not likely.
Vegeta smiled at their silence. He loved the fear that was practically radiating off the tiny ants, the way they gawked at him as if he were the mightiest being in the universe.
Unable to contain it any longer, a random woman extended an accusing finger, a shrill cry emitting rawly from her throat. And that was the cue. Screams and frenzied shouts rose among the city as people sprinted in all directions. Cars' engines roared as they sped forward in panic, the drivers careless as they rammed into the vehicles before them or simply ran over one of their own kind.
Would you look at that: he hadn't even lifted a finger, and already they were dying off like flies. Vegeta couldn't help but laugh in cruel amusement at the cowards.
But it was time to get down to business. He had to find the girl as quickly as possible. In a flash the Prince was before the first skyscraper, his eyes running up and down its height. Extending a single hand, his entrance wouldn't soon be forgotten as the doors blew away without the slightest resistance, revealing an abundance of stunned, pale faces. As if mired to the floor, the people stopped in their tracks, taking in the shattered glass and the being that stood haughtily before them.
Vegeta's eyes shifted meaningfully as he peered through the group, searching carefully for his target. "A female: blue hair; mild height! You've seen her?" he shouted with thin patience, his frown deepening when the weaklings merely continued to stare. "Answer me, you fools!"
One brave woman stepped forward. She clung tightly to the brief case in her arms, her wide, limpid eyes regarding the Saiyan shyly from behind a pair of large glasses. When she spoke, her voice was soft with fright. "N-no, sir; t-there's no one here with b-blue hair."
She had hoped that telling this creature that his search was useless here would encourage him to leave them in peace, but she was sadly mistaken.
Instead Vegeta's nose crinkled in vexation. "Useless," he muttered, raising a gloved finger in the girl's direction. Her eyes widened as a white beam sped toward her, her screech unheard as she was engulfed by its searing heat. The bystanders gasped, women and men alike bringing a hand to shield their nose from the stench of burnt flesh as they backed away from the ashes.
It was obvious this man was not one who could be reasoned with; he wasn't even human. He'd come from Hell itself. A Saiyan.
However, many were still clueless of what this monster was. They stared in mortified and confused, their limbs trembling violently as the creature took a step back. Without another word Vegeta receded through the front entrance from which he'd come, never taking his gaze off the humans. As he found himself once again hovering high above the hysteric streets of the city, he brought his palms together, his glare hardening in concentration. Well, he knew one building was useless; he might as well make a mark. And with that conclusion, he watched as his raw power collided into the building's side. A dramatic pause followed as all he heard was the sound of it making contact. It then gradually sank into the ground, a billow of dust rising among both it and humans' remains.
The crowds below him were frenzied anew as the skyscraper toppled before them. The Saiyan above them was now the least of their troubles as they stumbled and jostled their way past one another, desperate to escape the thick, suffocating air.
Vegeta's lips curled in a sadistic grin. One building down; fifty more to go.
"Come out, come out, where ever you are."
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"What is it, Daddy?" Bulma fiddled with the strange contraption, her fingers itching to press the tempting buttons.
With difficulty Dr. Briefs stood with a straight back, clearing his throat with pride. He leaned close to his daughter, directing an informing finger across its surface. "Well, it's called a 'dragon radar'."
"Dragon . . . radar," the young scientist repeated redundantly, the strange word rolling casually from her tongue. She wondered how this was so supposed to help her stop the Saiyans though. What was its purpose that caused her father to treat it with such significance? "What's it used for?"
"For the Dragon Balls, my dear."
Bulma's thin brows crept upwards in curiosity. "What's a Dragon Ball?"
At this sudden question, Dr. Briefs took a meaningful step back, his eyes flashing with nostalgia as they stared absently at the ceiling. "Ah, those were the good times." He sighed in absent longing. "If only I could go back in time."
"What is it, Daddy?"
He continued, but he was far from acknowledging the question; he was too deep in his reverie. "When I was younger, I build that radar to find the Dragon Balls." Subconsciously he took the device from Bulma's limp grip, examining it with longing and affection. "The Dragon Balls . . . I found them, too. They granted my wish of finding the perfect woman. Bunny."
It took a moment for Bulma to process what he'd said, and when she did, she founding herself emitting a dry laugh. She hadn't meant for it to sound as cold as it did. "Did you say, 'wish'?" How could that be? As a scientist, she was sorry to say that the concept of 'wishing' went against all her intellectual logic. She found it hard to believe.
But then again, how exactly was 'ki' explainable in scientific terms?
Her father ignored the skepticism. "Yes, I wished for the perfect woman . . . and I got her. There are seven of them, the Dragon Balls. When gathered in one setting, a mystical dragon, Shenron, appears to grant one wish; any wish the heart desires." As he spoke, Bulma imagined the magical dragon in her mind, watching in awe as it swooped into the sky with amazing grace, looking down on her as it read her thoughts to identify her problems and emotions. Was it possible? Was her father speaking the truth? Or was his illness affecting his common sense?
He broke reluctantly from his daze then, striding forward to place the radar back into her waiting hands. A warm, dimpled grin stretched across his lips, the one that immediately melted Bulma's heart. "I'm giving it to you now," he said softly. "I know you'll be able to find them. And when you do, you need to make the wish that will send those Saiyans away with their tails between their legs."
But she wasn't sure, wasn't sure if she could bring herself to believe such a notion: a dragon that was only summoned when the 'Dragon Balls' were gathered, and would grant any wish. It just . . . sounded so childish; like something someone would tell as a bedtime story to their children. But Bulma looked up slightly, meeting her father's hopeful smile; the smile that sparked an inexplicable emotion that usually lay dormant within her; the smile that said: "Trust me. I believe in you."
And subconsciously her grip tightened upon the device, sudden, unexplainable determination flowing through her. "Okay, Dad," she confirmed sternly, "whatever you say."
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Like dominoes, building after building tumbled beneath the Saiyan Prince's wrath. Naturally he couldn't help but smile at the weaklings; especially their form of "defense".
Within minutes of his rampage, aircrafts had flown down to almost haughtily surround and corner him, their pathetic excuse for "weapons" firing savagely. Now of course Saiyans found it dishonorable to use weapons, but really, to not even be able to create one properly? Please. With laughable ease he'd been able to catch each bullet in mid-fire, considering their sluggish speed. The reactions he got were quite comical as well. Panic was evident as they then made a cowardly attempt to retreat, only to find that there was no way to escape from the Saiyan Prince.
Before long, the air was thick with death and destruction, leaving Vegeta with a mixture of emotions. On one hand, he felt a refreshing wave of satisfaction at having finally quenched his bloodlust; the need for a killing spree having built up inside him for a long time. But on the other hand, he still hadn't found the girl, even after checking a good quantity of the city's buildings. By now Vegeta had a pretty good hunch by now that she probably wasn't in this city, but undoubtedly he could feel his frustration growing. How the hell was he supposed to find her?
He hovered in the night sky, his fingers drumming upon his tightly crossed arms to signal both his impatience and pensiveness. He blinked suddenly, readings flashing across his scouter and startling him from his thoughts. "Sire? Prince Vegeta, are you there?"
The Prince scowled at the familiar voice. Commander Semuld. "What do you want?" he snapped derisively. It wasn't that he was directing his anger to the Commander, exactly; he had to rid of the aggression somehow.
"Well, Sire, we've found some of the girl's colleagues who actually know a little something about the girl," he informed briskly, a tad of pride in his voice at having done his loyal duty. "Apparently they knew she was going to attempt escape; they're pretty stubborn, too. So far we've only been able to get her name."
Vegeta's eyes widened at this. Her name, eh? Even just that would be extremely useful. "Well, don't keep me waiting! What is it!"
"Bulma Briefs."
Bulma Briefs. Vegeta's mind twiddled with the odd name, and he let it roll off his tongue a few times before realizing the Commander was still speaking. "I'll contact you if we get anymore information, Sire."
And with that, the message disconnected, leaving Vegeta to furrow his brows in thought. Now surely her name could be of use? He cursed silently as he set his intellect to work.
Deftly he closed his eyes and blocked out the cries of the humans below him. His eyelids were cool from the breeze; the blackness of his mind strangely comforting.
Within moments his eyes snapped open as a brilliant idea flashed across his brain.
Hurriedly he rotated in his position, his gaze shifting carefully from building to building. No luck, for even though blatant lettering stood on each skyscraper, it was letting that was not familiar to the Prince. For all he knew, he could be staring directly at what he was searching for, and not even be aware of it. Dammit.
Taking a deep breath he stopped suddenly. It was time to solve this once and for all. As nearly every inhabitant on Planet Vegeta knew, patience was not one of the Prince's strongest virtues; with a growl he touched ground and lashed out a swift hand, successfully grabbing a handful of cloth. He lifted the petrified man from his feet and spun him around to give him a threatening glare. The prey merely cowered, his eyes bulging as they sought out a shred of hope in the roaring crowd. But sadly, it didn't take much brain to realize he was on his own, the crowd having already continued their chaotic flow around the confrontation.
A bitter smile formed on the Saiyan's lips, his eyes narrowing. "Surely an advanced civilization such as yours has a way of making a broadcast of some sort, no?"
The human faltered as his paralyzed mind groped for an answer. He stuttered and gave a tremulous nod. "U-uh-huh."
Vegeta's grin broadened. "Take me there."
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Fortunately for Vegeta, his hostage complied with his wishes more than willingly.
But unfortunately for the man, he was one of many to find first hand that Vegeta was not one of gratitude. The Prince had rid of him without so much as a second thought, as soon as they had reached the specified location.
Vegeta now stood stoically in the flooding, frantic crowds, his hard gaze turned upward to the immense skyscraper that stood before him. He only hoped this would work, for if it didn't, then what then? What would he do about finding the slave? His frown deepened.
All he wanted to do was find the damn Dragonballs! And he couldn't help but feel that with each wasted minute that passed by, it was negating his opportunity of finding them. When he found this 'Bulma Briefs', he'd have to make sure to give her a thorough beating; maybe that would knock some sense into her, teach her better than attempting to escape from the Saiyan Empire.
Okay, he'd admit he was ostentatious as he broke through the nighttime glass, making it obvious to the bystanders that the keen shards did no harm whatsoever to his inhuman skin. He was even more pleased with the reaction to his vaunted entrance.
The sheer power of the break in threw the two humans to the floor from their desk, where they now lay panic stricken, staring up at him with horrified fascination, their faces as pale as Frieza's; behind them numerous others stilled in awkward, paralyzed positions; one's eyes rolled back in a dramatic swoon.
No one made a move as Vegeta's eyes skimmed thoughtfully over them, as though reading their very thoughts. His eyes paused and fell slowly upon the woman on the floor. She whimpered, her eyes widening and her mussed hair spilling delibrately into her face in an attempt to hide her fear. "I want to make a broadcast." The eerie calmness of his voice sent a rapid chill racing down each human's spine. It was deadly, threatening, and made it clear that he desired no protests.
The man and woman on the ground nodded vigorously in unison; the last thing they wanted was to make this creature angry.
The Prince shifted his glare back on the individuals that lurked further back, and he eyed the cameras almost hungrily. "Are they on?" The man behind the contraption trembled when realizing the question was directed to him.
He gave an audible gulp. "U-uh— y-yeah . . ."
Vegeta smirked with satisfaction. "Good," he stated simply as he strolled to the desk, ignoring the woman's cry as he nearly missed bringing his foot down on her leg. She pulled it away and scrambled back just in time; he would have completely crushed it, deliberate or not, it made no difference. She and just about everyone else in this room knew of what the demon was capable of, and she didn't want to risk any further being near that monster.
Vegeta's face visibly hardened as he became determined not to show his lack of knowledge of these alien devices. They had a form of broadcasting on Vegeta, only it was entirely computer based. He wasn't sure when to begin, so he waited until he spotted the distant red light that flashed in encouragement.
"Listen up, you pathetic worms," he ordered, derisively, "I am Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans: your worst nightmare." He paused to allow an ugly smile to spread across his face. "And I have a proposition for you."
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Bunny shook her head, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the gasp. "Oh my!" she exclaimed frantically. "That's not good, not good at all!"
"What's not good!" Bulma bellowed with exasperation as she stormed down the hall, the Dragon Radar in firm grip at her side. What had at first started as a grand and glorious day, had now turned into a potential nightmare. Why her? Why couldn't it have been anybody else? What the hell had she ever done?
Bunny's head whipped in Bulma's direction, and she began to wring her delicate hands in wrought. "Oh, no, Dear! I'm not sure you should see this!"
Ignoring her emphatic suggestion, the young scientest brushed past her mother in aggravation, not sparing her so much as a glance. She stopped in front of the TV, her eyes locking upon the same American News channel she'd been watching earlier when learning of the unpleasant news.
But instead of witnessing the grim, taut reporters whom she expected to be staring back at her, theirs hands folded mannerly upon their desk, a man stood in their place. But not just any man: despite his short height, he made up for it with the nerve wracking, sadistic twinkle in his coal black eyes; a tail slithered deviously behind his armored form.
The Prince.
The Prince of all Saiyans, was here, right now, on Earth, in America, on TV.
He spoke slowly but effectively, the threatening words spilling out of him, each ringing resonantly in Bulma's ears. "— 'Bulma Briefs': short; blue hair; scientist. Bring her to me. . . that is . . ." In that moment his body seemed to flicker like a wavering flame, and in the next instant he held an innocent reporter. Vegeta's victim writhed in his iron grasp and Bulma couldn't help but gasp, knowing deep down that the man had no chance of surviving. " . . . unless you wish your entire species obliterated." And God knows he wasn't lying.
W-wait a minute! Just wait a Goddamn minute! Had he just put her on an international wanted list! She couldn't believe it. First of all, she could almost understand Second or Third Class soldiers coming after her, but the Prince! It was simply unheard of! Why would he of all people be here to find a fugitive slave? It made no sense.
She had to be dreaming.
"Oh and believe me," he continued with a sneer. "I will track that human down no matter what the circumstances are, until every single town and city on this mudball is annihilated, unless you comply with my wish: find her."
It happened too quickly, too suddenlyfor Bulma to even turn away. She could only gasp as he then made a final action to prove his point, snapping the reporter's neck with but a flick of his wrist. In an instant, the man's struggling efforts ceased along with a sickening crack.
Bulma brought a tremulous hand to her mouth as a wave of nausea washed over her.
The man, who was no doubt a husband— a father— , was now nothing more than a limp doll in the ruthless Prince's grasp, utterly silent . . .
Forever still.
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The essence of winter was in the air, no doubt about it. The breeze which had merely tickled the lovable Saiyan was now vicious and cold.
Goku presently crouched over the creek, his predator eyes diligent as they locked upon a shadow that lurked in the shallow depths of the water. Subconsciously his tongue ran hungrily over his upper lip, and already he could taste the grilled catfish. It was time to savorthe remaining time he had to fish, for he was well aware that the creek would soon be a victim of the ferocious winds, freezing solid.
His hand poised, he allowed a smile that promised victory.
Like lightning his hand was swift as it took firm hold of lunch, and he braced himself for round one. It wriggled vigorously in his hand, splashing water into its enemy's face as its only defense, and Goku only simpered at the challenge.
But just then, he froze, and he remained motionless as the fish escaped easily from his now loosened grasp. Instead of letting his mind dwell on the escape of his meal, Goku turned expectantly to the sky, his lips parted in shock.
There it was again.
That power.That mind blowing powerwhich had jolted him the night before.It would surge through him instantaneously, and dwindle, before roaring again.
Don't get him wrong, of course he'd worried last night, but he'd done his best to ignore the ominous ki that had pricked at his conscience. However, it was now all too obvious that he would no longer be able to do so. It was too powerful, whatever it was, too apparent to keep on pushing carelessly to the back of his mind.
Was it Piccolo? Had he finally acquired that secret, dormant power which he had boasted of to Goku in the recent past?This theory was anything but relieving to Goku. If this was true, and it very well could be, then it was possible that they were all in impending danger: both he and the entire world.
Should he check it out?
The unknown once again nagged at his brain at the stupid question. After all, if it were something to worry about, then it was better to rid of the cancer in its beginning stages instead of allowing it to grow into something unstoppable, right?
Having come to a conclusion, Goku gave a final farewell to the succulent inhabitants of the creek, and sped anxiously back home, nothing more than a blur in his rush.
It wasn't until he bursted through the door, his mouth opening in preparation to make his pronouncement, when he noticed Chichi in her dumbfounded daze, her eyes fixed thoughtlessly upon the TV screen with her mouth agape.
"Goku."
All the fear— every raw emotion compacted into that single word reached out to him like a hard slap. Loyally Goku dashed to his wife's side and resisted the instantaneous urge to gather her in his arms, focusing on following her line of sight. The images that locked daringly with his stare caused the wind to catch in his throat.
Before him buildings crumbled and seemed to dwindle into the ground, raising a billow of dust and debris. The camera shook with movement, allowing Goku to believe that a reporter was actually bold enough to run through the streets toward one of the collapsing skyscrapers. People ran blindly in opposite directions, their screams rising like ghosts and drowning the reporter incoherent words. But suddenly, the focus of the camera swivelled upward toward the night sky, just in time catching a brief glimpse of an air born figure that darted overhead.
Chichi whirled on her husband, but was too slow as he vanished out the door and took flight into the sky. "Goku! You come back here! You can't just leave me, dammit!"
But she knew her cries were unheard, and before she could prevent it, her face was buried in her hands as tears bursted from her frightened eyes. She didn't even know what the hell was happening, and perhaps that was the cause of her tears: sheer confusion.
But there was another reason that she refused to admit, refused to allow surface, and that was the dull fear deep in her stomach that her husband was not coming back.
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"Where are you going, Bulma!"
Bunny and Dr. Briefs stood meekly in the doorway, watching as their daughter stuffed item after item forcefully into the duffle-bag.
Bulma's hair was like a curtain, veiling her malicious expression as she spoke through gritted teeth. "I have to go to America! Where Prince Vegeta is!"
"B-but, Dear—,"
"You saw him!" In a flurry of emotion, Bulma spun to glare at her parents, reluctantly revealing her tear brimmed eyes. "You saw how they posted me up like I'm some kind of wanted criminal or something! Everyone will be looking for me anyway! The longer I hide, the more innocent people will be slaughtered!"
Bunny blinked back tears of fret, her lips quivering as she groped for a good reason for her daughter to stay with them. Meanwhile her father stepped forward, his tired eyes flashing with youth's fire. "Bulma! Why endanger yourself! At least take the ship for a more productive purpose: like finding the Dragon Balls with the radar I gave you!"
"I can't!" she shouted back, absently impressed with her daddy's sudden energy. "There's no doubt other Saiyans are scouting areas as we speak! If they were to find me while I was searching for the Dragon Balls—," she paused suddenly, her glower falling upon the carpet as she clamped her jaw to cease the flood of images that played behind her clenched eyelids. She couldn't bring herself to say it. "I-it would only make things riskier."
The determined parents continued their protests as Bulma stormed down the hall, their words belying the way they lagged behind, as though frightened of their own offspring's wrath. Even as she loaded the ship, they shouted to her, listing every reason they possibly could that would convince her to stay; the last thing they wanted was to lose her again.
The entire time, Bulma had remained silent and had let them voice their disagreement, but now she turned on her dad, shocking him as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and spoke softly in his ear. "I love you both; I'll miss you, and I'll never forget this time I spent with you guys." Following this statement she gave her mom a hug as well, taking in everything she could of them: their homely scent, the outlines and wrinkles in their sullen faces.
Her parents were at a loss for words and watched dumbfounded as she then climbed into the ship, situating herself in the leather seat. Everything was packed; everything was ready to go— except her heart.
As the engine roared, her mother's damp eyes widened as another reason flashed across her brain. She cupped her hands on either side of her mouth to project her voice distinctly over the rumble. "Dear! You don't even know how to fly the ship!"
At this, the witty scientist turned with a toss of her blue locks, a wry smile on her lips as she waved a booklet in plain view. "I have a manual."
And with that she forced herself not to look back as she took flight, knowing and fearing that if she were to look into their eyes even one more time, she wouldn't be able to go through with it— wouldn't be able to leave them.
But she assured herself, that whatever happened to her, the memory of them would always be engraved in her heart and mind—
whatever happened to her.
A/N: I was kinda lazy w/ this chap; sry (stupid exams!). I'm going to NYC again this weekend, but this time it's to visit an old friend. So yeah, I'll update ASAP. PLEASE REVIEW!