I avoided 17 for the remainder of the afternoon, sulking to myself, leaving him to guess what I was put out over. He would constantly tease me, trying to cheer me up, but he only succeeded in angering me. I pulled away from him, both emotionally and physically. He sensed that something he said had put me into the mood I was in, and decided it best to leave me alone for the time being. Besides, I wasn't near fascinating enough to hold his interest for long. He insisted that there was nothing on television, and retired to his room, sliding the door closed behind him; I heard it lock with a click as I settled on the couch for a weary nap. But I couldn't sleep.
He knew.
He knew about Trunks. About how the mere mention of his name sent my mind reeling, driving me to the point of utter insanity. How I couldn't bring myself to kill him, to evevn talk about him without flinching. 17 had been right--he was my brother; he knew everything that went on inside my mind, and if I couldn't figure my own feelings out, he'd do it for me. It'd always been that way, for as long as I could remember. He'd watched out for me, even when I didn't want him to--even when I told him I dispised him more than any other creature on the Earth, he'd still watched over me. Maybe it was his way of clearing his guilty concience. What of, I didn't know.
The knowledge of 17's awareness of my feelings bothered me greatly. He's planning to do something about this, I told myself, feeling sick at the thought. My brother's ideas of 'doing things' that nagged at him never did take to my liking. Though I loved to watch him decimate humans one by one, often turning it into a game of who could make the victims beg the most, I didn't approve of his urge to kill in vast numbers. I wanted to pick off the humans town by town, until the world was ours, but he saw fit to a different theory. He wanted to see the humans try to stop us--he wanted them to rebel so he would have an excuse to kill them all, rather than make a fool of himself in front of me by letting his power get to his head.
17 was only a few hours my elder, though he sought to prove he was stronger than I was. Constantly challenging me to races, battles--which he passed off as pointless, unnecessary training for battles that would never come--and the frequent verbal tussle, he was always on the lookout to remind me that he could surpass me easily. Little did he know I had never raced him at my top speed, never fought him to my full potential, never snapped back with the best comeback I could muster. I was holding back. I always had been. I found that I felt more at ease when he was, and I thought best to let sleeping dogs lie. He was content believing he was the stronger of us, and I was content letting him do so. He was more pleasant to be around when he had his way. I felt that if the time ever came, he'd pull through for me. Perhaps I took our relationship as siblings for more than 17 meant to make it seem, seeing as he didn't like to be serious when he could help it. He loved to joke, to tease me and the humans he toyed with. It often got on my nerves to the point where I would run off for a week or two, just to get away from the mocking sarcasm. But I always came back. Always.
The sweater I was still wearing suddenly seemed unflattering. I looked down at the faded jeans and leather belt, scowling. Magenta wasn't such a soothing color after all.
Hearing no noise from 17's room, no chatter of a television set nor the light flutter of snores, I decided to go out again. It didn't matter where to, or for how long--I only sought to find something to do, someone to torment. I had to get rid of the energy I'd somehow regained during my bath and the excuse for a nap that had followed my argument with my brother. Sliding the mechanical door open, I stepped out onto the cliffside that our lab was on. There was a slight breeze that morning, and I closed my eyes, letting it play across my face. Then, jumping from the edge, I plummeted hundreds of feet, free-falling towards the evergreen trees far below me, only to pull out of the drop just as I reached their tops, holding out my hands and brushing my fingers against the tips of the trees as I flew forward. I felt free to do as I wished. I _was_ free to do as I wished. No one was stopping me. No one _could_ stop me. It was all up to me to decide. This was my life.
He knew.
He knew about Trunks. About how the mere mention of his name sent my mind reeling, driving me to the point of utter insanity. How I couldn't bring myself to kill him, to evevn talk about him without flinching. 17 had been right--he was my brother; he knew everything that went on inside my mind, and if I couldn't figure my own feelings out, he'd do it for me. It'd always been that way, for as long as I could remember. He'd watched out for me, even when I didn't want him to--even when I told him I dispised him more than any other creature on the Earth, he'd still watched over me. Maybe it was his way of clearing his guilty concience. What of, I didn't know.
The knowledge of 17's awareness of my feelings bothered me greatly. He's planning to do something about this, I told myself, feeling sick at the thought. My brother's ideas of 'doing things' that nagged at him never did take to my liking. Though I loved to watch him decimate humans one by one, often turning it into a game of who could make the victims beg the most, I didn't approve of his urge to kill in vast numbers. I wanted to pick off the humans town by town, until the world was ours, but he saw fit to a different theory. He wanted to see the humans try to stop us--he wanted them to rebel so he would have an excuse to kill them all, rather than make a fool of himself in front of me by letting his power get to his head.
17 was only a few hours my elder, though he sought to prove he was stronger than I was. Constantly challenging me to races, battles--which he passed off as pointless, unnecessary training for battles that would never come--and the frequent verbal tussle, he was always on the lookout to remind me that he could surpass me easily. Little did he know I had never raced him at my top speed, never fought him to my full potential, never snapped back with the best comeback I could muster. I was holding back. I always had been. I found that I felt more at ease when he was, and I thought best to let sleeping dogs lie. He was content believing he was the stronger of us, and I was content letting him do so. He was more pleasant to be around when he had his way. I felt that if the time ever came, he'd pull through for me. Perhaps I took our relationship as siblings for more than 17 meant to make it seem, seeing as he didn't like to be serious when he could help it. He loved to joke, to tease me and the humans he toyed with. It often got on my nerves to the point where I would run off for a week or two, just to get away from the mocking sarcasm. But I always came back. Always.
The sweater I was still wearing suddenly seemed unflattering. I looked down at the faded jeans and leather belt, scowling. Magenta wasn't such a soothing color after all.
Hearing no noise from 17's room, no chatter of a television set nor the light flutter of snores, I decided to go out again. It didn't matter where to, or for how long--I only sought to find something to do, someone to torment. I had to get rid of the energy I'd somehow regained during my bath and the excuse for a nap that had followed my argument with my brother. Sliding the mechanical door open, I stepped out onto the cliffside that our lab was on. There was a slight breeze that morning, and I closed my eyes, letting it play across my face. Then, jumping from the edge, I plummeted hundreds of feet, free-falling towards the evergreen trees far below me, only to pull out of the drop just as I reached their tops, holding out my hands and brushing my fingers against the tips of the trees as I flew forward. I felt free to do as I wished. I _was_ free to do as I wished. No one was stopping me. No one _could_ stop me. It was all up to me to decide. This was my life.