Dark Angel

Chapter 7

As the third week came to a close, Bulma had all but given up hope. She roamed the castle hall ways bravely, fearing not the hatred that no doubt would face her. She was oblivious to the fact that some of her servant woman had begun to like her. Their friendly teasing of her light hair and skin was observed as further dislike. A time or two they had even found humor in remarking that their King had been showing apparent affection towards her. Bulma had laughed. If ignoring and more than occasionally blowing up at her, was Vegeta's way of showing affection, they were crazy to envy her. Not to mention foolish for even suggesting such a preposterous notion. She knew as well as anyone that Vegeta despised her. He loathed her very essence as she did his.

He was the cause of her abrupt demolition of life. And she hated him for it. Every day, every minute, every second she was away from Yamcha her deep seeded hatred for Vegeta grew. He was her tormentor and the frustrating fact was that she could do nothing to rectify the situation. She wished she could keep track of every single second he had done her wrong and make him pay dearly for each one.

Those were the thoughts that disturbed her the most. Never, in her entire life had she ever wanted a being to suffer. Not to say that she hadn't wished repeatedly for the demise of her mother's killer but to actually long for the torture of another, was superbly sickening to her conscience. Just another reason to despise the demon. She was becoming more and more like him every day. She wondered if Hell did that to a person, Angel or not. Did the lack of lighting make such a bitter person? Was it the taste or smell? Was it the entire atmosphere as a whole? She doubted she'd ever really know the answer. All she could decipher was this supreme bit of information. With every breath she took, she wished for freedom. With every moments passing, she longed for his death. And the worse part was.. she couldn't be satisfied unless it was by her own hand.

And such ideas made her want to die. What use was it being an Angel of God if your heart was as black as a demon's. And the thought that hurt the most, the one she pushed away from her mind most often, the one she blamed most of Vegeta, was the fact that no one had replied. Her father had not sent a word. Nothing. And Yamcha, he had not sent for her. She had expected to be valiantly rescued from her prison all along.. but as the weeks went by her small candle of hope began to flicker.. began to die. And she began to wonder if life was really worth living, if the ones you loved with all of your heart did not return such a blessing.

She was pondering on such dark thoughts when the young boy scampered into her room. He had obviously not even noticed she was present as he buried his face in his hands sobbing. His small black wings shook up and down with the force and her heart nearly broke when she realized the truthfulness as to why he had come into her room in the first place. He hadn't wanted anyone to see him cry. She cursed such a barbaric land for it's selfishness towards children. What kind of life this child must have known. She suddenly felt almost ignorant, realizing that in this child's short life, he had witnessed more grotesque apparitions than she had in her entire 17 years. I say entire, simply because the child sobbing could not have been past the age of 6. In comparison, the two differ greatly.

Moving slowly and quietly, she made her way over to him, surprised that his superior hearing hadn't caught the commotion her dress made. She was no more than a foot from him when she tenderly stretched out her hand and brushed his cheek. Startled, he stared wide eyed at her.

"Shh.. don't be afraid." She cooed to him. He didn't seem convinced.

"My name's Bulma..and I promise I won't hurt you." He gazed up into her eyes, his own suspicious and untrusting in a manner only a child could pull off.

"Are you.. are you an angel?" he asked in a young raspy voice. She was mildly surprised he had even had to ask something so obvious. But then she had to scold herself. He was only about 6 years old.. not doubt far too young to have ever made the journey to heaven. All he knew of her was a mystery.

"Yes.." she replied softly, bending down to make him feel less intimidated.

"I've never seen an angel before. My daddy said you were evil and deceitful creatures." He scowled. She felt incredibly hurt by his painful bluntness and the expressions showed.

"He said you were hideous, disgusting monsters." She couldn't imagine why he was continuing. But part of her wanted to be convinced that he was simply trying to tell himself that. A small smile lit up his face and it seemed to Bulma that he had completely transformed.

"You don't look so bad to me." He stated beaming up at her. She rewarded him with a chuckle.

"Well, my father told me that all demon children were ticklish. But I'd rather find out for myself." She teased before gently attacking his sides. At first he tensed, as if such a gesture were completely foreign to him, but then reaction replaced unfamiliar and he giggled immensely nearly falling on the floor. Releasing him she led him over to a chair.

"What's your name little warrior?" she asked in that polite way that all grown ups address young children in. He fidgeted slightly underneath her unfamiliar gaze. Eyes that blue were completely none existent in the world he had come to know.

"My name's Gohan.. And I'm not a warrior.. Not yet anyways." He looked down as if such a statement was the ultimate shame. Bulma guessed as much that it was in such a barbaric culture. He looked up at her again in that same bright way that sent warm waves into her heart.

"Daddy says that if I train hard enough I can make my first kill within a year." The statement murdered all of the warm waves and replaced them with cold chills and a dead feeling in her stomach. She couldn't really imagine why she should be surprised. Vegeta had confided in her, if you could call blatant bragging by such a word, that he had slaughtered one of "her kind" when he was only a mere four years of age.

"It is an unimaginable honor to make your first kill," he had explained. "It is your first step of progress to manhood. To hunt alone and never return until totting the head of the enemy."

All her opinions of such a savage lifestyle were thrown to the way side by the tears forming in Gohan's round eyes. Before she could calm him, he had buried his eyes into his palms sobbing the word "Torro" several times.

"What is Torro?" she asked gently pulling him into her lap, a gesture he had hesitantly taken. She was sure he hadn't been embraced very often by the way his muscles spasmed at her touch. Still she held him firmly on her lap, pressed against her bosom as his tears flowed freely down his cheeks, a rare outbreak she was sure he had never before rewarded himself.

"Torro was my.. my father." He sniffed, looking through blurry eyes.

"He was one of the 15 slain in the outbreak. And now.. now he will never see me become the man he wanted me to be." More tears spilled down his puffy flesh though it had become evident he was trying to dissuade them.

"How do you know he will never see you again?" she asked him reassuredly. He seemed to frown in disappointment at her comment.

"Because.. I told you.. he's dead." Bulma was simply stumped. All her life she had been raised to believe that when a person is slain, they progress into an even grander kind of heaven. She should have guessed that such a belief was insolent in such a dismal place. She couldn't even award him an answer, only a shrug of apology and a shoulder to cry upon when further tears escaped.

That was how Vegeta found her when entering her articulate room. She sat in a chair rocking a young child in her arms. He immediately recognized the boy as one of the recently orphaned children he'd had the displeasure of informing of their father's death. Cold hearted as he admittedly was, the task was simply an unpleasant one. This child's session was no exception and he remembered quit clearly the grief stricken look that had quickly been over shadowed by a firm resolve to never show emotion. The kind of façade he had learned from an age unremembered. Never show the pain. Never show the hurt. Especially when they came from inside. The idea made him sick. But tradition was tradition and truth be told.. emotions made one weak.

He noticed the deep scowl on Bulma's face that immediately sent chills of pleasure running marathons up and down his spine. He loved when she was in feisty moods. It invigorated him to no end to verbally spare with her to the point when the anger set in and blessed her bright eyes with flames of rage.

"Finished torturing some God-forsaken soul in the dungeon?" She remarked slyly not even facing his direction. He grunted wishing he could have had the element of surprise on his behalf. She must have sensed his aura from the change in temperature.

"Apparently your father does not love you as much as I had believed him to. He has yet to answer my message." He stated coldly. He had no idea how deeply his words cut and Bulma was not about to allow him the satisfaction of knowing. But the truth was.. he had hit a mortally sore spot and the consequences were dire.

"He loves me enough." She stated in a dead monotone. The kind of monotone where you know a bombardment of words is just seeping from the seams to get out. But she remained silent, though he knew she longed to say much more. Apparently, he hadn't caught on to her sad attempt of a front. He was disappointed by her ignorance of him and scowled openly down at the whimpering child, still cradled pathetically in her arms.

"Stop pampering him, woman. It will make him weak." He ordered, glaring at the young boy sulking further into her chest frightened. Bulma sat the child onto his feet, allowing him to scamper out of the room before turning an icy cold gaze upon the demon.

"Why?" she demanded in a glacieritic tone.

"Are you afraid he may develop a heart Vegeta? Are you so afraid he wont be exactly like you?" She was certainly on fire today, he remarked silently to himself. Honestly though, she had managed to anger him as well as stun him with her bravery.

"What good is a heart Angel? Hmm? Having a heart certainly did not save you… look around you Princess." He nearly shouted, his short threads of a temper being snipped one by one.

"Your not in la la land anymore. Your in Hell. And no one is here to save you.. So explain to me where having a heart comes in to play a part in your being set free?" He demanded, his face close to her's. She couldn't even fathom an answer.

"Having a "heart" did not get me where I am today. I am the King of all Demons Princess. I own everything you set your eyes upon. And I am because I was raised to be. I was taught to be strong. I was taught to be the best. And in no where was I taught to have a heart!" His thunderous voice shook the walls but she refused to even reward his out break with a flinch. Rather, between us, I don't even think she noticed so caught up in anger as she was. Her teeth clinched in suppressed rage and she held her hands in tight white fists.

"Yeah.. look where you are today." She seethed sarcastically.

"Oh your really happy alright! HA! I apparently don't see you the way you see your self Oh High and mighty God of Evil. I don't see some powerful almighty King. I see a SELFISH, ARROGANT, POMPIS MONSTER!" She screamed every word as if it was a sentence all it's own. Vegeta's eyes shrunk into tiny piercing slits.

"Some day you will wake up and realize that no matter how many battles you win. No matter how many kingdoms you conquer or women you seduce, you will always be alone." Vegeta fought hard against his rebellious hand that longed to plunge itself into her chest and rip her precious organ from her body while holding it infront of her face.

"ALONE Vegeta. You will always be alone." She nearly sobbed the words, realizing in dead truth that she could apply them to herself. Alone. She had always been it and now was finally acknowledging it. She didn't want to live like that anymore. The question was.. could she live at all anymore.

The temperature in the room had sky rocketed to enormously dangerous levels and it became clear by the pulsing blood in Vegeta's eyes, that he was fighting an inward battle over whether or not to slaughter her where she stood. So here was the breaking point of her life. The decision she knew all her life she would have to make. Did she want it? Did she want to live?...

"Go ahead Vegeta….

Put me out of my misery.

You coward…"

Vegeta's anger reached poisonous levels until he nearly reached the breaking point of his sanity. His true demon side was scratching to be let loose and shed blood and he slowly began to let it take over before the realization of her plight made itself known. He smiled in her face, physically seeing it fall.

"It won't work Princess. I'm not going to set your father's dept free by slaughtering you." His wicked smirk grew as the first small puddles of water began to glisten upon the rims of her eyes.

"I don't give a fuck how miserable your disgusting life is." He moved closer until his mouth was near enough to her ear that his lips would graze the sensitive flesh.

"You aren't worth it."

Bulma's suicidal plight had failed. The choice had never really been her's to make. Her life had hung by his fingers like a puppet on a string begging for it's master to release it by cutting the binds and setting it free. He had denied her plea and now she was more his prisoner then every before. And so she did, what many woman do infront of men when at their wits end. She began to cry.

It was the strangest and most foreign sensation. With every sob came a sort of stabbing in his chest. What was this queer feeling? Could it be the slightest twinge of guilt? Vegeta thrust the absurd idea from his mind. He had done away with that useless emotion long ago. This much the proud demon would admit. As much as he despised her, he hated it much more when she cried.

"Why can't you just kill me Vegeta!" she bawled. It was a heart wrenching plea.. or.. well.. it would have been if used upon a creature blessed with such an organ.

Now this was even stranger to him. The more she sobbed the more beautiful she became. Such a remarkable creation she was becoming the more he knew her. Such a mystery was this intriguing apparition of a woman. And still, in her weakened emotional state, he had the intense urge console her in the only way he knew how to console himself.

"Don't you realize how lonely I am?" she wailed broken.

Even more information had made it's way known to him. How could he not have for seen it? Not that he cared… by no mean's he demanded to himself.. but it should have been so obvious. The confined creature had felt the sting of forced isolation. In you and I terms.. She was very lonely.

Suddenly, he looked at her only to see a ruby cloven porcelain vase soaring towards his face. He dodged right in the nick of time, hearing the thick object shatter on the wall behind him and feeling the thousands of pieces collide painfully with his back and wings. Turning in awe back at her, he noticed her grabbing another, full of blood red roses, and hurling towards him yet again.

"I HAD EVERYTHING!" She screamed throwing another.

"A MOTHER!" and another

"A FATHER!" and another

"AND YAMCHA!" Finding no more to throw, she shrank dejectedly down into the shards of glass, slicing her bare feet. She looked pitiful, weeping bitterly and making no attempt to conceal her pain. She was definitely something a mystery to a monster who had never really witnessed such a display. Would she never cease to amaze him?

"and you took them away from me." She whispered to the floor as tears slipped down her dull cheeks, puddling on her chin before stubbornly releasing themselves in droplets to the floor. Something stirred in Vegeta's chest as he mulled over what she had just said. Jealousy?

"Who.. Who is this Yamcha?" Whoa.. he had simply horrified himself with his uncharacteristically weak tone. She met his gaze looking somewhat defeated, if indeed such a quality could ever grace itself upon such a fiery soul of a woman.

"The Prince of East Heaven who I'm going to marry." She breathed as if such a statement had simply emptied her of all remaining strength. Her swollen bottom lip trembled as if she was about to start crying again. But she didn't and it relieved him beyond belief. His gaze remained on her purplish lips wondering why the quivering creations had captured him so. She seemed not even to notice, staring blankly at him with surprisingly dead eyes. Usually so vibrant and burning, it thoroughly disturbed him to see her eyes so empty.

"Why do you care so much for him?" He half pleaded, again dispising his weakness. What could have possibly transpired to make him even give a shit! Still, the jealousy remained, burning a pit at the bottom of his stomach and nearly rising into his throat.

"He is a mere Prince. I am a King." He stated in a commanding voice. As if such a tone could persuade her to believe his plead.

"He is nothing compared to me." He said things so firmly it was as if he could convince himself. Bulma merely stood up and walked gracefully towards him, ignoring the pain as shards of glass embedded themselves into the pads of her feet. She never left his gaze on her short journey and as she neared him a small smile appeared on her lips, completely blowing his mind as to what she could possibly be thinking. Her fingertips made themselves comfortable exploring the many wonders of the side of his face, admiring his strong cheek bone and impressive jaw line. Her touch was completely unpredicted and had most certainly caught him off guard. Still, he welcomed the contact, unexplainable as it was.

"Your right Vegeta." She whispered, dangerously close to his lips. He could feel her tempting hot breath beating against the soft flesh of his plump lips with every spoken word and wondered silently if she had any idea the effect of her closeness was having upon him.

"He isn't a King. He isn't as strong as you or as handsome." Vegeta smirked, openly acknowledging that he liked where this was going. But she removed her hand abruptly from his face, to his ultimate dismay. Walking up to the door, she ignored the puddles following behind her bleeding feet and rested her hand on the door frame, gazing at the bewildered demon.

"He is weak compared to you Vegeta. He's even weak compared to some Angels. He has scars on his face and doesn't have near the muscle definition you have." Vegeta was in his glory by her flattery. At least he was until she continued.

"But he can love Vegeta. He can love. And in this way alone.. you'll never be half the man he is."

Alright.. so I lied.. It's not out by 2 a.m. It's actually 2:46 am. Alright everyone.. I'm so tired Im seeing double.. but I finally fixed the paragraph problem and hope that everyone noticed. Oh and I had to remove my story and repost it so sorry to say.. all my beautiful reviews are gone.

Sorry

Love

Camaro