There's a memorable event for every girl, an experience every single one of us should cherish and treasure – whether referring to it with melancholy over the long lost first love or with disdain that it ever even occurred with the person it did. For the better or for the worse, each and every girl remembers this particular one night in her life . . .
. . . The night she loses her virginity.
Mine began with a simple kiss . . . Something that shouldn't affect one at all that powerfully the way it affected me . . . But then again, normal human contacts know nothing of a case of madness such as mine, an obsession so obscenely inadequate and complete that it absorbs your persona within itself and at the end of each day you can think of nothing else but that person, you see them when you close your eyes, you dream of being close to them, but daren't even step close to the confines of intimacy . . . You never have the audacity, even in your most courageous dreams, to think you can even so much as be allowed to touch that person intimately, without worrying of what would happen next, how they'd react, because you realize, even in your delirious unhealthy condition, that they just don't share your feelings, they're not even close to acknowledging your existence, not to mention anything other than a mere touch . . .
. . . And yet, there I was, in the middle of my once eerie horrifyingly-placid home with no movement to be detected by the high-tech sensors set all about the house to protect the building from potential burglars, having the insides of mouth explored by the one tongue I couldn't have wanted more and in the same time couldn't have even dreamt of feeling inside of me. It was a mind-dulling concept in itself – I was kissing Vegeta Ouji . . . My lips were moving against Vegeta's in the same sweetly torturous and ardent dance that I had seen him engaged with that girl what seemed an eternity ago . . . An eternity that had enforced its strenuous rules on my wretched soul, denying my vulturous gaze to even graze the tips of his finely shaped shoulders, too ashamed to even think of him, too humiliated to dream of him, of being alone in the same room with him . . .
The kiss was the most mind-boggling thing that ever happened to me. It wasn't as if I have kissed many – actually I had kissed no one before, as I already mentioned – but I was certain that my insane lust for the guy had something to do with the enforced weakness of my knees when before him. The sacred dance in which our mouths were engaged was a fevered one, primal and zealous, powerful and untamed, yet still there was something immeasurably sweet in it, tender and touching . . . A feeling unlike anything else I have ever felt before. His tongue stirred things inside of my body, emotions from within, that I haven't even known existed there. He awoke something that I thought I had buried forever after my father's drifting apart after mother's death.
His actions, caresses, or even the simple fact he was there begot powerful passion inside of me . . .
I raised myself as a girl that didn't want much in life, who didn't really have any goals for her future, the plans were made for me before I was even born even though the situation had drastically changed, and I lived the boring life of mine that was given to me not asking any questions – I did what I was supposed to, everyone was happy and I needn't take any choices. I didn't have to think for myself, I didn't have to strain myself with responsibility. I did everything on an automatic . . . before I laid eyes on him.
His appearance, his aura, his everything, it screamed to me from the distance even, it called to me and I knew I was lost at first sight. For the first time, I did something with thought, I wanted something, I needed something to stay sane . . .
And with that kiss . . . the last of that sanity was lost in the mind-blowing touch of his lips.
Every single one of my actions screamed 'inexperienced' and I knew he was aware of that fact. But it didn't really matter in that exact moment. As my eyes were closed, I couldn't help but wonder if that was truly happening, if I wasn't just dreaming with my trance and self-conviction reaching new heights within the land of my every day fantasies. As if to prove that he was corporeal, that it was truly him in front of me, my hands entangled themselves around his neck and my fingers laced with his spikes that looked so stiff and forced from the side, the obvious excess of gel applied to it making it sticky and not all pleasant to the touch . . . only to feel no gel keeping it straight up. The ebony tresses were smooth and – dare I say – fluffy. I could play with his hair, I realized, for hours and hours, the gentle touch of it sweeter than the best candy in the whole wide world.
I didn't even have the time to notice what was going on before I found myself sprawled on my bed with him atop of me, half of my clothing already gone. Once the union of our lips was broken, my self-consciousness started overwhelming me and, as if my pulse wasn't frequent enough, my heart started beating even harder. He would see me naked! He'd see me completely, utterly, absolutely naked! How much did you have to shave yourself before such . . . occurrences? Which parts should you shave most carefully? What was he going to think of my body? Would he taunt me later if there was something wrong with me? Would he stop if I didn't fit in his criterion for a girl worth sleeping with?
As worried as I was and becoming even redder with each passing second, I didn't miss the slightly puzzled expression of his as he unclasped my bra's latch. I wasn't sure what exactly to make of that . . . Before I could intercept a reason for his nonplus it was gone as fast as it came, only to be replaced with that familiar impish expression that made me grow goose flesh every time I saw it.
I won't get into detail . . . because I still feel sort of like a bashful virgin. Okay, so I still feel bashful, full stop. The only short way to describe what happened after all our clothes were gone is simply this one:
. . . Oh . . . my . . . God . . . !
I could never be sure if he was a sex deity for, as I numerously mentioned already, I had nothing to compare with, but I knew that to me he would always be a God, in every single way possible. He was the lord of my thoughts and desires and after that night, I knew I could no longer resist him at all . . . or at least not when we were alone in the same premise.
The night had been a rapture of all my human senses, all of them ablaze with desire, with the fervent flame of our passion. It was as if someone had detonated a bomb within my body, causing an eruption of violent élan from within me.
The self-consciousness that I felt was slightly smothered by his gentle actions which I'm not even sure he wanted to make, or if he meant them the way I understood them . . . But, no matter what it was he meant, what mattered was that I felt . . . content . . . My breasts, which I have always labelled as small compared to others', he marvelled subtly, caressing them tenderly with his soft fingers and palms as they bounced up and down on my ribcage as he grinded his body mercilessly against mine, his strident thrusts eliciting wave upon wave of ecstasy.
Somewhere in between my pristine moans of measureless rapture, my mind managed to imprint the picture of the small droplets of salty sweat dribbling down his tense facial muscles, strained from the building climax's intensity. His adroit hands extracted pleasure from places in my body I didn't even know existed, sending me hurling in a delirium to a place where there was nothing but tension. Tension and anticipation as the electrified ardency produces convulses in your body from the vehemence of your zenith, the moment your body yearns desperately, as if needing it the same way it needed oxygen. Vegeta's bicepses and tricepses contracted with each jab and his breathless moans stimulated my burst . . .
. . . Until it came . . . The first orgasm I have ever experienced hit me full force, and it left me shaking with the pleasure for some time before the excitement finally subsided and my muscles relaxed, letting the sweat cascade the sides of my body as my back dropped against the firm mattress of my bed and my fingers let go of his shoulders. I hadn't even realized that I had been clinging to him, trying to pull him closer into me before we had separated . . .
. . . But that by far wasn't the end of the night for me . . . We repeated, again and again, again and again, until my frail body, not used to such strenuous work, could take no longer and sleep took me in a loving embrace in the early hours of the morning . . .
A tiny cloud of dissipating smoke rose over the balcony of Bulma Briefs' room as the male, clad only in his boxers, exhaled heavily from the cigarette he was having. Usually, after sex, he couldn't just lie down and sleep . . . even though sometimes he truly got tired of the night's activities . . . He just didn't feel comfortable in a bed where he wasn't alone . . . He couldn't find peace if there was another next to him on the ride to dream land and in the end, instead of trying to enforce some sleep upon himself, he'd just go out, smoke a cigarette or two, and then leave the girl all to herself and her memories of their night together as all his 'sleepovers' proved to be memorable ones to his countless lovers. That had been his tactic since last year and it always happened that way . . . and most often he never even heard a word of the girls he screwed ever again.
But this time he knew it would be different. Maybe Juuhachigou had been right when she had told him not to even flirt with the new girl. He snarled. If it was just flirting he had done, things would stand differently now . . .
He wasn't even sure why he had slept with her, though he suspected that these subconscious reasons differed greatly from the uncertainty of why he had slept with all those other bimbos. She hadn't been bad; her inexperience was more than obvious to him, but it didn't really bother him. She had been stiff and tense in the beginning, while some thoughts still registered in her mind, but once the heat of the moment overtook both of them, she gave in to her body's instincts and things became a little bit more ordinary without information taking detours to enter her brain and receive its approval. True, she was quite tight, but she was a virgin – it was only to be expected . . .
All in all, she didn't prove to be anything special . . . and so she would just go in that long line where all his previous conquests would go. Hell, even girls that did better than her he had written off as nothing special and hadn't paid a bit attention to afterwards. He couldn't even recognize their faces as someone he had seen before, not to mention done anything else with . . . She was of no use to him any longer since he got what he wanted from her – a release. She had been a slight challenge at school, but when alone with him, she turned like jelly. What was fun about that? She was no different than any of the other girls! She was nothing to him! He didn't want to be in the same bed, even, with her again. He'd find another lay for next week, month . . .
She was conquered territory to him now and, therefore, of no interest to him. After all, who's stupid enough to conquer again something that is already theirs?
And that he knew . . . She was his, and whether he wanted her or not was a different topic . . . because he had taken her virginity.
When I finally awoke from the most peaceful and deepest slumber in ages, my body ached all over from the actions of the previous night. Even after I slept, it was still tense and regenerating. I had just woken up but I wanted to go to sleep again . . . No, I had school to do, a nerdy part of my mind called, the first logical thought in a while finally registering in my brain.
I rested myself with great effort on my elbows to look at the illuminating in the dark (darkness? What time was it really) night stand electronic alarm clock that I trusted with my early rising every day of the week.
By the time I had woken up from my dreamless pleasant sleep, day had already turned to dusk and, therefore, there was no need for me to get up for school simply because . . . well, there was no school in 8 pm . . .
Collapsing on my back against the comfy mattress I noticed that there was no sign of Vegeta. I strained my ears to hear movement somewhere on the storey, perhaps even to the kitchen, but, first of all, I had no such capabilities and, second, there seemed to be absolutely no movement other than my breathing anywhere in the house. It was the same intimidating placidity that it was before and had been like that ever since mother passed away . . . He had most probably gone to school and then went back home, perhaps not to draw attention to our previous night coupling . . .
. . . At least that was what I tried to assure myself, forcing a disturbing and appalling thought out of my mind, and, hopefully, blocking it out for good . . .
As she neared school she felt her heart rate increase its frequency, making her feel already uneasy. How should she act around him now? What did their union mean to him? What was she to him now? After the impossible had already happened, she couldn't help thinking that she could even become his girlfriend now, even though the concept of that made a flush creep on her pallid cheeks.
When she sat herself in her seat on their desk, he wasn't there. She hadn't seen him on her way there and she couldn't see him anywhere in the room. Though this wasn't by any means strange as he was usually late for all classes . . .
"Hey, B!" ChiChi exclaimed as she dumped herself on the chair on the desk in front Bulma's. "Why did you skip school yesterday? You got us worried; what with you being a model student and all . . . It was just plain odd. Are you alright?"
There were two things that Bulma paid heed to in ChiChi's words. For one, the brunette had practically just called her a nerd and a dork. But then again, that was what she was to be considered, being so organized about her studying and all and therefore she paid little attention to that fact. What made her feel uneasy and gave her a weird sense of comfort was the "you got us worried" remark. They were all worried about her – a no one that had intruded upon their class, a lowerclassmen girl that showed off with knowledge that they hadn't had at her age and they still accepted as one of them, even letting her into their tidy clique of close friends . . . A huge smile spread on Bulma's faintly pink lips.
"I was just a bit tired is all, Chi." The explanation was vague and even though she loved ChiChi and Juuhachigou more than any other girls, she wasn't completely sure if she should add the reason for her exhaustion or if ChiChi even cared about details. Perhaps she was just saying this; maybe she chose her words in attempt to be tactful and nice to the newcomer . . .
"Tired? How can you possibly be tired after just a month? You're Wonder Girl! You can't be tired of that after the miracle you did, woman!" Her hands slapped on Bulma's desk, making her backpedal a bit from her retirement on the horizontal surface of her desk. "Now stop kidding me and tell me what's wrong!" There was a fire in ChiChi's eyes that frightened and fascinated Bulma at the same time. "Should I go beat someone up? Are you wearing make up to conceal bruises?" Before the aquamarine hair-coloured girl could deny, the brunette was already almost over her, trying to scrub her face free of potential concealing creams and other make up.
"What the hell are you doing to her, ChiChi?" Juuhachigou chuckled in mirth as she observed the struggling girl in her long time friend's firm grip. A pair of obsidian eyes fixed on her for a second before reverting back to the resisting new friend of theirs.
"Oh, hi, Juu," she greeted nonchalantly, muttering something incoherent to Bulma while rubbing her face with a hand. "I'm scrubbing off the make up she has on to see where some bastard has hit her." And with that the stubborn brunette refused to believe her prey's demands to let go of her since there was no make up.
"You know what, Chi," Juu asked as she sat herself on Vegeta's chair. "I really think she wears no make up . . ." She barely held back her smirk as she watched the suffering girl writhe under ChiChi's powerful hands.
"That's because it is ingeniously applied to deceive us!" She sounded like a paranoid madwoman. "But I'm not letting her go before she admits it!"
"Oh, come on, let her go, and stop being childish." Juuhachi rolled her eyes when observing the younger girl's pain became boring. After a few more struggles Bulma was finally released to take a decent breath in. Then the sapphire orbs glared daggers at her dark haired friend.
"Never do that again, you got that?" Her cheeks were burning from the violent way they had been rubbed only seconds ago. ChiChi's eyes averted guiltily toward the desk before she composed herself again.
"Why weren't you at school? Give me the real reason or this time I'm going to be serious!" The threat had intimidated Bulma more than anything yet that ChiChi had done to her. She hadn't been serious a second ago? Then she didn't want to know how it actually felt when the other girl was serious . . .
"I told you, I was tired!"
"Too scarce," Juu added just the way her friend had, the brunette now nodding insistently. "Why were you so tired as not to even show your face at school?"
"Come on, you guys! I'm fine, as you see! What does it matter and what's with the cross-examination?" She really didn't feel alright with talking about her first night with them, although she was ready to tell them even her darkest of secrets . . . The thing was that she was still embarrassed when even thinking of the night, not to mention talking about it and discussing it with her newfound friends and, as they probably labelled themselves as, her guardians in the class.
"What are you hiding from us?" Juuhachi asked suspiciously, her eyes squinting in effort to read the secret concealed in Bulma's cerulean orbs. The girl had been taken aback by the sudden question, even though it was expected, what with her own suspicious behaviour and resistance to answering any questions concerning the previous day. Maybe she should tell them . . . After all, they would understand, wouldn't they? Vegeta was a handsome boy and most probably any girl would want to be in his embrace . . . if even just for a night . . . They would probably understand or at least ask her how she felt . . . It would be easier to her if she could discus it with someone . . . Maybe she'd feel better if she had people that knew Vegeta better to explain to her how she was to act around him now that things had changed so drastically . . .
She opened her mouth to answer truthfully but she spotted the lord of her thoughts right behind ChiChi. His eyes were shooting warning glares to her, daring her to spill their seemingly little secret to the world. For some reason, there was something quite intimidating in his eyes . . . He was a completely different person from the insatiable lover she had last night . . . Had she done something wrong? Had she made a mistake? She couldn't know as long as the two of those girls weren't out of earshot, she realized . . .
"I was up all night working," she began, the wheels of her mind turning with rapid speeds to create a convincing lie, even though Vegeta's protruding onyx gaze and Juuhachigou's seeing-though-her-soul one made the process harder to achieve. She was a genius; she had to think of something! Yes, that was it! She was a genius and what did geniuses do? She leaned in conspiratorially, as if she was about to tell them the biggest secret she could have, making a single muscle on Vegeta's face twitch at the thought. "You see, it's still quite a secret, but I guess I can tell you guys since you're my two best friends in the whole wide world."
"Stop trying to fool us out of it and just spill!" Juuhachigou hissed but Bulma paid no heed to her malicious tone.
"I'm making a new type of a space pod that can move with a speed near that of the sound even though I was aiming for the speed of light and then I'll have to create a new type of fuel for it after it's designed and ready for mass production . . . well, as mass of production it will be able to get, what with the parts being incredibly expensive and all . . . "
"What!" ChiChi exclaimed disbelievingly after the story was told. "As if we'd believe that kind of lie!" she exclaimed again, her arms crossing over her chest. Bulma backpedaled and looked hurt at the suggestion. After all, it was her current project, although it wasn't the reason why she was up all night.
"Who would want you building that?" Juuhachigou raised a skeptical eye brow as well.
"Are you kidding me? Do you have any clue how much money NASA promised to pay Capsule Corp. if I succeed?" It was the truth, the amount was . . . let's just say colossal didn't nearly cover a quarter of it. Every time she tried to count the zeroes after the number she got lost and had to count them again, only to try the same action until her head started to ache. "Do you have any idea what heights people will be able to reach if I manage?" Before the argument could continue further, the first bell for the day rang, sending all students to their seats. Juuhachi dragged her desk-mate towards their places, sending one last dubious glare to their new friend, as if speechlessly informing her they'd clear that one up later and that they weren't done with her.
Once his seat was released of Juuhachigou's presence, Vegeta sat himself next to his previous night lover, eyes pinned forward as he muttered, "Nice going, Sherlock." She threw him a disbelieving glare.
"It wasn't a lie, you people!" She exclaimed, almost hurt by their distrust of her mind's capacities. "I have already made the craft that travels by the speed of sound. All I need to do now is find a way to create fuel that can carry it even faster and have no energy boundaries! I wasn't lying . . ." she trailed off solemnly and then finally recoiled, remembering who she had been talking back to just now. Her face turned to stone and her movements stiffened considerably with nervousness, even though the untrained (and uncaring) eye such as Vegeta's couldn't notice those reactions.
Before she could launch herself into another endless tirade of questions inside the confines of her mind, Vegeta's husky whisper reached her ears in a low tone so no one but her could hear his words . . .
"If you tell anyone about last night I cannot promise your well-being."
The appalling statement registered in her mind with tremendous speed, making her mind block out anything else for the whole period, rendering her hand immobile during a class for the first time in her life. The thought she had put so much effort to kick out of her mind came crushing down on her, squashing her under its immeasurable pressure.
She had been ruthlessly, brutally used . . .
I think I might have died at that point because no oxygen seemed to reach my brain, not a muscle in my body moved and my mind was utterly blank as an unwritten on sheet of paper. I was stiff with the realization of painful reality . . . I was betrayed . . .
I had betrayed myself . . . I had given my everything, set my heart and soul for so long in a person that didn't appreciate it . . . I had set my mind and soul in someone who didn't care a bean about me, even after he had slept with me . . . I had given my precious virginity to a person that hadn't even wanted it in the first place, didn't even care about it because it meant nothing to him, because I meant nothing to him. I was just another prey to his charms, a puppet in his hands. I was no longer even a friend or something interesting, as he had taken everything he could from me, ripped my dreams and fantasies out of my grasp and stomped all over them . . . destroying them and reducing them to millions of tiny glass shards that you can't compile as a whole again even if you spent a life time trying to.
And that was exactly how I felt. Broken, thrown away, lifeless, meaningless . . . The thought made me feel claustrophobic inside my skin, made me want to zip it down and hide somewhere, leaving the Bulma everyone knew just a soulless doll . . . while my mind found a place to rest, my heart found a refuge from the pain that wrenched it unstoppably inside my chest.
Betrayal can't even have you begin picturing in your mind the way I felt . . . I felt tiny enough to be squished with his pinkie finger . . . I felt more humiliated than if I had been seen naked in front of the whole school . . . I felt more betrayed and shattered than when my mother started referring to the air in her embrace, which she always held as if she was cradling a baby, as me, her eyes blind to the slightly grown up version of the infant her confused mind recalled . . . I felt more alone in the whole world than when I realized that my father didn't care enough about me to forget some of his turmoil to help me pull through the stress I had to endure at the fragile age of only eight . . .
He didn't care, didn't want me, he didn't need me, he couldn't give a damn if I died right then, right there . . . Because I meant nothing to him . . . Because my sacrifices, my dreams and my wishes weren't enough for him to even look at me . . . Because I couldn't fit in his idea of a girlfriend . . . Because I didn't prove a satisfying lay . . . Because the magic of our coupling meant nothing to him . . .
. . . Because I wasn't even of any use to him . . .
The impact of the words made me experience a sorrow greater than my body could take . . . The agony overwhelmed me from inside, making it impossible to even breathe as I felt like I would burst from within any second . . .
. . . And I couldn't even bring myself to cry . . .
The following days were a blur to her. She was grim and gloomy the whole time, she didn't listen to anything anyone told her. She didn't even care enough to pay attention to what Vegeta was doing, something she couldn't keep herself from doing before. She was bitter and hurt, deeply and agonizingly hurt with an invisible wound from which the blood wouldn't stop oozing no matter what she tried and how hard she tried doing it . . . because whenever she remembered of him, the wound started bleeding anew . . .
Her world went black and white and mute in her grief like those ancient movies . . . She didn't think, even though her grades didn't indicate that anything was wrong with her. The only thing that had changed about her was her more than ever un-talkativeness and the slight shine in her eyes was seemingly lost forever, never to break through the thickness of the clouds over her soul . . . She had been broken, never to be whole again . . . Her one and only dream, unreachable to her, ripped out of her grasp and incinerated to tiny insignificant dust . . . scattered by the restless winds of violent reality . . . She would never know love and compassion . . . because she would never let herself fall for a boy again . . .
Or at least that was what she thought before she met him . . .
Bulma was staring at the blank sheets of her notebook, seated in her chair as ever while someone slumped on the desk in front of her. She could care less; she didn't even register the action in her mind. She was too caught up in self-bashing to notice. But when the tanned arms of a male leant in on her desk, a pair of hands blocking her view, her cerulean eyes rose impassively to lock their gaze with the most lively onyx orbs she had ever seen . . . a massive amount of energy and a happy-go-lucky attitude radiated contagiously from them . . . Just his gaze could warm her frozen heart and reactions to life a bit, with the power a tiny fire could soothe your body at the verge of a hypothermia . . .
"Why the long face recently, Wonder Girl? Did someone die?" He meant it as a joke, she could see, but someone did die. She did. At least mentally, she did. And she wasn't in the mood for the 'Wonder Girl' crap everyone was feeding her . . . She didn't even want to think about it, as it reminded her of that obdurate listless bastard Vegeta . . . the bastard she was willing to even give her life for, only to have it all thrown back in her face by the brutal reality – she didn't even know him and was yet ready to give her life for his . . . ? Maybe she deserved the pain?
"You should go have your eyes and reflexes checked. Are you blind? I'm in no mood to be hit on." She growled at him as she said that. He gave a hearty laugh at that.
His laughter . . . So devoid of anything other than carelessness and purity . . . His voice spoke volumes of the way he had lived his life . . . His chuckle was pure and it came truly from the insides of his untainted soul, his view clear for the beauty and fascination of life. It was a sound so much different from her desk mate's impish chuckle, which held so much of life's perversion behind it . . . the aura of the person releasing it clear for the trained ear's hearing. She was genuinely surprised to feel the ice of her frost-bound heart adopt a huge menacing web-like crack at the mere presence of this unknown character.
"I'm really sorry, it's just that you remind me so much of my sister when she's in a foul mood." He changed his sweet baritone voice to a deeper mock-bass one. "Get out of my sight, Yamcha, or I'll use my Uzi against you for real this time." The urge to giggle at the statement bordered the untamable but she still refrained from doing so.
"Didn't you just say sister?"
"Yes and her voice becomes this frightening masculine over-testosterone possessed sound that you just heard . . . or at least something near it. You just have to hear it to know what I mean." He shrugged.
"Uzi?" Bulma raised a skeptical eye brow again.
"It's her most favourite toy. The only thing that she possibly likes more is the air-gun that she has so much fun sniping me with . . . Thank God for blank cartridges . . ." This time she couldn't stop herself. She laughed for the first time in what seemed like eternity to her sorrow-ridden soul. The boy smiled kind-heartedly at her, a spark of liveliness jumping in his eyes. "See, it doesn't hurt, does it? Laughing once in a while, that is."
"Sometimes it's harder than you can imagine," she muttered once her mirth subsided.
"How about if I make you laugh again you let me treat you a burger and we see what we can do about this permanent bad mood of yours, eh?" He asked suggestively and she rolled her eyes.
"I think I told you I'm not in the mood of being hit on and I doubt you'll manage anyway," she challenged impassively.
"That I've heard thousands of times, every time I survive a direct blank cartridge to the head but I'm still here and bugging you, so you can guess how successful I am with managing things." He grinned from ear to ear. "You remind me of Maron . . ." he said suddenly, making Bulma's eye brows narrow greatly.
"Do not compare me with that repulsing low-life whore," she warned darkly, a fire of hatred ablaze in her eyes.
"True, she has the mental capacity that barely rivals this chair's," he patted his seat's back rest. "And I believe my cat will outsmart her on one of those IQ tests, but that's an entirely different topic." Bulma couldn't help a slight smile that curled the corners of her mouth. 'Just a bit more,' he thought. "If you keep that face you'll risk turning into Nappa."
"Who?" she didn't understand.
"The bald macho man over there, as tall as a mountain and grumpier than humanly possible."
"And just how is it that I'll turn like Nappa by just lacking the same enthusiasm about life that you seem to possess, oh Knowledgeable one?" she mocked.
"Well for an example you'd have the glare of a serial killer and your eye brows will be frozen in this kind of expression," he demonstrated what he meant, his eye brows narrowing in a ridiculous, taunting kind of way. "Also, from gritting and grinding your teeth so much you risk a reverse bite jaw, like this," his bottom jaw extended slightly forward. "And, finally," he barely spoke as he experienced difficulty with his jaw forward the way it stood, "which is the most scary concept of all, you may turn into a giant bag of muscles and a pea-sized brain which you have to glance at with a microscope to detect even any wrinkles on the surface of." His face returned the way it was, the girl at his front smiling skeptically again as if he had just grown a horn on his head.
Before she could retort anything to that, the other occupant of her desk joined them, a malignant look in his eyes as he threw Yamcha a heated glare. The other boy didn't pay any heed to Vegeta's warning gaze and greeted him happily, "Hey, Veg'! How's life going?"
"Perfect once you remove your annoying presence from around me," was the gruff answer he received.
"Gee man, what's up with you? Did I say something wrong?" He glanced at Bulma for support, who just as stubbornly refused to glance at the boy next to her.
"You did something wrong by existing," the other male informed him. Yamcha didn't even have the time to think of a retort as Bulma jumped in the offensive as well.
"Why don't you just do us all a favour and shut up?" She snapped malignantly at the spiky-haired teen, which recoiled with a whip of his head toward her, an incredulous stare adorning his onyx eyes. But she was no longer looking at him, or sitting next to him for that matter. She had already gathered Yamcha's arm in her hand and was pulling on the boy's sleeve to get up as well. "Come on, let's go somewhere we don't have assholes jumping down our throats for no apparent reason whatsoever, hm?"
With that the pair of them disappeared out of sight towards the canteen to continue their conversation, whatever it was. What had pissed off Vegeta in the first place was that the little shit made Bulma laugh . . . A beautiful sound . . . the thought of which he had squished immediately after realizing what he had just let slip through his mind. She was no longer all grim and frustrated . . . Her mood would change only by that little bastard's voice even . . . And she wouldn't even glance at him, Vegeta!
He had no idea why it bothered him, but he felt the need to kick Yamcha out of the picture for no reason whatsoever. And what had she done when he attempted to free her of that worm's annoying presence? She had lashed back at him! The same girl that crawled in his feet only days ago had just told him in the most sincere way humanly possible to shut up! The nerve of that bitch!
He stood still, absolutely shock-ridden, for the best of the next period . . .
As time progressed, Vegeta hoped that the irritating company of the desert rat, as he liked to call the scar-faced boy, would leave the girl next to him alone. He had no such luck. What he got was quite the contrary. The woman actually seemed to enjoy the scarred fool's presence, seemed to find some sort of solace from the world inside her small fragile body when around him . . . And that pissed Vegeta off.
Her pallid cheeks would adorn with colour every once in a while when that little bastard was around the way he had made them turn pink before . . . She would turn red in embarrassment every once in a while the way he had made them red with arousal before . . . She would laugh with that brat the way she had never laughed with him . . .
He was disturbed by the fact all these things actually mattered to him, they made his blood boil in his veins. He wanted to take a grip on that little shit and wrench his head free from his shoulders, toss it in a garbage can and dispose of the rotting corpse in some ditch in the centre of the city. He didn't even care about her. He tried to tell himself she was nothing special . . . She felt like nothing special the night he had taken her virginity, she meant nothing to him . . . He didn't give a damn about her, he was already on his way to screwing better girls, which knew what they were doing . . .
. . . And still there was this small voice in the back of his mind that reminded him of the next day after Bulma met Yamcha for the first time when she brought her half-ready blueprints of the spacecraft that raced the speed of sound. A proof that such a thing really existed and was already near completion the evidence to him that she wasn't just any girl . . . There were many things that made her unique and incredibly special . . . And her clumsiness in bed had been something . . . something that he miraculously found himself missing! Could you even begin to believe it? It was so incredible his mind couldn't digest it! It was a concept so foreign he wondered what the cause of the sudden change of heart was.
What he knew was that, selfish to the core as he was, merciless to other people's feelings as he was, he wanted to have the girl's laughter to himself, her feelings to himself, her mood swings in the palm of his hand. He knew he could easily control her if only he set his mind into it. There was something oddly familiar about her which he couldn't quite put his finger on . . . and he had a strange feeling that it had something to do with the ease with which he could manipulate her and her feelings. Whatever it was, he was bent on succeeding.
Even though he assured himself he cared none about her, that he didn't need her but felt obliged to play with her for a while, he couldn't help the adrenaline rush and the anger that built in his body every time he imagined her frail little body writhing in pleasure beneath that unworthy rat, her finely filed nails digging in someone else's shoulders and scratching someone else's back . . . He didn't want the fucker to experience that . . . He wouldn't let him have her . . . She was his and only his! She was his to control, his to do whatever he wanted with her, to please her or hurt her any way he wanted to! She was his possession! His toy!
Slowly, but surely, Vegeta was coursing a certain way to madness . . .
. . . It was possessiveness towards this enigmatic female that excited him at the simple thought, turning him in an insane megalomaniac for more and more power over her . . .
And he knew his mind was already made up, whether he liked to admit it or not . . .
. . . To his subconsciousness, she was his and only his . . . He was her possessor, she was his possession . . . and he would have it no other way . . .
What do we have here? Vegeta's a total bastard and a very complex-driven creature! Will he really succeed in controlling Bulma the way he wants to or maybe she's already over him? What will happen with her and Yamcha if their little friendship keeps going? If you want to know you'll have to keep writing them reviews and I'll try to keep writing them chapters and we'll all get along fine.
Sorry for the especially long chapter anyway, but I hope you read it as it may take quite some time before I write anything again . . . Don't forget to check my bio as it will certainly answer some questions for you, while if you want to know why the hell truly I have stopped writing, you should check my live journal, the link to which is in the bio again. No, I am not trying to make you read my shit. I just want to assure myself a life at least until I turn eighteen. (Laughs)
Yours sincerely, Dark Hope Assassin.