Chapter 5 – Exorcise The Demons From Your Past by Iamparadoxia
Again and again, he pounded and pummelled with all his might, shattering the training bots ; he felt disgraced at his lack of self control when faced with the temptation of her body, and to make matters worse, he found himself reliving the moment, rushing his blood south. To distract himself, he spent the entire day in the GR, pushing himself to the limit until every muscle was at the verge of tearing.
Sweet misery, he thought to himself; it was all he deserved, nothing more. Not this monster; no, not this murderer, destroyer of planets, harbinger of death... All he saw in his mind was Frieza's laughing visage, the same face that haunted his dreams, the one present when he saw his home planet ravaged. The face that laughed cruelly as hands ripped King Vegeta's heart out through the royal insignia on the king's armor. There was so much blood, it looked as though the growing red puddle would keep on growing as it engulfing all that was left of his childhood memories.
A moment's distraction was all it took; the last droid fired a shot off, catching him off guard, hitting him in the face. The same wound that had brought him out of the GR and into the temptress's sight opened up again, and once more, blood flowed freely. With an angry roar, he kicked the droid down; the brutal force tore the robot in half, its mechanical entrails scattering, reminiscent of how viscera would violently burst away from open body cavities when he dealt a killing blow.
Falling to his knees, he sat there motionless. He touched his face, and saw that his hand was covered in blood. He stared at it, the echos of past battles ringing in his head. With the same hand, he had touched the onna; on more than one occasion did he want to hurt her, let her know how much he was hurting inside, but a glance at her face stayed his hands. She trusted him.
No one's ever trusted him before. But she did; even when he had his hand around her neck. The same hands now covered in blood as it was many times before. What freaked him out even more was that he held her head gently once on the fateful day that they shared a tender kiss; surely, it couldn't have been him, he thought. But he could remember vividly how she felt beneath him, willingly opening up to him as he used her. He used her.
Not only was he a failure, he was a loser, now, too. Nausea rose up in his chest, and he began feeling light-headed. He had become a man without honour as well as being a failure. He stood up and wandered out of the chamber, ending up under a big tree in the courtyard. At that particular moment, when he felt like he couldn't possibly feel any worse, a certain blue haired angel crossed his path.
A day out was what she thought she needed; a day out alone in town at the art gallery, her favourite restaurant, or perhaps in the park where she could chill out and enjoy what little time she had before the androids came. To forget how cold Vegeta seemed after the sultry booze fuelled episode that ended with her sneaking back to her room wearing nothing but a towel.
She was all dressed up, wearing her favourite sun dress when she opened the front door to find Yamcha's sorry ass parked up front, ready to charm her with his rogueish smile. Only this time, instead of falling into bed together as they would have many times before, they ended up in a screaming match, with Yamcha playing the martyr card. As usual, he made her feel bad that she was privileged.
"Poor little rich bitch, what does she know about suffering? You're a spoiled bitch, Bulma, and you know it!" Yamcha was foaming at the mouth at this point; how dare she refuse him? 'Who does she think she is,' a venomous voice whispered in his ear. As far as he was concerned, she was HIS.
"You don't fucking own me, Yamcha! You never have, you never will! You broke, drunken creep!" The door slammed hard and he tried to stop her by pinning his body weight onto the door, eventually winning the fight for entry. She had managed to get as far as the luxurious garden by the time he chased her down; she had lost a heel, and was currently struggling to run away from him as fast as she can.
The yellow of her sundress was now smeared with mud and grass stains; she ran as far into the hedge maze that was always a hit with the guests at a gala dinner; she remember having used to play hide and seek in the maze as a little girl. The idea that she was now playing hide and seek to escape her abusive drunken ex's violent touch made her stomach churn; now this place is tainted with this memory, this fear, this terror, the panic of running away for your personal safety... from someone you thought you once loved. She could hear him looking for her; he cursed her name and told her of how pathetic and useless she really was, how her life had no meaning, all things that you know aren't true he somehow makes her believe by power of sheer intimidation.
She was sobbing as she ran aimlessly through the winding bowels of the puzzle, not knowing when he might spring from a corner and take her roughly as he did before, angry, determined to break her in two, emotionally, physically, sexually. She hid at the edge of a corner, eyes peeking, straining for any signs of movement. For a minute there, she thought she lost him, and she dared not to move. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, just when she thought she was safe, angry hands came through the hedge greenery, grabbing at her, snagging her clothes and trying to pull her through the tangle of now-destroyed precious privet trees, of which her mother would be very angry, should she ever learn of the ruination of her garden plants.
A gaping hole in the maze wall hedge and muffled shrieks that peeled like bells in the night was all that remained when her assailant dragged her out; the royal extra terrestrial enigma of a being had been tailing the heiress ever since his senses keened onto the distressing ripple in her chi; he could feel her distress and fear, and before he could even think of it, he shadowed that pathetic wretch Yamcha who reeked of cheap alcohol. His annoyance and intolerance of the desert bandit was now ten folds; not only was this idiot creating emotional havoc for his already distressed hostess whom he happened to feel possessive over, his weakness as a warrior was what made him loathe the man intensely.
He suffered no delusions that he was a knight prince in shining armour; the remains of his battle clothes from what seemed to be from another life years ago was at the bottom of the sliding closet, in pieces and covered in dark red and black stains. Fire reined in his veins, and he could feel his blood coarse through his being. Even if he did save her from Yamcha, he knew in his heart that it will never make up for the fact that he allowed himself to touch her, to suckle from her lips and to fuck her as she laid there on his bed, docile and trusting of the violent criminal currently defiling her body with his bloodied hands... he can still remember how open she looked, how apprehensive her eyes looked, as though she had already given up. He longed to see her be glorious as she was before, when that idiot was dead and he had time to know her back on Planet Namek, where they played cat and mouse whilst their lives hung in the balance.
Now that he knew the reason for this beautiful flower's slow decay, he felt driven to cause the agent of her torment great physical pain, as though to pay tribute to the blue angel who was benevolent enough to show the likes of him a moment of tenderness. Silently, he stalked the intruder, advanced combat training and super human senses allowing him the clear upper hand.
For a while, there seemed to be no sight of him, despite the obvious fluctuation in chi; there was no confirmed visual sighting. It was then that he saw her, fearfully crawling in the dark, her beautiful dress torn and muddied; a sad vision that clenched at his heart, seeing her looking like a butterfly that survived the hurricane... he observed from the dark how she kept low, trying to keep calm whilst figuring a way out of the intricate maze in total darkness; the garden lights strewn amongst the branches of the maze trees were off, and the moon was hidden behind thick clouds; he knew she didn't have a chance to defend herself should he decide to ravish her right there and then. His treacherous mind wandered to the night previous, where she bared herself to him body and soul, how her face was red, lips puffy from his aggressive sampling of her skin.
He was far into the memory of that heavenly night when suddenly, that good for nothing Yamcha grabbed her from behind the hedge; her startled scream echoed in the dark, and immediately, his senses went into overdrive. Soundlessly he pursued his enemy, the intruder whose hands were currently around that slender neck of hers, dotted with red marks made by the very lips that curled back in a feral snarl.
"You cheating little cunt, who else have you been fucking?" he snarled as he tightened his grip; breath choked out of her, and she started to thrash. "You're mine, you slut, do you hear me?" The warning came out in a deep, angry growl, one that would chill any prey's blood. "You worthless piece of dead cunt meat," he said, laughing.
Before the price could rescue the damsel in distress, before he could blink, even, she kneed him in the balls. Keeling over, Yamcha coughed and howled, his crown jewels smashed against a bony knee; she looked so frail, it amazed him that she was able to give the creep one decent crippling blow. Even if it meant provoking him into slugging her in the face, giving her a black right eye; it was this that prompted Vegeta to step in, grab the son of a bitch by the arm and twist it as hard as he can. The snap broken bones came home with a hollow echo as the first rains started to fall, succeeded by the bandit's pained screams. It was only then that the security personnel found them, flashlights and dogs barking, a sound that took him by surprise when he heard it for the first time. He didn't pick up on their scent or movement; it was as though he had zoned in on the task of eliminating the threat currently hurting a woman. A woman whom he owed the debt of sheltering him and taking him in, putting up with his wonderful, warm as a rock in the ice tundra personality with flair and resentment, one that seemed to fuel the tension between them.
They brought her in, laid her gently in her bed, the security team dealing with the police and Yamcha; after giving his statement to the officer of the law and ensuring that Bulma will be alright, as well as reluctantly agreeing for a paramedic to sew his wounded brow shut properly, Vegeta receded back into the shadows of his gravity room, where he would proceed to punish himself for his weakness that has tainted the beautiful onna by training strenuously in simulated 250 times gravity.
The training session lasted 4 gruelling hours; his body felt battered and drained, and though he was exhausted and would love nothing more than to fall face down into a fluffy down pillow as he practically blacked out after unwinding in a steamy hot shower, he felt a niggling that pointed towards the balcony of her room; her glass doors were open, and the chambermaids were attending to her every need. He waited for an hour or two more before they had made sure that Bulma was safe and sound and rested before ascending like a thief into her bedroom, watching over her as she lain asleep. Even as he waited, he could smell the scent of clean soap and warm water in the air, wafting from her private bathroom as she cleaned up from the evening's theatrics. He knew which kind of soap it was that she used; it was the soap that seemed to be in every bathroom on the compound; Mrs Brief's favourite brand of soap, organic soy soap scented with benzoine, a desert tree that produced aromatic embers. The fragrance reminded him of his visit to a desert on the outskirts of his father's kingdom in the east, he remember playing in the dunes, the smell of resinous bark thick in the air. Had he inherited the kingdom, it was a sight he would have loved to share with Bulma; he would ensure that she was his Queen, and that she will not be denied anything she could have ever hoped for.
The sense of despair falls back and brings him crashing down as soon as he remembers how he has yet to achieve the status of the Legendary, the super Saiyan. The fact that that third class low ranking soldier managed to surpass him shattered a great deal if his already wounded ego.
Her pale, anaemic skin was in stark contrast with the angry purplish red bruise that swelled her eye shut. She was too beautiful to deserve this; his fists clenched, wishing that he had acted sooner so that he might have prevented her from being hurt.
She had been silent since they brought her in, and she kept it throughout the night. She told the security team not to inform her parents; the last thing she needed was to be fussed over by a ditzy mother. Though she knew that they meant well, she couldn't tolerate it if they came home to make her feel any more like a child. No, just increase the security sweeps and make sure every security personnel knew that Yamcha was restricted from the property, and to bring her her pills along with a cup of warm milk with honey, along with her smoke pipe, thank you very much.
Exhausted, she set her mind on going to sleep...
...only to wake up screaming and sobbing after a vivid dream of how Yamcha had violated her a long time ago, when they were just beginning to get intimate. When push came to shove, the next thing she knew was that she felt her flesh tear and bruise as he held her down and took her body and made it his fuck toy; the memory of that evening where he defiled her with his abusive touch shook her to her core and when she was back in the waking world, she was sobbing uncontrollably; they had to bring the doctor in to sedate her.
End chapter 5
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DOX