Anger Management

Chapter 2


Bulma's programmed alarm gently chirped away at 6:20 AM, rousing both occupants of the master bedroom at the same time. Bulma sat up, stretched and yawned, while Vegeta rolled over and swore under his breath.

"C'mon, Vegeta, you agreed to go for morning walks with me," Bulma pulled back the covers, "now let's get to it! Trunks gets up at seven, so we have a good half hour to ourselves. Up, now!"

The Saiyan snarled and sat up, rubbed his eyes and forehead, and went to pull on the clothing he'd laid out the night before. When he'd completed the task at ten thirty the night before, he'd felt a twinge of pride. Now, the sight of his jogging pants and sweatshirt just irritated him.

It was a clear, cold morning, the sky streaked with red and warm yellow as the two set out for a quick walk. Bulma suggested they walk to the nearby park, take one lap around the short walking trail, and return home right after. Vegeta didn't care where he walked, as long as he could be back home and return to bed within forty minutes.

"Hey, don't forget, Vegeta, tonight's the fall festival at Trunks' preschool, and I expect you to come."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and groaned. "That's tonight?"

"Yes, Vegeta! I told you two weeks ago, and I also reminded you yesterday! Don't even give me any excuses, Vegeta, because I know you don't have any! It's not like you even train these days..."

The Saiyan scoffed but offered no retort. Finally, he sneered, "maybe I'd rather watch the Monday Monster Movie Marathon on channel 367! Did you ever consider that?"

"Oh, sure, Vegeta. I totally buy that one. I'll get my Dad to record it for you, if It Came From Beneath The Sea 4 means that much to you. We're going to the school event together, got it! We're a married couple, and we need to show Trunks' teacher and the other parents that we're raising our child together."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," muttered Vegeta, "and I'm being forced to go because you care about what other people think..."

Bulma stuck her left hand in Vegeta's face and wiggled her fingers, making her diamond ring sparkle in the sunlight. "Does this mean nothing to you?"

"You bought it yourself, so not really. It's just a ring."

"You're impossible. Come on, we're at the park entrance," Bulma was craving a cigarette, "let's go home."


Arms folded tight across his chest, Vegeta sighed through his nose and looked over at Bulma. They had been sitting in a preschool's tiny gymnasium with the lights off for five minutes by that point. "How much longer is this going to last?"

"Shh," Bulma shot her husband a sharp look, "they've got one song left! Do you have any idea how hard it would be to get a group of three and four year olds into costumes in any reasonable length of time?"

Vegeta hummed. "Do I care?"

Finally, the children came back onto the small stage at the front of the room, dressed in an assortment of fall-themed costumes. Bulma laughed when she recognized Trunks, now dressed as a bright orange pumpkin, his chubby legs poking out the bottom, and turned on her camera to record the performance.

During the performance, Vegeta chewed the inside of his lower lip and shifted in his too-small chair. The event was apparently two hours long, and the opening ceremony had just begun.

At least there's food, thought Vegeta as he scanned the small crowd of children and parents, otherwise I might entirely lose my will to live. The Saiyan sipped on a tiny cup of sweet punch, wishing for something less cloying on his tongue. He was grateful the event had moved out of the small gymnasium and outside onto the fenced-in playground. He searched for a quiet corner and found nothing that wasn't entirely open. He was stuck until Bulma said they could leave, and Vegeta did not do well with boredom.

"Ugh, damn," it was Bulma's turn to mutter, "not her..."

"Who?"

"Julia Henry," Bulma's voice was acid as she recalled the woman's name, "the perkiest, most perfect mommy to ever give birth. She acts like she wrote the damn manual on motherhood! That one," Bulma tilted her head to the left, "the skinny brunette in the white jeans and pink top. If I have to listen to her sanctimonious crap tonight I swear I'm gon-"

"Oooh," Vegeta spotted the woman gave her a quick look up and down, "you've got something to pick with this woman," he looked back at Bulma and gave her a very familiar, sly smirk, "this night just got a lot more interesting..."

"Don't expect a showdown," Bulma returned the smirk, "if she comes over here, you'll be listening to her go on about her micromanaging lifestyle for at least twenty minutes."

"Then can we just leave? Why are we standing around out here?"

"Because you need to meet Trunks' teacher! She'll be over shortly. Here, go get yourself something to eat," Bulma reached into her pocket and passed him a ten zeni bill, "and get me something too!"

Reluctantly, Vegeta decided on some popcorn. He wasn't very hungry, so he could share it with Bulma. Trunks was running around with a group of children, and the teacher was nowhere to be seen.

"What does the teacher look like?" Vegeta returned with his snack, took a handful of popcorn and passed the bag to Bulma.

"Over there," Bulma motioned to the right, "the tall one, in the plaid dress. She takes about five minutes with every parent," Bulma paused to try some of the popcorn, "hey, this is pretty good."

"I know," Vegeta reached over and took another handful, "by the way, that woman you don't like is coming over."

Bulma groaned and turned to greet the woman. "Hi, Julia..." her voice and smile were both strained, "how are you?"

The tiny woman flashed her teeth in an equally strained smile. "Bulma Briefs! How nice to see you! I just sold that manor in The Heights. You know the one- where Brett Brock of KLTV used to live, before his divorce. So," she shifted the huge brown purse hanging off her thin right shoulder, "which one is yours?"

"Oh, the little guy in the black trousers and red button-up," Bulma pointed to Trunks, who had thrown a miniature basketball across the playground and raced to catch up with it, "I can't believe my little Trunks will be four soon! Where does the time go?"

"I know! My oldest is already in the fourth grade! Trunks is your first, right? Oh, and is this the father?"

"Hello," Vegeta glanced at her quickly before looking over at the teacher, who was still talking to the same set of parents. What was taking her so long?

"Oh, hello," Julia's practiced smile never wavered, "I'm Julia. You must be Trunks' father?"

Finally, Vegeta remembered to extend his hand and mumbled his name. "Your kid in a class with mine or something? Mm?"

Julia let out a breathy laugh. "Yes, mine's over there," she pointed to a little blonde boy with slicked back hair, "that's Percy. He's actually on a fast-track stream into an elite secondary school program. If all goes to plan, my little boy will be graduating and heading to university by the time he's sixteen! Do you two have any plans for Trunks yet? I mean, competition into the best schools is so tough these days... even for the son of an elite scientist!"

"Trunks is a very bright little boy," Bulma cut back in, "but we're just letting him be a kid for now. He loves reading with his grandmother, and so we tend to take trips to the library on Saturdays. He's got a whole lot of energy to work through these days as it is, I really can't imagine getting him to sit still for additional lessons. We might get him into some extra-curricular activities in another two or three years, once his energy's a bit more evened out."

"Well," Julia's tone of voice changed, "we've got little Perce in violin on Mondays and piano on Thursdays, baseball just wrapped up for the season, plus swimming and jui-jitsu, and we're starting horseback riding in the winter. We just purchased him a pony. Then there's tutoring on alternate weeknights and Saturday afternoons, and then my husband and I run math drills with him on Sunday nights. You just can't be too prepared these days, Bulma! Colleges really do want to see a well-rounded student!"

"Jesus, your kid's got a busier schedule than my wife," Vegeta spoke through another mouthful of popcorn, "what's a four year old getting out of all that?"

Julia openly scoffed. "And what exactly is it you do, ah, Vegeta?"

Bulma barely got the first syllable of Vegeta's name past her lips before the Saiyan turned to completely focus on the irritating woman. "I don't work. What does it matter?"

"Well, it's unfortunate you don't seem more interested in what your son is up to," Julia smirked, "I understand that with the Briefs income, you may not have to work, but it seems like you're just so bored being a house husband. Geez, how do you spend your days? You must be so depressed. I feel sorry for y-"

Vegeta's fist made contact with the side the woman's face, and he immediately realized he'd just made a horrible mistake. He'd thrown the punch without thinking; it was a completely automatic response to being insulted by a stranger, and he knew it was definitely not an acceptable response. Julia fell to the ground in a heap, her skinny legs collapsing underneath her, and she brought her hands up to her mouth as she let out a muffled wail. All eyes were directed at Vegeta and the woman on the ground, and it only took two seconds for people to start piecing together what had just happened.

Bulma screamed, half horrified and half enraged, and pushed Vegeta away from the now-crying woman. "I'm getting Trunks. Stand against the wall, Vegeta, unless you actively want me to divorce you."

The Saiyan barely heard woman and backed into a wall. His hands shook uncontrollably, and he could feel he heart pounding against his ribcage. A group of women were crouched beside Julia, trying to comfort her and determine what injuries she had, if any.

"Are you okay, honey?"

The woman gently shook her head and moaned at the pain caused by the motion.

"Honey, move your hands away so I can see what's go- oooohhh," a woman saw the blood pouring out of Julia's mouth and gasped, "somebody, call an ambulance!"

"I think he broke her jaw," another woman said, "that's a lot of blood..."

"He did it," a man pointed at Vegeta, who found his hands were still trembling, "I saw him. I've already called the police."

A group of several men were approaching Vegeta when the principal of the school finally came out the doors to see what the commotion was all about, and scowled when he saw the terrible scene. "Sir," he gestured at Vegeta, "I think you need to take a seat in the office. Everybody, please stay calm! We're going to get this resolved peacefully and quietly, alright?"

Bulma stood outside of the office with Trunks while Vegeta remained inside, quietly sitting at the principal's desk as a police officer questioned him. He admitted to hitting the woman and only nodded when he was told she would be pressing charges.

"Sir, you're under arrest for assault," the officer unlocked his handcuffs and motioned for Vegeta to put his hands behind his back, "I'm going to be taking you to jail for the night and you'll have a hearing before a judge in the morning. You have the right to remain silent, you have..."

Vegeta said nothing, but sighed when he felt the cuffs click shut. He couldn't even be bothered listening to the officer; he'd heard it all before and was sure that Earth wasn't going to be that much different. Bulma didn't know it, but it wasn't Vegeta's first time being arrested; he'd been detained on four separate occasions while working for Freiza, and knew it was in his best interest to just cooperate.

During the car ride over to the police station downtown, Vegeta said nothing and stared out the window. The officer watched the man through the protective barrier and couldn't help but notice the sadness in his eyes.

"You care for some conversation, man?" The officer spoke up, his voice a warm bass with a fine amount of grit to it, likely from years of long, stressful shifts.

"Knock yourself out," Vegeta glanced at the officer and caught his deep brown eyes in the rear-view mirror.

The officer nodded slightly and laughed. "Alright, then. Just hear me out for a minute. I don't wanna make any assumptions about you, so I hope you aren't offended, but I've got a sibling and you kinda remind me of them."

"Mh?" Vegeta looked up again. What was this officer on about, now?

"You ever break a bone, man?"

"Of course. Have you?"

"Yeah. Last year I broke my damn index finger," the officer shook his head as he recalled the memory, "closed a damn car door on my hand. Hurt like hell. Anyway, I went to the doctor for it. Got an x-ray, had the finger set, put in a splint, and four weeks later, I was a new man! You saw a doctor for that broken bone, right? What did you break, man?"

"I broke my arm about four years ago," Vegeta said, recalling it as one of the more painful injuries he's endured on account that it had been broken by Android 18.

"Uh-huh. That sounds bad. But a doctor took an x-ray, set your arm, put you in a cast, and after some time it healed, correct? Tell me this, have you ever had a bad flu?"

"Yes," Vegeta thought about the first time he ever experienced influenza, "almost wound up in hospital."

The officer gave another patient nod. "My kid wound up in hospital with the flu when she was just six. Gave me the scare of a lifetime. But still, I'm glad that seeing a doctor was an option."

"So what does this have to do with your sibling," Vegeta shifted in his seat. He hated handcuffs, and he really hated that he couldn't break them unless he wanted Bulma to get even angrier with him.

"My sibling struggles with their mental health," the officer watched Vegeta through the rear-view mirror for a reaction, "we've had some tough times... real tough times. It's been a challenge, you know? But things are getting better, slowly but surely. Anyway, I don't mean to ramble, but if you see a doctor for a broken arm or because of the flu, why wouldn't you see a doctor about your mental health? It doesn't matter how physically fit you are if your mental well-being isn't there, you know? It's nothing to be ashamed of. Mind, body, and spirit, they all work hand-in-hand, that's what I say!"

Vegeta nodded out of politeness. The police station was getting close.

"Well, we're here," the officer pulled up to the back door and waited for a guard to open it, "I'll help you through the booking and then you're going to have to wait in our holding cell until morning. The judge will hear your case at eight o'clock in the morning."