Anger Management
Chapter 8
Three days remained until Christmas, and Vegeta was feeling incredibly stressed by the steadily rising number of visitors to the Capsule Compound's residence and the overall sense of chaos. A sharp pang of hunger had stirred him out of sleep at three thirty in the morning, and Vegeta stumbled down the stairs in search of food, bleary-eyed and only half-awake, stepping on Trunks' toy keyboard at the base of the stairs. Suddenly very much alert and quite pissed off, the Saiyan smashed the toy in a burst of rage before awkwardly stomping into the kitchen, hissing every time he put too much weight on his right foot.
When he returned to bed an hour later, stomach full and wakefulness fading, Bulma muttered at him to purchase another keyboard in the morning before rolling over and falling back asleep.
Wallet full of money (and Mrs. Briefs' credit card at her repeated insistence) Vegeta went to the shopping centre downtown, now very familiar with the area after his weekly visits with Ramirez.
After finally locating the children's toy department and reluctantly accepting assistance from a saleswoman, Vegeta purchased a small keyboard with an array of buttons that produced different sound effects. On his way out of the department store, he spotted a dark blue zip-up sweater on a mannequin, asked for his size, and was so impressed with how it looked on him that he purchased one in blue and another in dark red.
It was pushing one o'clock, and Vegeta had to make his appointment with Dr. Kim at one thirty. If he walked, it would probably take around half an hour, but if he flew, he could make the trip in minutes.
I haven't flown in so long, he thought, ducking into an alleyway and hiding behind a line of trash bins, better that I don't lose that skill...
He felt energy surge down his calves and through the soles of his feet, swiftly pushing him off the ground and high into the air, far above the crowds. Once he'd passed the very tops of the tallest buildings, Vegeta concentrated the energy to pushing himself forward, a little dismayed that he had to actually think through the process. Flight had always been so simple for him, and now he had to be conscious of his movements.
Still, the chilly air whipping through his hair was exhilarating, and he took twenty five minutes to fly over to Dr. Kim's office, seeing how high he could stand to go before it got too cold, letting himself drop before coming to a gradual halt, and taking the time to take a good look at the city from above, his cheeks quite flushed when he landed at the entrance.
"Oh my, is it windy outside, Vegeta?"
"Not really," Vegeta's hands tried to push his hair back, fingers getting caught in tangles and snares, "uh, maybe..."
Slightly bemused, Dr. Kim nodded and started writing. "How are you doing this week? Looks like you've been out shopping."
Vegeta looked at his packages and pushed them underneath his seat with his heel. "Keyboard for the kid."
"Oh, that would make a lovely Christmas present, Vegeta. That's very thoughtful of you," Dr. Kim smiled with approval at her client's choice, embarrassed as he seemed by the gesture.
"It's not a Christmas gift. I broke the keyboard he already has early this morning after stepping on it and then smashing the hell out of it and only purchased a new one because my wife insisted on it."
Dr. Kim's brows rose and she continued writing. "Why did you smash the keyboard, Vegeta?"
"Because my bare foot plus gravity plus hard plastic equals a lot of pain and therefore anger."
"I see," Dr. Kim found the choice of words quite revealing, "when we're on the subject of the connection between anger and pain... do you feel that your anger stems from pain?"
Vegeta started to pick at his nails. "Excuse me?"
"Your anger, Vegeta. You just said that anger comes from pain. I'm curious to learn about where you feel it comes from. Anger doesn't come out of nowhere; we need to isolate the source, or sources, of this anger you live with."
More eye rolling from Vegeta. He did not want to get into this with her today. "Well, aren't you making assumptions!"
Dr. Kim simply smiled. "Am I making assumptions, Vegeta? You can't tell me you're content, can you?"
"Have I ever said anything to suggest otherwise?"
When Dr. Kim simply set her notepad down and folded her arms across her chest, Vegeta sighed and conceded. "Fine."
"Vegeta, one of the most challenging things you're going to have to do here is take a good hard look at parts of yourself that you don't like. It's not easy, but what you've been doing obviously hasn't been working, right?"
"Mm," the Saiyan made a non-committal noise, as close to confirmation as he was willing to get.
"Then why not change it? It won't be something that happens in a week, nor do I expect or want you to put everything out at once. But at some point you need to take off the armour and let a bit more of the inside come out. The vagueness and your refusal to look deeper at events you've recalled isn't helping you. You'll start talking about an issue, and then once we start to examine it, you pull away and refuse to look at it further."
It stung him to hear that, and Vegeta went from picking his nails to absentmindedly reading the titles on one the bookshelves. "Of course this anger comes from hurt," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "why wouldn't it?"
Dr. Kim nodded. "Your anger is to be expected, nor are you in the wrong for being angry. Vegeta, we've only started our sessions together, but I think you've had to work through a lot of difficult situations from a very young age. You've endured years of abuse and bullying. In recent years, you met somebody and started a family, but that doesn't invalidate your past or mean those issues are over. Your anger is valid, Vegeta, but hanging on to it the way you currently are and have been for some time isn't helping you."
Vegeta had never described any abuses he'd endured in detail to her, but the old woman saw right through him. He absolutely hated it, but the relief he felt was welcome. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and an early memory came rushing in to his thoughts.
"I remember being a little kid. Maybe six. Sitting in this bus or something, waiting to depart. The kid I grew up with refused to sit with me because he was seven years older and wanted to hang out with other kids his age. I remember being really tired. There was this older kid behind me, ugly little shit, who kept pulling out hairs around the back of my head and poking me. I'd been raised to stay calm and not interact with trash, but that day I snapped. Gouged the fucker's right eye out with my thumbs, and after that day, his shitty little friends treated me with respect. That's when I knew that rage was a useful tool."
Horrified and worried her expression gave her away, Dr. Kim only wrote down "gouged out peer's eye aged six" on her pad of paper and flipped over to a fresh sheet.
"Thank you, Vegeta. Shall we discuss some ways to manage stress during the holiday season?"
"Sure," Vegeta seemed to switch topics like it was all small-talk, "I was planning to just keep to myself over the holiday."
"Any plans otherwise, Vegeta?"
"Mm," he nodded, "my mother-in-law makes a very good and wonderfully ostentatious meal for Christmas. There's always so much that I can practically graze on what remains for a few days afterward."
Dr. Kim nodded. "I always enjoy the leftovers from holiday meals too. Leftover roast turkey makes the best sandwiches after."
Vegeta's stomach rumbled at the thought. He was getting hungry and knew he'd be searching for food once he got home.
"The food is good. The people I can do without," Vegeta clicked his tongue, "I really just want to be left alone."
"I see," Dr. Kim continued writing, "how do you try to achieve that during such a busy time?"
"The gym. I mean, when they aren't stupid enough to use it as a storage room for people's belonging's during that huge New Year's party they throw!"
"I can see how that would be frustrating. I wouldn't appreciate that either."
Vegeta huffed and started jiggling his right leg. "I may just go into hiding."
"It's all about the balance, Vegeta. Your wife may insist you be with her at one of her parties, so this is an opportunity for you to assert yourself and establish that you want to go to bed at a certain point. I think if you "hide", you'll find that Bulma isn't happy, but you definitely don't want to be stuck socializing the entire holiday. Some people like socializing through the holidays, and you don't, and there's nothing wrong with that."
"And I don't want my fucking gym used as storage for coats! Every time I get some space to myself, it's not too long before somebody's nosing around in it!" Vegeta's voice started to rise. Even thinking about the discovery of coats (and vomit) in the gym the year prior made his blood pressure climb and heart beat a little faster.
"Remember that assertiveness is most effective when you take the time to explain your position."
The Saiyan's lips pressed together in annoyance. "I know a thing or two about being tactful, thanks. I want to be left the fuck alone!"
"I'm sorry," Dr. Kim replied, "I didn't mean to sound condescending." She knew that Vegeta's nerves, which could be touched so easily, were already close to raw. His right leg kept bouncing and he drummed his fingers against the inside of his thigh. He avoided her eyes, fixing his gaze on something far beyond the confines of the room, perhaps sitting in a room from his past. His eyes shone and he blinked every few seconds, his emotions peering far over a steep drop and about to slip down.
"Why don't we end a little early today, Vegeta. You took a brave step today. I hope you have a happy and relaxing holiday. The office re-opens the second week of January, so please go to the front desk to confirm your next appointment in the new year."
It took him a few seconds to process it, but Vegeta nodded. "Yeah. Goodbye, Dr. Kim," he pushed himself out of the chair, reached down to get his items, and headed for the door.
"Oh," he finally made eye contact with her, "have a good holiday, whatever it is you celebrate."
Unable to keep himself from watching the steady spin of the minute hand in the classroom clock, the Saiyan held back a sigh of relief when it was officially eight o'clock and he could finish the self-defence class.
All in all, it had been a remarkably successful hour, and the court-appointed monitor who sat silently in the corner nodded with approval.
"That's all for tonight. This group will meet again on December twenty-ninth, at seven o'clock."
Vegeta was in a state of disbelief; he'd just spent an hour teaching ten elderly men and women about the most tender and vulnerable spots on the human body that didn't include the groin, and then he'd told them about how to use their elbows, the heels of their hands, and even their canes to seriously injure another person. Much to his surprise, they had all been enthusiastic and eager to learn, and several of them had actually responded with laughter when he described, in detail, how the heel of a hand pressed very fast and hard in the bottom of the nose in an upward motion could cause catastrophic damage. Aware of the monitor in the room, he made sure to repeatedly say that these techniques were only to be used in a life-or-death situation.
All he wanted to do was pack his things and go home. His day couldn't get any more strange.
"Well, that was a lot of fun, young man!"
The Saiyan snapped back to reality and found himself face to face with the tiniest woman he'd taught that evening. She wore a long blue woollen skirt, white blouse, and flat black boots. Cane in her right hand, she beamed at him with twinkling eyes.
"Oh, good."
"I was worried you were going to make me try to flip somebody over," she laughed, "I'm too old to try that!"
Vegeta felt a smile growing on his face. He loved talking about fighting, and this little old woman obviously had some fight in her. "Those are just for show. You aren't going to remember how to flip somebody over in real life unless you spend a lot of time practicing it."
The old woman nodded. "Oh honey, I don't think I could flip somebody over once at this age! I'm going to be ninety eight in January, you know!"
"Hm! What motivated you to learn self-defence at this age?"
"My great-grandson suggested I go," the woman reached into her purse and pulled out a bulging notebook and showed Vegeta the laminated cover, "that's him."
Vegeta was presented with the image of an awkward-looking young teenager with choppy brown hair, braces, and the sort of acne that took the Saiyan back to his own reviled adolescence. Yeah, this kid would need self-defence classes, he thought bitterly, I can't imagine kids not making fun of that that facial situation.
"Oh," Vegeta passed the notebook back, "well, it's good you enjoyed the class. Have a nice holid-"
"Your eyes just light up when you're teaching, young man! And you're so patient! It was just such fun to learn from you- it's obvious you're passionate about this. Well, have a wonderful holiday! See you next time!"
Before Vegeta could think of a response, the woman started a conversation with another woman and walked away. Packing his bag as fast as he could, Vegeta was more than ready to leave when he looked up again and found there were four more people waiting to speak to him.
Vegeta kept the tip of his tongue between his teeth while listening to each and every one of them, constantly aware that not only was he being watched, but that his real punishment was being forced to interact with strange people in public.
Finally, after an additional twenty minutes of speaking to the remaining students, Vegeta was able to leave the classroom. He'd managed to get his bearings of the community centre and knew how to get out quickly, and the Saiyan was a mere five metres from the front door when he heard a familiar voice call out:
"Vegeta! Hey! Never thought I'd see you down here!"
Oh, fuck me sideways, thought Vegeta, turning around to come face to face with a beaming Krillin, dressed in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Vegeta was taken aback when the previously-bald monk now sported a healthy head of shiny black hair. If he hadn't recognized the voice, he may not have known who it was at all.
"So, I guess "Baldie" is a little outdated, hm?"
Krillin laughed and set down his gym bag. "A little bit! So, what are you doing down here, Vegeta? Don't tell me your gravity machine's on the fritz and so you came here to work out!"
"I'm teaching self-defence classes," Vegeta's teeth remained almost clenched when he spoke, "part of my sentence."
"No way," Krillin's voice dropped to a hush, "I heard you got into some legal trouble..."
I wonder who blabbed about that, Vegeta felt his anger spiking. "Oh, did you? Hm. So why are you here?"
"I teach Tai Chi and Qi Gong classes here. Um, as a job, of course. It's great! You should come, Vegeta," Krillin opened his bag and found two brochures for Vegeta, "I think you'd really find it helpful for your training."
"Mm," Vegeta glanced at the brochures, folded them, and shoved them in a pocket, "I'm sure about that."
"So..." Krillin trailed off, feeling the old awkwardness he'd always experienced about Vegeta returning, "did Bulma tell you I'm coming over with Eighteen for the New Year's party?"
Exhaling through his nostrils, Vegeta nodded. "Yeah," his voice dropped into a growl, "she told me. I suppose I'll see you then, uh, Krillin. Enjoy your holiday."
"Thanks, Vegeta. We ought to get together sometime. I haven't seen a lot of the gang... and I really miss Goku, you know?"
"Uh huh, yeah," Vegeta avoided Krillin's eyes and looked back at the front doors, "I need to go. Goodbye."
Hands shoved in the pockets of his light jacket, Vegeta headed out the doors, turned the corner and took off into the night air once he was away from the bright lights and traffic. The mention of Kakarot scratched at a deep wound he desperately wished to become calloused and impermeable to emotion, but he found it was as raw and painful as ever.
Just after midnight, Vegeta settled on the couch with a steaming mug of peppermint tea and switched on the television. It was finally quiet in the house, and Vegeta had finally emerged from the gym after running ten kilometres on the elliptical and soon after falling asleep in the expensive massage chair Dr. Briefs had gifted him a few years earlier.
Trunks had been overjoyed by the new keyboard (Bulma told him that the other one had "fallen down the stairs, so Santa brought an early Christmas gift") and had immediately taken to making as much noise as possible, which drove Vegeta first into his bedroom and then into the gym when the toddler had one of his after surely painful after-dinner hunger attacks. The little boy certainly had his father's appetite, and he too hated waiting a long time for a meal. He could hear Trunks' shrill crying before somebody offered him a bowl of cereal (to start with) in an attempt to quiet the boy, and it made him turn the gym's television's volume even louder than usual.
He watched an old black and white film about a hardened detective tracking down a murderer for a few minutes before switching to the twenty-four hour news channel, figuring it at least made decent background noise.
It had been an exhausting day, at least mentally; first his breakfast had been interrupted by two of Mrs. Briefs' friends, then Trunks had thrown a temper tantrum when he was told he couldn't wear two coats at the same time. After that, he'd actually gone into a store, he flew for the first time in what had surely had to be months, had a very uncomfortable session with Dr. Kim, taught a self-defence class to a group of elderly humans (who definitely didn't know he was an alien) and, to top it all off, he'd run into Krillin, who just had to bring up the subject of Kakarot.
He couldn't sleep, and he knew the chaos would only increase over the next few days.
Sipping his tea, he let the sound of the weather report wash over him and searched for his safe zone of detachment.
"Vegeta?" A high and soft voice startled the Saiyan back into awareness. He jumped and spilled a bit of the tea onto his sweatpants.
"Whoa- what? What is it, woman?" Vegeta recognized Mrs. Briefs and heaved a sigh. Try as he may, he really couldn't get angry with his mother-in-law. She was just so pleasantly harmless and well-intentioned that any negative emotion directed toward her felt like a waste of energy.
"Mind if I sit down, sweetheart?"
"Mm," Vegeta motioned at the couch, "if you want."
Mrs. Briefs took a seat and her smile never broke. "I know how you feel about people making a big show of you during the holidays, so I wanted to give you this," she passed a plain envelope to him, "I thought, since it was quiet..."
"Mm," Vegeta opened the envelope and pulled out five gift certificates, "uh, what is this?"
"Well, I overheard you saying to Bulma you wanted to work on your flexibility, and then I remembered when Bulma took you to the ballet and-"
"Made me go to the ballet with her..."
"Oh, Vegeta, you were upset until you were so impressed by their balance and control!" Mrs. Briefs halted Vegeta's resistance with a smile.
"Uh huh. So this is..."
"Each of those is good for two hours of private instruction with members of the West City Dance Company, Vegeta. It's meant for people who are very fit but want to keep challenging themselves. You contact them, schedule your session, and go in with one of the gift certificates to pay for it."
"Huh..." he looked through them again and didn't recognize the address printed on the bottom, "well, this might just be enlightening. Um, thank you."
"Enjoy your program, Vegeta. I'm going to bed. Good night, sweetheart!" Mrs. Briefs knew it wasn't a good time to put an arm around him and went to bed right away. She decided it might be a good idea to take Bulma aside and suggest that Vegeta may want to be left alone during the holidays.
