It was terrifying.
The ship had been en route for hours at this point, and Bulma had locked herself in the bedroom as soon as it took off . Vegeta hadn't gone to check on her. And she was afraid he would come through the door at any minute.
The stories of how ruthless the saiyans became when they were enraged were obviously true. The man who had reacted to her visit with Yamcha was a completely different man than she had spent the last few days getting to know.
She sat on the bed, her back against the headboard, watching that door closely. She was terrified of him, of the fact that he was so mad at her, and she had no idea when he'd be coming through that door.
.
On the other side of the door stood Vegeta, who was holding a half empty bottle of wine. At his feet were 13 discarded bottles that he'd already worked through, trying to calm himself down enough to talk to her.
He'd arranged for the trip to go much differently. In the refrigerator was fruit stocked to the hilt, since he knew how much she enjoyed it. He'd brought a gift for her - a slip for her to sleep in, and oh how he'd expected his wedding night to be much more pleasant.
In his fantasies they would have been embracing one another. She would have been allowing him to take in her scent, and they certainly wouldn't have been fighting. And now she was blatantly scared of him, and he was still fuming at her betrayal.
My Once again he considered what he was about to do. He wondered if it would be the right thing. Should he go this far? To claim what should have been his anyway?
Vegeta put his palm to the scanner on the door, but nothing happened. He tried again, and the door remained shut. "Wait a minute…," He slurred. And then realization struck, and he was enraged once again. She had insulted him enough, and she just kept doing more.
A firm kick to the door had it exploding open, and Bulma screamed from the bed,
"You locked me out of my own room!" He spat. "You bitch! How dare you!"
This was supposed to be his wedding night - she was supposed to be his doting bride. And instead she'd tried to run off, to make him look like a fool. And then she'd had the nerve to lock him out of the bedroom. Oh, his ego couldn't take it. He could hardly see, his rage was so bad.
He pulled his boots off swiftly. And then he pulled off his shirt.
"What are you doing?" She shook.
"What does it look like I'm doing?!" He moved to the bed.
"We-We can't both sleep in here!" She tried, but he grabbed her ankles and pulled her so that her back slid from the headboard to the mattress.
"Who said anything about sleeping?"
And then he was on top of her. She tried to push him off but he didn't budge. "I am the prince of saiyans" He growled. "I could have any woman I want, and I was stupid enough to choose you. You should be fucking proud."
The overwhelming smell of alcohol that hit her when he spoke made Bulma almost gag. He buried his face into her hair, taking in that sweet scent he had grown so fond of. She tried to pull his head away, but he slapped her hands. "Don't fight me."
One hand was on her thigh, rubbing her leg up and down. He pressed his nose into her collar bone, getting even more of her scent. And then he kissed her neck, and he really lost control.
He was pulling at her dress, kissing from her neck down to the top of her chest.
Bulma tried once again to push him off. He slapped her hands away. She tried to wriggle under him, but he held her down so strong.
A tongue ran from her ear down to her collar bone,, and the hand on her thigh was now squeezing it.
"You're drunk," She said. "Please don't do this. You don't want to do this,"
"Oh, but I do." He growled. "Isn't it clear I want you?" But inside he knew he would stop if she asked him one more time. But he didn't want her to. He wanted her to want this. Just as much as he did. He wanted her to ask him for it, and encourage him to keep going.
Tears welled in Bulma's eyes. She had done enough protesting and struggling, and she realized just how futile her efforts were. This man was the prince of a race known for their overwhelming strength, and she definitely felt that with how effortlessly restrained her.
She felt his hand moving up her thigh, so slowly and almost teasingly .
A tear rolled down her cheek when he pinned both hands above her head. "Please," She gasped.
And then she let out a whimper, which turned into a sob.
The hand was gone from her thigh. Her hands were no longer pinned. His weight was absent from on top of her. Stunned, she was almost afraid to look up. And when she did, she saw him bending down and grabbing his discarded shirt.
Was he really going to leave?
The Princess watched, not wanting to say anything. Not wanting to give him an opportunity to change his mind. Without even one glance towards her he walked through the hole that had once been the door.
And he was gone,
And Bulma was shaking with the aftermath of her fright. She realized that the lower half of her body was completely exposed, and she adjusted her dress as quickly as possible. And then she curled into a fetal position, and silently she sobbed into her knees.
Princess Bulma missed how kind and gentle the Prince has been with her. She found herself mourning that man, as if he was gone for ever and would never come back.
'Why did I meet with Yamcha,' she thought. She knew how things had looked when Vegeta arrived, and of course he would be angry now. What little trust they had managed to build in their small courtship was now gone. And she knew she would feel the same way if she had seen Vegeta in the same position with some girl.
And why did considering that make her stomach turn?
As afraid and heartbroken as she was, the thought of the old Vegeta on a bended knee, kissing some strange woman's hand… It elicited a jealous tinge in her. The old Vegeta, the one who didn't resent her, had been so attentive. And that was for her to enjoy, and her only.
And she knew, as she silently allowed the tears to flow, that she was incredibly, hopelessly, and irreversibly far gone.