Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Broken Dreams ❯ Broken Dreams (Ch1) ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ nor do I imply I own them. The only thing I own is my story and my characters. The others are brought in for comic relief and my own perverted pleasures. ;)

Warning: There's gonna be graphic sex, violence, and talk about rape and other random things. If this offends you deal or leave. Whatever you want to do. Oh and there just might be yaoi or yuri, dunno yet.

Notes: "talking", `thinking'

Chapter one: Broken dreams

One of my earliest memories was actually pretty good. I lived in a trailer yes, but my parents were okay, for parents anyway. I don't remember much except for the smell of moms cooking. She used to be an excellent cook. Used to is the operative phrase here.

I remember things starting to go downhill after about my eighth birthday. Mostly just yelling and some arguing. Things that any sane person did. No one can go through their entire life without little confrontations. It's just that when they get big they tend to get bad. The yelling got worse and worse. Dad started drinking and mom started staying out late with friends. I don't remember exactly when mom started using drugs but after a while it became apparent she was.

Where was I the whole time? I was usually hiding. Trying to stay out of their way. Because when they were tired of hitting on each other I became the next logical target. I went to school constantly hiding new bruises and old ones. I was always making up stories. Always covering for them. Then again who would stop them? No one cared. Not about one little child. One lost little child.

This continued for a couple of years. Until they started to branch out. Mom had her own amusements out side of the house. Her friends kept her amply supplied with her favorite party drugs. She did things I'm not gonna repeat here. But at least she did it away from me. Too bad dad didn't have to go outside of the house for his amusement. After work all he had to do was sit in front of the TV with a couple of six packs of beer and drink himself into insensibility each night.

About this time I hit puberty. I was what you would call an early bloomer. It seemed like over night I had gained a woman's curves. Not voluptuous or anything but definitely something guys took notice of. I also didn't have an ounce of fat on me. I had a high metabolism and could eat anything and stay skinny. Which is what dad noticed one night as he drank himself into a stupor like he always did.

That day was vividly etched into my memory. I have always wanted to forget, but I can't. Trust me I've tried.

I was working on my homework when I heard dad bellow from the living room. I went to see what was going on. He was stumbling about the room ranting, about mom, about life, and about his nonexistent action. You know the kind I mean. When he got to that part I tried to slip away but he noticed me before I got very far. He blinked blearily at me finally focusing on my chest.

"Ya know you look a lot like your mother used to angel. She was once as beautiful as you are." It's amazing how fast drunks can actually go. Before I knew it he had me pinned against the wall and was fumbling with my top.

"Daddy?! Daddy?! What are you doing? Stop it," I cried out, but he didn't listen. I just got backhanded for my troubles. His blow had me reeling but not for long. I struggled as he cursed me which earned him a swift kick in the shin. Which in turn had me thrown to the floor. I hit my head on something. I don't know what. All I know is I saw stars.

I pleaded with him to stop. Pleaded with him to leave me alone, but he wouldn't. It's amazing how strong he was. I just couldn't get away. I screamed when he first entered me. Oh dear gods the pain, but he kept going. Didn't care that I was bleeding, didn't care he was raping his own daughter. I cried and cried until he was done. I remember him calling me a slut. No that's not right. He called me his little slut.

And from that day on that's what I was. When he was in the mood either he would come after me and I'd stare at the wall until he was done or I'd run. But when I did that he came after me and beat me. Then he took what he could from me. I had no innocence left. Only the harsh reality of what my life was really like. This went on for far too long. I was too young too weak to do anything against him.

So I made a vow to myself. I'd get stronger, but that took me a while. It took me until my last couple years of high school to finally be able to fight back at least some. Not that I always won. He still took advantage of me and I still had other problems. Like the kids at school. To them I was nothing but trailer trash and their favorite person to tease, taunt, and beat up on.

Then again I could and did hit them back. At least when it was one of them alone. But when they got into groups I got into trouble.

I was your average Goth kid. I wore all black and severely antisocial. The teachers hated me cause I was a smartass and the kids hated me, well, I have no reason why they hated me. Probably because I was different and different is bad apparently. I was also termed the school slut. Everyone thought I was easy.

After being jumped as many times as I was I started finding alternate routes home. Routes that took me away from their leering grins and cold eyes. They took longer, but most of the time I was safer. Most of the time. Sometimes however they would purposely follow me until I came to a secluded place. Usually in the woods. Considering I cut through there to get home most of the time.

It was probably my junior year that was my worst. I remember one particularly bad time when a half dozen jocks cornered me on my way home. They beat and raped me and then left me there to pick myself up. I could hear them laughing as they left. It nearly destroyed me. It was the first time any male other than my father had dared use me like they did. I had thought myself numb to such treatment, but I found that was not the case.

What was the worst part was who had participated in this stunt. A couple of weeks earlier one of them had dared his friend's wrath to talk to me in a civil manner. I was so starved for positive attention that he seemed like a godsend. He talked to me about what I liked and disliked. He stood up for me with his friends. All manner of things that endeared him to me.

But it was just a ruse. Just a charade. A sadistic charade so they could find out how I got home after school. So they could lay in wait when he walked me home and ambush me. It was his betrayal that hurt the most. His betrayal that sent me spinning into depression. No one noticed though. No one seemed to care. Finally I couldn't take it. I tried to take the coward's way out.

One night after dad had passed out on the couch and mom had stumbled into the bedroom to sleep off her last dose of whatever I gave suicide a try. I would have succeeded but I didn't take into account one of dads better friends coming by. He came in to talk to dad about something and after waking him up was ordered off to get my dad some aspirin for his headache.

He was the one who found me. I was sitting in the tub, a razor blade beside me, and my blood staining the tiles. He was the one who called 911. He was the one who took care of everything while my parents were still trying to recover from their individual stupors. He was also the one who called social services. He knew it had been bad. He just didn't know how bad.

So I was sent to foster care. Unfortunately it was only marginally better than what I had been going through. No rape for one thing, but I still got beat up a lot. I mostly kept to myself. I read and drew. I was pretty artistic. I also found a virtual love for anime. One of my foster sibs, and one of my few friends, introduced me to it.

My favorite was Dragonball Z. I didn't have a favorite character, but I did like the show. I continued to watch it as I got older. I must have been nineteen when I finally got a hold of myself after working long enough to save up money for a place of my own. Even after that though life wasn't the best, but soon I hardened into the person I am now. I took martial arts and started really trying to move up. Unfortunately it didn't work. I still stayed what some would call poor white trash. Cynical and slightly psychotic, but me.

And that's where we are today. I'm twenty one and on my own. I work at a bar and ride a motorcycle. I'm still an outcast, but I can take care of myself now. Although I still watch anime. As a matter of fact DBZ is still my favorite. Which is something my co-workers probably would never let me hear the end of. So I keep it on the down low. No use causing any more trouble for myself.