Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Butterfly ❯ Crimson Liquid ( Chapter 3 )

Butterfly

The day got progressively worse for me. It seemed I had forgotten my advanced physics homework, lost my lunch money; I tripped up on the stairs and lost one of my diamond earrings. I've realised that it's always the small things that really fuck up your day.

Obviously the Fates were against me because my day got much, much worse.

I had arrived home late, as there had been road works on my route and before I could reverse out, there was a car behind me. I sat for half an hour listening to some crappy pop music on the radio with the guy in the car next to me eyeing me up.

Not my idea of fun.

I skipped up the steep stairs two at a time, as I was so relieved to be to home. I turned up my music loud (no one was at home, as per usual) and collapsed onto my bed. I was just drifting off to sleep (my favourite state of mind) when the phone rang.

I groaned, rolled over and pulled the phone of to talk to the prick that interrupted my dozing.

"Hey B!"

The voice sounded familiar…

"It's Yamcha!"

Oh. I really should have known. We had been dating for nearly six years.

Part of me said I should just say I was busy, but the other part was glad to hear from him.

"Hey Yammy. I had the most terrib…"

"Hold on Bulma!"

Why did he sound so worried?

"What is it Yamcha? You sound worried."

The butterflies in my stomach began to flutter.

"It's over."

Such a simple statement, yet it didn't sink in. The concept of a break up between my boyfriend of nearly six years and little old me was just too complicated.

"What?

I had to double check I had heard right.

"I met a girl… Her name is Faith. I love her and she returns the feeling. I loved her from the moment I saw her…"

That sounded familiar.

"Our relationship just paled in comparison to the way I like Faith. It's over. Done."

The phone slipped out of my grasp and bounced gently on my bed beside me. I picked it up and tried to think of something to say that would make it all better. I just couldn't think of anything to say. My mouth just opened and closed (like a fish actually, but I didn't think about that right then).

Silent tears threatened to fall. I could hear the girl on the other side of the line.

"She didn't take it too badly Yammy!"

That was MY pet name for him.

"Are you finished yet `cos I thought of a game we could play…" she giggled freakily high.

I could just imagine `Faith'. She would be blonde, tall, stupid, and girly and, of course, she'd have huge boobs.

I could hear the sound of their `game' down the line.

I started to shake. I felt like a bomb was just about to explode. I screamed and threw the telephone at the wall in my anger.

Just then I saw a picture of Yamcha and I setting off on our first date. We looked so sweet - happy and carefree. He was gazing into my eyes like I meant the world to him. I didn't anymore.

I took it to hand and then the rain started. My tears joined with it.

I glanced at my clock: 6:02pm. Stretching my arms I knocked a photo frame from my bedside table. There he was. The Devil in Disguise. In this picture he was smiling at the camera. The smile twisted to an arrogant smirk. He was laughing at me. I knew it!

I did something I hadn't done for a while. My trembling hand grasped the shining door handle to my cupboard and searched for my relief. Out it came, glittering. I clicked it open and slid the blade across my bare fore arm.

It felt good - better than I remembered. I let the blood from the cut slip gracefully down my arm and stain the plush carpet. It reminded me of the first time I had hurt myself.

I had been at home alone (again) with the TV for my companion. Halfway through Oh My Goddess! A newsflash interrupted my viewing. It showed a destroyed house. I listened to the normal news reporter recount the events. A bomb had exploded in town. Being fourteen at the time I eventually got bored and glazed over waiting for it to get back to OMG!. Then I heard three sentences that jolted me out of my daydream.

"A report has just come through. Fire fighters pulled out a body of fourteen-year old Mariah Brooke. Paramedics tried to save her but there was nothing they could do…"

Mariah had been my best friend since nursery. She had been into self-harm till just before she was killed. It had worked for, why not for me?

So I had padded into the kitchen, opened the knife draw and selected a nice sharp blade. I was a little scared but as I drew the sharp edge across myself I had felt better. I imagined the blood pouring out of my arm to be the worries and troubles that I had built up flowing out of me. Then I cried for Mariah, myself, the World!

I eventually got bored of watching the crimson liquid fall from my arm and went into my bathroom to clear myself up. After I had stopped the bleeding I went lay down on my bed and dozed off like nothing out of the norm had happened.