Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fathoming Love ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

He was sitting there when I arrived, which was to be expected. But the look of sadness was overwhelming, perhaps so unusual and strange simply because he was letting me see it. No, I knew there was something in his past that pained him, even the most diabolical of criminals have that darkness in their eyes from remorse or grief, even if they cannot feel it themselves.

But he also looked expectant, gazing at the top of the counter, deep in thought. Slowly I placed the tape recorder in front of his eyes, the plastic sliding across the smooth table top and the bag of tapes rattling in my oversized pockets. I sat down, folding my fingers in front of me and waiting.

The soberness was haunting, the feeling of dread only more intense as I waited for him to start, the realization dawning on me that I was about to hear something that could quite possibly traumatize me permanently. For his eyes promised nothing less and it seemed the weight of the world was sagging upon his shoulders as he stared at the tape recorder.

“Tell me how your son died.” He said in a low voice, trying to mask the grief with his sultry, annoyed and commanding tone. I simply brushed it off, at the time feeling offended at his blunt and prying question.

“No.” I remember saying, though if I elaborated I really can’t tell you. But I think he must have understood to some extent how hard it was for me to even be there. Now I know how selfish that must sound considering the fact that I was asking this man to confess his life story to me and a tape recorder, but I hadn’t spoken to my wife in nearly a month and thoughts of suicide ran rampant through my brain. But again, this story isn’t about me, so I’ll skip that.

“Did he die of natural causes?”

Now at the time I was completely mortified at this question. But the mourning period hadn’t passed over and the contempt I felt for him was excruciating. How could he ask me such a thing? Natural causes? Children don’t die naturally! They’re children!

But instead I simply shook my head, knowing even then, even in the face of my anger and guilt, that he was only asking if the death was out of my control. Which it most certainly wasn’t.

“Ahh…” he said, pursing his lips slightly. “I see.”

I guess at the time I probably felt indignant at that little comment. Its funny how the most simple little phrases and common statements can seem like the most wretched and uncaring sentences when you’re dealing with grief and guilt as strongly as I was at the time.

He did not “see”. No one saw. That was the one gift I possessed. No one saw what I hid with an expertise I’d only developed through time.

But like I said, he didn’t see. He couldn’t have. When people say such things, I suppose even now I feel that tiny twinge of resentment awaken within me. Unless you’ve gone through the exact same circumstances, lived the exact same life, respond with the exact same emotions and know the exact same people, you don’t “see”. You pity, but you don’t understand.

But I responded nothing at all as he boosted himself off his chair with a shove, feeling the smooth countertop beneath my clammy fingers jolted and jerked with his tedious movement. The metal of his plastic chair screeched against the ground, that and his sharp footsteps the only sound in the room as he began to pace.

“Perhaps…” He mused, my thoughts completely cleared at his deep, throaty voice. “Perhaps Dende has blessed me one last time Tazial.”

It was the first time he’d said my true name, the realization finally dawning on me. I’d virtually broken ever single rule that had been laid out before me from the very beginning of my career, at least the most basic ones. I’d given him my name, my history and more then sufficient information about my present life for him to do as he wished with it. It was a scary thought at the time. That if he escaped, which, one look at this guy and you may have solid reason to fear such a possibility, he could have easily found me.

But I guess that’s all besides the point as my journey into his mind began, the dawning of a new era in my life and the sun rising for the first time upon what was to be my greatest obsession for many months to come.

“Dende?” I remember asking, thinking at the time that it was a strange thing for him to say. Now if my memory serves me correctly, which you may at this point be doubting, Dende was the name of a certain religious group’s God. Their kame, their greater spiritual being, their deity. A guardian of the Earth, if you will.

“God.” He said simply as I expected he would, giving me a serious look as he crossed his arms, a tiny smile giving him a thoughtful expression. “Perhaps God has graced me with one more purpose. One more chance before the sun sets on my last day.”

It is a strange thing for him to have said such a morbid, final thing, I’ll tell you that much. For he was young, looking no more than mid twenties from what I had observed. It had actually been a rather humorous moment for me to have discovered that Mrs. Briefs had been in her forties, though admittedly GREATLY preserved, and wedded to such a younger man. But I suppose such a thing should have been anything but shocking to me after considering the substantial wealth factor that Mrs. Briefs had to offer along with rare beauty for her age.

“What do you mean Valentino?” I asked, leaning forward in anticipation.

His eyes slid to me in irritation, those cold black circles devouring me it seemed, reading deeper and deeper the longer I stayed connected to them.

“Let’s not begin this way.” He said with a fringe of actual warmth in his voice, his change in demeanor refreshing. He gestured to the tape recorder with his palm up, dark eyes being tinted with shadows as he stared down, away from the rapidly flickering fluorescent lights.

I jumped at the realization of what he was trying to tell me, frantically jamming a blank tape into the device and slamming it shut, letting my fingers clumsily slap the ‘play’ and ‘record’ buttons both at once. A slight buzzing was heard as the film of the tape began to roll, his cue to begin what I personally consider, one of the greatest stories of all time.

“My name is Vegeta, son of King Vegeta of the Saiyan race.”

Saiyan race, I remember thinking, clicking the eraser of my pencil on the countertop. Saiyan race? What the heck did that mean? I thought he was Italian. I grabbed for his folder, insulted at his apparent dishonesty and bewildered at such a strange, unidentifiable name.

Vegeta.

Well I guess it was interesting at least but completely throwing me off course as regards to his ethnic background. I shuffled recklessly through the papers, wrinkling and crinkling corners and wedges in my needless haste. He apparently found my dastardly confusing predicament hilarious, laughing heartily as I dropped the entire contents of the folder on the floor, papers and newspaper clippings fluttering about as I violently snatched them, feeling a light blush tint my cheeks at his scornful laughter.

“Vegeta? But I thought you were originally from Italy, or at least of that racial background.” I stammered, trying to ignore his characteristic eye rolling and putting on the front of normalcy.

“I’m neither from Italy nor Italian in name or ethnic background.” He said arrogantly, as I was to find he acted quite often. “Nor am I from the United States or wherever we are currently residing.”

I’m pretty sure I raised my eyebrow at that little remark but I honestly couldn’t tell you for certain.

“I’m not human.”

I think whatever respect I’d built up for him until that point, which was a considerable amount, just about crashed to the floor, along with my dignity. My shoulders slumped and my head nearly dropped onto my folded hands, irritation and frustration overwhelming me as they had done during those dreary hours he’d insisted on ignoring me.

“Let me guess,” I said rudely, watching his posture change dramatically at my tone. “You haven’t been human for two hundred years, am I right?”

He just stared at me as though I’d sprouted an extra buttcheek on my forehead.

“Well you can skip with the games Mr. Briefs,” I continued. “I’ve already seen that movie, actually read the book to be precise. And believe me, I’ve heard this one before and have YET to be impressed by your knowledge of Anne Rice. So spare me. Capeche?”

“Excuse me?” he spat peevishly, walking towards me in an utterly threatening matter that made my skin nearly jump off and run down the hallway. And still, as intimidating and he really was, and oh, this guy WAS intimidating, I stood my ground, pretending his knuckle cracking didn’t even faze me.

“Ohhhh…. So you’re not the Vampire Lestat anymore?” I cracked. “Or was that Louie?” I shook my head laughing. “Can never seem to remember those names right ya know? Something about the French I imagine.”

“Oh.” He said, voice absolutely void of anything less than malice and ill intent. “So the French bother you huh?”

He rolled up his sleeve, placing one hand on the back of my chair and kneeling down uncomfortably close, so that I was again forced to stare at his hauntingly smooth skin and piercing eyes.

“Well how’d you like to BE in France?”

It suddenly dawned on me that perhaps he hadn’t been lying. Or at least not in his own mind and I was forced to curse my clumsy tongue for its recklessness yet again. Patients were mentally unstable, fragile even, though from just looking at him Vegeta seemed just the opposite. Still, I WAS in a mental institution, an asylum for the psychologically insane and here I was cracking jokes and making dry humor for my amusement alone.

I truly was heartless. But then, I already knew that.

“Sorry…” I said sheepishly, trying to pull the whole scene off as one big tease. “Dry humor isn’t my specialty and cracking jokes at the proper time never was either.” I laughed nervously, the pathetic chuckling OBVIOUSLY forced and strained. “They didn’t call me the class WANNABE clown for nothin’ ya know what I mean?”

Now if I softly nudged his arm with my elbow jokingly or not, I really don’t remember. But……. Its probably for the best that I don’t either way. But that’s really besides the point, as he simply looked at me blankly before stretching his smile out into a wide, sinister grin. You know, it REALLY reminded me of a Grinch-who-stole-Christmas kinda smile. Needlessly wide and just…… well you know. Just pretty creepy!

“Funny.” He said between pearly white teeth that were gleaming at me from beneath his chilling grin.

“Yeah….” I said, clearing my throat and becoming apparently occupied with twiddling my pencil between my fingers. “That’s what they …….... DON’T tell me. But yeah, so anyways.”

“Like I was saying.” He said conceitedly, standing up straight and taking advantage of his height over me. “I don’t expect you to believe me Doctor, in fact its probably best if you don’t. Either way, I realize my position on this topic would be difficult to accept and wont press it even though I could give you countless amounts of proof as regards my background.”

“What would you do for proof Vegeta?” I said sarcastically, hating the intimidating presence he seemed to adore having over me. “Show me your flying saucer space pod? Or how bout’ that three toes trick you aliens seem so fond of? No no! Don’t tell me!” I said, holding my hands out in front of me, suddenly caught in the moment as he merely glared down, crossing his arms and waiting for more of my thick sarcasm.

“Let me guess! Let me guess! You’re going to………. Take me to your leader right? No?” I frowned, tapping my chin as he rolled his eyes. “Oh I know! Take me to area 51 and talk to those nice X-file people that go to great lengths to hide every Government thing correct? Or better yet, why don’t you just introduce me to your ol’ buddy E.T. I’ll bet he could clear some of this up. I’m sure you U.F.O types are great pals. Or, at least acquaintances right?”

“I mean, you do keep tabs on each other at least?” I shrugged, putting down my pencil and folding my arms just as stubbornly. “It’d make sense after that whole Mork and Mindy schpeal. Phew!.. What a disaster THAT was. And Michael Jackson? Damn! What the HELL happened to his disguised?”

“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?” He said, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head, rolling my eyes and gesturing to the tape recording.

“Why don’t you just explain Mr. 3rd rock.”

“Hmph.” He snorted, a reaction I came to realize was his short momentary pause before coming back with a witty comment. “I think I will before I’m forced to silence you physically.”

I backed away nervously at his threat, watching as he moved in all the closer, lifting his eyebrows.

“You know, Mars attacks.”
“Impressive.” I said, honestly rather taken back at his slick counter and ability to catch on.

“I know.”

Smoothing down the front of his shirt, he began to pace rather quickly, as if forced to stretch his legs and limbs for the tedious task that lay ahead. Namely, the revealing of his entire life story.

“How should I begin?” he asked honestly, more to himself than to me. “Should I begin from birth, telling of my mother’s struggles as she spat me forth from her very own body, screaming her last breath as I took in my very first? Or should I begin where so many others do, from the point in my life where it all went wrong? From the point in which I became this…….. thing. This man you see before you.

“Shall it be a poetic tale? Of justice, of revenge? Romantic in all its gothic and morbid details? Or shall I merely state the facts as they came and went, telling nothing of their affects upon me as I grew with each one? I’ve never been a story teller, or a talker for that matter. I’m what you humans have so thoughtfully labeled as an observer, simply watching the actions of those around me and taking in what knowledge of them I could gather and digest. But I suppose that raw and bare facts would do no justice to the monstrosities I’ve suffered and even caused with these hands you see before you.”

He lifted his palms up, studying them himself, his eyes telling stories that I couldn’t decipher or guess and yet all the same was anxious to know, gruesome as they may be.

“Yes.” He nodded, still in a trance like state. “Yes I suppose I’ll simply start at the beginning. Or perhaps the end as it were. The end of a part of me, a part of my life and a part of who I could have been.”

He suddenly sat down, the plastic chair groaning irritably at his weight as he adjusted himself upon it, staring directly at me as he began his tale.

“My childhood.” He began, looking at me thoughtfully as he propped his chin upon his hand. “I don’t recall what was so bloody important about it. Why I cherish it even to this day. But it must have been fascinating for me to mourn it so as it was finished. As you may have guessed,” he said leaning back. “My mother was a victim of child birth, a sad fact that plagued many of the women on my planet, whether you believe it to be fictional or not. Saiyan children were strong, strong as any human man that resides on this ball of dirt you call Earth. They were smart, resourceful and as can be expected………. They were killers.

“I was trained to be nothing less than that, earning my first Saiyan kill at the age of 3 years, an impressive achievement even for my pure blood line. I remember it perfectly,” he said in awe, his shapely lips parted in a weak smile, his gaze dreamy. “The salty taste of my own sweat on my mouth, its rank stench as I breathed it in along with wretched amounts of dust that hung thickly in the air. My boots were dug deep into the sand of a coliseum, making my small, young form a spectacle for the eyes of millions. Saiyans. Hungry for the sight of blood.

“It was the annual death spree, a celebration of the murdered and the victors. Two hundred warriors were chosen out of a thousand that volunteered, pit against each other on the battle field and not allowed to leave until the coliseum floor was stained with the death blood of one of them. Such actions in this day and age on this planet would have been an outrage, though human history speaks tales of it not being so at one point, though that is not up for discussion. Regardless, it was a horrific day, even for the brave warriors who waited their turn, ready to kill despite who may be waiting for them out on the field.

“I should tell you now that family ties meant virtually nothing to Saiyans and this day was absolutely NO exception. Men were rivaled against their own blood brothers, caring nothing for the last blow that would permanently end that tie. Part of me now realizes the savagery in this, even an amount of pure insolence and barbarism. But at the time, I doubt it even fazed me, my fascination with death and gore that of a normal human boy’s around the age of 13. And though that obsession would have been enough to spur my booted feet onward into the coliseum alone, along with my inward motivation to fight, it was above all else my goal to please my father.

“Do I need to even elaborate on this? You can’t really even speak words that convey the horrible need I felt for his approval. I doubt such words exist. But I fed off it, longed for it, desperately needed it. It was my food, my water and my air as a child. I suppose in many ways I’ve always been like that. Needing to impress, yearning for approval, whether it be from someone else or simply my own.

“And so it was no different on this day, as I marched fearlessly unto that battle ground, even at such a tender age KNOWING, just KNOWING that I would win. Was it fate that told me these things? Was it some…….psychic power that assured me, even as the giant creature of a Saiyan, Volva, standing some seven feet tall lingered over me in all his smelling glory? Or maybe it was stupidity alone that caused me to challenge him, puffing out my chest to the man that had to lean over his own impressive pectorals simply to see me!

“I can still hear that maniac laugh, the deep rumbling issuing forth as he fought down his own embarrassment at being pitted against a 3 year old, prince or not. Volva was a proud Saiyan, even prouder than most which is considerable. So you can imagine that the jeers and cries from the stands, men he had befriended and even called brothers, only added to his animosity for the cocky little brut that poked fun at every conceivable aspect of his body, seen or unseen.

“Now I was short, even for my age admittedly, and yet at 3 years of age, despite the training from high class tutors, the posh and somewhat lavish surroundings I’d been placed in and the company of sophisticated aristocrats, I could spit swears that would have turned my teachers green!

“ ‘Yackon face!” I’d squealed in my childish voice, dodging a sweeping blow from his massive arm that quite possibly held the power to take my head clean off my tiny shoulders.”

“What does Yackon mean?” I’d cut in rudely, though Vegeta didn’t seem to mind, a rare smile flashing his shiny glass like teeth.

“Yackon is about the equivalent of calling a human male a ball sack face.” He chuckled warmly, covering his mouth with delicate fingertips as he laughed. I was admittedly a bit taken back by this strange display of humor, funny as I was finding it myself. For despite Vegeta’s beauty, and yes, I have no hesitance at calling the man beautiful, I could have sworn that before my eyes he’d been transformed, his smooth skin stretching against his high cheekbones and his glossy eyes shimmering.

And yet just as soon as it had occurred, it was gone and he remained looking thoughtfully ahead, ready to resume his tale.

“Volva swung again, apparently having no patience for such taunting and fully prepared to kill the King’s son with his bare hands, right before the sovereign’s very face. This time I caught his large forearm, sinking my unusually strong fingertips into the moist flesh until it broke, causing a loud roar to burst from his mouth, the veins protruding from his temples as he attempted to tear loose from my ruthless grip. His black, shoulder length hair was swung this way and that as he shook his head, gritting his yellowed teeth as he forced down the screams that tried to spit forth from his twisted lips. In a rage he threw his other fist at me, landing a good, solid blow to the tender side of my cheek, my own feet throwing sand in my eyes as I was tossed like a rag doll into the rock wall of the coliseum.

“I could sense the urgency in my father as he stood up, poorly concealing his fear as the grisly head of Volva shown over me, along with his bleeding arm as his hand grabbed my throat and hoisted me up. I stared face to face with him, my legs kicking as I was slowly strangled to death, my own pressurized protests accompanied by the cheers and “boos” of the audience, watching as their promised future King was being cut short of his life by the oversized brut, Volva.

“Seeing no other option and out of ideas, I struggled relentlessly out of his grip, just enough to sink my teeth, along with my sharp canines, directly into the fatty part of his palm, earning yet another bestial growl from him as I was reluctantly set free unto the ground, gasping for air. I rolled over as his horrible foot was aimed directly at my head, seeing the underneath of it as I managed to escape at the last second before my skull was smashed to liquid against the stadium floor.

“Gasping at the humid air that swirled around me, I bolted to my feet, only to meet up once more with his soaring fist, the same one in fact, that sent my chin upwards in a nasty upper cut, blinding me as he landed a good, solid kick into my ribs and shot me sideways. Speeding through the dust and sand, I purposely rolled several times, giving the entire scene, what you may have considered to be a rather dramatic feel, though in truth I was buying time for the air to fill my starving lungs once more and my temper to soar to its highest degree. Which,”

Vegeta said looking at me carefully, his well manicured nails clicking along the countertop.

“As you may or may not have guessed Tazial, did not take long.

“An idea suddenly occurred to me at that point, unusual as such a thing is when I’m drowning in my temper, as it were. And for all my short years, I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t a cunning, kniving little shit, as my own son most certainly was. Letting a little smile pass my lips, I relied on his actions alone, lying still until his thick, meaty hands were on me, digging into my fragile shoulders as he pulled me upwards, to stare, for perhaps the last time, at my young face.

“It was then that I let a tiny tear drop, though how I managed that, I couldn’t even tell you myself. But it came to me, most assuredly and I began to sob, even to the point of bawling hysterically as the poor beast of a man merely watched, a small tint of color even gracing his grizzly, unattractive features.

‘ “Stop that!” Volva grumbled, sounding much like an Earthling bear would, if ever such a creature could speak in our language. “Stop that right now young Prince!”

“But I only sobbed all the more so, big choking gasps bubbling forth as the audience remained in a hushed, tense silence and my father nearly blood red in his embarrassment, sat down and gave the victor a sign to finish it. Whether or not this bothered me at the time, I don’t honestly know.”

Vegeta said gently, eyes glazed in remembrance and focused on the wall.

“Perhaps the moments in Volva’s grip were simply that. Moments. No rational thought came to me, at least not one that would make me see the shame in what my own father did. Giving a signal to end the life of his only son by a wife that died bravely while providing me. I suppose that I see such actions now as they should have been seen by my race, barbaric as we admittedly were. I should have seen that thumbs down as how I would view it now. As cowardice. But……”
He shrugged.

“Like I said, these thoughts never even occurred to me. And bawling hysterically in his face, Volva blushed with shame for me.

‘ “Prince!” he hissed, moving closer as a dark part of me knew he would. “Prince do NOT forget your honor. Remember the first rule of the warrior.”

‘ “What’s…..” I sniffed pathetically, opening my glossy, wet eyes wide. “What’s that?”

“He scowled at my ignorance, shaking his head as if such incompetence in a three year old were the ultimate dishonor. And moving in closer, he uttered the same words, in the same way, at the same level and at the same distance from me, that I KNEW he would.

‘ “Warriors NEVER cry!”

“And as he proclaimed such disdainful words to me, I plunged my tiny thumbs into his unsuspecting eyes, with such force, with such strength, that I felt the eyeballs burst like cherry tomatoes underneath the pressure, blinding him nearly instantaneously.

“You’ve never heard such screaming as he did, thrashing away from me and holding his bleeding eyes, as if by miraculous intervention his palms could heal what I’d done. The crowds were falling out of the stands as millions rushed forward to see even closer the treacherous thing I’d done. The sound was deafening as cries of utter glee filled the air, the smell of blood exciting the hearts of Saiyans and even my father who stood proudly now, black eyes directly on the son who’d heartlessly gouged the eyes of a useful soldier.

‘ “You’ve forgotten the second rule of the warrior Volva!” I spoke gently, even as my foot cracked against the back of his knees, sending the roaring Saiyan crashing to the ground.

‘ “A warrior never lets his guard down!” I hollered, kicking him mercilessly with my bruising feet, and substantial strength, watching as it was HIS turn to roll through the sand.

‘ “Never underestimates his opponent!”

“Another kick sent him sprawled out on his back, revealing crushed and bloody eye sockets full of crimson matter, void of the two furious orbs that should have been there. And yet, as I stared down into the gore and filth of his face, the uncomely features and hideous smell, for perhaps the first time, and perhaps the last time for many years to come, I felt a great pity enter my heart.

“I’d tricked him.”

Vegeta shook his head disdainfully.

“I’d tricked this man that lay cowering at my feet, absorbed in his own pain and reluctance to die, despite his injury. I hadn’t won through strength, though I’d won fair and square as any moron could see. I’d won through cunning and through trickery of a man who had spent what he had believed to be my last moments, consoling me in his hands and telling me to be brave when most others would have merely finished the gruesome task.

“I kneeled down beside him, a stupid move, I’ll admit, gazing at the bloody tracks that fled down his temples, and his teeth grinding as he forced down any emotion that may have been plaguing his body. The crowd screaming for blood, my father commanding death, I lifted my tiny, pudgy hand to wipe away the dust from his moist cheek, watching droplets of sweat pour from his brow.

‘ “Be….” He whispered in pain, teeth mashed together. “be done with it little warrior.”

“It was no surprise to me that at this moment he wished for death, both the pain and dishonor of lying there a cause for such rash pleas. And young as I was, I knew the future of this man would be one of absolute shame, pitied by a 3 year old and blinded permanently. A life of uselessness. In the Saiyan culture……… Not a life at all.

“What came into me in those last precious seconds of his life, I’m not sure. A great sadness overwhelmed me, and even an intelligence I’d never before possessed. But as I stared at him, hearing my heart beat in my ears, I understood, as I do now, that those were my last seconds of innocence. And with that final blow, I would become the man you see before you, more or less.

“Bending down, I kissed his soaked forehead, my tiny lips moistened with his sweat and parted as I drew in his salty skin, saying farewell to Volva and goodbye to myself.

‘ “Warriors, Volva.” I whispered, drawing the power that I needed into my fist. “Warriors……… never die.”

“And with that I felt the crunch of his rib cage, my fist already half through it before I even acknowledged I’d done it. Blood spattered everywhere, like a great mist and a sickening grunt issued forth from him as he died, fluttering eye sockets becoming still. Puddles of the crimson life force encircled me, staining my young skin as if it could never be removed, covering my hands as I stared down at them, tears, real tears at the bottom of my eyelids.”


_____________________________________________ ________________________


To the little SHIT who insisted that I don’t have a life, why don’t YOU go get a fucking education. Hmm… let see here.

“maybe YOu should get a life you right so many storys you probably dont have one”

Let me rephrase that for you so people over 3rd grade understand it.

“Maybe YOU should get a life. You WRITE so many STORIES, you probably don’t have one.”

Ahem* Lets address this little mother fucker now shall we? Number one… I live in Las Vegas you little embarrassment, don’t have a life? I WISH I didn’t have a life! I’m CONSTANTLY struggling for extra time, for a spare fucking minute to take a moment for myself! And I have no life? You go around to people’s stories and piss them off! Do you even NEED me to elaborate?

And as if I even needed to expound; since you OBVIOUSLY aren’t an author or even a literate human, I want you to know something. All writers, all authors know that writing will NEVER be your life. It’s an escape from it.

When you drive in traffic all day, you hit every red light, you get flipped off for cutting in front of people, you work a shitty job you hate, you sit for hours on an uncomfortable chair while getting your car worked on at an auto-body shop, THEN you can tell me I don’t need an escape! THEN YOU CAN FUCKING TELL ME THAT I HAVE NO LIFE!

Writing will never be my entire life, but my shelter from it. Whenever you grow up and can see your dick without a microscope, we’ll have this conversation again.

Stupid little bitch.

Love

Camaro