Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fathoming Love ❯ Chapter 11 ( Chapter 11 )

Fathoming Love

Chapter 11

Mourning Heart

 

 

The next morning was the 10th of November. It was a day I remember and celebrate each year, as I will until the day I die. The morning was cold, as autumn often is, and I drove to my destination, aware that I would no doubt be unforgivably late for Vegeta's appointment. But for those few, rare moments, I didn't care. Obsessed, ingrained, infatuated as I was with his story, with his life, with him, I didn't care.

 

It was one of those gray days. You know the kind don't you? It seems like the sky is one big blob of whitish gray. You can't even see the traces of the clouds. Its simply one dismal, boring slab of a cloud covering the beautiful blue sky you'd hardly have believed was there unless you had taken a plane on such a day and seen the glowing sun on the other side.

 

And it was cold. That dry, biting cold that simply chills you to the bone and you're certain that you'll never know true warmth again. The kind of cold that numbs your toes right inside your shoes and you begin to believe that they're frozen together in one big clump.

 

Well, I go on too long. It was simply said, that sort of day.

 

And along with such a description, it was Justin's birthday.

 

I walked through the cemetery, hearing the crunching of beautiful leaves, the dull ash colored sky casting a dreary, rainy look over even the bright yellows and reds of fall. The biting cold blew at the dead grass, the wind stinging my cheeks and forcing me to grip my scarf tighter around my neck, my gloved hands chilled from the exposure.

 

And all the while I thought, `this isn't right'. This wasn't how November 10th was supposed to be. It wasn't how it was before. I remembered the day that Justin was born, the sun had simply poured into the hospital as I held him in my arms, trying not to fall over Laura in my happiness. Trying not to shout at the sky in my pride and joy, to grab my wife and hold her close to me and my son. I wondered if all fathers felt that same insanity.

 

I think I must have been crying inside even before I reached his grave.

 

It was there, by an old tree, orange and yellow leaves scattering across the front of the ugly cement slab. I read the front of the grave stone, the tiny words chiseled into the front, as if I hadn't read them a thousand times before.

 

“Here rests an Angel. Borrowed by the earth as a gift and given back to God.”

 

My mouth twisted in repulsion and I had to look away. So much of me hated that statement. That God had taken back an Angel. Well you don't take things back like that! You don't just……… you don't just give and take without conscious thought of the loss you leave behind. If you intend on giving and taking at will, at least be humane enough to take the memories along.

 

I guess I haven't forgiven God yet.

 

But back to the story. Forgive me, I must have gotten carried away.

 

I knelt before the grave, my heart heavy, like a weight was tied upon it. I breathed because I knew nothing more to do. I brushed back the leaves from his name, reading the dates that told of a short, unlived life.

 

“But why?” I asked aloud, knowing that no one could hear me.

 

“I just want an answer,” I whispered, feeling heat come to my eyes. “Someone just tell me why.”

 

I saw my breath like smoke as the tears came, hot at first when they trickled down my cheeks and then cooling like ice on my burning flesh. I tried to stop them, to look up and let them pool at the bottom of my lids until they simply went away. I wiped my nose, swallowing hard and trying to think of something else. But I failed miserably and it wasn't long before I was face down in the dirt and grass.

 

“Where are you Justin?” I sobbed into my gloved hand, bawling in short, hateful gasps into the cotton. The pain was heavy within me, as the pain of loss often is and I cried it out one sob at a time.

 

“Why couldn't you have stayed, just a little longer?” I pleaded, raising my face to the dull, boring sky, the chilling wind wrapping around my tears.

 

“Don't you see how much I need you?!”

 

I threw my fist into the ground in rage, the salty tears pouring down my cheeks. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

 

“Why can no one tell me why you had to go!?” I screamed. “Why cant someone just answer me!?”

 

I looked accusingly towards the sky.

 

“Why does no one have an answer, God? Why is it…. some big fucking secret? DAMN YOU!” I began ripping at the grass in my rage, tearing the dead ugly yellow blades out in big heaps, throwing them like an animal digging into the ground.

 

“WHY DON'T YOU CARE?!” I hollered, the wind taking my echo away. “WHY DON'T YOU CARE GOD?! How can you just….. just WATCH?! You're supposed to be loving and you…… you selfishly take! And you give us no reason. You don't tell us where they go. You take and you leave behind loss and uncertainty if we'll ever see them again. WHY DON'T YOU CARE!?”

 

“Why…..” I heaved, burying my face into the ground, my throat hoarse from my outburst. “Why'd you……… Why couldn't you have left Justin?”

 

“I wish I knew.” Came a voice from out of no where, startling me from my anger. I turned in hateful irritance towards the source of such eavesdropping, my eyes blurry as I caught sight of him, standing with his hands in his pockets only feet from me. How had I not heard him approaching?

 

He stood what seemed like a near seven feet tall, with sharp black eyes and dark, unruly hair, a handsome, boyish face and a calm, even voice. He looked down in pity at me, clutching dead leaves in my hands as I cried like a child. There was a great deal of sadness in this man, a sadness which I recognized as loss and despair. But I was too engulfed in my own pain to share another's.

 

“Why are you here?” I said, turning back to the stone I so hated. “Why are you disturbing me?”

 

“I…” He faltered, his steady voice suddenly a bit uneasy. “I don't know, I guess.”

 

“That's quaint.” I snapped. “So tell me, whoever you are. Do you always watch people mourn their loved ones in a graveyard?” I was becoming irate in my annoyance, tempted to lash out at him. “Do you get some sort of sick pleasure out of this?”

 

He answered nothing, the only sound great gusts of air escaping my lungs and the wind blowing at the scurrying leaves. I almost turned around simply to see if he was still there when I felt his warm hand touch my shoulder. I was startled by the gesture, staring at the hot fingertips that latched unto my body like a vice, as if he was unaware of his own strength and was simply touching me without realizing the extent of the pressure he was putting out.

 

“Forgive me.” He whispered, his words like the breeze. Like a secret only I could know. “I meant you no harm.”

 

I swallowed, slowly lifting my hand to his bare fingers, wanting to feel the touch of another being like myself. To feel a human with my hand, as I hadn't in what felt like forever. Just to feel some sort of connection.

 

“You cry because you miss him?” he said gently, kneeling down behind me, his sharp black eyes scanning the words engraved into the head stone I had read just before. I only nodded, realizing in my uncomfortable state that his eyes were just like Vegeta's. Sharp, calculating, black. Realizing that his skin held the same unnatural smoothness, the same flawless, inhuman texture.

 

“But you'll be with him someday.” He said, his eyes landing upon mine, as if knowing that I had been staring at him unusually. It was more of a statement than a question. “Why cry when you'll see each other again?”

 

My eyes must have betrayed me once again because I felt my mouth curl at the words and hot liquid drip down my face. I lifted my hand to my heart.

 

“Because it hurts.” I answered simply, patting my chest. “Because it hurts in here.”

 

He looked at me, with wide, prying eyes, as if truly confused by my words. Like he couldn't understand my logic. It seemed he examined me, perhaps looking for a wound of some sort that could be blamed for this pain he couldn't understand. Timidly he lifted his hand to my chest, touching gently, or as gently as this giant of a man could. I was intimidated by his movements, almost childlike. Gentle and imploring like a doctor, touching me through my sweater. He rested his palm flat against my chest, over my heart and I knew he was feeling the beating from within. The same pump, pump, pump that had always been there.

 

“I can't heal this.” He said softly, his shapely lips moving to say the words that came more like a breath of wind than a sentence. I was suddenly struck by how beautiful he was, watching how his unnaturally large eyes looked over my face, like they were studying every plane and line that created it.

 

“Only time can.” I said, as I had heard so many times at the funeral. For months afterwards. For every day I had to remind myself of the emptiness I felt.

 

“No.” he answered, his eyes darting from one of mine to the other. “No. Time can only make a scab. The wound will always be there.”

 

He reached his bare hand to my face, along my cheek area as if to calm me. There was nothing sexual or suggestive about the gesture, merely a curiosity it seemed. For his size, for the strength that I was certain was there, he reminded me almost of a curious toddler in his hesitant movements.

 

“You need to be strong you know.” He smiled, reminding me again of how breath taking he was. I wanted to say something. To acknowledge out loud that he distinctly reminded me of someone and that I knew there was something secretive about him. But he silenced me with his next words, peering sharply into my eyes and touching his forehead to mine.

 

“You need to be strong for Laura now.”

 

And with that he got to his feet, planting his hands inside his pockets and leaving me astonished and unable to react.

 

 

 

“And so?”

 

“And so that was the way it was.” Vegeta said, looking dismally at his plain, white surroundings.

 

“I was given corridors right next to Zarbon's, an exquisite, large room in which I alone was allowed to decorate. And decorate I did, using Zarbon's seemingly endless supply of wealth as my personal piggy bank, demanding such privileges for the sheer fact that this irritating turn of events had so abruptly befallen me.

 

“ `You wanted me out Zarbon.” I would remind him, as his color turned to an angry forest green and his priceless gold eyes glared in my direction. I would sit there, eating my imported, freshly cooked by my gourmet chef, food, scarfing it down like a glutton and watching as load after load of furniture and décor was led into my new establishment.

 

“I purchased mind boggling amounts of artwork done by deceased painters, all with the theme of blood, war and death. The colors of the room were limited to blood red (and yes, I mean BLOOD red) gold, and of course my favorite, black. Each painting I received was gore ridden and grotesque to look upon. Some were plagued by promiscuous sex acts and homosexuals raping each other in filthy, horrific manners. These were my favorites you can imagine, and many hours I sat upon my ghastly, black canopy bed and gazed at the brutal scenes, desensitizing myself if there was anything left inside that remained innocent.

 

“To say my chosen decorations were a bit of a clash against Zarbon's, would have been quite the understatement. But enough of this talk. You need only know that I although up until this point I had lived my life in a rather dirty and decrepit lifestyle, my time with Zarbon was glorious and I had any riches lavished upon me that I wished. So don't think that I was completely removed from society. Don't pity me for being deprived because I wasn't.

 

“The supposed lover of the strongest leader next to Frieza, I was given incredible amounts of respect, freedom to whichever part of the ship I desired and the power of choice regarding my work, which was namely, as you probably know already, to purge all life from wanted planets. And this alone would have given me great power over others as I was obsessed with becoming stronger, the strongest.

 

“I think I must be the worst story teller imaginable Tazial. I feel like I've simply left out so many detrimental parts to my tale. Namely the fact that I hated Frieza with a passion not many men could control. I hated him. HATED HIM! Gah! If only I could find words enough to do such loathing justice. I detested his presence, blamed every failure of my own upon his tyrannical mastership over me.

 

“And so, while I could most definitely elaborate on this hatred, I'll leave you with the knowledge only that while being with Zarbon meant more than you could know to me, the goal to defeat, to conquer, and to kill Frieza was stronger than anything else I could register. And time only seemed to make that hatred fester. To infect it with only more and more venom.

 

“The hatred was like a disease that you can't cure, given time and spreading. But I suppose to say that I didn't have my reasons, would be a lie. Oh, I had reasons. One of them being the Telimasiance, a gathering together of all Frieza's “followers”, or as I refer to them, slaves. Basically, it was an excuse for the bastard to watch his servants fight it out in the ring, not unlike blood rituals at home on my planet.

 

“You didn't leave the ring until someone was dead. That was the rules. Didn't matter who was in there. You killed, or you WERE killed. That was the jest of it. And while I had been delivered from the responsibility to pray for the monster, I was forced into this massacre without a choice, though I'll admit right here and now, I wouldn't have turned down the offer if given one.”

 

“So because you got older, and didn't sleep beside Zarbon anymore, you weren't forced to pray at the sanctuary?” I asked him suddenly, remembering his obscene description of the place.

 

“That, yes.” He said, tapping his finger under his chin. “And the pressing fact that my hands were no longer innocent. As I mentioned, it was innocents and beauty alone that would open the heart of God. And while I still retained my striking beauty,” he boasted, lifting his head. “Lets just say, I gave Frieza a run for his money when it came to blood shed.”

 

“But we're off the topic aren't we? I've missed so many crucial points and I have to apologize, though I don't often. Up until this point I had begun purging alone, freeing myself of Zarbon for the time being and exploring deeper and deeper into the endless depths of torture. I was desensitizing myself, as I've mentioned before. The more I killed, the more barbaric and insane it was, the less and less I felt for it. And I didn't want to feel. You've got to understand that any feelings at all were a weakness one way or another and if not cut off, the burden of death could consume you. And so you turned it off or fought it away as I did. And this I did remarkably efficient.

 

“Also I need to make it clear than any dwindling virginity that might have been there, was soon nonexistent. Spurred on by my experiences on Nomache, I became obsessed with the act of sex, doing whatever it took to get it. And though I can honestly tell you right now, the idea of rape is appalling to me, lets just say, I haven't always been known to turn the option down.”

 

“You raped girls?!” I asked horrified.

 

“I did.” He answered solemnly, turning away from me in what I had begun to silently recognize as perhaps guilt. “Though I was gentle about it and took far more care then my other companions often did, yes, I raped them. But they had to die Tazial. You're forgetting that. They were doomed. I didn't go to a planet simply to get laid. That wasn't my mission or I no doubt would not have harbored such strong resentments towards Frieza. No, they were all going to die one way or another and after I was finished doing what it took to free myself of the hunger for sex, I disposed of them, kindly at first, feeling some unknown attachment to them, and brutally after a while.

 

“I don't mean to justify myself. I never have. I wouldn't be telling you my story simply to be forgiven the monstrosities I have bestowed upon those I've met in my existence. Forgiveness is long gone from me. I simply tell you as it is. Or more truly, as it was. To say that I'm a different person now than I was then, well, a more truthful statement has never been uttered. I'm not who I was back then, and though some deep, sick part of me hates that, most of me, the part that remains, thanks whatever God exists that I don't still wallow in sin as I did.

 

“But I didn't always rape them Camden. I didn't have to on most accounts. I didn't want to on others. But my appearance, on whatever planet I landed on, seldomly went without appreciation. And sex became like training for me. I found new ways to achieve it. I found fun ways to get it. I would seduce, tantalizing the women with my intellect and charming grin or be the shy, quiet fool in the corner that sent out those `mysterious' vibes to get what I wanted.

 

“But I found quite quickly what was my type and what wasn't. And yes, unlike my pitiful Saiyan companions, I did have a type. And I don't mean look wise. I've never been limited to such foolish, shallow headed options. I mean personality wise, mentally wise. I liked strong women. Now how a hotheaded, or as Bulma would so eloquently put it, chauvinistic pig like myself ever became infatuated with domineering women, I'm not sure. Probably some bad joke for God's amusement. But a woman with a strong, sometimes uncouth presence, that was my choice. My weakness in some sense.

 

“Maybe because they were always a bit of a challenge. Strong women aren't so easily enslaved to passion as they say. They seem to analyze the situation, the consequences and repercussions. They just seemed to think more, and whether this was often a pessimistic view, it drew me in immediately. And I was rarely turned down. The only times I was reduced to rape was when time was short and my skills as a charmer weren't working as quickly as my situation allowed. And I would kill them immediately afterwards, perhaps too quickly, simply to know that I could. To remind myself of who and what I was. A monster never weighed down by conscience, guilt, or regret.

 

“But I'm sick of all this talk. Facts. All stupid, useless facts. And I thought they were crucial. Pfft! Hardly. I tire of this subject. We were discussing my reasons for hating Frieza. And reasons were most definitely at my disposal. Beginning most truly with the Telimasiance.

 

“Now as I mentioned before, it was a large festival of battle, held on a planet I've long since forgotten. Not that the name matters. It probably doesn't even exist anymore. But I was invited, along with Zarbon, to battle against other members of Frieza's ever growing army. At first I believed it to be another one of Frieza's boring parties, another celebration over a bloody victory that had taken place. And yes, he held an obscene number of such parties. And to say I was “invited” would really be stupid. I was summoned without request to partake in the activities.

 

“And it was within this voyage that I realized my true potential as a fighter. I had always sought to be strong. To be the strongest actually. But I didn't realize how close I was coming to my goal until I found myself in the top league, paired against fighters that would have wiped the coliseum floor with me not even a year prior.

 

“Ah, coliseum. Good word for it. I swear, I've picked up more human words than that horrendously long Webster's dictionary. I mean only that I've found more words that can describe and be similar to the experiences and places I've been to. Coliseum. Yes, that's perfect.

 

“Like your historical gladiators, we were set against another man, at times ordered to dispose of our energy attacks, fighting hand to hand in combat. At other times, the more gory times, we were given weapons to kill each other, thus feeding the always blood thirsty crowds that were gathered around. The high bidders, the classy aristocratic leaders and their wives. These were invited to over look the celebration and to be attending such a gathering was truly a statement indeed. They came from all different parts of the universe, some appearing to be something other than flesh and blood.

 

“Forget about this though. The stage was set and man after man I fought and defeated, absurdly gaining the adoration of the crowd. At first I killed quick and easily, slicing off the head of my victim or punching my fist through his rib cage. And I was loved, no doubt. But it wasn't until I began to slowly dismember my enemy that the sound of the onlookers was deafening. I was soon being called Vegeta the Merciless, appeasing the audience with each horrific victory.

 

“And trust me, I didn't care who I was set up against. He could have been fifty feet tall, and my egotistical mind would reduce him to cinders before the job was done. I was suddenly realizing my own potential. I was realizing my freedom from Zarbon with each ghastly movement I made to tear down my opposition. Until now, I must have felt some sort of dependence upon him, not understanding up until these moments that it had been quite some time since I'd truly needed his protection. My strength and my merciless attitude would defend me sufficiently enough. And this, along with my attractive attributes, earned me respect. Not Zarbon.

 

“I was pit up against men I knew soon enough, Frieza's ever reproachful eye upon me as I slaughtered men I'd know for years, as if it were just another day of purging strangers. I knew it must have delighted him. And yet, I was in my glory, even as I tore Roman straight down the middle with a rusty ax.”

 

“Roman!” I gasped. “Wasn't he….”

 

“Yes, the young boy who had accompanied me in my hiding from the rapists on the ship. But know that despite our fearful moments in that air conditioning vent, my attachment to him had long since grown cold. And inside, so had he. Ah, see now I can tell you're feeling sorry for him. Humans! Don't Tazial. Just…… don't.

 

“You'd think that after witnessing such horrors as he had in that vent, watching young boys be molested and demolished like trash, that he'd never do it himself. Nonsense. That was just his introductory towards it. Roman was a rapist like there never was. Nor shall ever be again, God willing. Bless the poor, unguarded soul that crossed that fifteen year old's path alone. If I had even the time enough to tell you the stories. But I wont. I spare you that much Tazial. Just don't pity him alright?”

 

I nodded uncertainly, awaiting his grotesque descriptions to come.

 

“I must say Tazial,” he continued smiling, reminding me again of that handsome creature that had spoken to me at the graveyard only the previous day. But then, I hadn't admitted this experience to Vegeta, feeling no pressing need to.

 

“As much as I hated Frieza, and you know I did, I was in my moment of triumph when I was pit against the last competitor, the champion of the previous year's celebration. A Grunidite was a feared species simply for its size, but one with battling skills? Ha! The very mention was nearly taboo. Standing alone on that dusty ground, my feet digging into the dirt and sand, I allowed my eyes to open just a fraction wider at the sheer magnitude of him. And ugly! Oh God Tazial was he ugly! Mucous dripping, grim infested, sticky skin and oh Christ that fucking smell that STILL haunts me! Blah!” He shook his head, sticking out his tongue.

 

“Gross. That's all I could think. Just…….... just………. GROSS! I think I must have hesitated to hit him for the fact that I was too appalled to touch him! God, if only I could have spared my limbs contact with that oozing ball of snot! The color of dried shit and crusty blood, his face was beyond description. Again, I'm going to spare you that much. And you ought to thank me. I'm the one who has to relive this disgusting moment in my life.

 

“I was repulsed and I'm certain he could see it in my attributes for he growled, in a voice nearly as revolting as his appearance,

 

“ `What are you staring at Saiyan?”

 

“Well, its not like I felt compelled to answer him, or even breath in the needed oxygen to speak words. I simply stood there until his big, grisly arm came flying at my head and dodging him with superior speed, I winced before landing a kick right in between his dull green eyes.

 

“I sunk into his forehead, believe it or not. I was knee deep in goo and slime, which I was to realize was part of his attack against me. I was literally, and catch this, LITERALLY stuck in this guy's head! Up to my knee in him while he beat the hell out of me. I was twisting and turning to no avail while his bulgy, dangly arms knocked me side to side. And this fucker was no wimp I'll tell you that much. Barely conscious, I still struggled, digging my hand like an idiot into the grime, trying to free my legs only to realize that my arm was now stuck!”

 

“Are you serious?!” I cut in, watching his amusement at my reaction.

 

“Absolutely. Stuck in this big ball of nast!” he shook his head laughing. “To say it was embarrassing wouldn't cover it. I was humiliated, getting the shit beaten out of me by something I'd be too sickened by to even flush, right in front of Frieza's smug face as he watched from the stands. Not even that, but right before Zarbon, who, much to his dismay, was sitting directly beside Frieza and his fat, bubble gum friend Dodoria.

 

“Hating my predicament, my temper began to soar, albeit blinding me somewhat. I was in a rage, thrashing back and forth, beating off the Grunidite's hideous arms as they came at me, growling like an animal. The crowd was CRAZY! People falling out of the stands, pushing and shoving in chaos, trying to see my demise better.

 

“It was then that an idea came to me, and focusing all my energy into my feet, I began to glow, right in his forehead. Immediately his movements stopped, and he began crying out that I was burning him. Ha! As if I'd stop! And with one horrendous growl, I compacted all my power into one huge blast, blowing the smelly, abhorring bastard straight to kingdom come. But not before scattering what was left behind all over the stadium. And yes, even that nasty little smirk of Frieza's was wiped off, or better yet, covered by sticky, sweaty goo. And did I forget to mention, Grunidites smell even worse crispy fried?”

 

“So you beat him.”

 

“BAH!” Vegeta snorted at my understatement. “Beat him? More like liquefied him. They were carrying what was left out in wheel barrels and buckets. Many of them might I add. And I was in a blaze of glory once again, the stands bursting with adoring fans, the cries deafening as I threw my arms into the air and egotistically began cheering myself on.

 

“But my victory was not to be lived long, and standing upright from his chair, Frieza calmly announced that, this after all being the one hundredth year celebration on this planet, a special battle was to take place. Oh, and what a rare pairing this would be indeed. And I might have been overjoyed to show off my skills one more time, painful as the last beating had been. And I might have been simply intrigued by the idea of a fighter able to match me in the ring. If the name of my opposition hadn't been Zarbon.”