Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fathoming Love ❯ Chapter 25 ( Chapter 25 )

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

That night I had stayed awake, listening once more to the tapes and hearing his raspy laughing throughout it all. It had been a good day, a lighter day than the others and I was stuck there in my dark, shadowy office room pondering over how a man that had so obviously loved his wife, could have possibly killed her. Did love fade that quickly? Love and admiration THAT strong?

I recalled putting my hand to Vegeta’s forehead, just like I always had done to Justin when he complained of being ill. I could always tell when my son was sick and it wasn’t just the fever that told me. It was almost like I could feel his pain through the palm of my hand and I had felt the very likeness when I’d touched Vegeta. There had been no fever, but his skin was unnaturally cold (now whether that could be attributed to the fact that he wasn’t human, is a very large possibility).

Beneath the skin of my palm, I had felt pain and suffering very great. Only, I didn’t know for sure where it was coming from or if I was completely delusional about the entire thing.

I suddenly heard a very slight movement near my door, so slight, it was almost as if I had just sensed a tiny flicker in the current of the air. Looking under my door and pausing the tapes, I could see a shadow lurking beneath the frame, my suspicions mounting.

“Laura.” I said. “Laura, is that you?”

The shadow seemed to be uncomfortable, like it was putting its weight on one foot and then the other impatiently. Something about the movement made me realize very suddenly that it WASN’T Laura. In fact, the movements, the tiny, inhuman speeds that I could sense reminded me very distinctly of the way that Vegeta’s fingers moved on the top of a table. It’s difficult to describe but the speed at which he could move them was either too slow and agile for a human to move them, or too quick often for me to even see.

The thought occurred to me and I took a deep breath before uttering “Kakarot” aloud.

THAT stopped the shadow and it seemed instantly, even as I could still see the shapes of feet beneath the door, it disappeared, the air around it making the same small swooshing noise as before when the intruder had approached.

‘So,’ I thought to myself. ‘He’s been here and he’s been listening to the tapes. But why? For what purpose? Is he looking for the very same answers as I am?’



“No, you don’t have to remind me, Tazial,” Vegeta complained, in perfect health the very next day, as promised. “I recall flawlessly where I was. So, it all really began with the opera. And this wasn’t just ANY opera that she wanted to see, but truly her favorite and a spectacle like nothing I’d ever seen before.

“The opera, was so fittingly named The Phantom of the Opera, and I’m most certain you’ve probably heard the story line Tazial, so I won’t insult your intelligence too much by going on and on about the plot, but truly, it was a theatrical masterpiece. Zarbon had always dragged me to little plays or nickelodeons or whatever people call them on this planet. He felt that they were a good part of learning, and acceptance and study into culture and art. Most importantly, he found the spectacles beautiful and inspiring, something I didn’t quite understand until attending this one myself.

“The dresses, the singing and dancing and costumes. They were a large part of his “culture” and “style” and though he could only on rare occasions drag me to one, he was a regular in attendance while we stayed on Nomache. Honestly though, he would have cried had he seen anything quite like this. Even someone like me, an avid believer that emotions make one weak, it could touch and move.

“I had dressed fashionably, looking absolutely stunning in a black tailored tuxedo, or whatever you call them, my hair trimmed (as Bulma insisted I must have done before we go) and my shoes shining remarkably. Bulma’s mother, as I might have very well expected, was quick to make a scene, dotting over me like I was a child dressed up in a sailor’s outfit for my Walmart pictures or something.

“Bulma, as could also have been expected, was quite the formidable “date” and came into the kitchen in a gorgeous, sparkling brown gown that hugged every curve in a way that I suddenly wished I could. Honest to God Tazial, she was fucking gorgeous. I adored how she looked without makeup and even on her frumpiest days I could still appreciate her. But right then and there, I wanted to put my fist through a wall she was so stunning. I think I even forgot to breathe and ended up nearly fainting when I finally did.

“ “Damn.” I think was all I said. In fact, it might have been “fuck” or some other filthy word that you’re not even supposed to utter in the presence of a lady but then of course, I didn’t quite consider her a lady and I certainly was no gentleman.

“The dress, though somewhat modest, was exceptional on her. It had the smallest, most intricate design of green and red leaves crossing over her chest, hugging her lower abdomen and slipping over her thighs. Like autumn leaves caught in a circular gust of wind, flowing over her most beautiful parts. The gown, though brown, was breathtaking, a very soft velvet that cradled to her form perfectly. And when later on in the evening I was forced to hug her to me, I loved the feeling of her warmth underneath it.

“I looked at her face and was blown away by what makeup could really do. It enhanced her eyes, making them seem almost a knock-you-on-your-ass blue and her perfect shade of lipstick made her mouth all that much more tempting to me. I had to look away, pretending to not be impressed and I’m sure in the process hurting her feelings. She’d really gone all out for this.

“ “Oh Vegeta,” She sighed. “I know you think I’m pretty, you don’t have to say it.”

“I merely grunted, happy that that didn’t really deny or give anything away. A grunt was something you took however you wanted, but could never be sure that’s what it originally implied. I used that one a lot.

“She slipped a red rose into the pocket of my tux over my heart, smiling as she did it and thanking me for actually going through with this. Again, (so originally) I grunted my response.

“I was amazed though, at the sheer size of the luxurious theatre, the ceilings engraved with tiny gold angels with large trumpets, the walls decked out with huge golden pillars and enormous crystal chandeliers adorned everywhere. There were Victorian paintings of cherubs and large winged angels, of white, flowing clouds and perfect blue skies.

“I could hardly take it all in, not even noticing when Bulma took my hand and led me up a gorgeous spiraled staircase to our box seats. Predictably, I hadn’t realized even what “box seats” meant, but apparently, they’re a big deal as I heard slight whispers behind us regarding the notion and the ushers looked at us as though we were royalty. Which I was, but they didn’t know that and it finally dawned on me that in this messed up reality, on this world, royalty wasn’t so much appointed or born into as it is earned by riches, beauty and glory.

“Sitting down and closing the curtain behind us, we were met with beautiful red, velvet chairs and they were surprisingly comfortable as I sat down, crossed my arms and prepared for the boredom. Well, it never came and I was pleasantly surprised it didn’t but I’m skipping ahead.

“Across from me sat a gorgeous red head, legs crossed beneath a skimpy (or as Bulma always referred to them “Skanky”) red skirt. She was obviously noticing me, being rather bold about it all considering I was with Bulma, and cocked her head to the side as a symbol to meet her outside. It didn’t occur to me that Bulma had even witnessed this, as she kept going on and on about how beautiful the place was and so on and on.

“ “Yes,” I murmured, distractedly. “Beautiful.”

“The red head quietly whispered something into her dreadfully old husband’s ear and prepared to exit.

“Right as I was positioning my hands to boost myself off the chair, watching as the red head left her seat while never losing eye contact with me, Bulma, without letting her eyes leave the stage, blocked a hand over my chest.

“ “Don’t even think about it.” She said, like she was scolding a child. So I simply crossed my arms, glared away from her and pouted until the show began.

“But as the curtain rose above the rafters, my mind and soul were set ablaze with this rupturing music, penetrating every vein, every fiber, every particle of my body. I’d never even known that music could move one so surely, my skin tingling and chills running up my back. It was both gothic and brooding, yet at the same time powerful beyond magnitude. It seemed a great force all on its own, preying down upon the audience until I saw not one jaw that hadn’t dropped.

“I sat forward in my chair, absolutely astounded at this new sensation. That my mind and body were essentially being taken over and my attention no longer mine to control. I couldn’t HELP but watch and gawk in awe as tiny women sang with the voices of legendary titans, and men shook the seats with deep, sensual baritones. I was completely overwhelmed.

“Even if the play had had no plot at all, I would have been magnetized by the music, perfectly content to sit there for two hours just listening and letting the memories take their part in the notes. It rumbled beneath my feet, soaring over my body, completely engulfed in my mind. I looked over at Bulma, confused as to whether I was over reacting or if this was effecting her as well. She seemed speechless, her hand covering her throat as if she was protecting herself, her breath seeming to have been swept away by the music.

“As if I thought it was all I came for, the music abruptly stopped, actors and actresses filling the stage and enacting beautiful plays for the cheering audience. I was immediately intrigued with a dark, brooding character that was so obviously in love with his cherub-voiced pupil. He would listen in the shadows, lurking like a ghost or ghoul, hearing her sweet voice rock the walls of the auditorium.

“They called him the Phantom of the Opera, one half of his face covered by a white mask, the other side, a handsome man in his prime with dark hair and almost cruel eyes. I’d never heard the story so the entire experience was ultimately unpredictable to me as I watched the characters sing heartfelt ballades to each other one minute and then viciously quarrel the next.

“Through the entire play, I saw myself as him. As the one in the shadows, the marvelously complex monster with a hideous past and an even more hideous distain for all of creation. He blamed the world for his treachery, rather than accepting his own wickedness and atoning for his sins. In the name of a blind love, he would kill and murder and in his vicious desperation, I saw myself.

“Raoul, the handsome, rich pansy of a suitor instantly reminded me of Bulma’s pathetic excuse for a boyfriend, Yamcha. With his boyish charms, little-to-no known personality and no distinguishable qualities worth liking, he was the perfect picture of the boring, easy choice man, the kind that a presentable, smart woman automatically hooks up with for the stability she would have lacked regarding the other option. Yes, he was the smarter choice, with his carriages and horses and all the world he could have given her.

“And yet, the ruthless bastard in me instantly hoped she’d fall in love with the phantom. His love was impure and in this, I could intimately understand where he was coming from. In my own way, I began to see into his mind, to understand his own thoughts. The love wasn’t love… it was a haunted obsession. A demon seeking the path to heaven on the shoulders of an angel. Did he truly love her, or did he love only her goodness, the aspect that made her so different from himself? For evil will always drawn to that which is opposite of itself.

“Was that why I wanted Bulma? Falling for something I’d never be, the bad boy finding the charms in a virginal good girl? Or was it something deeper, more powerful? Did I want it to be?

“No, of course not. Why would I? As Christine, the actress and love interest to both men saw the wretched fiend as an Angel of Music, Bulma truly saw something in me that didn’t exist. But unlike the Phantom, I didn’t put myself in those shoes in order to trick my prey. She simply saw in me what she wanted to see. Why couldn’t she look further? Why couldn’t she see who I really was and why did I know she’d never accept me for that?

“If I was truly honest with her, if she’d seen my past, known how many women just like her I’d put to death after I’d essentially RAPED them, she would loathe me more than any creature prowling along the surface of the earth. As hard as I fought the feeling, and didn’t want to ponder on it at all, it was always there. The insecurity, the lies, the secrets, the feelings of being inadequate for a heart that I simply didn’t possess. Why should I feel like the lowly one when others expected out of me reactions and emotions that I didn’t know. It’s like scolding a toddler for breaking a rule you hadn’t even told them yet. It’s ludicrous and yet people expected things of me that I couldn’t live up to or better yet, didn’t feel like I had to.

“If she wanted to see who I really was, then I’d fucking show her, I decided. Forget the charades of playing the calm brotherly type. Forget the quiet exterior and pondering mind, the façade that I’d thrown up like a mask at every corner. If she was expecting to see an angel, I’d show her the devil incarnate that lurked behind these peering eyes. And then she’d tremble before me, realizing all too late the treachery of her dire underestimation. Oh yes, she’d tremble and then I’d-


“ "Fear can turn to love...” I heard suddenly, coming back to the play. The reincarnation of myself was on stage again, his powerful, sensual voice pleading. “you'll learn to see, to find the man……”

“I looked over, realizing that Bulma was mouthing the words, tears welling on the rims of her eyes.

“ “behind the monster..."


“It was too much for me suddenly, and without a word of explanation, I pushed myself off the chair, throwing open the curtain of the box and exiting the building. It was unexplainable. How was I to even take it all in? Was I to be honest with her, with myself finally? And what would that prove? Only that in the end, I would essentially end up harming her. I would get bored, she would lose her magic and I’d ultimately break her heart once I’d realized that I had it. What challenge could she possibly contain once I’d already gotten what I’d wanted?

“It was a fruitless sojourn, as pitiful as the very ideal that the phantom and his love would end up together. For that’s when the magic would have left and the depression of dark gloomy walls and a lifetime of dealing with each other would have ruined all the possible romance of it. The curtain would close, the idea of eternal love plaguing the air, and then behind the scenes, the affair would run cold, time and age poisoning what had started off so grand.

“Christine, like Bulma, was better off choosing the realistic lover, the boyish ingrate that could give her the world and the light and an end to the darkness. She deserved that and if I really gave two shits about her, I would let her go. Or at least put an end to something before it ever started.

“I tore off the bow around my neck, which I had never gotten used to anyways, tossing it behind me as I walked angrily over the wet, cobble stone street, tearing at myself to rid my body of irritating fabrics or buttons that held too closely to my throat.

“ “Vegeta!” I heard the rapid clacking of heels behind me. “Vegeta, please stop!”

“I grabbed at the red rose bud she had placed in my pocket, shredding it before throwing the peddles to the ground. I was in a rage and I couldn’t understand why. Why did I care so much? Why didn’t I just say fuck it, do what I wanted, get it done and over with and not give a shit what happened later on? That’s how I’d always done things, so why the change now? And WHY the change for HER?!

“ “Vegeta stop!” She yelled, running up next to me and panting. “What the hell’s the matter with you? I thought you would like it.”

“ “It…” I stammered, sitting down on a wet sidewalk curb. “It just didn’t suit my taste is all. Stupid human garbage seldom does. It was a waste of time, I could hardly put up with it anymore.”

“She looked at me, hurt and confused.

“ “Vegeta,” she said kindly. “Vegeta I-..”

“ “And would you STOP saying my name?!” I hollered, a couple on the other side of the street glancing over. “Stop…… Stop PRETENDING to know me! Stop pretending like we’re old pals, ok?”

“I stood up, approaching her in my anger, wishing she would stumble backwards in fear, putting my insecurities at rest. But she didn’t, clearly not intimidated by me and standing her ground.

“I’m NOT your boyfriend,” I snapped. “I’m not your pal, I’m not your little date. I’m not your freaking therapist when you get a new ‘feeling’”. I made parenthesis with my hands.

“ “I’m not even your friend.” I spat coldly. “So whatever kind of new charity trip you’re on, you can just bounce right off the wagon, sweets. I’m not your fucking pity case and I don’t expect NOR need you to give a shit about me. You want companionship, go find your closet fag boyfriend.”

“I loved the cruelty in my voice, my harsh choice of words and the tiniest crinkles in her face when I knew Bulma was nearing the point of being hurt or even enraged with me.

“ “I didn’t want him to come,” She said firmly. “I didn’t even invite him.”

“ “What?” I snapped. “What the hell do you mean?”

“ “I mean just that,” she replied. “Or can’t your kind hear well enough to interpret what I’m telling you? I didn’t invite Yamcha. I didn’t want him to come with me and instead, I invited you. Do you need me to repeat that? Anyway I can simplify it?”

“ “No, but you could elaborate.”

“ “What’s there to expound on?” she answered. “I get tired of seeing Yamcha all day long and I figured it be a nice break to get you out of the house. FORGIVE ME Oh Great One, for supposing that someone of royalty might appreciate a little culture more than a baseball player does. I won’t put you ahead of him again.”

“Of course, that changed my entire tone and I slapped myself for falling so easily into one of her traps. She was so good at that.

“I plopped right down on the curb again, resting my elbows on my knees as I contemplated my behavior this night. I’d been totally emotional, completely abrasive, childish in fact. I couldn’t understand it anymore than I might have had to explain it. Bulma, in her psychologist mind, explained it for me.

“ “It was the play, wasn’t it?” She sighed, looking forward and not even really asking so much as telling me. “I noticed it right off. You didn’t even look yourself once it began and I thought for a second that you were a complete stranger sitting next to me. Like you weren’t even watching the play so much as living old memories. You seemed right next to me and yet so far off in the distance, you were unreachable. You almost scared me, Vegeta.”

“ “Sometimes, I scare myself,” I whispered, so quietly I was surprised she’d even heard it.

“ “It was the phantom wasn’t it?” She said quietly. “You looked so surprised when you saw him, almost like you were looking at an old friend for the first time in years. Like you were trying to recognize him or something….. why?”

“ “I don’t know,” I answered after a pause. “I can’t explain it. I don’t know it or why it is that way. But I see myself in him.”

“It was all I would comment, staring forward as she expected me to continue. But I refused. Instead, I felt the very intense need to suddenly attack a bar stool and drink away these woman-induced emotions.

“ “Tell you what,” Bulma smiled down at me. “let’s blow this depressing scene. I wanna take you out somewhere I think you just might enjoy. Let’s hit a bar or something.”

“I don’t know if I hesitated or what as she offered her hand to me but I was soon laughing, nodding my head and accepting it.

“ “You know it’s crazy,” I smirked. “But that’s exactly what I was just thinking.”

“We didn’t even take the car, Bulma throwing a few bills at the driver and waving him on as she guided me over cobble stone streets to the local Irish Pub in the downtown area. I let her hold onto my arm though my hands were buried in my pockets, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes.

“ “So,” I sighed. “not that I care or anything, you know, but in that play, who does she eventually fall in love with? You know, that Christine girl? Is it the Phantom or that moron Raoul?”

“She smiled up at me, apparently trying to remember or something, like the ending had escaped her momentarily.

“Who wins her heart?” She raised her eyebrow. “I figured that’d be obvious to you, Vegeta. Why, it’s the Phantom of course.”