Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ HIStory and HERstory ❯ Introspection: Bulma Fashion ( Chapter 2 )

HIStory and HERstory

By: Majin Ouji

Disclaimer: Care to guess who owns DBZ?

Author's Thank You's: A BIG Thank You goes to ErieDragon and Susan for reviewing. To all the visitors, thank you for finding time to read my work.

My special thanks goes to my trusty mug for patiently holding my frothé while I rack my brains with this.

Chapter Two: Introspection (Bulma Fashion)

Approximate Time: 11:45 pm, Saturday

Two years, 7 months before the inevitable

Gates Open.

Discreetly, the resident "Princess" of the Capsule Empire returns from only Kami knows where. Riding her handsome scarlet steed - the Ford Mustang breed, she cunningly bypasses the security system. With brains like hers, this is mere child's play.

Apparently, half of that brilliance is out of commission tonight. A head-on collision with a sturdy lamppost - all of its two-ton bulk - is not on her "to-do" list.

Her pupils dilated. Finally, her sub-standard human senses identified the fast approaching threat. With not a precious second to spare, her innate Self-Preservation Mechanism assessed the whole predicament then urgently prescribed the necessary course of action:

BRAKES! BRAKES! BRAKES! BRAKES!

All She could do now was close her sapphire eyes and wait.

Dangerously swerving, the out-of-control hunk of metal narrowly missed the undaunted concrete structure… only to roughly slam its passenger side against the unsuspecting palm tree a few yards away. Mocking the mishap, a barrage of coconuts rained from the rattled tree denting craters on the once polished convertible.

Everything is spinning.

With utmost caution, I open my eyes.

Relief.

"Thank Kami…" … I'm alive. I pinch my pale cheeks to make sure. I double-check to be SURE. Running on sheer will power, I slap myself with my dainty right hand until the numbness passes.

"OUCH!!!" The stinging waves of pain woke my idle nerves but…"THAT REALLY HURTS YOU bi…"

`…tch' I finish mentally. Realizing whose body that bothersome hand is connected to, I zip my mouth - a difficult task for an… uhmm… overly expressive woman like me.

"OOOUUUCCCHHH!!!" this time, I scream in behalf of the veritable four-wheeled scrap metal I am buckled to. I thank the restraining strap profusely. My awkward digits fumble with its tight locks. A slight inconvenience really, but that BIG part of me which never reveled being held back - in any way - saw this the other way around.

"Get! Off! Me!" I shriek at the stubborn thing.

`Bulma?!? Get a hold of yourself! For Kami's sake, leave the seat belt alone!' so my conscience scolds me.

"Whew…" FINALLY, I free myself.

My chest heaves rhythmically as my grateful lungs indulge in the soothingly cool metropolitan breeze - never did this overly polluted air rejuvenate me like this. I look past the carbon monoxide for approximately five minutes. After that, I stop punishing my lungs with the excessive intake of the airborne poison.

As the minutes pass, I regain my composure. My vanity reminds me that my pretty face really HURTS! - I think I overdid it with the slapping and all - and so does every muscle in my body.

"Where's that stupid magic bean when you REALLY need it?!" I heavily pound my fists on the steering wheel in pure mad rage - with my strength (or lack thereof), this looks more like another tantrum episode of a spoiled psycho-bitch.

"Yeah right, spoiled psycho-bitch. . ." I mutter inwardly.

I lay back on the leathery seat as I cross my arms in contemplation of this fine mess. A lively tapping finger on the corner of my elbow further hints of my agitation.

`Now who would have the balls - and the demented creativity - to call me that?' the intriguingly appalling question came out of nowhere.

A mental light bulb flashed with blinding intensity: The answer is plain and obvious. With this realization sinking in, that bulb exploded like a supernova.

"Vegeta…" I don't even know how that space ape's name escaped my clenched pearly whites.

"Ooh! What a shocker!?!" I say appalled. If a lie detector were attached to me, I'd fail with flunking colors. `D-U-H! I was being sarcastic back there!!!'

"Arrogant! Bastard! Conniving lunatic!" I vehemently hiss my ABC's of Vegeta.

For a very brief moment, my H-A-T-E for the Evil Prince of Munchkin Land eroded that nagging feeling - which I blame responsible for this colossal mess!

That feeling of . . .

`Stop. Don't go there' an inner voice reprimands me with gentle urgency. Not wanting to let my emotions get the better of me (again!), I give in. I shake my head hoping this would be of some help in evicting that burdening train of thoughts and unwanted feelings.

I occupy my mind with… uhmm… more pressing matters.

My fragile heart breaks at the mere sight of them.

"don'tscardon'tscardon'tscar" I order the minute assortment of fresh cuts and bruises. I am desperate. Desperate times call for desperate measures: My ever reliable, irresistible womanly charms.

I realized I'm THIS desperate the moment that `P' word came out of my mouth.

"PLEASE, don't scar"

The miraculously intact clock caught my attention.

"Well tough guy, care to tell me what time it is?" I humor the resilient thing. A phantom fake smile graces my face fleetingly.

`1:23 am' he flashed at my direction.

"Dear Kami No." Chances are, I'd run into my cordial houseguest if I stay any longer. I don't know for sure when does Mr. Personality resume his suicidal self-exile in HIS gravity room in desperate hopes of being better than the best - Son Kun.

Correction: His high-ass doesn't HOPE for anything. He KNOWS he will emerge out of his cursed torture chamber victorious, his golden flame-styled mane flaunting it to the world.

"I believe you" I am quite taken aback by my admission. On the part `attaining the powers of the Legendary' crap, I do. On beating his arch-rival, I … I…

"… have no idea" came another sudden realization.

"Don't die… please?" With all of my being, I request this of him. As to who between the two I am pleading with my heart, I am lost in the dark.

"… Both of you" came the safe answer.

I clear my mind from all thoughts of that ominous fated reckoning between Son Kun and…

"… Vegeta" In a manner lacking the usual pure hate, I utter his name. The hint of concern tingling in my voice and so much more in my head does not go unnoticed.

"I… I… My head must have been… rattled(?)… worse than I thought" I reassure myself further with a mental note: Get your head examined.

"Why should I avoid the repugnant prick? I LIVE HERE!!!" The statement dripping with resentment could fool just about everyone. Too bad, I can't convince myself. Right now, I don't have the spirits to confidently wear my mask of invincibility.

"You are the last person I wa……" I fail to finish as my voice falters. `YOU can't SEE ME THIS… weak'. My head bows in defeat while a disturbingly realistic mental image of him maniacally mocks me for the sheer sick pleasure.

"…" Out of nowhere, a pang not new to me stabs my already wounded heart.

"Why?" came that question everybody asks.

For so many reasons, even she can not fathom WHY she gets lost in the dark vortex of her swirling mass of emotions towards the Saiyan no Ouji. If for a moment she could freeze that confusing tornado, she will know WHY.

I look at the seat next to mine. My eyes focus on that squashed head.

"Now where did you come from?" My flaming cerulean orbs glare at the coconut/murderer. I shove the cracked husk away from its victim: a head of lettuce - or what's left of its erstwhile juicy and leafy self. Other than the pancaked vegetable, the black 1eather seat is…

"empty… " `painfully empty'. By now, tears would have traversed that same route from my watery orbs to my cheeks.

None made that journey.

In my head, I am drowning in a sea of tears.

"No more tears!" the not so gentle winds echo my resolve with ferocity to the eerie serenity of the shadows enveloping me. I wrap my arms around my throbbing form in a futile attempt to ease the twinge of loneliness.

I sob and sulk in despair for what seemed like an eternity.

I remember that the clock ticks not in my favor. Not bothering to look back, I grab my purse and leave this wreck. With my rusting iron will, I do my best in postponing this fit of self-pity as I walk these agonizing steps leading to that place of comfort - my sanctuary.

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