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

Unable to comprehend the things I had done, I wearily pulled myself out of the shower stall, cold and wet from the puddles that had stayed with me through the night. I was disgusted and ashamed, staring at the mirror and wanting to destroy the idiot that gazed so innocently back at me. `Oh, don't try to fool me,' I wanted to scream. “I know what you are.”

 

Bitterly I flew without even a glance upwards, making it home simply due to my body's inclination towards that direction. I was reliving it all again over and over, the look of his hand holding me, the feeling of his tongue against my cheek. I saw the shower window burst into shards of glass around my feet, the blood diluted with water as it flushed down the drain. It was a miracle that no one had come into the gym bathroom that night and found me in such a disheveled state. It was luck alone for no doubt we were extremely loud.

 

Chi Chi said nothing as I walked past her, opening my bedroom door without an explanation or excuse. I flopped down on the bed, my face buried in the soft down pillows, smelling myself in it with just a touch of Vegeta and Chi Chi as well. What a poisonous combination.

 

As soon as I had laid down, I got back up again, the day apparently gone away and night in full bloom. Strange that Chi Chi hadn't come to bed. But obviously this wasn't my number one priority and with hardly a glance in her direction, I went to the bathroom.

 

Turning on the fluorescent lights, I was met by my reflection, apparently mesmerized by it as I moved as close as I could without actually touching the cold glass plane. I moved my face side to side, slowly lifting my hand to my cheek, as if my reflection wouldn't behave and follow my lead. But as I watched, my reflection smiled, the skin of its face stretched with a smirk that I've never worn.

 

It began to shake its head faster and faster to the side, scaring me as I backed away.

 

“Stop!” I said, terrified of the face that looked like my own and yet wasn't. “Stop that!”

 

“You didn't say Simon Says.” replied my reflection, the voice that of a child. No, it was the same me, down to the large eyes and uncharacteristic grin. But the voice sounded like a 7 or 8 year old boy.

 

“Ok then,” I breathed. “Simon Says stop it.”

 

The reflection stopped, staring at me with a grin that transformed it into its own being, separate from me. It put out its hand against the other side of the glass, the palm stretching out, inviting me to do as it had. Reluctantly, I followed, placing my hand against the cold mirror, our palms and fingers exactly alike.

 

“You see?” Said the childlike voice. “We're the same. Me and you. So why do you want me out Goku?”

 

I swallowed hard, mortal fear taking over as I began to understand that now, I was talking to Kakarot, the forgotten other half that I had meant to bury a long time ago.

 

“Because Kakarot,” I said as calmly as I could, speaking like an adult would to a child. “You do bad things.”

 

“Ah ah ah!” he said, smiling that monstrous smirk again. “Don't you see? You cant get rid of me Goku, I'm a part of you, same as this hand.”

 

“No,” I shook my head. “You're the past. You cant stay Kakarot. You hurt innocent people and that's wrong. You rape women, you kill babies. I cant allow you to stay when you do those things. Its not right.”

 

He laughed, suddenly sounding like a man.

 

“But you like to do them Goku.” Kakarot smiled sweetly. “You know you like to watch them die. I cant leave. You wont let me die because I AM you. You need me.”

 

“I don't need you!” I insisted, backing away, taking my hand away from his.

 

“Oh but you DO!” he said in a deep voice. “You need me. Goku, Kakarot. We're both the same. You love me like I love you and together, we can do whatever we want. You desire the same things that I do.”

 

“No.”

 

“Goku, Goku, Goku…..” it droned, shaking its head. “You can fool others, but you can NEVER lie to yourself!”

 

With that, the reflection spat blood out its mouth, spurting all over the mirror.

 

I jumped up, my hands on the mattress of my bed, the blankets covering me and a sleeping Chi Chi by my side. I breathed for a moment, my heart racing, my mind unable to comprehend that it had all been a dream. A nightmare.

 

Slowly I crept from the bed, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my insides becoming sick with fear. Step by step I came to the bathroom, walking in and closing the door before turning on the bright lights.

 

Blood covered the mirror in tiny droplets, some draining down in streams and gathering on the porcelain countertop. I held my hand to my mouth to stop the scream that weld up from inside, my eyes wide and my reflection staring back at me, my own this time. I held my breath, walking up to the mirror and smudging the blood with my fingers, seeing that it was indeed what it appeared to be.

 

Nausea overwhelmed me and I bent over the sink, closing my eyes and vomiting. I panted, my hands on either side of the sink, holding me up as I clenched my eyelids shut and just breathed. Let this be a dream, I said to myself. Let me wake up now.

 

But I knew it wasn't and opening my eyes, I couldn't stop the scream that erupted at the sight of blood vomited out into the sink.

 

 

 

“Doctor!” Chi Chi wailed, over reacting as always. “There's SOMETHING wrong with my husband! People don't just barf up blood for no good reason! I want answers, reasons, SOMETHING for Christ's sake! What do they send you people to school for anyways?!”

 

The doctor sighed, taking off his telescope glasses and rubbing them against his white lab coat.

 

“Its like I said Ma'am,” he sighed. “We cant find anything internally wrong with em'. Sometimes these things just happen. Maybe it was something he ate, or a cut in the back of the throat. I can't see all the way down there with just simple tools. If you want me to give him the full over, that's fine. I'm sure your medical coverage can handle it. But I'm telling you now, for the sake of your insurance company and MY patience, your husband is in OUTSTANDING health and most likely will stay that way.”

 

Chi Chi pinned her hands to her hips, trying to intimidate the unimpressed doctor.

 

“Now you look here bud,” she snapped. “If I find out you're wrong and just too lazy to do a thorough job, you can bet your ass that I'll be back, and when I am, you'll thank GOD you're already in a hospital. It'll take every doctor IN this place to put you back together when I'm through. So if you're willing to take a gamble on that one, be my guest.”

 

“Ma'am,” He suddenly spat back, eyes narrowing. “There are people in this hospital with REAL problems, with SERIOUS medical conditions. You think that Sin has just affected those God forsaken cities it strikes? Wrong. People are fleeing the streets at the most mundane signs, trampling people like dirt. People are being murdered by hoodlum kids with nothing better to do. So if YOUR problem persists, yeah, I'll go the extra mile. But for now,” he slapped his glasses into place. “I've got patients waiting. Have a nice day.”

 

Of course the drive home was tortuous, Chi Chi ranting and raving about the “Suicidal Prick” doctor, while I just gazed out the window, wondering if maybe there WASN'T something seriously wrong with me. Illusions, visions, haunting dreams? Actions and experiences that would normally have appalled me?

 

I guess I wanted that sweet justification, truly wanting to believe that mentally I'd gone off the deep end, too proud to consider that it was weakness that allowed these sickening occurrences. No. Not Goku. It was just despair and insanity that made him fuck Vegeta. Made him act like a little limp dicked bitch for a cold Saiyan Monster.

 

 

 

After that, mine and Chi Chi's sex life went to somewhat considerable to basically nonexistent. I doubt Chi Chi even noticed, or if she did, was probably grateful for it. She was an asexual person by nature, viewing sexual thoughts or experimental intercourse as something reserved for prostitutes and hussies, not for mothers. And that's what Chi Chi was. A mother. A wife. That's all. It's rather empty when you look at it, realizing that whatever dreams she might have had before (if any, she seemed to be bent on marrying me since the day she was born) were sacrificed, laid to the side and forgotten. She was a mom and a house wife, with no other goals or future but to cook and clean and raise my son. It was a compassionate life style but not a passionate one. Funny way to look at it, I know. But that's the way it was.

 

Of course, Chi Chi and I had sex. I don't think I need to tell you that. But it wasn't exactly what I figure most people have. There was no real risk in it you know? No daring attempts or exciting positions. I hate to expound on this. Its utterly shallow I know. But that was the way it was. We had sex only when I initiated it and when I use that word, I might as well just say beg. She'd sigh in that irritated way, lay back and let it flow. Afterwards I would feel less fulfilled than before, perhaps even a bit put off that she'd gotten nothing out of it and more or less regarded it as just another duty she had to put up with. Kind of like sweeping the floor twice a week.

 

Sex with Chi Chi wasn't like sex with Vegeta. I'd never encountered anything like it to be honest. Of course, I feel like a complete pervert writing about this, but it's true. Ah, sex with Vegeta. It was violent and cruel, detached and hateful. But when it was all said and done, when I'd finished my sin, I had felt a freedom that only homosexuality can give. The kind of freedom where you know that if you told anyone, they couldn't understand. Like you had a certain knowledge that they could never even conceive and for that, for that open minded experience, you became for a few minutes, superior to them.

 

Sexuality had never really been open to me. Sure, I thought about it. I'm a guy! But for the most part, I didn't really dwell on it. It was Bulma who had first introduced any curiosity or desire for the opposite sex. Remember, I was raised around an old man and hadn't even SEEN a woman until I was nearly 6! But being around someone as sexual as her, it didn't take long for it to rub off.

 

Technically, you could call Bulma my first love. Its true. I fell in love with her as soon as I got old enough to even know what love was. She was impertinent, rash, loud and obnoxious. But beyond that, she was incredibly attractive and simply oozing with sexuality, whether it was on purpose or not. From the beginning she intrigued me, with her strange, appealing body, the funny curves that I didn't have, the pretty face with its delicate little features.

 

To be honest, it was her breasts that really awoke within me any thought of sex. They were so interesting! Of course I wanted to see them immediately, as I had no real knowledge of shame or human privacy. I simply didn't have a pair of my own and thought it'd be a nice treat to know what exact function they performed. Apparently Bulma didn't share my enthusiasm as I waltzed into her bathroom while she was bathing and insisted that she needed someone to wash her back.

 

Of course, if having her around wasn't tempting enough, I was soon in the company of the pervert and often times pedophile Oolong, a shameless, thoughtless pig in more ways than one. He obviously found nothing wrong with sharing his dirty thoughts and fantasies with a 5 year old boy and Master Roshi was even less reluctant to pass on his filthy magazines. It was an unhealthy environment now that I look at it. To think of Gohan being exposed to such thing makes me sick. I guess that's why Chi Chi doesn't think they're good influences and despises having Gohan around them unsupervised.

 

But from the very beginning I loved sex. I wont deny that. I just never really knew to what extent I loved it. I never got to try it out, never explored it. They say that you can never truly love a painting, never fall completely in love with it, until you've learned every single detail. I think that's true with sex. You don't even know what it is until you've done it a thousand times.

 

I liked the feeling of being on top of her, feeling her plump chest smashed against the skin of my own. I liked that first slide, you know the one, the first time you just glide right in. God, the feeling is indescribable. The first gasp, the first “ooooohhhh” you get from the creature beneath you. How their nipples harden, how their face contorts into that certain “Sex Face” that everyone has and can be a good thing or a bad thing. How women look down at their bodies, just staring like they're in pain, mouths open and legs quivering.

 

I liked pushing in too far, you know the way. When you go too far up and you know you're hurting them, and you like it. Its sick I know. But I liked it.

 

Maybe somewhere deep down, I loved sex because it was the only time I got to really be myself. The only time I got to explore the other half of my personality. The insane, raging nymphomaniac side that had been buried every since my childhood after a fall, essentially killing Kakarot and unleashing Goku into the world. Or so I had thought. In all reality, Kakarot lay dormant, held with chains and a metal cage in the back of my mind, there, maybe just waiting for the right time to introduce himself again.

 

Why had he waited so long? Kakarot was still a little boy in a way. Not some hard core, battle driven Saiyan monster. He'd never truly grown into adult hood, never really become a man in any sense of the word. Perhaps he was afraid for a long time. But now? I knew that he wasn't.

 

I became terrified with the idea that when I slept, my other personality would awaken, knowing I was off duty for the night and that it was playtime. Maybe Kakarot didn't truly have a form, as I had taken it. That's why he would appear in whatever shape he had chosen for the night, whether it be a silent man, a satin covered woman or that of a little boy named Charlie. It was a game to him, just like it would be for a child. Just not any child you would ever want to know.

 

But there was one thing that terrified me more than anything. The realization that Kakarot wasn't the disease or virus in this body. I was. Like a parasite I inhabited this flesh that wasn't truly my own, borrowed from a creature not of this world. And if it came down to a battle against my personalities, wouldn't my body choose that of the true owner?

 

Thoughts of this nature poisoned my mind for weeks, my every moment bent on the one purpose of figuring out who or what was causing Sin. Who or what WAS Sin? The leaking suspicion that it was me only strengthened as the dreams came all the more often, all the more stronger. Every night I was either pinned to a ceiling, over looking my gorgeous monster, or I was the Pizza Man, walking into houses with no goal or plan but to create unspeakable terror for no apparent reason.

 

More often, I became the Priest of Eyes, a perverse creature that adored the eyes of children, convinced that he could somehow reap forgiveness and repentance through the innocence of a child's eye. Dozens of boys were kidnapped during the day hours, stolen from their schools, from their homes, from their parents. He kept them locked in his basement, starving them, a sort of fast if you will. For only the truly repentant believer fasts for forgiveness.

 

And when the clock struck 1:00 and it had been a full 48 hours of fasting, he would creep one step at a time down the basement stairs, the boys begging him for food, flocking like cattle to his side, never realizing that they were flirting with a monster in their pleas. And he would touch them, each one, lifting their chins to stare into their eyes.

 

“I'll set you free.” He whispered, and taking one or two upstairs, he would instruct them to take off their clothes, laying together naked in a bathtub, shivering against the cold porcelain and begging for their mothers. And then he would smile and the Priest would set them free by gouging each of their eyes out with a metal spoon.

 

Every night I would walk with him, the moonlight stretching through the blinds of his house, every stair appearing beneath sandaled feet that weren't my own. And when I would see the young boys, no older than 4 or 5, I could feel our face smile, knowing that we were sending God some perfectly beautiful little angels. And when the screaming stopped, when the boys would merely moan and whimper once and a while, we would turn on the cold shower spray, the blessed holy water washing away sin and blood.

 

And I would awaken the next morning, breathing in that sunshiny air, stretching contentedly, and walking out into the kitchen to see yet another list of deaths and missing children on the T.V. The Priest of Eyes was not only labeled such because of his obvious hobby, but also for his past years serving in the priest hood.

 

As a pastor in a Catholic Church, it was his goal to conform the wicked into willful followers, regular in the act of repenting and prayer. He spent countless hours with the youth of the community, praying with even toddlers to forgive their trespasses in the name of God. But his real talent shone through when it came to the exorcism of demons from children, bringing only his bible and his religious garb to the victim's house. And after the reading from the scriptures stopped and the beast would be silent, he would command the demon to be released out of the child's eyes, the innocent, young eyes.

 

But somewhere in the mix, an exorcism went wrong, and according to one bystander, the demon fled from the child's body into his own. And he was forever cursed with the knowledge that within him lay a beast, a demon, clouding his faith, rotting his soul. And with no youth or innocence in his own eyes, he relied on the gifts given to children.

 

Dispatched, cast out of the Church for his twisted, perverse beliefs, the priest mourned, unable to release or exorcize the demons that corrupted his body. He blamed the church goers, unwilling to hear his profession of sin forgiven with the sacrifice of their offspring's eyes. They had been so appalled by his teachings, hiding their children away beneath the covering of their arms. Screaming in horror as he explained the usefulness of separating the Cornea from the Sclera, the “window” and the “shudders”. Calling for the police as he promoted the extraction of the pigment melanin from the Iris's, swearing that the brighter the color distributed, the more innocent the child.

 

They'd called him a witch priest, swearing that he got his beliefs from a devil that dwelt within his body. But he knew. Oh, how he knew that if a demon could be cast out of a body through the eyes, imagine the sin and wickedness that could also be released. And so we kept the slippery little objects in sacred jars meant for holy water, to be consumed with every movement or subtle recognition of the demon within.

 

We might have been a pope. And now? We were a haunted past in a forgotten, God forsaken church. The Priest of Eyes I mean. Not we. Why do I keep slipping up like that?

 

Off the topic.

 

I began to train more and more often, fighting with an invisible enemy, certainly never even pondering the possibility of inviting Vegeta over. I cast even the most mundane thoughts of him out of my mind, refusing to think for a moment about the catastrophic sin I'd committed. No, I'd just blame him and that would be that. I would curse him to my very soul for coming to me like that. I would insist that I hated him, hated the entire experience like a holy man hates hell. But deep down, I knew that I wanted it. I wanted it with every breath I took, with every stroke of masturbation.

 

I would sit in the shower, jerking myself off until I was blue in the face, looking over my shoulder as I spilled out, hoping against what my conscience told me that he was there. Touching my body in places I never had simply to relive a single fragment of the experience one more time. And when I was done, I would lean against the shower wall, feeling the cold porcelain mock me with every shudder, laughing at my misfortune. That while I hated what had happened, I wanted nothing more than for it to occur again.

 

One particular day of training, I worked myself harder than ever, surprised by my sadistic determination, wanting, no… needing to feel the pain that only such a hateful work out could extend. Enduring the blinding pain, the aching flesh and screaming muscles. I wanted it like nothing else. Maybe to experience what he felt when he trained, pushing himself to limits that were unattainable for anyone but himself. And maybe, just maybe, like the weight of guilt I held above my head, I was punishing myself.

 

It was hard to understand and even harder to deny to myself. The fact that for the first time in forever, being with Vegeta, I had truly felt alive. Like I wasn't just some heroic drone, modeled out of a Saturday morning cartoon character. Like I wasn't the replacement for an irresponsible monster. Like I was Goku for once. Purely, simple, completely. Not Kakarot, not the hero. Just Goku. And even though it was hateful and demeaning, (and honestly disgusting from a straight man's point of view) it had been new, and exciting and different.

 

Something that I could do that would make me feel like I was someone that no one could claim to know. I was a new person. I was my own person. And yes, there came the word freedom, the beautiful gift from God that I hadn't known in what seemed like lifetimes.

 

And deeper, darker, and more honest, I liked…….. no, I LOVED the idea that I had something over everyone. It was something no one could ever expect. Oh look Chi Chi, here's your adorable, gullible husband getting his brains fucked out by his one time arch rival. Oh by the way Yamcha, even though I'm apparently no competition since I'm married, I can sneak behind your back and get sexed up in the same shower you use every day. Look everyone, your stupid, brain-dead savior just got it up the ass and none of you know! How does THAT little scenario sound?

 

To me, it was all sweetness. Along with the bitter taste of guilt, there was the candy cane flavor of freedom, the power of a secret. And without ever having to reassure myself by asking, I knew that Vegeta would never tell a soul. Not with one word would he ever betray this.

 

I consoled myself with the idea of a naughty little secret, rather than focusing on the fact that I had willingly committed adultery, betrayed any family loyalties and had sex with a man. And so, walking into my modest home, I smiled sweetly at my ignorant wife, smirking when she rolled her eyes, laughing when she scolded me for being gone so long.

 

“What is WRONG with you lately Goku!?” she shrieked in that hideous voice. “You're always gone, either off training or on some sort of escapade with Vegeta. You're never home, you don't pay even the least amount of attention to your son! I cook dinner and you aren't even here to eat it! What is WRONG with you?!”

 

I shifted my face towards her, my smirk disappearing as I grabbed her waist, lifting her into the air and shoving her against the wall, just gently enough not to hurt her. She caught her breath, staring at me uncertainly, as if noticing the little-less-than-playful face I was making. I walked in between her legs, pushing against her as sexually as I dared, kissing her cheeks lightly.

 

“If you only knew Chi Chi,” I whispered into her ear. “God, if you only knew.”

 

She glared at me, forcing my hands off and dropping to her feet.

 

“Unhand me Goku!” she snarled, wiping invisible dust off her boring, every day dress. “You think by man handling me you're going to get me to change the topic? Well, I don't know WHO you think you are Mister, but if you think that for one minute I'm just going to sit back and-….”

 

I put my finger to her lips, impressed by my bravery. I shook my head, frowning at her sympathetically.

 

“Ah ah ah….” I said, my eyebrows furrowed as if in pity. “Its too late to be talking so loudly. Gohan's in bed and I'm tired. We'll finish this later.”

 

She was actually stunned to be so cut off, shocked that I would dare to silence her during one of her hourly rants. She just gawked at me unintelligently for a moment, as if she didn't recognize me, and then, wiping off her hands again, began to wash the last of the dishes.

 

 

Walking into my bedroom and ignoring Chi Chi's scowl, I stretched my arms over my head, yawning tiredly before catching sight of the tiny yellow note pinned to the pillow. I squinted hard, trying to read the writing scratched delicately into the paper.

 

Mephistopheles Mansion

Tonight, 12:00.

13666 Baal Street

New Orleans

Top cabinet drawer. Dress accordingly.

 

 

Curiosity getting the best of me, I reached into my cabinet, my hands touching soft, smooth material that I knew didn't belong to me, pulling out a gorgeous black suit, shiny buttons included. Armani, if I wasn't mistaken, tailored to my size and build. Before I'd even mentally made the decision, I knew I'd be attending.