Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Orange Star High School ❯ Letters From the Dead ( Chapter 12 )

Well, it's been awhile hasn't it? There was schoolwork, college tour, writer's block, and yesterday I had a car accident. No one hurt, thankfully. Anyway, the long awaited for Chapter Twelve! Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve: Letters From the Dead

There were so many wonderful colors to choose from, she was amazed at how many shades of pink and lavender there were.

Aunt Meimei was taking her shopping for her dress to the Valentine's Ball. She would, naturally, be going with Goku. The ball would also be their one-year anniversary, and Aunt Meimei, who was a deep romantic, insisted on a new dress.

Her eye was caught by a dress such a dark purple it was nearly black. She reached out and brushed the material (velvet). It was silk velvet, instead of cotton or spandex, and it felt divine beneath her fingers. The fabric clung sleekly to the dummy, looking both alluring and formal without being tacky or boring.

"That's beautiful Chichi," her Aunt cooed, flicking her nimble fingers through the rack, looking for a different size.

"Here's a size nine." She said holding it up to her. Chichi watched as shock came over her aunt's face. To save her aunt the embarrassment she found a dress that was in a size four, and headed off to the dressing room.

So, she had finally noticed. Part of her cynically wondered what had taken her so long. One would think that her aunt would have noticed the fact that she'd become half her previous size over the year.

It seemed everyone but her family had noticed. From her dad it was no surprise, she loved him, but she was first to admit that he wasn't that keen of an observer. In his eyes she was still four years old and chubby.

She stepped into the dress, feeling confidence flow through her as it hung just right on her slender frame. She was beautiful in it. She shivered, and made quickly for her faux chapstick. She popped the back end off and took a hard huff.

She needed more and more just to achieve a state `normalcy'… she didn't have enough money to get high off coke anymore. It was wearing off faster, she knew she was headed for trouble, but if she could just last until graduation everything would be okay… She could quit in the summer and be clean for college…

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

He felt the familiar tingle go through him as Piccolo's hands came from behind to settle on his hips. Out of habit his head tilted to one side, and the warm moist lips of his lover settle on his collarbone. He moaned appreciatively and leaned back.

"Mnh… I'm hungry, let's go get something to eat…" Piccolo mumbled against his jawbone.

"Eugh… you're always hungry. I'm getting fat …" Vegeta half protested.

Piccolo's hands came around to pinch his stomach gently, and he chuckled.

"Yesssss…. You're about ready for the pot."

"That's sick." He snorted.

"You look fine, so fine in fact that if we don't leave this instant to that nice little Thai place down the street I will be forced to commit acts of cannibalism."

"Fine, but I do this under duress," He smiled and grabbed his new coat, a leather jacket courtesy of Piccolo. He'd carefully painted on an ouroboros, a snake eating its tail, on the back in a kelly green. Piccolo's base guitarist Nail had liked it so much that he'd offered up his own leather jacket for detailing, with a payment of twenty-five dollars.

He blushed faintly when he felt Piccolo grab his ass as he slid on his shoes. It was hard getting used to public displays of affection, when no one in his `family' of sorts had ever physically demonstrated anything other than anger for most of his life.

He opened the door, and froze as he saw his stepfather standing there, a bag of garbage in his hand.

"Hi," They said in unison after an uncomfortable moment.

"Hello, Mr. Saiyajinn," Piccolo said cheerfully from behind him. "How is your company?"

"Oh… he left just yesterday," His stepfather replied with an awkward shrug. "I guess you can come back home now, if you want Vegeta…" His stepfather mumbled.

"Thanks." Vegeta replied quietly.

"Say, me and Vegeta were just going out to grab a bite to eat, d'you want to come along?" Piccolo said brightly.

Vegeta was conflicted about what his stepfather's response might be. Piccolo was so naïve sometimes. If his stepfather went he might do or say something embarassing, or worse, meet up with one of his `business associates'. On the complementary hand, his stepfather had been decent to him since Christmas, and Piccolo would raise all sorts of questions if he pressed his stepfather to refuse. Questions he really didn't feel like answering.

"Sure," his stepfather replied weakly. "I'll just get rid of this then, shall I?" He gestured to the garbage bag.

"Great!" Piccolo chirped, and locked the door behind him.

Vegeta prayed to whomever might be listening up there that his father would behave himself.

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

Goku frowned as he looked at the figure standing on the doorstep. He picked up his pace a little as he arrived in front of his house. No one else was home, it was only five o'clock, Toma was back to his place, taking care of some business, his dad was still at work, and he'd just returned from his appointment with Claudia.

So far they'd talked a little about his anger with Vegeta. He was a faggot, and that was wrong, and she'd made no comment when he'd stated his beliefs so frankly. He could sense that she disagreed, but so far she'd said nothing.

The young man at his door was short and thin. He wore a tight baby blue t-shirt and a pair of khaki pants. His eyes were rimmed red and slightly swollen from what appeared to be crying. Goku's frown of confusion turned to one of concern.

"Can I help you?" He asked as ascended the steps to the door.

"You Goku Son?" The young man, about Radditz's age if Goku were to guess, asked.

"Yeah, who are you?"

"No one." The man said as he shoved a letter from his back pocket into his hand, before quickly walking away from him.

Too confused to call the other man back, he stared at the letter addressed him, in a hauntingly familiar scrawl…

This letter was from Radditz.

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

Bulma smiled at the pink sequined cocktail dress she'd chosen for the Valentine's Ball, to be ironically held on Friday the 13th. She'd gotten a spiral perm for this very special occasion, and the loose curls draped well on her shoulders.

She was a regular Marilyn Monroe, the stylist, Roger, had exclaimed as he removed the curlers.

She was dead sure that Yamucha would love this dress.

She snatched up her mother's tiara and placed it carefully upon her locks of hair. Now she was stunning, a true princess. This Valentine's dance was going to be perfect.

"Bulma, if we don't want to loose our reservations at the restaurant, we have to leave now!" Yamucha called from the bottom of the stairwell.

"Beauty takes time," she replied as she headed down the steps.

And it did, because judging from Yamucha's swinging jaw; he'd forgive her the forty-five minute wait in her family's den.

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

They'd gone to `The Junk' as he and Piccolo called it, since the actual name was something they couldn't pronounce. The sign outside however was easily identifiable by the fact that it was a model Junk with the name of the restaurant painted on the side.

As they waited for their large platter of the `variety special' to arrive, Vegeta noticed that his father was beginning to look agitated and vaguely ill. He probably hadn't taken a hit yet, he reasoned quickly.

"You okay, Mr. Saiyajinn?" Piccolo asked with concern.

"Just got a bit of the flu… I'm going to the restroom…" His stepfather grumbled as he stood, weaving slightly.

Vegeta watched him go with a wary eye.

"Perhaps you should go with him?" Piccolo suggested after a moment.

"Yeah," He mumbled, standing and striding quickly to the dingy two-stall bathroom. He entered, and relieved to note no one else was the room except for the two of them. His stepfather was smoking some black tar heroin, his eyes already unfocussed.

"How long since your last hit?" He asked quietly, kicking the doorstop in to ensure they wouldn't be walked in on.

"A few hours ago, I've been trying to quit." His stepfather chuckled.

Vegeta bit his lip. If his stepfather was trying to quit, he was doing a poor job of it. He used to be able to go longer without a hit than this.

This was going to kill him…

"You ready?" he asked as his father finished his cigarette.

"Yeah, let me flush this…"

His stepfather was dying, and there was nothing he could do.

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

As he entered the house he could feel trouble. The lights were off in the living room, and the curtains drawn… Goku should have returned by now from his psychiatrist…

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Bardock did not fake ignorance as he sat down on the couch.

"I didn't know how." He said softly, feeling deeply ashamed at his failing.

"When did you know?"

"After the party his senior year… the one you told me about. He told me how he felt --- about boys like Vegeta."

His son seethed silently, glaring at him with hatred.

"That's why he left for Toma's…"

"I couldn't deal with it… and it would have broken your mother's heart to know, she was starting to get ill…"

"It ended up killing her anyway." Goku said with venom, and he flinched at its sting.

"If I could take back I would, Goku, you've got to understand…"

"I don't want to hear it." Goku snapped, standing and throwing on his coat. "You killed them both, I hope you're happy with yourself,"

His son slammed the door on his way out.

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

She'd just taken a large hit, more than she should have, likely, but she wanted to ensure that this night was perfect. It wouldn't be flawless if she were nervous.

She ascended the stage, and smiled as the flashes on the cameras went off, even though they hurt like hell on her eyes.

"Just get on there, you can't let her stand there all alone!" Someone hissed, and her head turned to where Goku should be ---

Instead there was Krillen, one of the shortest kids in the school, with the shaved head. He was wearing a white linen suit and a fedora, and it didn't match her at all. Where was Goku in his suit and tails, with his bowtie specially dyed to match her dress? This wasn't supposed to be happening.

Krillen smiled sheepishly, and came to stand beside her. No no nnonononononononono! This was all wrong. Goku was supposed to be here, offering her his well-muscled arm for her to hold in her daintily gloved hand, not this clumsy midget.

Her head started to ache as she forced herself to take his arm and wave at the audience who was cheering loudly… or were they jeering at her, at her humiliation? Probably… they'd exposed her for the bumpkin she was…they'd probably been planning it since last Valentine's dance…

She felt lightheaded, and all the flashbulbs were leaving black spots in her vision. She sat down, and found that once there, she couldn't get back up.

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

"Excuse me Miss, are you family?"

"No, but I'm the closest thing to it here." Bulma frowned at the paramedic, and planted her other foot firmly on the back of the ambulance. "I'm going with her."

The medic, a middle-aged man with thick wavy black hair looked at her skeptically for a moment, before nodding in ascent and helping her in.

Chichi looked so unreal hooked up to all those machines, with tubes up her nose and in her mouth.

"What's wrong with her?" She demanded.

"I don't know," The paramedic shrugged as he started looking through Chichi's purse. He held up a tube of chapstick and frowned, and turned it upside down. With a gentle tug he removed the bottom of the container, and grimaced. It was all quite strange in Bulma's opinion.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Hurry up Sheryl," The man called to the driver. "We have a cocaine OD."

The sirens began to blare, and Bulma could feel the ambulance pick up speed. She didn't want to believe that Chichi would sink so low… she couldn't imagine perfect Chichi ever being an addict. It wasn't in her personality… How could she have been so wrong?

***(-I-)**(-I-)***

His cell phone chimed and he scowled as he pulled it out of his pocket… if it was his father again he was going to choke the man.

He frowned as he recognized Bulma's own cell phone number. It was then he realized that in his fury that he'd forgotten about the Valentine's ball. He quickly turned the phone on and held it to his ear.

"Bulma? I'm sorry, tell Chichi I'll be there as ---"

"Don't bother showing up at the school, Goku, Chichi's in the hospital." Bulma said in a cold voice, which Goku recognized as her `I'm in control' voice.

"What?!? Is she all right?"

"I don't know…" Bulma's voice betrayed her fear now. "The paramedic mentioned something about cocaine… and I don't know, just get over to West City General okay?"

"I'll be there in a few, I'm headed in that direction as we speak." Goku said quickly, before slamming the off button on his cell phone.

He sat forward in his seat with urgency, and rapped on the glass partition separating him from the cabby.

"Change of plans, I need to go to West City General Hospital, on the double." He said, and tossed a twenty-dollar bill at the driver.

"You got it."