Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Orange Star High School ❯ Lamentations ( Chapter 14 )

WARNING! ACHTUNG!: Serious SERIOUS issues dealt with inside. Vital to plot! Squeamish please turn away! To say would give away, but please, be warned this chapter is INTENSE.

Chapter Fourteen: Lamentations

She awoke in the dark to the hum of machines. It took her a moment before she realized she was in the hospital. Panic rushed through her veins in equal amounts with relief. She was caught, she was in trouble, but she also could quit pretending… and perhaps even save her grandmother's locket.

The nurse peeked her head in the door, and waved at her slightly. She felt so weak right now…

"Good, you're up, we almost lost you last night." The nurse said brusquely as she set about to check the machines that encircled her.

She'd almost died last night, the thought sat ill in her stomach. She'd always known the risk was there, but she'd never considered it could happen to her. She only took the best, she only took it in moderation… but she hadn't last night. She'd been so worried about making a fool of herself that she'd done exactly that.

And the worst of it was, she'd kill for another snort just about now.

"I suppose you'll be wanting some breakfast." The nurse said as she finished her notations on the clipboard. "As well as something for the craving."

With that the nurse bustled out, leaving Chichi alone for a moment. What would they give her to take away the craving? It had to be some miracle drug that they only gave out by prescription; otherwise she would have caught onto it ages ago.

Soon enough the nurse came back with a bowl of cold cereal and something large wrapped in foil in paper. As the tray was set on her small lap table, she assessed the meager breakfast: Cheerios and milk, with a few slices of fruit, as well as a chocolate bar.

"I suggest you eat some of the chocolate first, to take an edge off." The nurse said, pulling up a chair beside her.

"Chocolate helps, does it?" She said as she started to pick away the foil.

"Same plant makes chocolate and coke." The nurse said; her nose already buried in her romance novel.

"Oh." She said as she took a small nibble of the hard brown substance.

Her stomach certainly didn't seem to agree with food at the moment, but she fought the nausea down long enough to feel a little better as whatever cocaine and chocolate had in common started to work.

She worked her way through half of her breakfast, before halting, knowing she probably shouldn't over do it. She didn't treasure the idea of vomiting all over herself.

"When do visiting hours begin?"

"Eight o'clock." The nurse replied absently, still engrossed in her novel.

The clock near her bedside said it was six o'clock. Which meant that she had two hours to prepare herself for the guilt and questions to come….

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

She'd returned to the dance, and Yamucha, as soon as it became clear that she would be of no help to Chichi or her family. Her Uncle had been downright suspicious of her, although as Chief of Police for the area, she supposed he had right to be.

The dance had been a bust, for her anyway, after Chichi's dramatic exit. She'd made it back in time, however, to get her picture taken with Yamucha and a few dances in. It was bittersweet to hear Chichi and Goku called up for their roles as Prom King and Queen. Yamucha and herself were the Prince and Princess, and they instead took their friends' dance. It wasn't quite the same, however, and Bulma begged off the usual festivities and she went home.

How could Chichi have been on coke this whole time? Why hadn't she noticed? She was supposed to be Chichi's friend.

Not that it mattered now, she thought, as she searched through the card shop. Although it was rather hard to find a: `I'm sorry you overdosed!' card. Her guilt would not help Chichi recover. The only thing she could do for Chichi now was to be there for her. Rehab would be a bitch, judging on what she remembered of that Sandra Bullock comedy "28 Days".

She finally found a benign blank card with a cute kitten, and found an envelope. She'd give it to Chichi with her crown, if she could find out where the hell Goku was. She'd called his house earlier, but his father had instantly begged her if she knew where he was. It wasn't like Goku to leave without telling anyone where he was going. She'd tried calling his cell phone, but had only received his damn answering service.

Yamucha would know where he was, or at least know of someone who might know where Goku had run off to in that run-down apartment sky rise. She only hesitated calling him, as he'd gone off with Krillen, and knowing the two of them they'd probably gotten totally smashed. Yamucha with a hangover was rarely if ever comprehendible.

She'd just have to wait for the idiot to sober up then.

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

Yamucha groaned as he pressed his hands against his throbbing temples.

"Krillen, what the fuck did we drink last night?"

"Don't you mean what **didn't** we drink?" Krillen hissed as he tried to nurse his own "Gah… I've got dog hair." He said he rubbed his tongue repeatedly across the roof of his mouth trying to remove the disgusting taste.

The two boys cringed as the shrill bell of a cell phone went off.

Yamucha fumbled through the couch and eventually found the ringing demon. He winced at the sharp voice that came through the line.

"Who is it?" Krillen asked as he began to set the couch back to rights.

"Bulma." Yamucha groaned, and Krillen winced in sympathy, as he was unlikely to get it from his girlfriend.

"One minute." Yamucha said, pulling his head away from the phone. "Krillen have you seen Goku?"

"No… I thought he'd be at the hospital with Chichi."

"I'm here!" came a muffled voice.

"Hold on a minute, Bulma." Yamucha said, throwing down the phone.

Krillen's house was a wreck, and somewhere underneath all the garbage was Goku, if they could find him.

"Goku, can you get up yet?"

"Don't shout. It hurts!" Goku groaned from somewhere near the front entry.

The two hung over boys stumbled towards the closet, and opening the door, and were surprised to see their friend spill out with a moan. The stench of hard liquor permeated the air, and several bottles tinkled after Goku.

"When did you get here, Goku?" Krillen asked.

"One o'clock." Goku mumbled as he tried to cover his head.

"Chichi's in the hospital." Yamucha said.

"I know." Goku whimpered.

"What happened to her? She just passed out when she saw me… I didn't know I was that ugly." Krillen joked.

"Overdose…" Goku grunted.

"What!?!" His two friends exclaimed.

"Not so loud!" Goku whined.

"Bulma says she wants you to go with her to the hospital to visit."

"Tell her as soon as I sober up." Goku sighed, before vomiting across the floor.

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

Every Saturday he normally headed down to his and his stepfather's mailbox. They rarely ever got anything other than junk mail, and what little of import that they did receive could wait a few days before being replied to.

He took the large wad of mail over to the rickety old table and immediately began tossing out all the credit card applications (the last thing his stepfather needed was a platinum card with no limit) and the sex toy catalogs. All there was left was the usual request for rent.

And one other that had his heart in his throat: the response from Harvard.

He'd sent his application in early December, but had not received a reply in January, and had figured that he had not accepted. He had not figured that he would, seeing as he had practically no money to give them. Harvard had been a far off dream, an application that he'd sent in as a joke, really, expecting that he'd enroll in Orange Star Community College next semester.

It was thick, and heavy in his hand. It had to be a refusal; they'd probably just returned his application to him.

His heart was thudding in his chest at the possibilities that lay before him. Humiliation or a future lay in his hands. His trembling hands tore into the large white envelope eagerly, as he pulled out a sheaf of papers.

`Dear Mr. Vegeta Saiyajinn

Due to a computer failure we were unable to send our response to all those that applied for early admission in the fall. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Mr. Saiyajinn you have been accepted to Harvard College. Please review the materials we have sent you, and complete any additional pre-term course work assigned. Freshman should arrive by August 20th for pre-term seminars.

Congratulations and we hope to see you in October,'

The breath had been knocked out of his chest, and his throat was closed in fear. There was no way he could pay tuition unless they'd drastically reduced it. He'd have to work full time just to pay the community college's fees.

There was another letterhead underneath his acceptance letter, and he turned to it with curiosity.

`Dear Mr. Saiyajinn,

You have been seen by our financial aid staff to have significant need. Under the conditions that you graduate from your high school with at least a 3.0 average, and maintain a 2.0 average through your years at Harvard, we are honored to present you with a full-ride scholarship to Harvard College.

Congratulations,'

His head felt funny and light, and he braced himself on t he table to make sure he didn't spill to the floor.

He'd got in. He'd made it to Harvard. He was out of this shit hole. He was fucking free. A couple hundred for a bus ticket could be raised over the summer, and he'd be out of this place.

He raced up the staircase, eager to share the news with his stepfather. Perhaps the information that he'd succeeded in being accepted to one of the most prestigious schools in the nation would pull him out of the depression he seemed to be suffering.

The stairs seemed to fly underneath his feet as he quickly found himself in front of his door. He threw open the door in his excitement.

"Dad! Dad!" He said, waving his acceptance letter.

He stopped however, when he saw that his father was not alone in the room. Kold was there also, dressed in a slate gray suit. There was a grim look upon his stepfather's face, and malevolent look in Kold's eye. The familiar feeling of the flesh crawling came over him.

"I'm sorry." He said immediately, bowing his head slightly. "It is high time I left anyway. You can contact me on my cell phone." Kold drawled as he made his way towards the door.

He paused for a moment to stare at Vegeta, and Vegeta felt his muscles involuntarily tense. This man was creepy, creepier than the average dealer at any rate.

He gave a shuddering sigh of relief as the door slammed shut.

"So, what did you want to tell me?" His stepfather asked, heading into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"I - I got into Harvard College. For free." He said after a moment, the enthusiasm he'd been feeling minutes earlier coming back to him quickly.

"Oh, that's nice." His stepfather said idly.

"Nice?" Vegeta said with disbelief. "It wonderful. Harvard is one of the greatest institutions in the States, even the world!"

"You know, I'm not stupid. I know what Harvard is. I did get my diploma." Frieza said coldly, as he sipped the coffee.

"I - I just wanted for you to be excited for me."

"It's great, you're going to Harvard, good for you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. What does it matter? You're leaving." Frieza snorted.

"Tell me what's wrong." Vegeta demanded. "You said you were quitting, what was Kold doing here then?"

"There's been --- `discrepancies'." Frieza sighed.

Vegeta felt his stomach drop out from underneath him. His father must have been pinching money or snorting too much of whatever… and Kold obviously would not be pleased. He'd most likely show his displeasure in a hail of bullet fire.

"How much money do you owe?" He asked, dreading the amount. Dealers didn't deal with missing twenties… if money went missing it could be in the thousands. "And when does Kold want it."

"A hundred thousand or so…" Frieza shrugged. "Kold's arranged a trade off."

Rarely, if ever in the history of contraband, Vegeta thought, were people in Frieza and Kold's line of work ever arranged `trade offs'. His stepfather and he had little to nothing of value. There was a beat up old Continental out in the parking lot, but even if they hocked everything they owned they wouldn't come close to even a thousand dollars.

"What does he want?"

Frieza stared at him for a moment, looking him up and down.

"Why? You don't care; you probably wouldn't help me. After all, you just want to run off to your fancy college and forget that you're even related to me. What does it matter if I die? So some people will have a harder time getting their daily smack dose, somebody here will quickly replace me."

"I care if you die." Vegeta said softly. "You've been there for me, when I needed it." He paused. "If you hold him off for a few more months, you could come with me to Boston, bus tickets aren't that expensive, and he'd never find you there. You get into one of their rehab clinics and then --"

Sure, Frieza had humiliated and beat him, but that was the past. The man he had been getting to know since December was someone he could eventually care for as family.

"You'd help me, no matter what then."

"Absolutely."

"That's what Kold wants."

"Wants what, me?" Vegeta frowned. He'd agreed to help his stepfather, but the idea of working with Kold was something he definitely didn't want to do.

"He wants you to service him and his partner." Frieza said flatly.

"What?" Vegeta asked, feeling alternately that he was bathing in ice water, and that someone had pickled his brain in kerosene and then thrown a match on it.

"He wants you to be his and Cooler's fuck toy for a night." Frieza snapped. "For a Harvard wannabe I thought you'd be smarter."

"I can't." He replied, his chest thudding painfully.

"What do you mean `you can't'?" Frieza snarled, his irritation turning to fury as he grabbed Vegeta's forearm roughly and drew him closer. "You fuck that faggot boyfriend of yours next door neighbor just fine, I can fucking hear you."

"That's different." Vegeta snarled. "That's fucking consensual." His gut twisted as he realized that he could not scream for help and rely on any assistance. Piccolo was out to work by this hour. He was alone.

"I don't see the difference. You've always been a little slut. What difference does one night with a couple of fags make?"

"I'm not your whore."

Frieza snarled and pressed him against the stove roughly.

"Funny, you lie like one. One minute promising the world, the next whining out your refusal. Filthy little fuck. Everyone knows it! You spread your legs for Kuui, and you were just six at the time. I should have ---"

Rage filled Vegeta's mind like the purifying fire of a phoenix. The world grew red, and his vision hazy. He reached behind him and gripped a cool plastic handle, and swung it in a short, swift arc into his stepfather's chest. His stepfather's howl of agony appeased him and he stabbed again, again, again, and again…

How dare he say that; how dare he mention all that he had tried to forget… He seethed as he pushed his stepfather's corpse from him.

It took him a moment to realize that this wasn't just another dream like those that had haunted him all fall. This was, oh God, this was….

He dropped the short bread knife in his hand in time with the realization that he had just murdered his own stepfather. The blood was all over him, soaking through his shirt and quickly drying on his hands and face.

Fuck Harvard, he'd never see the free world again… he'd fucking murdered his stepfather…

And what if he continued to enact the murders that had disturbed his sleep for months before? Kuui, Kuui deserved death for what he had done, four years had simply not been enough for his crime.

But Goku had apologized --- but did that make up for all the accusations and abuse he'd suffered at his hands for the last three years?

Numbly he grabbed the keys to his stepfather's car, leaving a rusty smear of blood on the white counter top.

Part of him thought that he should call the paramedics… but what good would they do? H is stepfather was dead, beyond their help now.

He raced down the stairs again, although this time they seemed to go on forever, even as he used the hand rail to swing himself down flight by flight, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

He eventually made it to the old car, and he swiftly unlocked the door and dropped into the drivers seat. The same something that had suggested calling for medical help, now informed him that he didn't have any insurance to allow him to drive this car. He firmly told it to shut the fuck up. He'd already broken one of the cardinal laws of mankind, what difference did a traffic violation make?

He tore out of the lot, and immediately got onto the freeway. There was only one thing he could do now. He wished the traffic would go faster. Didn't these assholes know it was a sixty-five mile per hour zone? He **NEEDED** to get to his destination, there were **LIVES** in the balance!

He turned sharply into the driveway of the police station. The back tires squealed as they fishtailed, nearly hitting a squad car. He parked in front of the doors, not bothered about the fact it was a no parking zone and he would get heavily fined. What the fuck did fines matter anymore?

He tore the keys out of the ignition and tossed them onto the passenger seat before kicking his door open, not troubled by the fact he'd left it open, and ran into the police station.

He was most fortunate that the line to the receptionist was clear as he approached the bench where a tough looking officer sat reading a newspaper.

"Excuse me." He asked politely. He was unnerved that his voice seemed to echo through the tiled room.

"Wha --" The man stopped and stared at him with horrific fascination. "Do you need a doctor, or something?"

"No." He said, finding himself surprisingly calm, despite the shudder starting to go through his body. "You'd better lock me up. I think I might just do it again."