Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Perfection ❯ Chapter 19 ( Chapter 19 )

How long had I been there? Days? Weeks? Months?....... Maybe years? I'd lost all concept of time, each day swimming into the next, night and day forgotten in perpetually dark cells. I knew night and day only by the wretched fluorescent lights that would come on whenever he'd found a new device for torment and in those days, it was an oddly welcome bout of attention.

 

I longed for humanity. I longed for a touch, for a scent of another being. I longed for days of being hugged, of feeling the warm brush of skin or hair against my cheek. Those days were long ago and I smelled only the dank musk of Roman's dead body rotting on the far side of my cell. That and concrete; hard, rough, wet, unforgiving concrete beneath my bloody fingertips.

 

My power was just a memory, just a fantasy that some days I was convinced had never really been there at all. The memory of myself was now just a cartoon hero, a poorly dressed Saturday morning Superman that always saved the day, was frightfully dumb yet expressly loved by everyone.

 

I'd scratched my fingertips along the concrete until I had no fingerprints, bloody, soft stubs with no nails. Pain became my only companion, the only thing a constant in my life besides the promise that whatever Kakarot came up with next he'd be more than willing to share with me.

 

“Perfection,” He'd sigh orgasmically. “We're so close now. So close now.”

 

His perfect little nail would run sweetly over my bruised flesh, his powerful body straddling me. I could feel his eyes trickling over my exposed skin, hot and beaded with sweat, his tongue gliding over my heaving chest.

 

“You've been a God send Goku,” He'd laughed mockingly, staring up at me. “I couldn't have done it without your willingness to contribute to this little idea of ours.”

 

I could feel his eyes darting over whatever was left of my face, the idea so superficial yet wounding. What was I now? My own face appeared as deranged as Bulma's within my head, stretched skin collapsed upon itself in a grisly mesh of gore.

 

Wasn't I once beautiful? Wasn't I once more beautiful because he said it was so? Didn't someone once make me believe was the most perfect creature on the face of the galaxy?

 

Stupid. Stupid really.

 

“Why?” I'd asked him once. “Why?”

 

“Perfection is something the human race has sought for since the beginning of their time,” He'd told me as though it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. “They mutilate their bodies, they bleach their flesh, they scald their hair. They plaster their faces with makeup and paste, shape their bones to achieve the one idea that is perfection in their minds.

 

“And tell me one religion, one religion in the history of time that hasn't based every faith off of one goal: to aspire to perfection.”

 

I'd shaken my head, feeling the soreness of my flesh as I moved it.

 

“Perfection is so flawed,” I'd spat it. “Such a flawed, stupid idea. What is it but the complete absence of personality? The absence of what molds and creates us: mistakes? You fall to figure out how to pick yourself up again. You land ass end in the dirt to remember what tripped you up in the first place. You're essentially trying to permit people from falling altogether and that's ludicrous.”

He'd narrowed his eyes.

 

“Humans can't see it but I must say Kakarot,” I'd breathed, trying to sort words in my scrambled brain. “I'm surprised such a simple concept would have escaped you so. Perfection is just an idea created by people who intend to force that idea into the brains of simpletons that might just buy it. But there IS no real definition for perfection and yours? Yours is nothing more than a flawed attempt.”

 

I'd awoken days later, my head coated in sticky, old blood, my hair a mass of crackling, dried fluid. I'd struggled to lift my head off my shoulder, yanking at my arms to help me. A strange realization hit in the form of new surroundings and my arms and legs cuffed. Cold steel, unbreakable even by my standards, gripped my wrists, holding them down to my sides. My legs held the same fate, unable to move even a fraction of an inch.

 

I struggled, obviously, to no avail, cutting myself stupidly in the process. The warm blood was, strangely enough, comforting as it trickled down my fingers, pooling in my palms as I tried to understand where I was.

 

I was right-side up, staring through a lacy, sheer sheet. A window lay on the other side of the sheet and beyond that, a beautiful room. An unfamiliar room.

 

I grit my teeth in frustration, the blood in my hands sinking out through the spaces in my fingers as I made a white-knuckled fist. My head pounded yet in that, I sought an amount of solace, understanding that any pain I was enduring meant that my mind was becoming clear; namely, that Kakarot hadn't drugged me in quite some time.

 

I pleaded with myself to remain calm, the new soberness more of a curse than a blessing. I was entirely aware of my situation, entirely aware of how fucked up things had been and especially, entirely aware of how fucked up I was. Every ache, every scratch, every bruise throbbed. I could feel the track marks, the oozing needle holes stretching as I flexed my forearm.

 

Oh God.

 

My head had finally lain back, the only sound in this infuriating blackness that of myself. My breathing was hoarse, sweat dripping down my throat and exposed chest. Coldness came over my feverish body and I thanked whatever God just might be out there that I still had part of my wife-beater and black pants on.

 

I began to panic, writhing against my restraints chaotically. I panted and pleaded, staring upwards into blackness, lips quivering as I tried not to lose my mind.

 

Why was I here?

 

A small figure came into view, a tiny, petite nurse scurrying through the bedroom before me. Her hands trembled as she straightened everything in view, her head covered modestly by a pink towel. She might have been rather pretty at some point in her life, though anxiety had taken its toll in the form of wrinkles that stretched across her forehead.

 

Still, she was my savior and I threw my back against the metal frame that held me, shouting at her.

 

“Help!” I'd screamed, the voice unfamiliar and strained. “Help me please!”

 

I couldn't even recognize my own voice, the harsh, raspy sound accompanied with things I'd never known: anguish, despair, madness.

 

“Please God!” I'd finally cried, yanking and writhing and kicking and screaming against my confines. Blood squirted into my eyes from my own wrist, yet I kept on, even as I knew she couldn't hear me, even as I knew she couldn't see me.

 

I was on the other side of a double-sided mirror in a dark, dark room where no one could ever see me.

 

I felt my mind nearly collapse into my despair, sweat and blood dripping down my face as I nearly sobbed out my agony and helplessness.

 

“Help me,” I'd whispered to nothingness. “Help me.”

 

In my fall from grace I did discover one thing: the room I was staring into was not an unfamiliar room at all. In fact, as I stared at the sheets laid before me, my positioning apparently right at the headboard, I recognized the room very well.

 

It was Kakarot's room.

 

A coldness suddenly came upon me. It started in my fingertips and toes and moved upwards. Every piece of flesh it came over became littered with goose bumps, the chill rising the tiny hair on the back of my neck.

 

I breathed it in, felt the coldness reach my eyes. I felt it pool on the lower lips of my eyeballs, felt it in the smallest lashes. I even felt it touch the hair of my brow line, sinking deep, deep into my lungs as I tried to breathe.

 

Tried, tried, tried so hard to form the word before my thrashing and horror returned.

 

It was then that I understood what I was feeling. That familiar feeling, that familiar sensation that I never knew I'd feel again. A familiar energy that sent dread through every layer of my flesh.

 

I didn't even want to voice it, the terror pumping so deep and thick through my veins. I was afraid to even say his name aloud, like voicing it would concrete what every fiber of my being was suddenly realizing.

He was there. He was here. And he was close.

 

“Oh God,” I sighed through trembling lips. “Oh God……. Vegeta.”

 

 

 

 

<b>A/N: Uhh…. Yeah, judging from some of the comments I've gotten on this chapter, I rewrote it so it was a little less vague. So everyone is clear, Vegeta is back.