Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Therapy ❯ Puar ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DB/Z/GT, but I do own the Vegeta, Gohan, Mirai Trunks, Goten (adult), and Yamcha who are currently chained to my bed. ^_^

A/N: I know updates are taking forever, but I'm working very hard to catch up, I promise. Much thanks and lots of love to all my reviewers, especially to Jadedbest who was kind enough to give this story some publicity.

*******

I have a new session to report. Things have been pretty hectic lately and for some reason, these people's problems seem to get stupider and stupider. I must say thought that Puar's takes the cake for stupidity. Read this and I'm sure you'll agree.

*******

One evening I was sitting in my room watching my recorded episodes of The Mighty Ducks when the phone rang. At first I didn't even recognize the sound. The phone rarely rings at our house because I live on the Internet.

Well, once I knew what the noise was, I had to find my phone. My new one is cordless and seems to find its way to the floor under piles of books, clothing, and other junk. Once found, I answered it only to hear the world's highest-pitched, most annoying voice ever. It was Puar, Yamcha's flying, shape-shifting feline friend.

She had a problem, as if you couldn't guess. The only clue she would give me was it had something to do with one of the Z-Fighters. Once again, big surprise there, I'm sure.

We chatted for a few minutes more and set an appointment for the following week. Don't ask why, but I keep track of how and when my patients make their appointments along with what happens during the actual sessions.

On Tuesday, I skipped out on going to visit Teasha and went straight home to prepare for Puar's visit. Admittedly, my brain was fried. After attending Calculus III and Government classes, my mind had suffered a serious information overload, but an appointment is like a promise and I never break either if at all possible.

I had purposely set the session for lunch, so I put my muffins in the oven and changed into my pajamas. What can I say? I'm a hippie at heart and detest "real" clothing due to the fact that I find them uncomfortable. I'm rambling again, sorry.

Almost as soon as I had finished dressing, I heard a knock at my door. It was my baby brother. After listening to his stuttering for two and a half minutes, I pieced together that I had a visitor, a kitty cat. I finally got him to shut up, and move out of my way so I could show my patient to my room/office, promptly closing the door behind her.

"Please excuse the mess," I started. "I did some cleaning, but between homework, writing, chatting on the net, and sleeping, I didn't have enough time to finish."

Puar replied in her normal high-pitched voice, "It's okay. I'm used to messes."

"I'm sure since you live at a bachelor pad. Well, I have lunch in the oven and I plan on eating as soon as it's done, so start talking," I prodded.

"Okay," she answered, staring at the wall.

While waiting for her to reveal her innermost thoughts and feelings, I dug up some paper, a pencil, and the piece of cardboard I use in conjunction with my legs as a desk. I sat on my bed, got comfortable, and waited for her to start talking.

I waited.

I waited some more.

Finally, I looked at my clock and saw I could wait no longer if I wanted anything more than carbon to eat. My muffins were cooking!

"Would you friggin' tell me why the heck you're here taking up my precious time when I could be working on a new fanfic?!?" It was so time to get things rolling!

"Puar looked at me from where she was, err, floating. Cool, a floating cat. I've never seen one of those before. Oh yeah, moving on...

She decided to speak, finally. It was about time, though weird. Well, I guess after seeing a floating cat, seeing a floating, speaking cat is no big deal.

"It's Yamcha," she sighed sadly.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Why can't my patients ever just tell me what's wrong?!? It's so, so, so frustrating! Sorry about that. I had another quick outburst. I'll try and do better in the future, just bear with me.

Slowly and deliberately, I asked, "What about Yamcha?" I don't know whether it was my tone of voice, the insane, murderous look in my eyes, or simply the stress from holding her true feelings in all those years, but Puar replied promptly and loudly.

"I hate him! I can't stand him! I wish he was still dead!"

"Well, um, okay," I answered, quickly trying to think of what to say next. Ouch, thinking hurts..."What is it about Yamcha that you hate so much?"

"He's stuck on himself, he never moves from the mirror, he's never serious, and won't quit moaning about losing Bulma! It was years ago!" Puar explained for me.

Honestly, I couldn't see where there existed a real problem. All I saw was a simple solution, most likely too simple for a frustrated flying feline (So what if I like using alliteration?) to figure for herself.

"Move out, problem solved, case closed, good-bye," I said rising from my bed to show her the door.

"I can't," was her simple reply.

I should have known it wouldn't be that simple. Why can't it ever be that simple? You don't like your roommate, so move out. What could be simpler? Wait! I'm getting paid by the hour. I want their problems to seem gargantuan and insurmountable so they come more often and stay longer! I have to buy a computer before I move, or no more retarded stories written and edited at two am while on a sugar high, like this one!

While these thoughts were rushing through my mind, Puar had been eyeing me expectantly. When my train of thoughts finally chugged to a halt, I realized I had best start them again to figure out what she was wanting from me...Chug-a-chug...Woo!Woo!...Ah, ha! She wanted me to ask her why she couldn't move, so I did, and she answered. You know the drill.

"Why?"

She took a quick breath before answering. "He owes me money."

"Um, okay...How much money and for how long?"

"Since we first met. He didn't have money for the vending machine and I could tell he was really thirsty and needed that Sprite, so I loaned him fifty cents." She seemed somewhat proud, most likely for both her revelation and the single, seemingly insignificant, act of kindness.

"Alrighty then, so that was the first time he borrowed money...How much does he owe you now, the grand total?" I asked her. I knew the guy was a bum, a hot bum, but a bum just the same. He had bummed off Bulma, obviously Puar, and anyone else who would feed and clothe him, so he could focus on fighting. He reminds me of a Saiyan.

The thing about it is, I know he has money. For a while, he had a right to be a bum, but now I know he has the money to pay his debts. He made loads of cash playing pro baseball. Yamcha must owe Puar a ton of cash to have not paid her back.

"Well," Puar thought for a moment. "He now owes me.... "

"Tick-tock," said the clock for almost three whole minutes while she added everything up.

"Twenty-five cents," she stated proudly after all her calculations were through.

That couldn't be right. "Huh?" I asked in my confusion. "He owes you less than half a dollar. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Let me get this straight. You're living with someone you can't stand, simply because he owes you a quarter?" I had to make sure I had heard her right.

"Yes."

"One moment, please." I placed my pencil on the bed beside me, picked up my desktop with both hands, and proceeded to hit my forehead repeatedly, hoping against hope that I might knock a circuit in my head to the right position, allowing her logic, or lack thereof, to make sense. When I finished, it still didn't, but there was a dull throbbing at the spot.

"What the heck?!? Have you lost your senses completely?!?" I proceeded to chide her. "Here!" I got off my bed, grabbed my piggy bank from my dresser, and got a quarter. "Take this! Now Yamcha owes me a quarter and not you! Move out so you can have a bathroom to yourself and never hear about Bulma again! Just don't come bothering me again with problems this stupid! Sheesh!!!"

Puar looked at me, her eyes filled with admiration. "Thank you so much. Now I can be free! I'm so excited, but I must warn you that it may take ten or fifteen years for you to get Yamcha to pay you back."

I sighed. "I guess I'll just add it to his bill." My beeper on the oven sounded, signaling my muffins were ready. "Now get your flea infested carcass outta here so I can eat!" We began the trek from my room to the door. "I swear, you people," I muttered.

As we reached the back door, the only door of our house in operation, I opened it wide for Puar, and she flew right out, thankfully. I sighed in relief, closed the door, shook my head in disbelief of the session I had just held, and thought about how these sessions seem to get weirder and weirder.

The beeper sounded again, and I heard my mother open the oven to retrieve my chocolate chip delicacies. I went to the kitchen and took over for her before going to my room to redo my notes from the sessions and eat before taking my precious nap. I had karate that night, instructing children. I so needed that nap.

A/N: Well, Puar is going to move out of Yamcha's place. Is this the end? I don't know, so don't even bother asking me. Who's notebook will I find next? I have no clue about that either. Oh, for those of you who have left suggestions for future chapters, I haven't forgotten you and I do plan on using several of them. You all just have to give me time, something I'm fighting for! Well, if you want some good reading, I suggest you all check out my latest story, The Truth. It's about Trunks and Pan, but with a major twist. I think you all will like it. Okay, this is a long enough A/N, so I'll leave you with one last request....Review!!!

A/N 2: This is addressed to everyone who wanted a Mirai Trunks chapter. I really want to write one for you, but I'm having the worst writer's block! I'm going to go read my manga, hopefully sometime soon. Maybe that will help. If you have any suggestions, comments, or ideas, please either let me know in your review or email me. I really want to do a Trunks chapter! Help!