Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Unfaithful ❯ Part One: 3 ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

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................................................................ ...................Rhapsody~*



________________________~* Part One*~: Memories
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Bulma packed her things later that night quietly, for once without the assistance of a servant. This time, she felt like helping herself. Dealing with servants meant fake smiles, thanking for compliments, and having to explain how things should done, and Bulma no longer had the patience to deal with that sort of thing.

This would be one of her last chances to be alone for a long while, though she was unsure about Saiyan hospitality. Bulma was in the process of searching through her lingerie drawer when something cool and hard met her hand. She closed her fingers around the mystery object and pulled it from its lace-and-leather hiding spot.

The Queen found herself staring down at a photograph of herself from years ago, smiling brilliantly beside another girl in a scandalously scarlet dress and a little bit too much makeup. Maylene, the other girl in the picture, had been her only friend for a long while. As Bulma studied the old picture, her mind drifted back to the last time she had packed her own belongings-- the day before she had moved into the palace.
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Maylene, the girl that Bulma had once called her best friend, sat on her pink bed, her painted lips twisted into a pout. Her flashy green eyes followed Bulma's every movement with obvious disdain.

"Your mother would have a nosebleed if she knew that I was here," she speculated teasingly. "I've never thought that social brunches could be such useful distractions."

"Please stop trying to make everything sound like its okay," Bulma pleaded. "I'm being shipped off like a slave, Maylene, and even you cannot sugarcoat that."

Maylene's overplucked (by her mother's standards, anyway) brows snapped together. "Damn, B-chan! You were always so spunky and stubborn. How can you give in now? Sure, Yamcha's an ass, but who needs to think about him? You'll be so busy that you'll never see each other, and you can amuse yourself by ruling the planet and wallowing in riches all day long."

"You don't understand," Bulma informed her friend darkly. "He's already shipped off Byron, practically driven his own father to a heart attack in order to get the throne, and forced me to marry him! What's going to stop him from severing all of my friendships, abusing me, or forcing me to bear his children?! Make me an excuse for that." She attempted to hide her tears by turning away and wrapping up her porcelain jewelry box.

"Ouch." Maylene sighed. "I'm only trying to make you feel better. I'm sorry."

"No," Bulma said quietly. "You did nothing wrong. I am the one at fault-- I snapped at you." She turned to face her friend with tears running down her cheeks. "Its just that..." She broke into broken sobs. "I am so afraid."

Maylene embraced her friend and allowed her to cry on her shoulder. "I know, dear. but don't worry-- I'll make it into that palace to visit you even if I have to beat down the door."

Bulma, being emotionally distraught, had believed her. But soon after Maylene's first visit, Yamcha became insanely jealous and forbade visitors, with the exception of his partner-in-crime, her mother.

Bulma never saw her best friend again.
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The woman stuffed in the last gown and left her open baggage laying on the bed. The red sun was setting on the horizon, casting the large bedroom in a warm glow. The sight saddened her. For all she knew, this could be her last sunset on Earth. Forever. While they were on the Saiyans' planet, anything could happen. But that wasn't all that was saddening her.

Bulma stode out onto the balcony and rested her chin in her hands, bathing in the dim sunlight. The feeling of warmness on her transluscent skin was an alien sensation; but it was one that she found she enjoyed. She closed her infamous blue eyes and allowed herself to relax for a moment.

When she finally opened her eyes, the sun had disappeared, giving way to the silver moon and pale moonlight. Instead of bathing in the warmth of the sun, the frigid spring air caused tiny goosebumps to rise on her skin. She stared for a moment, then looked up to the heavens.

Her eyes twinkled like the stars that were beginning to shine in the night. There wasn't anything more beautiful than a clear sky full of stars, in her opinion. She did not know the names of any of them, besides the North Star, but it hardly mattered to her. Such beauty hardly needed a name.

As she stood watching the stars, yet another memory came to the surface of her mind, a bittersweet memory that she had been keeping close to her heart for years.
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It was the night that Bulma had discovered that she was to move in with Yamcha at the palace, and she was all alone. The streets below her balcony were still and empty, much like the rest of the world this late in the night. Bulma sat alone on her balcony railing in her nightgown, gazing up at the stars, much like she was doing in present day.

The doors to the balcony opened quietly behind her. The girl didn't even flinch. The clicking of high heels could be heard as the intruder crossed the balcony.

"Greetings, Lady Briefs."

Bulma turned and smiled as Maylene came to sit beside her on the railing-- a most unladylike thing to do. They sat quietly, watching the stars for a few moments, then Maylene spoke. Her normally loud and bold voice was soft and comforting, a sure sign that something was wrong.

"You know, Bulma, your situation is not as bad as you might be thinking." The red-haired girl smiled warmly. "I know a half a million girls who would burn their best dress to be in your position."

"You called me Lady Briefs." Bulma's tone was emotionless. "Please don't. Lady Briefs is my mother. I'm just Bulma." She moved to get off the railing, but Maylene stopped her.

"You aren't and never will be 'just Bulma'," she said sternly. "Prince Yamcha has chosen you, out of every girl in the Universe, to be his princess, and that alone makes you more than 'just Bulma'. You're the smartest, prettiest, and probably the most spirited girl I know, and you come from a good family. You never give up, and that makes you more than 'just Bulma'."

The other girl regarded her friend fondly, then spoke in a soft, shaky voice that chilled Maylene straight down to her sinful, unladylike bones. "You're wrong. I already have given up." Tears welled in her eyes, and she covered her face as hot tears escaped her eyes and streamed down her face like rainwater.

Maylene embraced her friend, getting teary-eyed herself. "Don't lose hope, B-chan, and for Kami's sake, don't let anyone break you, ever." When Bulma's sobs continued, she sighed and pressed on firmly, as if she trying to convince herself that her words were true. "Think of all the wonderful things that you can accomplish."

"Wonderful things?" Bulma repeated, pulling away to look at Maylene incredulously through her tears. "Yamcha will be my husband, and its common knowledge what a tyrant he is."

Maylene nodded. "That may be true, but there is nothing that he's wanted more in his life than you. He'll listen, at least to some things."

Bulma climbed back onto the balcony railing, her teary eyes returning to the stars. Maylene followed her example. "Its strange to think that this is one of the last nights that I remain a virgin," Bulma admitted softly. At Maylene's odd look, she shook her head. "For Kami's sake, this man isn't even who I want to spend my life with. I don't even want to spend five minutes of my life with him."

Maylene frowned. "Don't talk like that."

"I might as well." Bulma shrugged. "We both know its true."

There was a long silence. When Maylene broke it, her voice was thick with tears. "Dammit Bulma-- our lives weren't supposed to end up this way! Remember when your father was still alive, and we used to talk about traveling around to all of those exotic places?" She chuckled. "Well, I suppose that you'll be doing that while I'm living at home with my parents, waiting for a 'perfect suitor'. Who the hell would want an unladylike chick like me, anyhow?" She reached into the folds of her low-cut black dress and lit a cigarette that she had most likely stolen from her father. She blew rings of punget smoke out into the night air, watching them fade away slowly.

"Its hardly traveling," Bulma corrected her. "Diplomacy consumes your entire stay, and sharing it with Yamcha is hardly enjoyable. No Maylene, I envy you."

Maylene sighed, tossed her cigarette down into the empty streets, and shifted closer to her friend, struggling to think of what she could say. Bulma just smiled, trying to express her appreciation. Maylene was the only real friend she had ever known, and now she was going to lose her.

"Why was I cursed with this face?" Bulma asked helplessly, regarding her friend seriously. "What have I ever done to deserve all of this?"

Maylene embraced her vulnerable companion and looked to the stars. "Your beauty is not a curse, dear. Its a gift. You have the power to control an entire population by merely blinking. I would die for that kind of power."

"You would die to be talked about, humiliated, stalked, and theorized about? You, Maylene, would die to marry a man whom you do not love, and who does not love you back?"

"Yamcha does love you," Maylene protested. "No man could love you like he does."

Bulma snorted, but her eyes were sad. "He loves a mask. He cares nothing for what lies behind it." The hopeless young woman slid off the railing and turned back to her friend. Maylene's comment had made her think of Byron, the only man that had bothered to look farther than her face. "Come. Your family will be worried."

Maylene didn't have to look at her hard blue eyes to know what she was thinking. As soon as she came down from the railing she gave her friend a big hug. They were both teary-eyed. "You are not and never will be alone, Bulma-- I swear it. Not for as long as I live."

Bulma nodded, and for a minute, she believed her.
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Bulma gazed up at the same stars that she had those years ago and wondered what had become of her courageous friend Maylene. She could have easily acquired the information, but now that she thought of Yamcha's outrageous jealousy, she wasn't sure that she was ready for the answer. After all, she hadn't seen her in court or at a single ball. Ever.

A comet shot across the sky, and Bulma's eager eyes followed its plight. She imagined where it would land, and her heart sank when she realized that it would most likely burn up in the atmosphere. Not a pretty picture, especially since she was about to blast off to that same altitude the next day. And with Yamcha, no less. She shuddered involuntarily, then glanced around to make sure that nobody was around. Namely her husband. Then she moved to the railing, lifted her skirts, and climbed up to sit just as she had with Maylene.

The height from this particular balcony was at least two hundred feet off of the ground. A marble fountain, donated by the people of Italy, lay directly below, guarding a crystal-clear pond that the royal gardeners had surrounded with purple irises. Bulma stared down at the dizzying height, her own head spinning.

If she just let go, it would all be over. The fall would be scary, but she wouldn't even be able to feel herself hit the ground. If she let go, she could be with her father at last. If Bulma jumped, she would never have to worry about Yamcha touching her ever again.

The Queen's fingers twitched as she gripped the railing. Before she realized what she was doing, Bulma had slid partway down the railing so that she was standing on the ledge in front of it, so close to falling...

Her seductive thoughts of suicide were broken when one of the doors in the bedroom behind her slammed shut. Bulma started and nearly tumbled to her death right then and there before she could regain her balance. She swallowed and then climbed back over the railing as quickly as her heeled shoes and long dress would allow.

When her feet were securely back on the balcony, she closed her eyes shut tight. She had contemplated suicide many times before, but something had always stopped her. For the life of her, she could never understand just what it was, considering that she had nothing left. She had not time to follow through with her thoughts, because just then the balcony doors opened and her husband emerged from the bedroom, his face haggard from a long day's work. Bulma thought of the pretty maid he had been dallying with earlier and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. Yamcha didn't even notice.

"Why the hell did you pack your own things?" he asked shortly, gesturing to the open suitcase that still layed on their bed. "That is what I pay to have servants do."

"I wanted to be alone," Bulma replied monotonously, looking the other way.

"Alone?" Yamcha scoffed. "That is the stupidest thing that I've heard all day."

The Queen of Earth hid her clenched fists in the folds of her skirts and felt yet another little part of herself die away. "What time does the ship depart tomorrow morning?"

"Nine o' clock." Yamcha raised an eyebrow, not used to her responding to his comments so readily. "Why are you so talkative today?"

"I was merely wondering," Bulma said, turning around to go back into the palace.

"Where do you think you're going?" Yamcha demanded, crossing his arms. "I was not through talking to you yet!"

Bulma stopped in her tracks. The last thing that she needed was an ugly bruise to greet the Saiyans with. When she turned around to face Yamcha, he was wearing a triumphant smile. "Yes?"

"This trip is very important to me, so I want to be sure that nothing goes wrong," Yamcha began, sizing her up with his brown eyes critically. "I'll want to double check the things that you have packed and add a few things that I've had tailored for you. While we are on Vejitasei, we must respect their customs and dress somewhat like they do. It would be insulting not to show some empathy for their primitive culture, don't you think?"

Bulma merely stared back at him, disgusted with herself for allowing her life to spin so far out of control.

"The Saiyans dress terribly, like common street trash," Yamcha continued on, oblivious to Bulma's blank expression. "Their clothing resembles something like what the Greeks on our own planet wear. Its like going back a few centuries, for Kami's sake." He shook his head at the gall of these 'primitive' people. "But don't fret, you'll be fabulous."

"Fabulous?" Bulma repeated blandly, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea of Yamcha picking out her wardrobe.

"Of course, fabulous." Yamcha reached over and caressed a loose strand of her hair, his brown eyes glowing with longing. "You are perfect for this, dear. You are so beautiful, they won't be able to refuse my offers. They'll be sitting ducks, hindered by their own foolish desires. They'll be pining away for what they can never have."

Bulma dared to pull away-- it was more than she had done in years. "Is that how you want to present me? As a-- a... trophy?"

Yamcha's blood boiled. "I will 'present' you however the fuck I want to." Rather than strike out at her, as he normally would have done, he shot her a dirty look and stormed back into the bedroom.

Bulma would have thanked Kami for his mercy, if she had not known that he was merely trying to maintain her coveted image of perfection. A bruise would not fare well with the 'sitting ducks' commonly known as the Saiyans.
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When Bulma went back into the bedroom a short while later, she found herself standing in the middle of a disarray. Her carefully folded clothes were strewn all over the floor, the bed, and some of her more demure lingerie hung on the lamps, as if Yamcha had been throwing things over his shoulder carelessly. A newly packed suitcase rested on the bed, bulging with its contents.

Bulma weaved her way through the mess, glancing around for her missing husband, then opened the suitcase. She was almost afraid of what she would discover inside.

The first layer consisted of overcoats and the like, all in deep, dark colors that she suspected were on the royal insignia of Vejitasei. Underneath the warmer clothing she found her primary outfits-- wrap-like things that secured at one and occasionally also the second shoulder and were nearly transparent. Yamcha had been correct, they resembled Greek clothing, but she doubted that she would have found Athena strutting around in a transparent toga and no bra, even in the height of her day. A few of her normal, Earth-styled dresses remained, however. She was grateful for at least that. Bulma then dug into the third layer and scowled at what she found. Instead of the comfortable, pastel-colored lingerie that she preferred, her suitcase was loaded with black, red, and gold undergarments and nighties consisting of lace, leather, and any other material Yamcha could have conjured a wet dream about.

Glancing around quickly to make sure that Yamcha was nowhere in sight, Bulma began sifting through the lingerie and taking out the things that she had no desire to don for anybody, most especially Yamcha. She was in the process of replacing the discarded clothing with some choices of her own when somebody cleared their throat from behind her. She whirled around and was met with a smack so forceful that it nearly knocked her off of her feet.

"How dare you defy me!" Yamcha shouted, seizing her shoulders and shaking her violently. "You must do what is necessary to please me! Do you hear? Me!"

"I-- I don't have to do anything!" Bulma protested frantically, struggling to escape her husband's violent grip. "I am your wife, I--"

"And I am your husband!" Yamcha ranted. His grip was painful, but skillfully applied to save her ugly bruises that would mar her appearance. "You have a responsibility to obey me!"

Bulma shook her head, fighting with all of the strength her small body possessed, but it was no use. Yamcha overpowered her, and she found herself pressed up against the wall of their bedroom, looking up into Yamcha's angry eyes through her own teary ones. His smug smirk made her sick to her stomach.

"You see?" he hissed coolly. "I always win, and I always will."

After one last shake, he released her and began putting his lingerie choices back into her suitcase. Bulma remained where she was, fighting off her shameful tears. If Yamcha saw her crying, there was no telling what he would do. If she was lucky, he would merely hit her in a place where nobody could see. If she wasn't, well... Her blue eyes roved over to the bed where she had been violated too many times to count, and she shuddered.

Yamcha closed her suitcase, dusted himself off, and then turned back to her. "You are so beautiful, darling. I know that you will do what is right."

Bulma turned her face away as Yamcha reached over to stroke her cheek. A single tear streamed down over her high cheekbones, still a smart red from Yamcha's slap. Her husband seemed aroused at the sight of her pain, and grinned.

"Tonight, I will remind you of your place in the scheme of things."
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Rhapsody~*
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