Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yellow Roses ❯ Guilty Pleasure [Part II] ( Chapter 7 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Vegeta leaned his back against the murky bricked walls in one of the narrow alleys surrounding the private area where the base’s hangars were located. His drained body slid slowly across the rugged surface until his bottom touched the ground, legs bent slightly, elbows sinking into his sore knees as he covered up his face with shaky, gloved hands, struggling to find a way to cope with the overwhelming rush of hysterical emotions flooding through his broken mind.

His breath hitched painfully inside his chest, as if his heart were trying to desert him, desperately attempting to leave his body, his pathetically shattered body now wrecked with tremors of impotence and shame. As he battled the sickening wave of nausea, triggered by the cheap booze still lingering in his empty stomach and the rush of sheer panic overcoming him, he felt himself falling, falling into that dark abyss of miserable loneliness which had once been his one and only shelter, but that now, without her by his side, had grown to become the most foreign of places. 

The Prince tried to focus on the pain, that pleasurably masochistic feeling that had always been his constant companion, a warm, friendly sensation inexorably reminding him that he was real, that all of this was real. He swallowed heavily, thick fingers clutching handfuls of his own coarse hair, pulling just hard enough for it to hurt while exhausted lungs inhaled in a labored way, spending whatever remained of his useless pride in suppressing the heart-wrenching sob burning in his aching throat.

She wasn’t here.

The Saiyan had thoroughly searched and examined every single goddamned corner of the massive facility with meticulous scrutiny, including the inside of each one of the incalculable number of high-tech space pods parked inside the immense area. With each failed quest his hopes vanished a little further, those deplorable hopes that his woman wouldn’t have made it too far, that perhaps the fear of the unknown would have somehow convinced her to give up on her absurd plans for a clandestine breakout, or that maybe, and he knew just how ridiculously inconceivable the possibility had come to be by now, that she’d still be willing to wait for him to return to her someday.    

But now, as he prowled around the secluded spot like a criminal thief in the night, there wasn’t much left for him to do but to succumb to the demoralizing evidence, accepting that Bulma, his Bulma, had broken away from his life for good, never to come back.

Vegeta couldn’t recall when was the last time he’d felt like this, this frantic sense of terror and bleakness, this disgraceful burn behind his eyes as he held back his tears, tears of shame and disappointment, tears he hadn’t spilled ever since he was a helpless little boy who’d just discovered that he was all alone in the world.     

He wanted to howl like an animal, to roar like a feral beast, to set the entire goddamned Galaxy on fire, if only to make every single bastard around him share the unbearable pain consuming his putrid soul.     

He couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe just how incredibly idiotic he’d been all this time, allowing his oversized ego to take the woman for granted, to accept as true that she’d be stupid enough to wait indefinitely for him to make up his neurotic mind and to fully embrace the truthful emotions which they both knew had sprang between them.

He should have followed his first instinct, now he knew.

He should have ignored those cowardly voices begging him, urgently imploring him to walk away, and just take her, take the little minx for himself just like she’d wanted him to or, at the very least, offer her the whisper of a promise, something, anything that would have let his woman know that he cared, that in spite of his good-for-nothing inadequacies, he’d grown to hold her closer to his risible heart more than he’d ever find the courage to admit.

And now she was gone.

Forever.

And, to top it all off, he didn’t even know why, just why she’d made such a seemingly illogical decision, and whether her hazardous getaway had been purely moved by the grief of solitude and heartbreak alone, or if some other thrilling reason hid behind her rushed escape from the base.

As he sat disconsolately on the soiled pavement, Vegeta found himself powerless to put a stop to the chaotic swirl of horrifying fantasies invading his woozy imagination, and the limitless scenarios which could have forced Bulma to leave such a depressing place in search of even worse, unknown territories. Perhaps someone had threatened or attempted to abuse her in some way, or maybe their obscure affair had been disclosed by the wrong person, one of his untold enemies, and she’d frantically pursued to remove herself from the situation. And, if that were the case, maybe she’d decided that a stealthy departure was preferable to waiting indefinitely for a man who was looking more and more like a daemon from the past rather than a man willing to fight for her protection.

‘Perhaps…’

Vegeta’s eyes popped open, drawing in a strangled gulp of cold oxygen and standing up all at once as soon as an abruptly expectant thought struck him.

Perhaps she’d left a message for him.

‘That’s right… Perhaps…’

Perhaps she’d left some kind of a missive behind, a clarification that would justify her hasty escape and mitigate his doubts, bringing him some vital peace. The idea itself was quite outlandish, especially if one considered that, deep down, the Prince knew that, after his disdainful treatment of her, his woman didn’t owe him a darned thing anymore. But the promise of one last message from Bulma was enough for some of his spent strength to reload his weakened body, a new purpose to daringly encourage him to take flight and make one final visit to the earthling’s old place, that decadent little nest which had become almost like the home he never had.

The warrior’s dirty boots soundlessly left the ground, elevating his fatigued body into the skies until he reached a strategic spot where he could get a pretty decent view of the hangars, the wretched place where he’d just moved Heaven and Earth in his disheartening pursuit to get his lover back. His fists tightened firmly as he got ready and gathered the remnants of his depleted energy but, before he had the chance to power up, a minute figure moving smoothly throughout the labyrinthic passages caught his immediate interest.

 

Blue.

A spark of blue shone into the night, like a sapphire gleam of hope walking furtively throughout narrow, sinuous streets, promptly forcing him to rub his puffy eyes, fearing that the small but inimitable figure would be nothing more than a delirious hallucination seducing his crippled mind.

It wasn’t.

It was real.

She was real.

As real as the yelp of pure fright emanating from her lips when his body evanesced from the star-filled skies, instantly materializing in front of her and grabbing her by the wrists with forceful greediness.

“Going somewhere, little earthling?” He muttered in an arrogant undertone, his sham cockiness poorly concealing the devastating wave of relief quickly taking hold of him.

She was here.

‘She was here! Right here, with him!’

The woman’s first instinctive reaction was to recoil from his possessive touch, releasing a choked scream as her tiny body wriggled fretfully, trying to escape, in vain, from the ominous stranger standing in her way in the dark. But, as soon as the mysterious voice resounded in the air, she instantaneously recognized the distinct, masculine tone that used to murmur shamelessly sensual words of desire in her ear, so many nights ago.

“Vegeta?” Bulma half-asked in a wheezing whisper, after what felt like an interminable silence.

The Prince’s frozen lips remained sealed, his sharp eyebrows drawn together as his eyes scanned his small woman with a hunger that would have mortified him if it weren’t for the toxic effects of the alcohol still heavily subduing his shame. He kept his strong fingers firmly wrapped around her wrists, the sensation of her warm skin beneath his rugged touch, even through the infuriating barrier of his customary gloves, feeling like a balm to his wounded soul, as if the mere presence of his lover were enough to scatter his demons away. While he waited patiently for her transient fears to fade away, and for her weak human eyesight to adapt to the shadows and identify the unique figure of the man who used to share her bed, he allowed himself the forbidden luxury of drowning his still dulled senses into the fragile little creature who’d implacably stolen his heart.

Vegeta took in her scrumptious scent, that honeyed, welcoming fragrance which had once been nothing more than a temping invitation, but that now felt like home. He inhaled the faint traces of his own self still avidly imprinted all over her, the inner beast lying dormant within his spirit smirking triumphantly at the thought of his beautiful woman carrying a piece of him with her during all of these arduous times spent apart.    

There were still so many unanswered questions, so many words that needed to be spoken between the two of them, that the warrior, in his infinite ignorance, didn’t quite know how or where to start. All he knew was the way she felt by his side, and his boundless reprieve when her pulse gradually calmed down, proof that the earthling was slowly putting her fears behind her and accepting his surely unexpected visit.

Time stood still as Bulma gazed stonily into his eyes, the soft contours of her flawless face half-lit by mild starlight while Vegeta awaited her reaction, like an unguarded brat about to be scolded for a sly lark.

A rare sense of déjà vu overran him when he realized that he’d pronounced the very same tongue-in-cheek question he’d asked on the night he’d almost lost her, that rare, almost dreamlike night in which his lover had worn a flimsy white dress just for him and tended to his bleeding injuries with such poignant care. He could still recall the rampant, panicky emotions controlling him back then, how alien the dread of loss had been to someone like him, a man who owned nothing and no one, when he’d witnessed the desolating image of his lover walking away from him with such determination.

Her generous heart had taken mercy on him that night, tolerating his utter ineptitude, forgiving him for having failed to join her in those silly celebrations which had meant so much to her, for reasons that he still couldn’t fully comprehend, even to this day. She’d certainly cried and tried to resist his treacherous charms at first, not even bothering to hide the ferocious clash between her hurt pride and her ridiculous feelings for him, feelings that she still hadn’t been brave enough to reveal that night, but which the Prince now knew, as sure as night follows day, were already brewing under her skin, consuming her gentle soul at the positive belief that he’d be wholly incapable to reciprocate. 

But that was then and this was now, and, in spite of his appalling state of confusion, the Prince wasn’t foolish enough to believe that her clemency would come so easily this time. Vegeta knew the strong likelihood that the old compassion in her tearful smile, and her devastating acceptance in response to his unnerving silence after he’d refused to respond to her confession of love, would have morphed into cruel bitterness during his cowardly prolonged absence.

The Saiyan’s worst fears became a gloomy reality when his woman ceased her struggles, taking a dangerously calm breath and opening her mouth at last, sinking her nasty claws into the measly remnants of his blackened heart, and feasting on it with the shrill brutality that only a deeply bruised woman could possess.

“Let go of me,” Bulma muttered with disturbing serenity. “Now...”

There were no tears streaming down her porcelain face this time, no warmth or love behind her icy tone as she stood still right in front of him, strong and proud like the most courageous of warriors. If there was any spare affection left for him within her broken heart, he wouldn’t know, all he knew was that this woman wasn’t the vulnerable little thing he’d once held in his arms as she gave herself to him with ardent fervor. This Bulma, awaiting with chilling patience for him to give into her punishing wishes and release her, was rather alarmingly close to the coolly detached woman he’d first met back in her laboratory, the one who’d cleverly constructed a dignified shield around herself so that the world would never touch her.      

Now that he had nothing left to lose, he could secretly admit to himself that he’d instantly become attracted to that woman, to the reserved but insolent scientist who’d once dared to speak words of quiet defiance against him, after he’d been brazen enough to keep rubbing salt into her wounds by inquiring far too much about her bygone life. 

But, now that she seemed to be forever lost to him, Vegeta could also concede that he’d grown even fonder of the soft, infinitely more sentimental little female who’d been generous enough to open her heart to him, kindly offering him a glimpse of all the gratifying things he’d always been excluded from, ever since he was able to remember.

He’d fallen into a trap, a hazardous trap made out of strange human stories, tales of insignificant men who wished to die for no reason, and epic poems proclaiming valor and victory, so surprisingly Saiyan-like in nature that the very thought mystified him entirely. He’d gladly fallen into the arms of a woman unafraid to bare her soul to him, to shed tears of grief and regret as she spoke of her Mother and Father, and of exotic yellow flowers whose unexplored fragrance tempted him relentlessly, making him wish, more than anything in the world, that he too could have had the chance to know the pleasure of such insignificant titillations, if only because they might bring him closer to understanding the mystery that was Bulma Briefs.

Because both women were one and the same, heads and tails of the same golden coin, a peculiar, exquisite creature too fragile in appearance, but strong enough to survive in a savagely ruthless world. And, as he stared into her dimly illuminated features, profoundly horrified by the hostility swimming within a pair of blue eyes which had once looked at him as if he were the greatest man in existence, he realized with consternation that he may have truly lost her for good this time, and all because of his own gutless stupidity.

“Let go of me…” Bulma demanded once more, her voice still chillingly low yet laced in unadulterated fury.

The Prince lifted his masculine jaw with feigned superiority, trying with all his power to pay no attention to the cold sweat running down his spine at the daunting sight of a side of Bulma that he’d never seen before, a rare unforgiveness destined for him and him alone.  

“No,” Vegeta replied disobediently, his hands refusing to follow his lover’s commands, fearing that if he ever did, she’d vanish from his life forevermore.

That did it.

Bulma’s small body started shaking beneath his presumptuous touch, only this time it wasn’t at the distress of being chased by some intimidating stranger in the middle of the night, this time it was sheer anger what prompted her trembling fury.

“I said…” The earthling whispered again, inhaling sharply through her nose as her fingers curled and uncurled in hushed warning, getting ready to counterattack with the fierceness of a wounded lioness. “Let go of me, GODDAMMIT!”

In the blink of an eye, Bulma violently flailed her arms, in one final, frenetic attempt at freeing herself from the Prince’s possessive grasp, and quickly succeeding, taking advantage of Vegeta’s clumsier reflexes and of the abruptness of her actions. Once free of his hold, she simply turned around, walking away from him with fearless resolve.

He’d been right.

This woman, this stubbornly furious woman who was literally trying to escape and get away from his presence as fast as she could, was not the woman who’d once been willing, in spite of her plain heartbreak, to listen to his wretched excuses, those meaningless, ridiculous excuses by which he’d tried to fool her and himself, pretending that no promises had yet been exchanged between them despite the obvious ties already binding them together. She’d forgiven him back then, taking him back simply because he’d still been able to hide behind such irrational pretexts. But now, as he looked in silent horror at the tiny figure disappearing into the night, absolutely paralyzed by unmatched fear and indecision, he knew that she had every reason in this world to desert him, to abandon him like the worthless chump that he truly was, banishing him from her vibrant existence until the end of time.

She’d unveiled her heart just for him, bravely placing it in his blood-soaked hands regardless of having the somber certainty that he wouldn’t even know what to do with it, and he’d done nothing but stomp all over her raw emotions, just as she’d surely expected him to anyway.

He had no right.

No right whatsoever to expect any kindness or mercy out of her this time.

‘And yet…’

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t just let her go, he couldn’t allow her to penetrate into the unknown and set whatever crazy plan her restless brain had concocted into motion, especially if she was doing so out of spite or disenchantment driven by sorrow. The idea of his woman endangering her own life by choice was, in an odd way, infinitely more painful than knowing her on safe grounds, or at least as safe as a delicate creature like Bulma could ever be, even if he couldn’t have her for himself anymore.

‘There had to be a way…’ He thought anxiously to himself, his mouth feeling like cotton, twitchy tongue running across dry lips while his frantic mind attempted to elaborate the shadow of a plan, to come up with something, anything, that would keep the woman in the base and protected from harm.

Declaring his feelings for her wasn’t even a real option, not only because of how ludicrously foreign the concept remained to him, but because he knew that, whatever it was that the sensitive woman was looking for, he sure as Hell wasn’t fitted out to provide it for her.

‘He didn’t even know if she wanted him still...’

His Bulma represented a world of infinite beauty and innocence, a world where a man like him, with nothing to offer but a pair of dirty hands and a barren heart, had no place of any kind. The destitute Prince knew nothing of love or family, or any of those senselessly sappy life experiences that his woman seemed to value and cherish so much. His one and only expertise lay in the darkness, in that terrifying realm of death and destruction from which his defenseless lover hadn’t truly caught a real glimpse of so far, and he’d be damned if he allowed her to walk on a fatal tightrope, only to end up throwing herself into the poisonous abyss of evil and chaos that was Frieza’s empire.      

Vegeta briefly stared at his gritted fists in hopeless impotence, realizing with dismay that, if such shameful words of love and devotion were out of reach for a cold bastard like himself, then there’d be nothing left for him to do but to resort to the one skill he was fluent in, the evil, ghastly skill he’d spent a lifetime earnestly polishing to the point of perfection.        

Fear.

If foolish sentimentality didn’t do the trick, then perhaps cleverly inculcating fear into the woman’s heart, until she relented and made the prudent choice of staying on the military base, might work.

The dreadful downside to his hastened plan was the likely possibility of making his lover’s hatred towards him grow to unbearable levels or, what would be even more appalling, that in his alcohol induced rage he’d end up losing control, ultimately making the woman fear him as well.

There were fewer things in life that made the Saiyan Prince prouder than his intrinsic ability to instill terror into the soul of his numerous enemies, that old self-righteous knowledge that the mere mention of his name, let alone his chillingly imposing presence, was enough to make the most powerful of warriors wish he’d never been born. But the mental image of his woman fearing him, withdrawing from his needy touch after being exposed to a violent side of him which had always remained latent in her company, filled him with consternation, yet he’d gladly swallow every drop of her revulsion if it meant keeping her safe from any damage. 

‘So be it…’ Vegeta thought gloomily to himself, taking flight in her direction without giving his rushed strategy a second thought, relying on whatever remained of his liquid courage to find the strength to confront his lover once again.

“Shit!” Bulma gasped in fright the moment her man quickly caught up with her, magically reappearing in front of her and grabbing her by her narrow shoulders, morphing into an impenetrable wall of muscle as he effectively blocked her path.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, woman?” He asked in a low, threatening tone, trying with all his might to conceal the mad desperation he was wildly possessed by.

The earthling was momentarily taken aback by the intransigence in his harsh voice and manners. It certainly wasn’t the first time that she’d been aware of the warrior’s commanding attitude but, ever since they’d embarked in their illicit affair, she’d also been privileged enough to get to know a softer, much gentler aspect of her lover, one she was convinced he’d never dared to bare to anyone else. And Bulma had grown so accustomed to that privately kind side of him that, for a moment, she had a hard time recognizing her Vegeta in the cold, forceful bastard holding her still in the spot.

She soon recognized that something was off about him, that there was something mysteriously terrifying in the way his thick fingers dug into her fragile flesh as he held her, almost making her feel the ghost of purple bruising forming all over her unusually pale skin.

‘It didn’t matter…’ Bulma bitterly concluded, shaking her head to herself as she evoked all the ache that he’d caused her during these past few months, and the excruciating agony of his rejection after her heartfelt confession in the intimacy of that cursed hotel suite.     

“That’s none of your goddamned business!” She replied with irate resentment, shooting an anger that she’d never directed at him before and striking him right into his split heart.

The scientist attempted to dodge his now painful grip with quickness, just as she’d previously done, but this time Vegeta was already expecting her defiance and, before his lover knew what was coming, he swung her lithe body at light speed, effectively trapping her and backing her against the muddy bricked walls.

“Like HELL it isn’t!” He roared viciously, his big hands letting go of her shoulders only to swiftly take hold of her thin wrists, pressing them against his chest as he brought himself closer to her. “You think you can just leave this place? Do you?! DO YOU?!” Vegeta barked with fury, now openly yelling at her, completely unperturbed about the danger they’d both put themselves into had some sneaky stranger heard them.

Bulma’s rebellious struggles ceased all of a sudden, her words of insubordination freezing at the tip of her venomous tongue as soon as her Prince pronounced his cryptic question.

“Wha-What…?” She asked after a brief period of awkward silence, her expressive eyebrows furrowing in clear confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, woman…” He murmured menacingly, now trapping both of her wrists between one of his hands and encircling her delicate jaw with the other, using just the right amount of force to make her look him in the eye without hurting her. “You can’t pull it off!”

The insulting implications in his words did nothing but further ignite the woman’s fire, inviting her to hysterically squirm and brawl in his demanding grasp over and over.  

“What the fuck are you even talking about?!” Bulma yelled at him, sighing in frustration when she realized that there was nothing she could possibly do to escape her lover’s dominant clutches. Not only had she absolutely no idea about what it was that her Prince was referring to, but she couldn’t help but notice the heatedly erratic way in which Vegeta was acting, panting and huffing like a wild, caged tiger, stubbornly refusing to let go of her for reasons she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Y-You…!” He stuttered with demented agitation, feeling the rapacious, raging Dragon hiding within his soul awakening at the myriad of sensations that his woman’s mere presence could stir inside of him. “You…! You wouldn’t last five goddamned minutes out there on your own! You hear me?! YOU HEAR ME?!”

“On…? On my own? Ve-Vegeta… What are you…?”

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!” The Prince shouted again, going off the rails as he physically jerked her with vehemence, as if he were trying to literally shake some sense into her. His head was throbbing, eyes burning. It wasn’t even the alcohol anymore, it was she. She was the one doing this to him, making him lose control like some brainless juvenile scared stiff at the thought of losing his first love. “You’re doing it because of me, aren’t you?! AREN’T YOU?!” He shook her again. And again. “You…! You stupid little fool! You’d risk your fucking life just so you can get away from ME!!!”     

By now, all of Bulma’s air had fled her lungs, and there was nothing left for her to do but to keep staring at the enraged beast heaving and puffing savagely in the dark. He reeked of cheap booze and something earthy, of dried up blood and alien mud, and he was close, he was so dangerously close that his shaky breath was merging with her own, and Bulma didn’t know if she wanted to slap the living daylights out of him or kiss him within an inch of his life. She was sinking in bewilderment, unable to understand how it was possible for a man who’d abandoned her as if all their extraordinary times together hadn’t meant a darned thing, to act in such a possessive manner all of a sudden.

It wasn’t until she managed to gradually get a hold of herself, rifling through her lover’s uncontrollably furious words, that she finally understood what all the commotion was about.

“You…?” She asked tentatively, her voice croaky and twined with incredulity. “You think I’m trying to escape from here?”

Vegeta nodded with newborn hesitation, his touch loosening lightly on her dainty chin as he watched her with thoughtful skepticism, trying to figure out if the woman was telling the truth or just playing games with his drained brains. It didn’t take long for him to surrender to the overwhelming evidence and to what he’d known all along to be true, the fact that his woman didn’t own a dishonest bone in that lovely body.

“You…?” He rasped with reservation, his throat bobbing nervously. “You aren’t?”

“Of course not! You idiot!” Bulma screamed at once, feeling her old temper coming back in full force, deeply offended by Vegeta’s accusations. “I wasn’t trying to escape! I work here!”

Taking full advantage of the Prince’s clear state of shock, the earthling wriggled out from his grip, pulling forcefully and setting her arms free, slapping the hand still touching her face and pushing him as hard as she could. She walked a few cautious steps away from him, always keeping her eyes on him as she frowned with irritation, softly rubbing her aching wrists.

Work.

His Bulma was working at the hangars.

“You…” He uttered in a rough, guttural voice, lowering his chin and squinting maliciously, trying to focus on her revelations while struggling to ignore the asinine guilt eating him inside at the thought of having hurt his woman. “You lie… It cannot be…”

“What cannot be?” The scientist demanded, already affronted by the insinuations hiding behind his angry affirmation.

“I said YOU LIE! There’s no fucking way you’re working here after just a few months in that laboratory!”

That did it.

The real Bulma Briefs materialized on the dot at the warrior’s degrading words, standing cross-armed right in front of him as she faced him with a brash fearlessness that was making his Saiyan blood boil in euphoria.

“You have some nerve…” She accused indignantly, raising her chin up in pure defiance. “You’ve been wearing that stupid armor for two months straight without a single fucking crack on it and you’re still questioning my genius?!”

Vegeta gawked at her in complete silence, trying to camouflage his utter mortification at the disgraceful spectacle he’d just made of himself. Not only had he openly accused her of being imprudent enough to leave the safety of the military base because of something as trivial as a broken heart, but, to make matters even worse, he’d just questioned her brilliant intelligence, a quality which was, quite possibly, Bulma’s greatest pride.

“Bulma…” He murmured at last, his eyes now ashamedly avoiding hers as he looked away, trying to come up with something, anything, that would make his woman have mercy and give him another chance.

‘Perhaps… Perhaps he could tell her his secret… Perhaps…’

“I’ve had enough of this crap…” Bulma grumbled, almost as if talking to herself, but knowing full well that he could hear her every word with little trouble. “I’m going home…”

“Bulma!” Vegeta bellowed madly, not even bothering to conceal his desperation anymore, seizing her arm just as she gave him her back with the intention of leaving him again. “Wait!”

“WHAT?!” She shouted at him, turning around and viciously yanking her arm, trying to get him to release her with no success.

“You just… Just wait! J-Just…” He stammered, blinking with nervousness and seeking her gaze for an instant, only to quickly avert her eyes, unable to withstand the terrorizing hatred in her ice-blue stare. “Why…? Why are you leaving like this? J-Just… Why are you…?”

“I just told you! You asshole! I WORK HERE!” Bulma roared again, although this time, Vegeta could have sworn that there was a heavy hint of something lugubrious hiding within her fuming voice.

“So?”

She huffed in outrage, sharply inhaling a lungful of crisp air as she got ready to announce that she did, in fact, know quite a bit more than he’d anticipated to begin with.

“So…” Bulma declared with petrifying bitterness. “I have access to the flight logs! You dick!”

“…”

 

He said nothing.

He said nothing because, at this point, there was nothing left for him to say, not a single excuse or explanation that could possibly justify his atonement. Now he knew, now he knew the real reason behind the virulent hostility she’d thrown at him from the moment he’d reappeared into her life.

The sheer volume of new information floating in his stunned mind that night had been such that, between the alarm and consequent relief of learning that his Bulma was not leaving the base, and the following shock at the discovery that the woman possessed, in fact, enough brains in order to ascend so quickly in the technological department, had made him ignore one crucial little fact, the fact that her new position would have given her access to the pods’ highly valued flight records, meaning that she’d known all along that he’d been in the base on several occasions, but voluntarily refusing to visit her during the past two months.

He deserved it.

All of it.

He deserved the spite in her shaky voice, the disgusted sneer curving her full lips and the emotionless, disconnected way in which she pulled her arm away from him. Just as he deserved those two words, those two words of acrimony and contempt that sliced his void heart with the clinical precision of a surgeon.

“Goodbye, Vegeta…”       

 

******************************************

 

He could still hear it every so often, that grave, prophetic speech echoing through his broken consciousness, like a grandiose commander ruling over him at all times, inspiring him to carry on.   

Always the same words.

Always.

 

‘Stand up, boy!’

 

His father’s voice.

The man he’d admired the most ever since he had the ability to remember, the man who was no longer a man but a Supreme Being, a shining, superb God walking amongst mere mortals.

Here or there, dead or alive, it made no difference to the Prince anymore.

He’d always been there for him, both a reassuring presence and a hellish curse; the strongest, bravest of men, and the cowardly father who’d given away his oldest child to the most despicable of monsters to do as he pleased with him. The King’s ghost had walked by his son’s side through it all, from the brief and momentarily satisfying spells of victory, to the sadly more frequent, almost expected, times of shameful defeat. His imperious cries still reverberated within his soul, exaltations of honorable pride and forthcoming triumphs, of all the extraordinary achievements that would be possible for him just as long as he never dismissed from his mind the crucial principles by which a Saiyan Prince shall live by. 

 

Little boys didn’t cry.

Little boys had no fear.

Little boys just took it.

They took it all and asked for more.

 

Those had been the words, the essential fundamentals he’d been mercilessly governed by for as long as he could recall, the basis of his very essence as a Saiyan, as a warrior and as a man. And, as much as there had been times, especially as he’d gotten older, when he’d grown to resent and despise the dead old man who hadn’t been strong enough to protect his own child from the Devil himself, Vegeta had always ended up admitting to himself that, without the foggy specter of his Father whispering words of dark enlightenment in his ear, he would have been completely lost.    

 

‘Stand up, boy!’

‘Stand up!’

 

And then, then the most extraordinary metamorphosis had taken place when, without warning, the solemnly dignified voice of the King was quickly replaced by the sweetest, most melodic of echoes.

 

‘Vegeta! Stand up!’

‘Stand up!’

 

The voice of the woman who’d unexpectedly changed it all. A tenderhearted creature who’d walked into his life, completely out of the blue, making him question the very core of his existence and his own sense of self. The one who’d become, for reasons he still couldn’t fully comprehend, the motivation to remain alive through the toughest and bloodiest of assignments, if only so that he could come back to her.

  

‘Vegeta! Stand up!’

‘Vegeta!’

 

“…ta!”

“…geta!”

“Vegeta! Stand up!” The feminine tone called out to him again, the voice sounding surprisingly close and real, as real as the loud noise that Bulma’s heavy work boots made when she stomped her foot on the ground in frustration. “Dammit, Vegeta! Stand up!”

His eyes opened abruptly, his entire body waking up all of a sudden from the rare state of unconsciousness he’d been under from the moment she’d walked away from him. He couldn’t remember much of what happened, other than the monstrous ball of fire burning in his chest as he’d watched her leave, an aching, oppressive strain chocking him off, literally stopping his lungs from breathing.

“Vegeta?” Bulma asked once more, her tone still somewhat angry, yet mixed with noticeable relief when she finally sensed some kind of a physical reaction in him.

After her crossly abrupt departure, she’d only been able to make it to the end of the long, narrow street until the temptation to turn around and take one last, nostalgic look at her former lover became too great to resist. The earthling had half-expected him to keep chasing after her with dogged insistence, or to simply accept defeat and obey her cruel wishes, taking flight and putting an end to the disastrous torment that their affair had become. What she hadn’t foreseen, however, was the utterly depressing scene that she found in its place.

The warrior was right where she’d abandoned him but, instead of resembling his own usual self, that cool, bigheaded bastard who walked around as if the world belonged to him and him alone, she was faced by the beaten image of a man she could barely recognize.

Bulma had watched him from afar for a good handful of minutes, her astonished gaze fixated on the pitiful figure sitting on the pavement with his hunched back leaning against the wall. His elbows were on his knees, arms hanging slackly in front of him and head bowed down in defeat. His body, that compact yet immensely powerful body, looked smaller than usual as he trembled all over and, if she hadn’t known what kind of a man she was truly dealing with, she would have guessed that he was either crying or battling the hardest of fights against an overwhelming need to shed rowdy tears of shame. It was the most poignant, horrifying vision she’d ever laid eyes on, so perturbing in truth, that it was getting increasingly harder to stay mad at him.

When Vegeta had made an unpredicted comeback that night, a tiny part of her had felt a spur of relief and, dare she say it, of joy, at the thought of her former lover finally having found the valor to return to her, perhaps even to reciprocate the sincere emotions that she’d so bravely confessed to him in the past. But the drunken fury unleashed upon her straight away had done nothing but awaken her own resentment, that causticness arising from all the pain and solitude she’d been subjected to in his absence.

Every single night of wistful loneliness, wrestling her acute exhaustion as she waited for him, crying herself to sleep when the realization hit her, the glum understanding that he wouldn’t be visiting that night either. Worst of all had been knowing, knowing that he was in the base but still refusing to see her, feeling repudiated and mortified, fearing that if only she’d kept her own stupid feelings to herself, she’d still have her man by her side.

It’d taken those first two failed visits for Bulma to gradually begin to accept that, whatever it was that had transpired between the Saiyan Prince and her, was clearly over. And, by the third fizzled encounter, taking place a mere two nights before the warrior’s reappearance, those sentiments of grief and abandonment had, in a way, given place to that little orb of anger and bitterness which had become her one and only drive right until Vegeta had entered the picture, bringing a flicker of optimism and exhilaration into her world.

It was this new aggressiveness of his what had startled her the most, an act of hostility that he’d never, not even once, displayed in her presence before. For all of his flaws, her lover had treated her with utmost respect at all times, even in the early stages of their relationship, when he’d openly described her as ‘a fuck’ and nothing more. Her involvement with Vegeta had always been by her own choice and, just as she’d accepted the rules that he’d established with such crass honesty very early on, she’d also come to acknowledge her Prince’s dismissal when she’d boldly attempted to change the rules of this wicked game of seduction they’d both been consumed by.

And now nothing made sense anymore.

Nothing at all.

In her state of inner turmoil, Bulma could find no rational explanation for the sudden possessiveness in the Prince’s demeanor, an enraged dominance that appeared to have pushed him over the edge of his own sanity. This man, this incensed man seemingly possessed by the Archfiend himself, couldn’t possibly be the same man who’d bailed out on her without a care in the world, and neither did the crushed man sitting curled up on the ground, looking as if he’d just lost his most precious jewel.

Even though she didn’t know what exactly was crossing the warrior’s mind, or his true feelings towards her and their intimate times together, there was one thing that she was convinced of, that she had to snap him out of the extremely weak position he’d just put himself into as soon as possible, before any uninvited spectator could witness this new, frightening vulnerability.    

There were still so many elements about Vegeta’s nature which remained an inscrutable enigma to her, so many choices that looked so absurdly irrational, that Bulma felt as if an entire lifetime would be needed to solve the riddle that her lover had become. What she had learnt, however, was that the smug arrogance which characterized him wasn’t so much an intrinsic part of his personality but a protective shield, a powerful weapon that had perhaps kept him alive more times than she’d ever know, and she couldn’t, regardless of the lingering ire still brewing within her, contribute to the self-destruction of the man she loved.

Not now.

Not ever.

“Vegeta…” She muttered yet again, her voice much kinder and softer than earlier, making the massive effort to repress her irritation so that she could earn his trust once more. “Come on… You need to stand from the ground…”   

The Prince raised his head at last, slowly, painfully slowly, like a man who’d just awakened from a dream, one of those dreams which felt so treacherously real that it took one a while to fully rouse and discern fantasy from reality. He blinked languidly a few times, frowning at the light hand so generously tended to him as he wondered, not for the first time, just what in Heaven’s name had he ever done to deserve his woman’s presence in his life, let alone her caring compassion.

“Come on…” Bulma whispered, gently wriggling her fingers in a come-hither motion in quiet encouragement as she struggled to ignore the tears of pity burning behind her turquoise eyes.

He looked like a boy.

He looked like a misplaced, young boy, oddly lost in thought, and probably wondering the reason behind her offering him a helping hand when no one had ever truthfully given a damn about whether he lived or died. In spite of the obvious confusion spoiling his handsome face, there was something almost fresh about him, as if he’d dropped his prideful act, at long last, freely offering her a glimpse of the man he could have been if tragedy hadn’t stricken his life over and over again, viciously stealing his innocence and transforming him into the steeled, broken man that he was today.

After a short-lived minute that felt like infinity, his hand reached out to hers with atypical shyness, wrapping his thick fingers around her palm. He kept his gaze low, his head still lightly bowed in humbleness and clear apprehension, as if he were still scared of looking her in the eye for fear of what he might be confronted by.

At first, she’d assumed that he’d simply follow her soft request and stand on his feet but, as usual, the warrior surprised her yet again, being the one to silently pull, inviting her, without words, to join him on the ground instead. Mere hours earlier, the earthling’s outrage would have made her resist his proposition, but now, as her wounded rage slowly morphed into warm compassion, Bulma found herself incapable to resist his quiet plea and, before she knew it, her knees touched the pavement as she joined him on the ground.

“Vegeta… We can’t let people see you like this…” She cautioned him, her heart bleeding at the long, quivery sigh that escaped Vegeta’s lips when she knelt in front of him, a sigh of pure relief, relief at the possibility, however implausible, that he still might have a chance with this woman. “Vegeta…” Bulma whispered warmheartedly again. “We need to…”

“Come with me,” he interrupted her, his voice low and husky but his eyes, those penetrating, ebony eyes, meeting hers at last, shining passionately just for her.

There was something about him, something she hadn’t seen before. An odd mixture of defeated coyness and raw intensity, like a man who’d already been drowning after losing all hope, only to find a beam of buoyant expectation inside the dark tomb he’d buried himself into.            

“Ve-Vegeta… I…” She stuttered nervously, knowing that if she did as he asked, if she completely forgot about all the pain he’d inflicted upon her and she followed him now, only to find herself discarded again, she’d die. “I… I can’t… I…”

“Something happened, Bulma…” He declared in a velvety murmur as he interlaced the fingers of her captive hand with his own, bringing both fists close to his heart. “Something big…”

Vegeta watched with silent anticipation the surge of conflicting emotions raging within her, knowing that this was his last trump card, that appealing to her naturally scientific inquisitiveness, and to the fascination that he still seemed to awaken within her, was his one and only hope to get her out of that dark alley and try to win her affections back.

“What…? What is it?” She asked breathlessly, her oceanic eyes opening wide with vivacious curiosity. “What…?”

The Prince shook his head solemnly, trying to maintain his deadly serious façade but secretly elated at the discovery that his little female still felt some kind of emotion towards him, strong enough, at least, to show an interest in the latest, fortuitous developments in his life.  

“Not here,” he cut her off, persevering in his wickedly improvised plan to lure the woman and bring her to a more secluded spot. “It’s too dangerous…”

Bulma scowled with slight suspicion. She knew that Vegeta would never stoop so low as to lie to her about some big event occurring in his life, but she was also fully aware of the fact that the chances of some sneaky stranger eavesdropping on their secret conversation were slim to none, and that her lover was probably attempting to find a credible excuse to take her to some place where the two of them could be alone and wholly undisturbed. And, while she was still finding it hard to ignore the sour resentment that his dismissive attitude towards her confession had stirred within her soul, she also had to admit that his supplicant touch and humility were making dwelling into such vengeful emotions harder and harder.

“If this…” She warned cautiously. “If this is some kind of trick, I…”

“No tricks, Bulma,” Vegeta interjected with firm conviction, his fingers tightening around hers, pressing their entwined hands even harder against his chest. “Come with me…”

The word ‘please’ was never spoken, yet it lay heavily behind the shadow of his subtle command, a hushed plea, perhaps the closest thing to an imploration that he’d ever pronounced. He was fully at her mercy and both lovers knew it, just as they knew that the insatiable attraction burning between them like the brightest flame was still livelier than ever.

She couldn’t give herself to him again.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t risk seeing her heart shattered into a million pieces one more time, regardless of how profound her sentiments towards this complex, secretive man run still. But perhaps she owed it to herself, and even to him, to give him the opportunity to share whatever ailment or aching sentiment it was that was clearly consuming him alive, and to eventually part ways with the respect and the peaceful closure that they both deserved.    

Vegeta sharply held his breath, observing in childlike awe the way Bulma chewed on her bottom lip and stared at the ground while she carefully pondered on his enigmatic offer. The irony that things had always been the other way around in their relationship didn’t escape him, for his lover had always been the one asking the questions, the one wondering when he’d come back to her, or inquiring about the silliest matters. The Prince had constantly been the one dominantly establishing the rules, the one setting the ruthless boundaries in a sexual affair which had, slowly but relentlessly, morphed into something frighteningly deeper, something that neither one of them had predicted, or even known how to handle.

He’d assumed that he had the right to walk away from her, painlessly and free of any guilt, right after she’d daringly shared her true feelings for him, thinking that, by breaking the rules of their own lascivious game, the woman had effectively freed him from whatever obligation or consideration which may have existed between them. What Vegeta hadn’t counted on, much to his shame, was how incurably hard it would be for him to cut the invisible rope binding them together, that thin, red thread fervidly tied up to his ribcage, virtually impossible to destroy anymore.      

And now his destiny was in her hands, a future that suddenly felt a little sunnier when his Bulma made up her mind at last, timidly looking him in the eye as she sealed his fate with one faint whisper.

“Okay…” 

 

******************************************

 

His sheer joy at the dazzling promise of his beautiful lover forgiving his many mistakes, and newly warming up to him, evaporated as soon as he held her in his arms and they took off in search of a more private destination.

Almost immediately, it became painfully evident that this woman, a woman barely holding onto his shoulders with clammy hands, and a small, shivering body as tense as a spring, was definitely not the docile little female who so loved to cling to him for dear life whenever he flew her in his tight embrace.

He didn’t get to feel her balmy, sweet breath gasping in excitement in his ear as she buried her delicate face in the crook of his neck, or the deliciously tickling sensation of the few loose curls escaping from her messy bun and caressing his tanned cheeks as the wind played games with her hair. There were no impatiently hot kisses or cheeky caresses this time, nothing but an anxious woman trembling in apprehension and reeking of pure fear, not the dull, usual fear of murder and destruction he was so accustomed to, but the emotional fear of a woman whose trust had been entirely crushed, and all because of his own emotionally stunted stupidity.

He’d missed her.

Oh, but he’d missed her…

Now that Vegeta had her in his hold, and the heavy, intoxicating fog of the cheap liquor dulling his senses was gradually fading away, he could acknowledge, once and for all, just how much he’d missed his woman during their time apart, and the peculiarly invigorating effect that her mere presence seemed to bring upon him.

He’d dearly missed the way Bulma felt in his arms, the warm softness of her small but voluptuous form beneath his touch, and the surprising way in which his coarse hands adapted to her every curve and every plane, as if her body had been created with the sole purpose of bringing some much-needed comfort into the depraved chaos that was his life. He’d desperately needed those babyish giggles and human stories, and the way that gorgeous pair of luminous eyes always looked at him as if he were a man, a man whose soul still deserved to be saved from sin. The Gods be damned, he’d even missed those tiny annoyances of hers, those silly, girlish habits so irritating in appearance, but that secretly amused him to no end, like the devious way in which she’d press her cold feet right against his in the middle of the night, when she mistakenly thought him asleep, in search of the masculine heat that his body exuded.

Now he could justly appreciate the extraordinary way in which the exotic creature had given herself to him, baring her gracious heart and untainted soul with no reservations or inhibitions, probably without even bothering to truly wonder if the monster she’d chosen to share that marvelous body and mind with was even worthy of it.

But, just as it’d occurred in every other aspect of his pathetically immoral life, he had to go and mess it all up, if only because he didn’t understand her or her dreamy emotions, or why she had ever been crazy enough to even offer him the gift of sharing a meaningful bond with a tenderhearted woman like her.

It wasn’t until he lost her that he finally grasped the true value of the unexpected treasure that Fate had so generously laid in his undeserving hands and, like the pathetic wimp that he truly was, he’d ended up making matters infinitely worse by showing up in her presence completely drunk out of his mind, acting like a terrifying, drunken brute and disrespecting her in every conceivable way.

All in all, it was small wonder that the woman’s body language was so clearly communicating just how repulsive he must now be to her, and the Prince knew that the only reason why Bulma hadn’t run for the hills yet, dumping him on the streets in the middle of the night like some filthy dog, was that the woman was kind to the point of stupidity, and she’d most certainly still be able to muster some kind of sympathy towards the man she’d once claimed to have fallen in love with.

Letting her go would have been the honorable thing to do, allowing her to move on, to get some distance from the all-consuming madness that their sordid affair had turned out to be, so that she could one day finally realize that a murderer’s rejection had, in reality, been nothing but a blessing in disguise.

By watching her leave, he would have walked the decent path, then again, no one had ever accused Vegeta of being a moral man and, right now, the desperate void in his spirit was such that he’d take whatever crumbs of pitiful affection his Bulma would be willing to graciously offer.

“You…?” The earthling whispered as they landed on the balcony of their shocking destination, blissfully ignorant of the sharp pang of loss kicking the Saiyan in the gut at the way she recoiled from his touch as soon as their feet touched solid ground. “You’re staying here?” She asked in a wary but strikingly accusatory tone.

‘Ah, yes…’

Another mistake.

Instead of flying her to her place, that modest but cozy apartment she lived in, he’d taken her, almost on autopilot, to the hotel he was staying at, none other than the luxurious spot he’d invited her to during their last night together.

Bulma’s distrustful voice instantly reminded him of the shy uneasiness that the lavish hotel suite had promptly roused within her, and the heartbreaking grief and insecurity in her voice when she’d ventured to ask if he visited such places often. If the overwhelming extravagance of the grandiose room, together with the indecent assortment of high-class hookers hustling in the lobby, had been enough to provoke the most crushing anxiety in his lover back then, he didn’t even wish to imagine just what kind of disturbing thoughts must be crossing her wired mind now that they weren’t even technically a couple anymore.

Before he was even given the chance to reply to her suspicious demand, Bulma left his side, brazenly getting into a room that had once been so meticulously spruced up for an unforgettable night of passionate lovemaking, but which now so closely resembled an opulent but cold mausoleum.

The few panicky thoughts of jealousy initially flooding her mind were quickly forgotten after her astute eyes scanned the room with curiosity, skittishly pacing through it like a deer in the woods. It soon became apparent that bedding another woman was not the motive lying behind Vegeta’s unusual choice of lodging. The warrior’s election may have been exactly the same, but the ambiance floating in the air couldn’t have been any more different than that old, intimate atmosphere still so fresh in Bulma’s memory.

The faint glow of the exotically perfumed candles had now been replaced by the rudimentary lighting of a measly bedside lamp and a basic light spot by the lounge area, and the seductively spicy aroma pervading her senses back then had given rise to a clean, yet impersonal scent.

By the window, she saw the food cart that had, once upon a time, been brimming with fresh fruits and a wide assortment of gourmand delicacies, but which, tonight, held nothing but an eclectic selection of empty bottles instead. The lack of any solid foods and the sad sight of a single, unused glass told her all she needed to know about the solitary activities her Prince had been engaging into during her absence.

And so did the deluxe, king-sized bed, the only witness to a dreamlike night of confidential confessions and ardent sex, a place that used to be nothing but a pile of wildly rumpled, sweat-soaked bedsheets, but which was now fully made, its black covers only slightly wrinkled on one side, silently disclosing that the Prince had simply slept on top of them, all by himself, without even bothering to seek refuge underneath the silky sheets.

It was a miserable vision indeed, so excruciatingly gloomy that Bulma could feel her initial worries grow beyond what was prudent, knowing that she’d have to tread carefully if she was to make it out of there without giving into Vegeta’s dark desires, and with her heart in one piece.

The earthling masterfully walked past the colossal bed and in the direction of the salon, quickly identifying the very same spot she’d once sited on, that plush sofa where she’d enjoyed her favorite poems while delighting in a bowl of mouthwatering berries. Her steps were cautious, her stance elegant but powerless to control the old familiar butterflies fluttering in her belly whenever she found herself alone with her Saiyan Prince.

She could feel him.

She could feel him in a way she’d never felt anyone before, like a solid, sweltering presence, walking right behind her as he followed her every move.

She could feel his domineering eyes on her slender back, that raven gaze burning her alive, just as she’d been able to sense his presence nearby whenever he’d been in the base, even during those harrowing nights of solitude when he’d refused to visit her.

She didn’t know how or why it was even possible, and the very thought of such an absurd notion was entirely irrational, but she knew, as sure as birth and death, that it was real, as real as the new rush of pity taken hold of her when she sat on the swanky couch and he imitated her actions, positioning himself on a nearby divan and finally allowing her to take a good look at him in full light.

He looked terrible, positively ghastly, unquestionably a very different picture from the bigheaded warrior so used to walking triumphantly through life, always surrounded by that ever-present cloud of power and glory, that jubilant exultance that had first terrified her so, but which she’d secretly grown to admire. Her man appeared tired, sickly even, as if both his spirit and body were walking a perilous line on the brink of exhaustion, and dejectedly losing the battle.

What amazed her the most was the confirmation of what she’d suspected all along, ever since she’d caught a first glimpse of him under the shadows of the night, the astounding fact that he was, indeed, wearing the armor that she’d so lovingly designed and crafted for him, a thoughtful, unanticipated gift which she now fully believed had been his first.   

The Vegeta sitting in front of her was a far cry from the overconfident prick who’d showed up, wholly uninvited, in her room in the middle of the night, bringing her to her knees and seducing her with a skillful ease that could still, to this day, make her blush like a silly teenage girl.

Bulma truly had no clue as to what kind of furtive thoughts were now invading her lover’s mind, and she knew even less about the foreign feelings, if he still held any, looming inside of the heart that she knew he possessed, but one thing was undoubtedly true, this man was a man with a secret, a man preyed upon by something of a magnitude she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and the time had come for him to lay bare his most guarded confidences with her.

“So…” The earthling spoke at last, breaking the unnerving silence overriding them both as soon as she understood that Vegeta was the one patiently waiting for her to show an interest in his great revelation. “What…?” She asked hesitantly. “What’s this big thing you were talking about?”

It took Vegeta a few seconds to mentally prepare himself, getting ready to reveal his greatest secret to her. The novelty he was about to share with his lover was no easy feat, and the reserved way in which she kept staring at him with quiet expectation was making the mere act of talking to her increasingly harder.

‘No matter…’

It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose anymore.

“Bulma,” he declared gravely, his wounded eyes gingerly meeting hers, as if he actually feared her reaction to his revelation, as if her response to what he was about to announce were of utmost importance to him.

 

“I have ascended…”