Chapter 15

Goku and Vegeta jogged towards the Brief’s household from the gravity chamber. Snow was now blanketing the ground and the sun had left it’s warmth behind. It was odd that, with the cold weather, the ice between the two saiyans had melted and they now spent every day together. Bulma had work to do so her mind was safely occupied, as was Bura’s with the thought of Christmas. Trunks, having been released from the hospital (but not without a series of appointments to follow), kept his wing unlocked and attempted to go downstairs more often. Gohan and Goten spent most of their days with him trying to help him exercise his vocal cords and also just doing guy things. However, his eating was still almost non-existent and the doctors put it down to his body’s state of mind rather than an eating disorder.

Since Trunks’ overdose everything had changed. He was being watched every hour of everyday; it was almost as if everyone was trying too hard. On the outside, he held a happy front but on the inside he still felt as empty and worthless as he had before. He was lying to everyone, his best friend, his parents and even his doctor. He couldn’t tell them how he felt; once you open a can of worms it’s almost impossible to close it.

Goten also seemed different. He, too, was thin and always was shaking. The white of his eyes had a yellowish tint, as did his skin, and he was always fidgeting. But he was no less cheery than he had been before. In fact, it seemed his sudden change had gone unnoticed by everyone but Trunks. The younger sayian was awful jumpy at times; he got angry quickly and was suffering from sleep deprivation. How did Trunks know? Because in the time he had spent not talking, he had become so much more observant. He just hoped his suspicions weren’t accurate. But then, if they were, who was he to judge? He was just as bad, just as troubled; just as fucked. He knew it was horrible but a small part of him hoped that it was true, and then he wouldn’t be the big disappointment any more.

 Life would maybe be slightly more bearable.  

Gohan balanced the sketch pad on his knee; he held his tongue between his teeth and tabbed the pencil on the edge of the book. Trunks and Goten watched him from the opposite couch. Each held back a smirk as they watched the older sayian make silly faces at his paper.

“I can see that.” Gohan said without taking his eyes from the book.

“What?” Goten asked as he tried his best to suppress a laugh.

“You’re trying not to laugh at my art face.”

That was it. The two boys exploded into fits of laughter, they were gripped their rips and were gasping for breath. Gohan watched them with a bemused expression.

“Haha. Okay. Just watch your damn movie.”

“What is with the faces?” Goten replied through laughter.

“Subconscious concentration.”

“Huh?”

“I really can’t dumb that down anymore for you brother.”

Goten’s smile disappeared and he scowled at the older man.

“What? Did you just call me stupid?”

Trunks slid to the other side of the couch, as far from Goten as possible. Gohan put his hands up in defence.

“Chill. I was kidding Goten.”

“No you weren’t!” Goten got to his feet and clenched his fists at his sides, “I’m just as intelligent as you are!”

“G-Goten.” Trunks whispered, “It was a joke. You know how siblings are sometimes.”

“Oh. Now you pipe up! But don’t defend me, your best friend, defend him !” Goten snapped.

Trunks feel silent.

“That’s enough Goten!” Gohan reached forward and took hold of his brothers arm, “ Sit down and just cool it.”

Goten pulled out of his grasp and stomped to the bathroom. The door was slammed shut and locked behind him. Trunks rose from his seat to go to his friend’s aid.

“Trunks leave him be.”

“B-But.” He coughed and gripped his throat.

“Don’t over work your muscles. Just sit down, he’ll be out soon.” Gohan seemed unconcerned with his brother’s outburst and simply went back to making faces at his sketch pad.

Trunks, reluctantly, sat down again. He grasped his hands on his lap.

“It’s hormones Trunks. You know yourself what its like.”

“Y-yeah.”

Goten was on the floor of the small bathroom. His back was pressed against the door, his bare feet rested on the chill tiles and his knees were drawn up to his chest. He fumbled with the pot of liquid. It was carefully filled into the vial of the syringe and injected directly into the vein at the crook of Goten’s elbow. His arm stung for a moment after his third puncture, he pressed his finger tips wound and felt sticky liquid. Blood. He cringed and buried his face in his hands.

This was all wrong. Not only had he been shooting heroin once a day, but he was on methadone instead. As long as he kept going to work and kept getting paid; he would keep buying drugs. But the drugs gave him energy to do more shifts, therefore more money; therefore more drugs.

He balled his hands into fists and thumbed his temples. For a moment he sat still, breathing deeply and counting the floor tiles. The drug began to take affect and he felt better. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his paranoia and anger set in again, but for now the high was all that mattered.

Goten pushed himself from the floor, brushed himself down, checked his arm for blood and unlocked the bathroom door.

“Calmed down?” Gohan asked as he trod towards them.

“Yes. Sorry.” Goten replied with a smiled, he ruffled his brothers hair, “Hormones.”

“That’s what I thought.”  

It was five thirty. After an intense training session, Goku and Vegeta had takin over the Brief’s living room as they stormed the Middle East as American marines. Bulma and Chi Chi sat on the couch, each with a coffee, as they watched their husbands. They both sat on the floor in front of the television, a controller in each of their hands and each with a headset. Vegeta had never seemed more human; his friendship with Goku had really paid off.

“How did you get so good at this?” Goku asked.

Vegeta smiled, “What? Is it upsetting that I am beating you at video games, Kakorot?”

“No. It’s just you sucked when we first started!”

“I’m a fast learner.”

“Bull, Vege.” Bulma laughed, “He’s been practicing with Trunks and Bura when he isn’t training. He has even dragged me into playing.”

Vegeta glared at his wife.

“See! That’s cheating! I can’t do that at home.”

“Oh don’t cry.” Vegeta scoffed.

“Chi. We should invest in a game machine.” Goku whined.

“Get a job and then we’ll talk about it.” Chi Chi didn’t look up from the magazine she was reading.

“But your job is good enough to support us? Why do I need one?”

“Why do you not need one?”

Goku was silent as he pondered.

“Oh Chi. Let him be.” Bulma joked, “Face it. We are the bread earners in our families.”

“I agree with the woman.” Vegeta replied.

The men played on while the women read through their fashion magazine and catalogues. Bura soon joined them and fought her father for the controller. It was settled with a simple rock, paper, scissors; Bura won.

Vegeta sat next to Bulma and watched his daughter and friend play. Every few minutes Bulma would point out mens clothes to him, asking his opinion but he was clearly more interested in the game.

However, in his mind, he was gasping for a drink. He began to tap his foot and chew at the skin around his finger nails.

“Sweetie?” Bulma placed her hand on his thigh, “You okay?”

“Hn. Yes woman, I’m fine.”

“Daddy! Look. We made it to the next mission.” Bura beamed as Goku and she shared a high five.

“That’s great!” Vegeta replied, a little too enthusiastically.

“We are kicking Russian ass next.” Goku exclaimed.

Once again, the prince was drawn into the war fare on the television. Anything to keep his mind off the need for alcohol. How human had he become? The lust for substances? The pain and worry over his son? The sudden love for Goku? Even playing video games? There was no doubt he had changed. A part of him hated the change but the other part was relieved with it. For all those years he neglected his emotions, locked his feelings deep inside himself; all because he was afraid of being seen as weak. But he wasn’t seen as weak, quite the opposite. Goku, earlier that evening, had told him how strong he was being about Trunks, about the alcohol and, most of all, how brave he was finally knocking down his walls.

Bulma, obviously sensing her husband’s intense thinking, took hold on his hand and squeezed. He looked at her and smiled.

“It will all be okay.” She whispered.

“Thank you.”