Chapter 16

“Goten was laid of his job at the sports center today.” Gohan announced.

Trunks nodded.

“You don’t work there anymore either do you?”

“I do but I don’t suspect my boss will be ‘understanding’ for much longer. ” Trunks answered bluntly.

“Do you want another job?”

“Yes. Eventually. But I have enough money to do me for a while yet. I saved a lot when I was working.”

“Smart.” Gohan butted out his cigarette, “He’ll be fine.”

Trunks sat back on the couch and watched Gohan from behind his violet bangs. The older man had his notebook balanced on his knee, ready to take notes on today’s session. He flashed a toothy grin; it looked out of place on his tried face.

“Shall we begin?” it was more a statement than a question, so, Trunks said nothing, “You’ve been able to talk for a while. How do you feel about that?”

The younger man shrugged.

“You won’t get away with that now. You can speak, so, no more of this shrugging.”

“I feel okay about it.” Trunks replied quietly, “I just like silence sometimes.”

“We all do. But silence can drive you mad.”

Trunks knew he was referring to his ‘incident’ earlier that year. Instead of starting another argument, he nodded in agreement. Although, he insisted that it wasn’t the isolation and constant silence that drove him to it; it was the inability to stop his brain thinking.

Gohan continued with pretty much the same questions, making sure he was taking his pills and asking him if there was anything he wanted to talk about. Not that there ever was; not about himself anyway.

“Goten’s acting weird.” Trunks whispered.

He looked up at Gohan the moment the older man lifted his eyes from the book. Gohan met him with an anxious stare. He started to chew on the side of his lip and tap his fingers on the notebook.

“Yeah.” He agreed.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I want to say it’s hormones but, now that I look at him more, I can’t ignore what my logic is telling me.”

There was silence between the pair. Trunks felt his stomach tie into knots, anxiety talking over. Gohan put away his things, slung his jacket over his shoulders and stood, ready to leave. There was obviously nothing more to say about the matter.

“Keep up the good work Trunks.” Gohan smiled, forced and concealing, “You know the steps are there if you need them.”

Ah yes. The steps to help him stop harming himself. He had forgotten entirely. He nodded and shrugged. How would Gohan know if he hurt himself or not?

“And remember what the doctor said. Eat something each day. Stick mainly to soup and add in solids gradually. Your body will react eventually.”

Again, Trunks agreed. Gohan proceeded towards the door way, bid Trunks goodbye and exited the apartment. The younger Saiyan clicked on the television and tried to keep his mind from thinking.

But it was useless.

His thoughts were plagued with images and theories revolving around his young friend. His vivid imagination was painting pictures of dangerous weapons and underground fight clubs. Yes, Goten was an angry boy, and his temper was ruthless but Trunks knew that society was learning to fight back; and win. The younger demi had no idea of the horrors, of the damage and the vile human hatred that could ultimately kill him.

With all of this whirring in the cogs of his mind, Trunks had no hope of silence. New ideas popped into his head every second until, he felt like his anxiety rippled stomach, could take no more. He wanted to hurt himself, if only to get rid of the stress, but he knew it was stupid.

He sighed, sagged his shoulders and let his head flop to rest on his chest. It was stupid, and pointless, and he needed to rid the bubbling poison somehow.

Feeling desperate, Trunks slipped the blade from his wallet and set to work on his bicep. The skin was sliced in even lines. The blood dripped from the deep wounds to form seven streaks of crimson, it pooled in the crook of his elbow and slowly dripped off either side.

Trunks gasped in pleasure and felt a rush of adrenaline as he admired the colours of the flesh beneath the skin. But it didn’t last long.

Yes, the stinging felt great but he only felt weak and pathetic. He had given in.

Bulma prepared herself and Gohan a mug of coffee. There was a peaceful silence between the two as they sat across from each other. Gohan threaded his dark hair through his thin fingers and watched Bulma through his bangs. Every so often he would graze his five o’clock shadow with his knuckles.

“You need to shave.” The woman stated, she smiled softly as Gohan let slip a quiet chuckle, “Sometimes I forget how old you are. You’ve grown so fast.”

“We aren’t long in growing up, are we?” Gohan replied.

“I know.” Bulma sighed, “When did it all get so complicated?”

Of course, it was meant as a rhetorical question and so Gohan neglected to answer. He stared into the depths of his black coffee, trying to avoid the woman’s eyes.

“He’s going to be just fine you know.” He whispered.

“I hope so.”

“He’s come a very long way and he’s trying so hard.”

“Do you think he still wants to die?”

“Yes.”

Bulma’s eyes snapped up to meet his. Her mouth was open, as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t. Gohan stared back.

“You weren’t expecting me to say yes, were you?” He said.

“You’re not supposed to say those things.”

“I tell you the truth.”

“Well shouldn’t we be keeping an eye on him?”

“No. Give him space. Yes, it’s dangerous, but it’s better than driving him to it quicker.”

“How do you know?”

“That he wants to die?” Bulma nodded, “It’s in his eyes, and I can see it in the way he tries too hard. I remember how it feels to want to die and how it stays with you the rest of your life.” Gohan glanced back at his coffee, “It sticks to you like glue but you may never try it again. Or you might try it several times. Fear stops you coming near the end though, and only the lucky ones get through.”

There was an awkward silence between the pair. Bulma eventually lifted her own mug and Gohan’s half – empty one and carried them to the sink. In turn, Gohan stood and left the room.

Goten could barely hold his biro, his hand was shacking so much it kept slipping between his fingers. Since beginning his homework forty minutes previous he had so far written the title of his essay. He needed a fix if he was to get any further. He threw his pen onto the table with such force it left a blotch of ink in the center of the page. His fingers were thrust into his hair, he pulled at the strands in frustration and growled deep into his throat.

He had finished off his final drop of methadone earlier that day and now he was desperately in need of another. He was fired from his job, had used all his money on drugs and was now stuck, unable to do his homework and franticly needing a fix. Not only that but he owed money to his dealer also.

It was weak, so weak, but Goten cried.

His body ached, begging his mind for the drug. It was so powerful, occupying every pocket of his intelligence and thumping at his temples. His mild experience with the heroin withdrawal told him it was ready to taste the full thing. He could smell the sickly medical scent of the substitute and the pear drop odour of his old liquid friend.

Still weeping and frustrated, Goten felt the muscles convulse under his flesh, goose bumps dimpled on the skin and his body screamed louder for the drug.

Downstairs he heard his mother leave the house and a drastic thought crossed his mind. Shakily, Goten stood; he gripped hold of the desk for support and proceeded to his parents’ bedroom.

He smoothed his fingers over the jewellery box on his mother’s nightstand, un-clicked the locks and

Reached inside. He withdrew a golden necklace, bought to Chi Chi by her father on her wedding day; there was also her wedding band and other special jewellery. She never wore it, unless she was going out or if it was a special day, so Goten knew that she wouldn’t miss it. A golden ring, a diamond ring and two necklaces were placed in his pocket; he gently closed the lid and left the room.