Chapter 17

Vegeta was far from amused. His training had been put to an abrupt halt until he was feeling better. ‘The shakes’, so the woman called it, would last for a day or two. Then there were other such things to come and he would be as good as new. Bulma had been making him coffee and tea to help him get over his cravings, not that they were much help, but he had eventually told her where to stick her beverages.

“It’s like having sex in a canoe.” He grumbled, “Fucking close to water.”

Bulma had just set the drink down and swiftly left the room.

He found himself fidgeting, his mind racing, his fingers and toes tapping. He chewed on his lip until it bled and thought more about alcohol than he ever had about beating Kakarot in a dual.

Goku had been spending most of his days at the Brief’s household, however it was usually only himself along with his eldest offspring; Goten was hardly ever seen. The two men, sometimes four when they were joint with Gohan and Trunks, spent their time watching television or playing the games console and no matter how much Vegeta wined, he was not permitted to train.

“What is the problem with training?” he snapped.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. But your eating isn’t great at the moment and you are shaking, it just wouldn’t be good for you.” Goku replied, “Can’t you just take it easy for a while?”

“It keeps my mind off things!”

“I know but Vegeta you don’t have the energy right now –“

“Are you calling me weak, you third class baka?”

“No.” Goku put his hands up defensively, “Not at all. I’m looking out for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck in classic Son gesture.

Vegeta settled back into the cough again, he crossed his arms over his chest and ‘hmmph’ed. There was an extended silence as the three men pretended to concentrate on the television, however Gohan was twisting a thin Mayfar between his fingers and chewing on the underside of a lighter. His teeth constantly clicking against the plastic dragged on Vegeta’s nerves and he kept flashing the younger Saiyan harsh glares.

“Stop that, boy. Or I swear I will stick that lighter up your ass!” The older man growled.

“Sorry.” Gohan mumbled, he got up from where he sat and excited into the hallway.

Goku shot the older saiyan a harsh look.

“What the hell Vegeta?” he snapped.

“He was pissing me off Kakorot. Sitting there, with his cancer stick and clicking his teeth off the lighter. Kami . And his puppy-dog expression.” The prince growled in his throat, “Stupid boy.”

“You can take your anger out on me all you like but don’t turn this on my son.”

“I’m sorry. But that glum expression is getting on my nerves. If he was going through this he would have something to be glum about!”

Goku remained silent but continued to glare at the prince. He knew Vegeta was on edge because of his withdrawal so he wasn’t going to push it. Gohan, on the other hand, had been acting weird all day. He seemed quite down and was smoking more than usual. Goku’s fatherly instinct told him something was wrong.

“Argh!” Vegeta yelled.

Goku jumped at the sudden burst of emotion.

“What?” he asked.

“The fucking commercials are on.”

Goku sighed. This was going to be a long day.  

How long has it been now? How long had she been gone? Six long and tiring months; Gohan had counted the days. Everything reminded him of her. The sky and its vibrant blue, the snow and its sweet innocence, the grass and the way it danced; she was in everything.

He stood on the back porch, put the seventh cigarette of the morning to his lips and lit the tip. The long drag burned his throat and lungs; but, Kami, that throb felt good.

Everything was peaceful apart from the bird song and the sound of cars on the road. The winter sun cast an eerie shine upon the ground and the snow glittered. Gohan lent his elbow on the fence, rested his head in the palm of his hand and surveyed the view. Her face was everywhere.

He could remember the look on her face, the pain and hatred in her emerald eyes, and all the shame he felt swelled.

She hadn’t just been any girl; she had been the one. She encouraged his art, she loved the stubble on his chin in the morning, she looked after him when he was ill and she allowed him to look after her. She had taught him so much. The wonders of sexual intercourse, how to make the perfect casserole and how to say the alphabet backwards.

She had been his everything; and he had drove her away.

Even now it felt as if someone had ripped his stomach out, as if nothing was real or worthwhile. He wasn’t living; he was surviving. Each morning he woke was a struggle, each painting he painted was to rid himself of her and he tried everything to make himself hate her. But he couldn’t and even after countless pieces of art he still remembered everything about her in such perfect detail he could sketch her there and then.

This was worse than the withdrawals he had felt when giving up alcohol. This was real pain, real agony; real love.

But he couldn’t say anything. He was, after all, meant to be more stable now and helping Trunks.

Trunks. Another mess, another heartache, another time bomb waiting to go off. So familiar. This was a story he had lived through but Trunks may not be so lucky. He had already made his first attempt but how many were to follow and which would be the one to end it all? It was going to happen, Gohan could tell that much, and there was no point in lying to Bulma about that. Because no matter how much support or watchful eyes you had; you always found a way. There was no deneying that he had come a long way but, in the end, it really meant nothing. Gohan was no stranger to masks; he could spot them a mile off.

Then there was Goten.

At the very thought Gohan pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something going on there and, although it was selfish, Gohan really didn’t want to get involved; there was only so many people he could hold together.

“I can’t find my engagement ring anywhere.” Chi Chi fumed.

Bulma placed a large mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of the woman. She held her own between her hands and brought it to her lips; it tasted of coco and orange.

The two women where sat in a separate living room on couches which contrasted each other. Three large black shelves stretched the length of the back walls, an easel stood by the window and a large television was built onto the wall above a stone fire place. It was a cosey and well resourced retreat for Bulma when the stress of family life got too much. The door locked at her will, it lead to a spacious bathroom, had a small room containing kitchen utensils and even had an office room for her to work in peace.

Bulma, true to fashion, always loved her own space.

Chi chi slumped back into the black fabric and exhaled a long breath.

“I swear! I would lose my head if it wasn’t attached!” she complained.

“I’m sure it’s somewhere Chi.” Bulma replied, although her thoughts were elsewhere.

“It hasn’t been out of its box for months! How can it just get up and walk away?”

“Hmm.”

Chi Chi cocked an eyebrow and slammed her mug down onto the coaster.

“Are you listening?” she snapped, “I have a crisis here!”

“Losing your engagement ring isn’t a crisis.” Bulma replied, “When your son becomes a suicidal mess, then you can come to me and tell me you have a crisis!”

The younger woman fell silent. Bulma kept up her eye contact for a moment longer before turning away to shield her tears. She set down her mug and covered her face with her hands. Chi Chi tried to catch a glimpse of her friends pain through her bony fingers (since when had they gotten so thin?) and could see only the smallest glint of a teardrop.

“Bulma-“

“No. I’m sorry Chi.” Bulma wiped her eyes and struggled to smile, “Your ring is important.”

“I didn’t think before I spoke – “

“Please Chi. let’s just talk about the ring. I don’t want to think about Trunks’ or try and understand what he is thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

Bulma bit her lip.

“Gohan said that Trunks is going to keep trying until he succeeds or, if he doesn’t, it’ll hang over him for the rest of his life.”

“My son doesn’t know what he is talking about – “

“He does.” Bulma pleaded, “He’s been there! He – He knows more than any of us!” She buried her head in her hands, “And he’s right. I can see it too. Its right in front of me and everytime I look at my son I can see it."

Chi Chi said nothing. She only watched her friend weeping. She had been stupid to mention the ring, considering how much more pain her friend was in. It was only a blasted ring for Kami’s sake, Bulma was crying for her son’s life, not some crummy piece of gold. A few moments went by as she listened to her friends strained breaths. Eventually, Bulma lifted her head, pushed back her hair and, once again, dried her eyes.

“Now then. About your ring.” She smiled weakly.

Chi Chi returned her smile and launched into the story of her misplaced band.