Chapter 19

Bulma was never one to conform to the stereotypical housewife role. She preferred to tinker with the mechanics and mix chemicals. But she always made time for laundry. It’s not often that people actually have a favourite chore, and that said, Bulma had no problem admitting that she enjoyed it.

The mother of two took care of her own washing, her daughters and her husband’s. Trunks had taken to doing his own stating that he found it relaxing; and Bulma didn’t argue.

On this particular evening, after making heself a steaming mug of mocha and smoking a cigarette, she made her way to the wash room as usual. She lifted three of four wicker laundry baskets and proceeded to sort through the clothing and place them into the machine.

It wasn’t until she lifted a rather creased gray shirt that it occurred to her that she had picked up the wrong bin. She was about to screw the material up into a ball when something caught her eye.

Blood.

It stained the upper left sleeve of the garment in small uneven pools. Frantically she began to search through the rest of the bin. She found pants, t-shirts and even handkerchiefs all covered with her sons blood.

Suddenly she couldn’t catch her breath. Her head was so full of activity that she couldn’t tell the difference between her anger and pain. Everything she had been repressing, all the guilt and self-doubt that she had kept safely under wraps, seemed to be boiling in her stomach.

Bulma held the garments to her chest and sat silently on the floor for well over five moments. Questions revolved in her mind; so many cliché questions and not so much as a one word answer. It was as if all her intelligence and understanding had been withered and smothered by her emotions.

She struggled to her feet, knees shaking beneath her, and sluggishly paced to the living room.

Vegeta was draped along the couch, the remote in one hand and the other wrapped around a bottle of water. Her daughter and Goku, luckily, were nowhere to be seen.Bulma knew that she couldn’t deal with this; she knew that she would never know what to say or how to act.

She threw the clothing onto Vegeta’s chest and the prince jumped up into a sitting position.

“What is it woman?” He snapped as he pawed a shirt.

“Your son. He’s at it again. You’re his father so you deal with this; I can’t do this anymore!” Bulma wailed.

Vegeta stared at her before turning his attention to the garments. Bulma watched on as her husband took each piece of clothing and inspected the blood stains. His expression was hard and defensive but his heart was breaking; she knew her husband well enough to know when he was pain. He clenched his fist into a heavily stained handkerchief and ground his teeth.

“Where is he?” Vegeta mumbled.

Despite her husband’s angry and aggressive demeanour Bulma knew that it was for the best; maybe scaring him into getting better would pay off?

“He’s at work.” She checked her watch, “He’ll be back tonight.”

“Maybe you should take Bura to a friends, let her stay there for the night.”

“What?Why?”

“I don’t want her knowing about this; it would hurt her.”

Bulma considered. She gazed into her husband’s hazel eyes and spotted the genuine concern and anxiety behind them. He was only trying to be a good father, trying to prevent his daughter from being subjected to harm and using any means to prevent his son from doing it to himself. He was feeling just as she felt; a failure.

“Alright. I’ll go and pack her up now and take her to Kate’s.”

She turned on her heel and proceeded to leave the room. If she had bothered to glance back she would have caught her husband hiding his head in his hands, trying to force back his tears.

Vegeta heard his son return home but he stood motionless in the kitchen. Trunks ventured on up to his room and still the prince remained where he was. Never before had the saiyan been struck so dumb. If he was honest with himself he could only think of one way that he could possibly handle this; something that had seldom failed him in the past. But he didn’t want to go down that route with his own son. His own fragile son.

He took a carving knife from the cutlery drawer and positioned it in his back pocket. For a moment he, once again, stopped to collect his thoughts before marching to Trunks wing. His fists were balled at his sides, his brow was furrowd and he bit at his bottom lip. He didn’t want to do this but he would force himself on ward.

Coming to a halt at Trunks door was the moment Vegeta, prince of saiyans, realised the extent he was willing to go to for his family. He was willing to break down his barriers and show his soft interior; a scary thought for a man with such pride.

Loud music came from within but the prince knocked gently on the door despite this. He waited another moment before trying again.

“Trunks!” He yelled.

Still the boy didn’t answer. The image of his son laying deathly pale and still on the floor earlier this year flashed into his mind and he could only fear the worst. With all his sudden panic he raised his foot to the door and beat the wood inwards.

He was standing on top of the defeated barrier and Trunks stood watching from his study doorway. The boy stared at the door and then at his father with an expression of utter confusion.

“Dad?” he asked, “Whats wrong?”

Vegeta’s breathing was laboured, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He took the knife from the back of his jeans and rolled up his shirt sleeve. Trunks watched on in awe as his father thrust the knife at him.

“Take this and cut me!” he snarled.

“What? Why?” Trunks shook his head, “No.”

“Cut me damnit!”

Trunks remained silent and still refused to take the knife.

“If you have to cut something, cut me.” Vegeta whispered, “It feels like you are already.” He let the knife fall to his side, “Why do you hate yourself so much son? You could be anything you want to be. You’re intelligent, strong, and handsome; you have everything going for you. It doesn’t matter what your mother wants you to be, or what I want you to be, you can do anything. But please don’t do this.”

For the first time in his life, Trunks witnessed tears in his father’s eyes. A pang of guilt stabbed at his stomach and he could swear that his heart was breaking; just like his fathers had. Vegeta had found it so hard to go off the alcohol but he had done it. He had done it all for his family.

Trunks felt his bottom lip shake, tears were streaming down his cheeks and he could feel his knees going weak. He fell to the ground and buried his face in his hands. He felt his father kneel beside him.

“Trunks please talk to me.” His father was weeping.

“I…I’m sorry Dad. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want you to be ashamed.”

Vegeta put his arms around his son and pulled him into his chest.

“You’re my son.” The prince wept, “Nothing you could do would make me ashamed.”

Trunks buried his face into his father’s shirt and curled his legs up to his own chest. Vegeta continued to hold him. He remained silent and allowed his son to cry.