Chapter 7

Jesus.

Today was a fucking failure. I don’t know what the hell happened.I had some sort of trip. School has never had that affect on me. Never.

I just crouched into a corner of a cubicle and…Kami!; it’s blurred even now.

I got out of there as fast as hell. Been hiding in my room ever since. Dad wasn’t home, thank fuck, but he’ll kill me. The school will call him.

I’m going to give it one more try, on Saturday at the mall. Public places have never terrified me so much before. I need to get a grip of myself.

Vegeta hung up his cell and grunted angrily.

“That was the school.” He snapped, “Trunks didn’t turn up.”=

“Are you sure? Goten texted me and told me he was in.” Goku replied.

They were still sitting in the coffee shop. Goku was on his third hot chocolate and Vegeta had switched to black coffee after his second bottle of vodka ; the alcohol hadn’t even phased the prince at all.

“He must have slipped out sometime during the morning.” Vegeta sighed.

“Do you think he went home?”

“Most likely. But he will be locked up in that wing of his.”

“So? Just break the door down.”

“What for?” Vegeta leaned across the table, “The boy won’t talk. So there is no point in interrogating him. If he doesn’t want to go to school, I can’t force him.”

“Vegeta ,that’s not like you. Give the kid the old one-two.”

“Kakarot, I couldn’t.” Vegeta stared up at his friend through tired eyes, “I haven’t got the heart.”

Goku frowned. This really wasn’t his friend. This fiasco with Trunks had taken its toll on the prince more so than he first thought. For a moment he brushed his knuckles against the rough stubble on his chin; pondering of a way to help.

Vegeta continued to drink his black coffee solemnly. His chin unshaven and lips parted slightly in a small, private, sigh.

“Gohan.” Goku annoced, “Maybe he could help?”

“Kakarot. Your son was messed up when he was a teenager but he never was as bad as this.”

“No. But what I understand from Chi-Chi is that he was very temperamental and depressed. He couldn’t bear to be around his family and so he spent most of his time in his room or roaming the streets.”

“He did. He was violent, angry and the woman was on the edge dealing with him and an infant. Eventually she gave up and your boy left.” Vegeta paused, “But, come on. You remember being an adolescent? Preaching falls on deaf ears.”

“I never realized he was that bad.” Goku looked into the depths of his drink, thinking of the son he left behind; where did it all go wrong? He sighed, “Just give Gohan a try.”

There was silence as Vegeta contemplated his situation. If he left it, Trunks could get worse. If he took a chance Trunks,could get worse. It was risky either way.

“Wait until his mother gets home Kakarot.” He finally said, “The onna should be present before any decisions are made.”

“But it’s a possibility? You might take up the offer?”

“Yes. Okay.” The prince folded his arms on the table top and placed his head on top, “I definitely need another drink.”

Goku called over a waitress and ordered another shot of vodka.

Trunks turned the living room into a bomb site. Cushions on the floor, chairs over turned, magazines and books thrown everywhere. The bed room and study were in the same state.

Currently, he was raiding the bathroom, bottles of aspirin and aftershave were all removed from the medicine cabinet.

All because he had lost his god-damned blade. Not just any of his blades; his favourite blade.

Frustrated, he couldn’t help but hoarsely growl. He flopped down on the bathroom tiles and banged his fists on the cold surface. His chest was still painful from earlier and his head was still spinning somewhat; but it all didn’t matter. Not until he got his fucking blade.

It was somewhere, it always ended up somewhere. As long as it was in this fucking wing, Trunks could find it. If not he was fucked.

As he moved his arms, the fabric caught on his skin and it seared with pain. He gently removed his jacket to reveal the t-shirt underneath. Slowly he pushed himself from the floor. As he glanced in the mirror he realised how thin his arms had become, how tired his eyes were and how prominent the fine scars were against his pale skin. He looked like a butchered ham.

The fabric caught on the skin of his bicep again and he gently rolled up the short sleeve to find the culprit. There, between two silver lines, were a series of small, but deep, wounds. Dried blood was circled around them, which was what the fabric had caught on, but the spongy, discoloured flesh of the arm could be seen within the cuts. The blood was darker inside; almost a black colour.

Trunks flushed. When had he done this? He realized it was probably during his ‘episode’ earlier. It wasn't uncommon and, in truth, he had done it before.

He shrugged; nothing to worry about really, all he had to do was wrap them up. So he proceeded to do so in the ruins of his living area, all the while wondering where is blade had walked off to.

Gohan had been working outside in the garden of the Son household for most of the day. He had his easel set up, his paints sitting on the picnic table and his subject selected; the woodland. Yes, he would paint the woodland, but what dark secret would he hide within its beautiful and vibrant depths? That was the nature of the young artist’s work; all his paintings, no matter how pretty, had a hidden meaning. Dark, depressing, anguish meanings were his speciality though.

It was partway completed, the wood was painted in a darker green than it was with hints of red within the leaves. Shadows had also been exaggerated.

Gohan packed up his stuff and returned to the warmth of the house. His mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner for the return of her youngest son from school.

Gohan placed his stuff in the closet by the door.

“Mom.” He said as he strode back to the kitchen, “Do you need help cooking dinner?”

Chi-chi turned to stare at her eldest.

“You cook?” she asked.

“Do you want me to cook?”

“Em.” The woman hesitated, “Sure.”

“Then I cook.” Gohan advanced forward to the counter and took the chopping knife from his mother, “Sit down Mom. Take a break.”

She reluctantly sat at the kitchen table and watched as her eldest flexed his cooking muscles. He made her a cup of coffee as he waited for the vegetables to boil and washed the dishes as he went along. He looked as if he had been doing this all his life.

“You learnt a lot while you were away.” Chi-chi exclaimed.

“Yeah.”

“We were keeping you back.” She lowered her head, “You have done better without us.”

“No Mom. No. I just needed space.” Gohan turned to face his mother, “I was hurting everyone around me when I was here. When I left, no one knew me. So, I had no one to hurt.”

“You have gotten so much better.” Chi-chi continued.

“I went to see a doctor.” Chi-chi looked up at her son with a confused expression, “I was seriously unhappy Mom. I went to see him a year after I left. He talked to me a few times a week for fourteen months. I learnt how to not beat myself up so much and just take it easy. I learnt how to be happy and content with what I have.”

“You saw what I never could Gohan. You had the maturity and the sense to go to a doctor. You were only seventeen too, which is very impressive.” Chi-chi drained her mug, “Have you ever thought about a career in psychology?”

“Yeah. I took a course. It’s cool but I couldn’t do it for a career. I’m happy to paint.”

Gohan turned back to his cooking while his mother silently watched on. Her son had grown into a young man; without her. She felt left out but proud that he was able to do so on his own. All of the studying, chores and training, issued by his father at a young age, had paid off.

“You know, I go down to the art gallery sometimes. There’s an artist there, apparently his stuff was imported from other states, they are just prints though, nothing huge. They are amazing though, very emotional and dark; very true.” Gohan stopped chopping at his mother’s words, “He signs his name with just a ‘G’ in the corner. It makes me proud, when I look at them, to know that he is my son.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“Because, I remember your drawings when you were fourteen, they were all similar to the paintings in the same painful way.” She smiled, “I am glad you found something to take the anger out on Gohan.”

“Yeah?” Gohan chuckled, “You should buy some of the larger prints I left yesterday then, I could use the money.”

Chi-chi laughed, “You won’t need the money soon.”

“You’re right. I get enough from my other pieces –“

“No. No. Gohan, you’re over 18. You have a right to your inheritance now, and your disused collage fund.”

Gohan turned, stunned, to look at his mother. He was joking when he said he needed the money, he was already pretty rich from the paintings. He just hadn’t moved yet because he was still finding his feet back in Satan city.

“You can get that little loft you want in town. And as many hookers as you want.”

He blushed a shade of pink at his mother’s forwardness. Who needs hookers? Callgirls were more his thing.