Trunks flopped back onto his bed, staring angrily up at the ceiling.
He didn't know where that outburst had come from, but he felt a little better.
Even knowing that his mother would make work a living hell until he apologized and explained, and that his father would beat him senseless for back-talking his mother as he had, he felt better.
At least he still had some fight left in him after what had happened the night before.
Gohan more then likely would kill him for what he had done to Pan, but for right now, Trunks just had himself.
No enemies such as angry fathers or mothers to worry about.
No banquets.
No nagging mother to keep him trapped behind a desk.
No women running around the office trying to please him so that he might notice them in that extra special way.
And best of all, no Pan.
He closed his eyes, feeling the tears fresh in his eyes.
He honestly hadn't meant to, but she'd just been lying there, staring up at the stars...he'd never seen her so beautiful-let alone anyone else-in all his life, he wasn't aware of what he was doing until it was too late to stop himself.
"Panny? Have you ever felt completely lost, like half of you was taken away and held for ransom?"
One corner of her mouth had curled up into a half smile. "Yeah, I've felt like that for a while." She'd turned her head to look hat him, her eyes probing his tan face, wondering what had gotten into him to turn his mood so somber. "What about you? You ever get that feeling?"
"It's been there for the last four years, but it's gone now," he'd mumbled quietly, his words registering in his brain the second the last had left his mouth.
Pan had been quiet for a few minutes, as Trunks had lain there, and then, stifling a giggle, she'd propped herself up on her elbows and smiled down at him. "That's odd...didn't I leave four years ago?"
"Yes," he'd replied automatically, too busy with giving himself a mental thrashing to notice she was deepening the pit.
"And didn't I just get back?"
Realization dawned on him, and a crimson blush spread across his face and down his neck, his ears burned as if the devil were pulling them from his head.
Shoving his heart back into his chest, where it beat loudly enough to wake the dead, he found his calm and casually answered her question with a question of his own. "Point being?"
She'd leaned down, her nose pressed against his, one of her favorite games back when he'd still baby-sat her. But this was no ordinary staring contest. "You know what I think, Trunks?" she'd whispered, her eyelashes batting gently against his own, the palms of her hands digging painfully into his chest.
His heart flip-flopped into his chest, climbing into his throat, pounding loud enough for her to hear. Sweet Dende, if she couldn't hear it, she was deaf. She wouldn't need saiyan hearing to hear it.
"What?" he'd croaked, his voice husky as he forced his heart back into his chest.
"I think you like me, Trunks."
She'd said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, so...hopefully, that it was almost as if she was begging him to tell her "Yes, I do." And his heart happily settled back into his chest, but it still pounded as loud as it could, the pounds echoing in his chest. Smirking the smirk that he'd inherited from his father, he'd pushed himself up onto his elbows, then the palms of his hands, keeping his eyes locked on hers, his forehead and nose pressed against her own. Her eyes grew wide, and blinked furiously, a pink tint creeping across her face.
She'd reacted exactly as he'd hoped she would; his smirk remained as he looked through his lavender bangs into her midnight blue eyes as they shone brightly with their own stars, their own inner light.
"And you know what I think, Miss Son?"
She'd swallowed tightly, her voice thick.
"What?" she'd croaked out, her beautiful voice breathy and light.
"I think you want me to."
Her cheeks had flamed into a furious blush that raced down her neck and over her ears, that seemed to warm his own face. She'd dropped her eyes, inadvertently looking has his chest, her face flaming even more. Trunks's smirk had grown warmer, but hadn't left his lips. With his fingers, he'd stroked the underside of her chin. She'd brought her eyes back up to meet his.
As his hand slid along the side of her neck and settled in the warm spot beneath her hair and at the base of her skull, the world had dropped completely from sight as they both closed their eyes and let their lips meet...
His eyes opened, but they were drier now, and didn't ache so much.
Sure, there was still that numb and painful hurtlessness that made them itch way in the back of his skull where he couldn't reach if he wanted to, but they didn't itch on the outside, didn't seem as if they were falling out of his skull, didn't want to hide behind his eyelids from the rest of the world any longer.
Yawning and pushing himself into a sitting position, he rubbed his forehead, picking himself off of the rumpled bedsheets and staggered to the bathroom.
He looked a mess. His hair was greasy and disheveled...he'd never let it get like this before. His eyes were sunken, but not as far as they had been when he'd first gotten home. His face was pale, long. Wrinkles pinched at his eyes, deep lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth.
Have I always looked like this?
The answer was yes, he had. He'd just been too vain, too conceited, too caught up in himself to notice. He'd always thought himself beautiful, had assumed that since Gohan still looked like he had in high school, he would look like he had in high school until he was in his fifties.
Fifties. Those years seemed so close all of a sudden.
Sighing, Trunks closed the door and turned on the shower, stripping himself of his shirt and his pants, watching the sand fall from his body. He'd completely forgotten that he'd been at the beach...had he gone to the beach? He must have, for his skin was rubbed raw in places, and there was sand all over the bathroom floor...
Sighing, he stepped into the shower, closing the door behind him.
He didn't know what was wrong...almost couldn't remember.
Almost.
He couldn't forget though...his heart no longer beating was enough to remind him that he had fallen from grace...from Pan...forever...
He braced his hands against the cool ceramic tile, leaned forward and placed his forehead against it. The scalding hot water felt good on the back of his neck, the pain of it reminded him that he was still alive.
Funny...whenever I'm down, even the smallest and most normally insignificant everyday things hurt like a sonofabitch.
There was a pounding at the door, and soon Bulma's voice roared through the door and over the thunder of the water.
"You listen to me young man, I don't care WHAT you do or WHAT happened last night, you WILL be going tonight, and you WILL be ready to pick up the Sons in half an hour, am I underSTOOD?!" she screamed. It sounded as if she had been crying, but she had no reason to.
Dammit Mother! I don't need this right now!
Or maybe she did.
He'd had no right to yell at her like that...maybe he'd apologize when he was ready...if he decided to go.
But then...of course he'd have to go...he had to present the new capsules...with Pan in the audience...
"ARGH!" he cried, collapsing against the wall, sobbing again. The water on his back was boiling, he felt like the very skin on his back was melting away. He clenched his hands into fists, the skin on his knuckles growing white and his back hunching as he tried to keep the pain inside, keep it inside where he couldn't see it, couldn't feel it, and where he could forget about it.
Pan...I'm sorry!
He stepped out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror.
He was growing weaker, his body wasn't as toned as it had once been. He no longer had a perfectly chiseled 6-pack, something he'd once been so proud of.
His hair was girly...he'd always denied it before, but it was...it did make him look gay. He'd never dye it, not even now...it was part of him...besides, Vegeta would kill him if he even thought about it....
Trunks shook his head and entered his room after cleaning up the bathroom. Dejectedly, he pulled out black slacks and a black dress shirt. He didn't bother with a jacket, didn't bother with a tie, didn't see any reason too...the girl-no, woman-he wanted wouldn't take him.
He quickly ran a comb through his hair, not caring about that strands that refused to lay where and how he wanted them to. Pulling on his boots, he wandered downstairs.
Bulma sat at the kitchen table, her hands angrily gripping a coffee cup. She looked perfect, as she always did, but she looked pissed.
Vegeta lounging against the refrigerator glaring at him maliciously helped to cement the suspicions of his mother's anger
Normally I'd be thinking "Shit, Mom's pissed, time to grovel"...but I'm not now...do I really not care anymore?
Upon hearing him enter, his mother didn't even turn. Instead, she stopped spinning her coffee cup and closed her eyes.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Trunks?" she asked him quietly, too quietly.
He shrugged, walking to the sink and running the tap for a glass of water. He turned around and looked at her.
"I'm sorry for coming home late, I guess. And I'm sorry I blew up earlier. But I'm not sorry for what I said. I don't want to reveal the new capsules, I have no intention to do so. Capsule Corp isn't my thing. It's your pet, not mine. You invented the capsules, you display them. You know I hate doing it, and what's more, you know that I hate running the company. I know you want to keep it in the family, and I understand and respect that. But you have 2 kids...and Bra takes more after you then I do. You could have raised her to run the company after you retired." He set the glass back on the counter, leaned back against it and crossed his arms. A smirk spread across his face.
"And the fact of the matter is, you have even retired yet. Which means that there's really no reason for me to be running the company if you're still working. So why don't you do your share? Why don't you start earning that salary that lets you keep inventing and building and that allows us to live in this fairy tale palace that half the world probably couldn't afford. Why don't you do that, Mother dear? Or, even better, why don't you invent your own Dende damned dragonballs, and wish for a son that would happily run the company like the little lap dog that you want me to be, because you know what Mother dear? I'm done. I've had enough. I no longer want anything to do with that damned building. I'm not built for it. You know that, Dad's been telling you for years, and I've just never had the heart to tell you."
Bulma, who had been sitting there staring at him all this time, finally exploded. She flew up from her chair, knocking it back several feet, face red with anger, fists clenched, her whole body shaking.
Against the refrigerator, Vegeta smirked indifferently.
"Then HOW in Dende's name can you tell me NOW!?" she demanded as Trunks finished the glass of water and set it in the sink.
Calmly and rationally, he walked forward, leaving the room.
"Damn you, don't you walk out on me! Answer me! HOW can you say that when you couldn't before?!"
He paused. He was right next to her, all he had to do was look over his shoulder and they were face to face.
"Because, Mother dear, I don't have any heart at all anymore." He smirked deeper, once again the spitting image of his father. Bulma was tempted to shrink back, but wasn't about to back down. He knew she wanted to, and so he leaned a little closer, and, just for emphasis, added, "It died."
And with that, he left the room.