Disclaimer: Akira Toriyama, people. Not me.

Warnings: self-injury, eating disorders, rape, yaoi, general not-niceness, though some fluffiness, a little bit of Veggie-happiness, before more dark
 
Thoughts: ‘blah’
 

 
 
Where Kakarott is King Pt6
 
Vegeta’s POV
 
Sadly, I woke up the next day, the blood-stained knife still clenched in my white fist. Quickly, I stashed it under my thick, padded mattress, just as Kakarott knocked politely before making me aware that breakfast was ready.
 
I sat at the small dining table in the room down the hall, glorious steaming food before me, my mind racing.
 
‘Food? Ha. I deserve no such leisure.’
 
"You ok, Vegeta?" Kakarott asked as if he wasn’t the instigator and actually cared about something besides my body.
 
"Fine, Kakarott," I answered curtly, swirling my running eggs on my china plate with a silver fork.
 
"Okay," he replied, sullen as if he were the one in pain, physical and emotional.
 
Shifting on my sore bottom, I wasted the long breakfast away, never taking the useless fork to my mouth.
 
"Vegeta?" the Prince caught my attention, already standing. "Breakfast is over. Would you like to come with me to the gardens?"
 
I nodded weakly, knowing I had no free will.
 
The Prince grabbed my small hand, lacing his long fingers through it, pulling
me from the shiny oak table, leading my through the unfamiliar corridors to the
back of the wide palace.
 
Stepping out, I was jolted from my usual unfeeling daze by the amazingly bright flowers. Kakarott released my hand and I turned to look at him.
 
"Go on, run and play. You can touch it all."
 
I turned back, awed, cupping a brilliant purple bloom delicately on my palm. Sniffing lightly, I enjoyed the scent of the perfect flower. Letting my eyes take in all of the glory, I released my depression for a break.
 
I danced through all of the flowers, careful not to step on any, Kakarott just gently watching me. Each bloom seemed to be a different color and smell, pleasantness permeating the air around my smiling skin.
 
The sun was warm on my hair and back, the flowers playing around me in the sweet sensation.
 
Suddenly, Kakarott came running over, sweeping me up in his arms. I relaxed, not caring if he held me. Gently, he looked down into my face.
 
"You’re so beautiful, Vegeta. I love you so much . . ." With that, the Prince leaned down slowly, taking my lips softly in his.
 
I kissed him, but he didn’t deepen it any.
 
"Gods, to have sent you to me . . . how lucky am I?" Kakarott gently released me to my feet, taking my hand in his again, leading me back to the well-lit palace that could never compare to the flowers.
 

 
 
After sitting through another foodless meal, I asked my Prince if I could have some private time in my room. Of course, his good mood complied, and here I sat on my bed, contemplating things.
 
‘Kakarott . . . he-he can be so nice, so kind and giving, but in an instant, is a monster, ripping into me . . . killing my soul. Is something wrong with him?’
 
I decided to investigate.
 

 
 
I found myself in the palace computer room, only getting in because of my association with the Prince.
 
Silently, alone, I began going into the computer’s mailing system, looking to hack into Kakarott’s doctor’s files. He was sure to have documentation of this condition.
 
Slowly, I got access to the desired computer, (really wasn’t that hard. The guy had hardly any protection.) What I found was disgusting. Kakarott had been molested.
 
One of the Prince’s guards, when he was about six, had raped him. Brutally. Took him three months to recover. Also, this guard had messed with him before, doing horrible things only I had felt.
 
Seems that he had repressed the memories, only taking them out on his sexual partners. I was the second he had, the first male, his only mate. The female he was with, she was only bruised. Me . . . I was a different story. Kakarott enacted this torture on me because that was what happened to him. It was all he knew.
 
Suddenly, the metal door whooshed open behind me with the sound of a deflating balloon.
 
"What are you doing in here?" a dangerous, authorative, loud voice with the slight lilt of a accent asked as if I were the one that broke in.
 
I spun in my wheelie chair, amazed at who I saw…