The Bomb -   Melly-chan

School, yet another day of sitting in class, pretending to learn. These teachers 

need to get a lesson in teaching, they suck. My mother could teach the class better. 

So I sit back in my chair, and wait for the class to end.

My mind wonders to the subject it is almost always on, my love, Goten. He is
in another class, sitting at his desk, one arm folded on the wood, the other
holding his head up. His eyes shinning. If I could paint a picture, this is
what I would paint. Perfection. And he is all mine.

I can just imagine his smile, the way his head tilts, his hands. His mouth.

My ears start to ring and I open my eyes. Something is wrong, but I can’t
tell what. Everything looks normal, peaceful. I don’t sense anyone’s ki. But
something is out of place, something-

The building shakes and a deafening explosion. A bomb! A bomb has gone off
in the school! All around me, people are panicking, running to the door and
shoving people. I stand slowly.

Where was the bomb? Who put it there? Was anyone hurt?

The teacher grabs my arm and leads me out the door. The hall is swarmed with
people trying to escape. I am caught in the middle of the crowd of shoving
people. The noise of their voices is deafening, but one thought consumes me,
where is Goten?

I stop, earning me an extra shove from the person behind me.

I have to find Goten.

I turn and head in the opposite direction, no one notices, they are too
busy. A portion of the hall is empty, and I run down as fast as I can. I
pull the fire alarm on my way, it wasn’t needed, but it would inform the
fire department of the emergency. There was no way to know for sure if
anyone had called.

I reach the area that had been blown up. It was easy to tell, the hall
outside the room was black and burning at some spots. The room where the
bomb had been was demolished, barely any of the walls were left and the roof
had caved in, bringing the class upstairs down into the wreckage. I see a
number on the wall, and my breath catches.

13, Goten’s class.

My heart falls and I desperately search for any sign of him, I can’t feel
his ki. NO! He can’t be gone, he can’t die! I strain my senses, searching,
hoping, praying. My dear Goten, you can’t die, you can’t leave me alone on
this world.

My eyes widen, I’ve found him. He is in the hallway, outside the room. There
is a large cement wall draped across him.

He looks dead.

NO!!

I don’t know if I screamed that, or thought it. My heart is hurting and my
eyes began to water. I am at his side, pulling the wall off of him. He is
pale, pale as death.

NO!!!

He can’t be dead, I search franticly, anything, a breath, a pulse, anything.
Breath, thank Kami, he is alive! My love is alive. I thank Kami in every way
I can. He had saved my love, my Goten.

He still looks like death, without help, he is sure to die. There is blood
everywhere, so much blood. It soaks through his clothes, and into mine when
I lift him up. Help should be here soon, I would help them find him.

I trudge through the now empty halls. My mind is empty of though as I carry
my love. He is limp in my arms, dangling lifelessly. No, he is alive. He is
going to live.

My mind hardly registers what is happening. Men run up to me, they are
wearing yellow. There are other men behind, wearing blue.

The men in blue attempt to take Goten from my arms. I clutch Goten tighter,
resisting.

“It’s okay son, we’re going to help him.”

Help.

I let them take Goten.

The man carries Goten away and I follow, mindlessly. We step outside and to
an ambulance. My mind doesn’t register anything. I know there must be noise,
deafening noise, but I hear nothing. My mind is focused on one thing. Goten.

They lay him down on a stretcher and wheel him into the ambulance. I hop in
beside him. They protest, but I ignore then. They look into my face, and
stop protesting.

The doors close and the journey begins. The drive is shaky and fast. Not
fast enough. The EMT looks over Goten and starts to cover his wounds. His
clothes are removed.

He is covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. The skin on his back is red and
blistered. There is a large cut on his arm, several more on his stomach. But
his foot is the worst. The limb is gnarled and gashed. The bone in his lower
leg looks to be broken, the skin torn and black. Blood seeps out of the
opening.

I bit my lip; he looks horrible.

“What’s his name?” The medic asks me.

“Goten. Son Goten.”

“Goten.” He repeats. “And yours?”

“Trunks.”

“Well, Trunks. He’s in bad shape. We will be at the hospital in just a few
minutes.”

Talk about stating the obvious.

“Will he be okay?”

“I can’t promise you anything right now, but I think so. His blood presser
is dangerously low and his breathing is shallow, but we can help him once we
get to the hospital.”

Finally, we arrive at the hospital. Goten is rushed into the emergency room.
I stay close to his side. A nurse grabs my arm, but I shake her off. After a
quick stop in the x-ray room, Goten is put into a private room, where he is
hooked up to all kinds of machines. His wounds are bandaged and the staff
leave.

We are alone. His breathing is still shallow and his face is terribly pale.
I sit by his side and hold his hand.

A nurse stops in, mumbling about there being so many children injured. I
don’t hear her.

Some time later, a doctor stops in to check on Goten. He says that the
x-rays say that his foot is broken and so is the two bones in his lower leg.
Four ribs were broken, two out of place and needing surgery. Unfortunately,
due to the amount of patients they were dealing with, his surgery would have
to wait.

He leaves.

I move Goten’s hair out of his face. His beautiful face, once so full of
life and happiness. His dark eyes are closed, shutting out the pain. I trace
his jaw, my love, my Goten.

His eyes open. My heart soars at seeing his cobalt eyes.

“Goten.”

“Trunks.” He rasps. His voice is shaky with pain. “I, I love you. . .
Trunks.”

“Oh, Goten, I love you.”

He closes his eyes.

Something happens. His eyes scrunch tight and he gasps out, trying to suck
in breath. He gulps. He’s choking! My mind screams. Without thought, I slam
my hand against the emergency button above the bed, calling the nurse.

He continues to gasp for breath, choking on some unknown fiend. The heart
monitors are screaming.

A nurse and several doctors run in and over to Goten. He is immediately
wheeled out. I hear the doctors frantically talking.

A collapsed lung. Need help breathing. Surgery, priority one.

I collapse forward in my chair. Tears stream down my face. A sob escapes my
lips.

The doorknob turns and I franticly wipe away my tears on my sleeve.

My father enters. I turn my head away, ashamed of my show of emotion. I know
he can tell I was crying. He walks in and stands in front of me, I look at
his shoes.

“Well, brat?”

“Goten’s hurt.”

“We know.”

I look up, I hadn’t noticed Gohan entering. He was standing beside me, he
placed his hand on my shoulder. In his eyes I see worry, not only for his
brother, but for me.

“What happened?” Gohan asked.

“A bomb went off at school. In Goten’s classroom.” His hand on my shoulder
tenses. I can almost feel his hurt. He cares deeply for his little brother.

“Who placed the bomb?”

“I don’t know.”

“How bad is he hurt?”

Tears begin to stream down my face again, I don’t care.

“Bad.” Is all I can say.

“Stop crying brat.” My father says. “He’s still alive.”

I struggle to get control of myself. My father must think me weak for
crying, but I don’t care, my love may die any second. My father moves to my
side and looks down at me.

The door opens.

Another nurse enters.

“I’m sorry, but all of you are going to have to leave, only immediate family
is aloud in and the patient is not aloud visitors right now.”

“We are immediate family.” My father says. “He is the boy’s brother and I’m
his father-in-law.”

“What about him?” She says, pointing to me, my head is still down, my face
hidden by my hair.

“He’s the husband.” Dad grabs my left hand and holds it up, showing her my
ring.

The nurse gaps, shocked. Can’t blame her, she just learned that her male
patient is married to another man.

“Um, well, it still isn’t visiting hours, your still going to have to
leave.” She sounds nervous.

“Lady, we aren’t going anywhere.” Dad says, powering up slightly. The nurse
can see his power, and the danger in his eyes. Shaking, she leaves.

My hand is dropped and I put it in my lap. Dad had actually helped me. I
look up. He is standing there, emotionless. His arms are crossed, and he is
looking straight forward.

“Thank you.”

He looks at me. “Pathetic weakling.” Translation: You’re welcome.

Soon after they leave, seeing no point is waiting in an empty room. I sit,
mellow in my heart. Hoping. I feel like my heart is enduring all of the pain
that Goten is going through, like I am sharing it. Gladly would I take all
of his pain away from him, to have it as my own, too keep him from harm.
Just please Kami let him live.

Emotions have never been a strong issue in my family. We all have the habit
of keep our emotions to ourselves, and often, from ourselves. For me to
describe my emotions is like having to describe what chocolate tastes like.
It is a strain to pull each syllable from the throat. Yet as I looked at
him, my love, helpless, emotions swell in me. I can no more contain them
than I can contain the wrong, and the evil of the world in a jar to sit on
my shelf. It isn’t possible.

I close my eyes, leaning back in my chair, and for once, just feel.

Pain, foremost, the ultimate pain that every man goes through at seeing his
mate, fighting for life, edging toward death. The pain has consumed me,
suffocating my heart and squeezing my lungs. I can feel it edging into my
soul and trying to burrow a nest into the crevices.

Rage, as every Saiyan feels. Anger at the world, so unfair that it had to
attack an innocent, like my Goten, and leave the real evil to destroy the
good. A world that allows all the evil onto the planet, and demolishes those
who try to fight it. My Goten contained pure goodness. There is not a scrap
of evil on his soul. And I am angry. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach,
the rage. It threatens so consume me, to swallow me into its dark expanses
and claim me as its own.

Fear. A shameful emotion at the most. If it is an emotion at all. Fear can
be a response, or a personal acknowledgement. It does not necessarily have
to be an emotion, for it can be contained and controlled. Fear can be
pressed down into the bottom of the soul until of those think that courage
is, is the only response. But here, now, I feel fear. Fear for his live, for
mine.

I know I can never survive without him. He is the blood that rushes through
my veins, the air in my lungs and the sanity in my mind. He is the reason
for living, the ultimate bliss of a world gone so wrong. For him alone can I
wake to each new day, test the powers of an enemy, and fight beyond myself.
I he were to-

NO!

He will not, never, not before me. In order for him to die, I must die
first. And I would gladly, for him.

The door opens.

“Trunks?”

I look up into the eyes of the doctor. He looks as tired as I feel.

“I have some news for you.”

“Goten.”

“Yes, Goten, he is in surgery right now. We managed to repair his collapsed
lung and are working on his other ailments. We discovered some internal
bleeding in his abdomen and are taking care of that as we speak. The only
concern we have right now is about his foot. We don’t know if we will be
able to save it. It was horribly damaged in the explosion and we may have to
amputate it.”

I blink, once, twice. He couldn’t mean. . .

The rage in my stomach goes to my head.

“DON’T YOU DARE CUT HIS FOOT OFF!!! YOU BETTER DO THE DAMNED BEST THAT YOU
CAN TO SAVE HIS FOOT OR I SWEAR-“

“Calm down, Trunks. We are doing all we can to save it, it is just a
possibility.”

“No, it not a possibility. You are not going to amputate his foot. He’s a
fighter, damn it, he needs his foot. You better tell those surgeons that
they better do something. You tell them that I am the heir to Capsule Corps
and we provide funding to his hospital, maybe that will convince them to
make sure he keeps his foot.”

The doctor pales. I hit a nerve. Perfect.

“Um, yes, I will tell them. We are doing all we can. . . Hear, there is a TV
in the corner, how about you cool off and watch some shows?”

Damn doctor, I don’t want to watch any shows. But he takes the liberty and
presses the remote. The small TV attached to the corner of the room bleeps
to life, and the doctor leaves the room.

I sit fuming.

Amputate his foot, there is no way in hell I am going to let that happen,
those damned doctors can’t even-

“And just now the recent news on that High School bomb. Fifteen teenage
students were killed in an unexpected explosion earlier this morning, and
twenty-two others were severely injured. The police are currently
investigating the situation and so far few information has been found. What
they do know, is that the bomb was laid beneath the floor of one of the
classrooms, ironically, room thirteen. At precisely ten O’clock, the bomb
exploded, killing all but one of the classes students. That one students was
rushed to the emergency room, the first of the almost two dozen. The
upstairs classroom had erupted, sending students plummeting into the mass of
twisted cement below. One can only guess as to the motives behind such an
event. And pray, that justice will be found. This is Katie O'neal, back to
you in the anchor room.”

I mindlessly throw the remote toward the TV, and ignore the crash and small
explosion that follows.

How can they stand and talk about such a thing, with such a lack of emotion?
Aren’t they hurt by seeing the school that they had once though safe, turned
into a shameless bloodbath of innocents? To stand there and talk about it as
if it was nothing but a weather report, a God damned hail storm that was
knocking on roofs and setting off car alarms. How could they be so cold?

But then, it is not their loved one that is laying on a cold operating
table, fighting for every breath and holding onto life. They are not the
ones that get to return to school and fear that they will be the next body,
the next fallen at the hands of some crazy lunatic who finds pleasure in
rampaging school grounds and spilling blood. They have nothing to fear in
their safe offices and desks.

But what gives them the right to tell such a tale, with such disconnection?
Can’t they see that so many lives have been changed, that what has happened
on this day will not only effect the students and community, but also the
schools all around the country? If they could only see what effect this will
have on the world, maybe they could soften up, and talk about these events
with something closer to compassion, not this aloof, stuck up, reporter who
has to do her job for a paycheck.

My love, my husband is in there. He is not a number. He is not a person to
be put into the count of hits that whatever sick person has built up. He is
a person like everyone else, and he is close to dying. And all they can do
is spit out numbers. Why can’t they spit out their pride and talk about the
pain instead. The pain that they are enduring for someone’s evil, the
hardships they are facing and may have to face for the rest of their lives.
Talk about what is trying to be done for them, talk about the families, just
good God don’t talk about how it was done. No person wants to hear about the
making of the bomb, the placement, or the number it took out. They want to
hear about the people. Their welfare, their pain. They are still connected
to humanity and so deserve to hear about how humanity is holding up. How
people are holding up.

Many of the students checked into the hospital today are going to need
therapy, probably for the rest of their lives. Some will not be able to ever
step foot in school, and a few may resort to drastic measures.

Why the hell should people talk about the killer, and not the hunted? The
pray will remain pray for the rest of their lives. They will never be the
same, they will never be themselves. All because of some person’s sick
cruelty. But why focus on the sick person, that is exactly what they want,
the publicity, the airtime. Why give them what they want?

Why not, instead, talk about the healing. What the people are going through,
pulling their lives back together. How they are surviving. People are more
important than killers.

Talk about that.

In many ways the world has gone so wrong. Can it ever be fixed?

I turn to look at the empty room, sterile and dark. An assortment of
machines are pressed against one wall, waiting for the patient to return so
they can be plugged in and used. There is one window, behind me, and a door
in front. But there is no life. There is no life in the bleach white walls
and softly humming machines. Can it be possible that such gloom and
darkness, rehabilitate life? Is it too much to wonder that it will save my
Goten?


It had taken forever for them to bring Goten back to his room. And I waited.
I wait now, for him to open his eyes. To show any signs of life.

His face has regained a tad of color. There is a soft flush on his cheeks,
but he looks healthy. Under the white blanket I know there are numerous
bandages. Around his stomach, his ribs. Outwardly, the only disturbing
factor, is the respirator. They hooked him up to a machine, putting a tub
down his throat to aid his breathing. It is so sad to look at him, his face
looking so much better, so much closer, and to have that plastic tub
emerging from his mouth.

They had saved his foot. He will walk again. Not soon, but some time in the
future. A heavy cast surrounds his foot and lower leg, it will remain for a
few months.

He will live, most importantly, he will live. My Goten has survived and he
will live to be in my arms. I don’t know whether to be insanely proud of his
strength, or weep for the tragedy that might have been. But oh, to have him
back. To know that some day soon I will be able to see his beautiful face
break into a smile that is meant only for me. To know that I will be able to
hold him, and love him, once again.

His hand is clasped in mine, so cold and limp. He will be weak when he wakes
up. I stare into his face, and marvel at the wonder that my life has given
me.

I do not look up when the doorknob turns, or when a figure inters the room.
I am lost in my thoughts.

The figure moves silently to Goten’s other side and sighs. It is Gohan. I am
not surprised that Chichi has not been in to see her youngest son. She has
probably already feinted several times, and the sight of him would cause
another. But Gohan is stronger. He is now looking down into his comatose
face.

“We got some information. About who did this. It was a boy at the school. He
had built the bomb secretly in his basement, just waiting to use it. He
claimed he wanted to make a statement. To use the bomb to point out what is
wrong with the school. To show that things never change and that the schools
are deteriorating. He chose room thirteen because the number is used in
superstition. And he believed that going to school was a superstition
created by adults in order to torture children.” Gohan shakes his head. “He
was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The bomb was hidden under the
floor. I believe what happened is that Goten’s desk sits right over the
spot. When the bomb went off it grabbed his foot, and then the explosion
sent him through the wall of the building. If it had not of sent him through
that wall, he would have been crushed by the ceiling and the objects of the
room above him. He would not have been found so easily, and he would have
died.”

Gohan swallows, holding back his torment at what would have happened to his
young brother.

“He was the only one in his class to survive.”

I look again to Goten’s face, devoid of emotion and life. I can hear the
respirators, clicking each time they press air into his lungs. In some
distant way, it reminds me of Darth Vader in Star Wars. The way the machine
hisses the breaths in and out. His chest rises and falls systematically,
calculated to give him the precise amount of oxygen.

“What is his name?”

“I don’t know, it is illegal for the media to distribute the identification
of a minor. So no one but the authorities know. Trunks, you can’t avenge
him.”

I look up sharply. “Why not, he is your brother, do you feel the hatred that
this has caused. Don’t you hate whoever did this to him?”

“Of course I hate him. He hurt my brother; someone I love dearly. I want to
send my fists into him just as much as you do. But I can’t. It isn’t right.
He has been arrested and he will be tried as an adult. He will either get
life in prison or death by injection. This will have to do. There is nothing
else.”

I lower my head to Goten’s hand. Kissing the soft skin and pressing the back
of his hand to my forehead. I can not avenge him. As much as I would like to
destroy the person responsible, Gohan is right. I can not.

“He looks better.” Gohan murmurs. “He looked so deathly pale before.”

“He is out of deaths hands, but it will still be so hard for him. When will
the sensu beans be ready?”

Gohan lowers his head. “Seven months. The dragon balls will be nine months.”

I sigh.

“At least he has you, Trunks, to stay with him. He will have you to help him
through this.”

“He will have all of us.”

Gohan nods and bends over Goten’s head to give his brother a soft kiss on
the forehead.

“Get well little brother.”

The raspy sound of the machine is the only response. Gohan takes one last,
sad look and leaves.

I lay my head against the mattress, and sleep.

When I wake, he is still asleep. My stomach growls ferociously, but I don’t
feel like eating. I haven’t eaten since breakfast the day before, but for
some reason, food just does not appeal to me. Looking up, I take in Goten’s
face, no changes. I sigh, it’s going to be a long day.

For a moment I regret blowing up the TV, but then thinking about what they
were saying, I change my mind. Maybe the TV is better off blown up.

The only problem then, is finding a way to pass the lonely hours.

Goten is no help, he lays there, comatose, and silent. I sigh, leaning back
in my chair.

I don’t want to leave his side, yet now I know that he will be all right.

On the other hand, something irked him. Who is this boy that builds and
plants bombs? Who doesn’t care about others so much so that he can kill
ruthlessly? He must be just as bad as all of the aliens who have arrived on
earth. Somehow, he has jumped out of humanity and into the small category
held by ruthless villains.

And he isn’t even an adult yet.

Sighing, I stand and make for the door. Glancing at Goten, before I leave.

I don’t know how the thought entered my head, but I must know. I must know
the answers to my questions. And the best place to get the answers, is from
the source.

So here I am, standing in front of the police desk, looking at the
overweight and dimwitted secretary.

“Who was it again that you wanted to visit?”

“I told you, I don’t know his name. All I know is that he blew up the
school. There shouldn’t be too many of those in here.”

“So do you know his name.”

“No! I don’t know his name, that is why I am here!”

“But you want to see him?”

“Yes!”

“But you don’t  know his name?”

“I have already said that.”

“Then why do you want to talk to him?”

“I have questions.”

“Oh. Are you from the press?”

“No.”

“Because I would have to see your press pass before you can go in.”

“I don’t have a press pass because I am not a member of the press. I am a
student of the high school he blew up.”

“Oh, you want to see that maggot who blew up the school.”

Needless to say, I am very exasperated. Can’t this idiot get it into his
head?

“Yes.”

“Well, visiting hours don’t start for another ten minutes. You’ll have to
wait.”

“That’s fine. By the way, can you tell me his name?”

“Whose name?”

I give up.

For ten minutes, I sit in a chair and wait. In my head I begin a list of
questions. It wouldn’t do to talk to the bastard and not be prepared.

Finally, I am taken to a rectangular shaped room, split in half, with an
assortment of chairs on either side of the glass wall. It is just like in
all of the movies, when people talk to prisoners. Although this particular
room does not use phones.

Halfway down the row, I come across a boy.

This must be him.

He is sitting in his chair, head down. When I sit, he looks up.

What strikes me first, is the burning HATRED in his eyes. I have never seen
such hatred. It burns. I look away from his eyes, and take in the rest of
him.

Even sitting, he looks short. Well below average. Thin, almost scrawny, with
a mop of brown hair that looks disheveled and tangled.

And his burning green eyes.

“What is your name?” I ask.

“Ronny Clayton.”

“My name is Trunks.”

“I know. I know you.”

“You do? How?”

“Oh, please. Who doesn’t know Trunks? The owner of Capsule Corps. The chick
magnet. The straight A student. The gay faggot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you prick lover. Don’t think I couldn’t figure it out. Don’t
think I didn’t notice.”

“How did you notice?”

He rolls his eyes. “The way you are always together. The way you look at
each other. It was especially easy after seeing you disappear into the
janitor’s closet.”

I blush. I hadn’t thought anyone had seen. Time for a subject change.

“Why did you do it? Why did you kill so many people.”

His eyes turn dark and cold. “I don’t care about your ‘kill no one’ beliefs.
My only regret is that I didn’t get the one I was going after.”

“What?!?” He couldn’t mean. . .

“Oh, you heard me. I placed that bomb in that spot for a reason. I did it on
purpose. I knew who sat there.”

“Why? Why did you go after Goten? What has he ever done?”

“He has done more than enough. The gay-wad had it coming.”

“Is that it? Did you trigger him because of his preferences?”

“Oh, don’t make it sound like a damned walk in the park. Just say it, he is
a perverted dick muncher. And yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“I hate you. Each and every one of you. I won’t rest until all of you are
dead.”

“Why do you hate us.”

“Because it is all your fault. It has always been all your fault! If you
didn’t exist it wouldn’t have happened!”

“What wouldn’t have happened?”

“That is none of your damned business!”

“Then why mention it in the first place? Why don’t you out and say it?”

“Why should I tell faggots about me?”

“Why not?”

He eyes me for a second.

“I hate you. I hate every cock sucking, ass sticker. Nothing will ever
change that.”

I lean forward. “Why do you hate us?”

“For what you did to me. It is all your fault. All your fault for my
childhood, for my actions and for my death. It is your fault.”

“What happened?”

“Like you care.”

“I want to know.”

“Why should I bother? You are going to die anyway. You are going to pay for
your sick ‘preferences’.”

“If I am going to die anyway, then why not tell me?”

He looks at me for a long moment. I can almost see the gears turning in his
head. To tell or not to tell.

“Growing up, my parents hated me-“

“I’m sure they-“

“Shut up! They made it quite clear at every opportunity. They hated me. They
hated everything I stood for. They even went so far as selling me.”

“Selling you?”

“Ya, selling me. Some of their scum-bag friends had certain ‘preferences’
and my parents found it a good way to get money. And that was when it
started.”

“I don’t understand. Did they sell you for a day to work for them or-“

“Shut your faggot mouth! I’m telling the story now. They sold me as a kind
of slave. A pleasure slave.”

A wave of pity washes over me. That must have been incredibly hard. To grow
up in that kind of environment. To be sold for someone’s pleasure. I can
almost understand all of his hatred. Almost.

“They didn’t care. Their friends didn’t care. And I swore that I would kill
each and every perverted ass kisser in the world.”

“But then why kill all the students?”

“It was the only way. They didn’t matter, died in the cause. I only regret
that the one I was going after survived. Oh, yes, I know he made it. I don’t
know how it is possible, but I know.”

“The news claims that you said you did it as a message against deteriorating
schools.”

He laughs. “Well, yes. The schools are deteriorating all right. They let gay
peck kissers into an all boys schools didn’t they?”

“Why did you go after Goten instead of me?”

He smirks. “Well, Goten was the one wearing the dress during the school
play. It should have been obvious that he was gay. I was thinkin’ that maybe
when they go to commemorate him, they would look at that and realize what he
was.”

“So if I had been the one in the dress you would have gone after me.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to talk to you anymore.”

“Bye fart knocker.”

I leave. I had almost pitied that demented killer. But I am over that now.
You can’t pity someone who takes so much pleasure in killing. Who makes a
point of killing just because he hates a specific type of people.

He had gone after my Goten. He had tried to blow him up on purpose. I can’t
pity someone who has tried to kill the person I love most. I just can’t find
it in me. To pity him would mean that I contain compassion toward him. And I
don’t.

I stop to eat a heavy (light for a Saiyan) lunch, before I return to Goten’s
room.

No changes.

Sitting by his side, I wait.

His mother, and Gohan visit. Chichi fusses over him, crying about her baby.
Gohan silently checks him over.

Not soon enough, Chichi leaves. Gohan stays behind for a moment.

“The only thing I am really upset about, is that father has not come back to
check on him. He must have known that something happened, but he hasn’t
shown up.” He looks at me. “I am worried. He hasn’t visited in so long.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He shrugs and leaves.

I return my eyes to Goten.

Why hasn’t his father shown up? Even my father has shown up, if only for a
moment. Goku should have been able to be here instantly. It would only take
him a second to check on his hurt son.

Has his heart started to sway? Has he forgotten about his family, and so
hasn’t cared?

If that has happened, I am going to personally beat him up. Forget the fact
that he is twice as strong as I am.

I just find it so strange, that Goku would forget about Goten. I know that
they have never been very close. Goku was dead for the first part of Goten’s
life. He had come back for a couple of years, and then left again to train
Uub.

Why had he gone in the first place? He had abandoned his family again, his
son who barely knew him. In a way, I don’t like Goku, just because of that.

If Goku knew what was right, he would come to Goten.

The sun starts to set, and I lean back, regarding Goten.

He has more color in his cheeks. He doesn’t look anything like what he had
when he first came. He almost looks healthy.

I take his hand in mine, and drift off to sleep.

My eyes snap open. I had awoken to choked coughing and movement.

Goten!

The room is black and I can barely see. But I see Goten, moving on the bed.

Without though, I smack my hand against the call button, and move to turn on
the light. Several nurses run in and stop by the bed. They mumble soft words
to Goten and take the tube out of his mouth.

He coughs and gasps in air. I start to return to his side.

“Are okay Goten? How do you feel?” One of the nurses says in that
sickeningly sweet voice.

He looks nervous and confused. Can’t blame him, one minute he in class, the
next flying through the air, and then he wakes up in the hospital surrounded
by crazy nurses.

I move to his side, he hasn’t noticed me. I place my hand on his, and he
turns his head sharply. Then his eyes soften and I see some of his
nervousness disappear.

“Are you okay, Goten?”

“I- I’m okay, Trunks.”

I smile.

The nurses see their cue and leave.

I return to my seat.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“I hurt. What happened?”

“You were blown up. But because of your thick-headedness, you survived.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

I look away, he doesn’t need to know this, he just woke up!

“I’ll tell you later. Is there anything you need? Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“How long was I out.”

“Two days.”

I leave and return with food. I had stopped by a fast-food joint. Hospital
food has got to be awful.

We sit and eat for a good while, then I recommend that Goten gets some rest.

“I slept for two days and now I need rest?”

“That was a different kind of sleep. And I know you are feeling weak. Love,
you need the rest.”

“Okay, but in the morning, you are going to tell me everything you know.”


I tell him everything. I can’t hold something from my love, and keeping it
to myself would be bad enough.

He takes it surprisingly well.

“I can’t believe all of those people died because of me.”

Then again, trust Goten to switch the blame.

“They didn’t die because of you. They died because of him. He is the one who
killed them. And tried to kill you.”

“I know. But if I-“

“Goten, there is nothing you can do about that. You can’t do anything about
all the ‘ifs’ in the world. It just isn’t possible. You didn’t know it was
going to happen any more than I did. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I know, I know, blame him. But it hurts that so many died. So many will
never get to graduate, live life, or find love. It hurts.”

“Goten,” I move the hair out of his face, “You shouldn’t hurt for them. You
are hurting yourself and you barely lived. Don’t take others pain onto
yourself when you have enough of your own.”

He lowers his eyes.

“Goten, love, I am so glad that you are okay. I almost lost you there.”

“No you didn’t. I wouldn’t let myself die. It would take me away from you.”

“Oh,” a voice says from the doorway, “that is so sickeningly sweet.”

It’s father. Vegita steps through the door and crosses his arms, looking
down at Goten.

“So you’ve gotten better, brat?”

“Yes, I’m feeling much better. Thank you, Vegita.”

He snorts.

“Your mother’s worried about you. You might want to return home some time.”
He says to me.

“I’ll come home when Goten is discharged.”

He doesn’t respond, just turns and leaves. Trust my father to never say
anything, but means well. I know he didn’t have to come, but he wanted to
check on me. If that meant checking on Goten, then so be it.

If only Goku had shared the favor.

I push that thought out of my head. There is no point in mentioning it to
Goten, and getting him upset.

As it turns out, the doctor is letting Goten leave today. They said that he
healed fast, and that they had other patients that would be needing the
room.

So much for sentiment.

So Goten gets home. He is placed in his bed, complaining the whole time
about being treated like an invalid.

“You are an invalid.” Is all Gohan says. Goten pouts.

“I don’t like this. I don’t feel that bad, I can move around on my own and I
definitely don’t need to stay in bed.”

“Well, you can’t go to school, they haven’t started it up yet.”

“Great. So what am I suppose to do with my time? Let mom pamper me?”

“It can’t hurt. Look, I’m going home, you take care of yourself.”

“Bye.”

“I still think you should move into CC.” I say.

“Move into your room?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He smirks at me. I don’t think he would mind either.

“Mom minds. She went ballistic when we brought it up.”

I shrug. “She wasn’t okay with the idea of us in the first place. It was bad
timing on our part.”

“Ya, but her face. I will never forget that.”

Her face had been memorable. The way that her eyes widened. Her jaw hanging
open, and then the inevitable faint.

That woman does that a lot.

An unpleasant silence falls.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I don’t know, your mom-“

“Who cares. Stay.”

“Okay.”

Once again, I am awakened in the middle of the night, by tossing and
turning. Only this time, there is no hospital. No nurse to call. Only me.

“Goten!”

He is drenched in sweat, his eyes are drawn down into a scowl and his teeth
are gritting. Goten is having a nightmare.

I shake him, hard, trying to awaken him. At last, his eyes open and he
gasps, awake. His arms find their way around my waist and he burrows his
face into my chest. He is trembling, from head to toe. Shaken by the images
in his head.

“Goten, your okay, it was only a dream, your okay.”

Slowly, he calms down.

“See, your okay. Can you tell me about it?”

His eyes pull up to mine, and through them I see such horror. Such
tremendous fright. His eyes are shaking with the impact.

He shakes his head, no.

I sigh. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay, you don’t have too. Will
you be okay.”

“Ya,” he says as if finding his voice for the first time. “I’ll be okay.”

We sleep.

The next morning, Goten is unusually quiet. He dresses diligently, slowly
donning each article of clothing. Something is bothering him, and I can only
guess that it was the nightmare.

Even through breakfast, he is quiet. Slowly eating his foot, looking down
the whole time. If anything, this worries me the most.

“Goten honey. Would you like me to get anything for you? I am going to the
store and if you would like something, I will get it for you.”

“No thank you.”

Strange. Chichi leaves, walking to the store.

“Trunks?”

“Yes, love?”

“I know I just got dressed and everything, but I am feeling very dirty and
would like to get a bath.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to help me.”

Absolutely no problem.

“I’m not use to a cast.”

Oh, that.

“The doctor said to keep it dry. It shouldn’t be that hard.” I say.

It was a lot harder than I thought.

The first problem was how to position him in the tub. His right foot is in
the cast, but the tub has only one open side. When he sits in the tub so
that his foot can hang over the edge, he back is against the faucet, so he
can’t lean back.

That created another problem. His ribs still ached and it is difficult for
him to remain sitting up for any amount of time.

So his bath started out very miserable.

“This isn’t working, Goten.”

“Tell me about it.”

I sigh. “Here, this should help.”

Diligently, I remove my clothing and position myself in the tub behind
Goten, so that my back is to the faucet. Goten immediately leans back into
me, resting his head on my shoulder.

“That is better.”

“Good.”

It is often so easy to take advantage of life. To over look events and
people. Perhaps the bad in life is created to open your eyes to the world
around you, to see things in a new light. I know that I would never have
been so appreciative of Goten before.

I will always love him, how can I not? But now, after  such a close run with
death, I love him so much more. I can see what I could be missing, I can
place my finger on the part that would have been empty, and now I can grasp
it, cradle it, love it. My Goten is still with me, and always will be.

And I can appreciate that so much more now. My life is here with me.

I shake my head at my own sentiments. Such things never make much sense, but
that is all right, for that is how I feel and feelings don’t have to make
sense.

“Will you tell me about your nightmare now?”

Every muscle in his body tenses. I can feel them bunch up, stressing.

“It’s okay, love, you don’t have to tell me.”

He rolls his shoulders lightly, attempting to calm himself.

“I should tell you. It is almost stupid, now that I think about it. I
shouldn’t have let it get to me so bad. It was only a dream.”

“You’re babbling.”

He sighs. “Ya, it’s just that it was so real. I could almost touch it. It
scared me.”

“Tell me.”

“I-I was back at the school. The halls were deathly black and the ceiling
looked like it was sagging inward. The lights were out but somehow I could
see. It was so lifeless, so empty, there was no one there. No one but me. I
turned into the classroom, and it was just as empty. No one sat at the
desks, only darkness. I could feel the room creak around me, like it was at
the last edges of its life and was slowly deteriorating beneath me. And then
it suddenly got so bright. Like an extra strong spotlight, flashed right
into your eyes. I put my hand up to shield my eyes and saw a figure. Then he
was caught in a blast of some sort. Blown up right from underneath him. I-
couldn’t do anything. I was trapped. But I’m sure. . . I know. . . It was
you.”

“Why did this scare you?”

“I don’t know. It shouldn’t have, it wasn’t real. But I guess it made me
realize what you must have felt, when it was me. As much as seeing you get
hurt, hurts me, I can imagine what you must have gone through. I guess I
hurt for you. You mean so much to me and I couldn’t stand if it had been
you.”

“You do mean just as much to me. But you survived. And so would I if it had
ever happened to me. Just remember that. Nothing, not even your mother, is
going to separate us.”

“Good.”

“In fact, do you think we could find a way to get your mom to let you move
in with me?”

“Are you kidding? Mom flipped out when Gohan moved in after he got married.
She would go ballistic.”

“Well we pretty much are married, why shouldn’t you live with me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I’m just worried about what mom will do.”

“Well don’t, you are moving in with me if we have to knock her out and steal
your stuff. So don’t worry about it.”

“Whatever you say, but you get to deal with her.”

I shifted uncomfortable against the faucet. “One more thing, after this, you
are not getting another bath, your getting sponge baths.”

“It that a promise?”

“You know it.”


Maybe, just maybe, if we are able to approach Chichi maturely, state our
case, and tell, not ask, then she would give her blessing.

What am I thinking? We are talking about Chichi! You couldn’t get her to
believe that the sky is blue if she has her mind set on another opinion.

We start with talking, by the end my ear drums nearly burst.

We try reasoning, obviously Chichi’s vote outnumbers all others.

Finally I give in.

To plan two.

“Okay, I don’t care what you may think, Goten is moving in with me. You are
not going to change my mind.”

“Don’t assume, Trunks, I can change anybody’s mind.” With that she pulls out
her over-large frying pan and raises it above her head.

I feel my resolve wavering.

“Mom?”

Phew, saved by Gohan.

“Mom, why don’t you put that away?”

“He wants to take my baby away! I’m not going to let my baby go, he is going
to stay with me!”

How does she do it? One minute she is about to murder, the next she is
bursting into hysterics and crying all over her eldest’s shirt.

Women, glad I don’t need one.

Gohan shakes his head. “Just let him go mom.”

“WHAT?!?!?!” Now instead of crying on his shirt, she is trying to strangle
him with it.

“I mean it, let him go. He isn’t a little kid anymore and it would be good
for him.”

“Good for him! What would be good for him is to focus more on his studies
than running off with his boyfriend!”

“Well school is out now anyway and he has almost graduated. He’s fine mom.
You did your job, now you can let him go.”

Chichi gritted her teeth and growled at her son. I took the opportunity to
signal to Goten. With Gohan on our side, we could get away with it.

Without waiting to hear the end of the conversation, Goten and I take off
upstairs. Grabbing the remainder of Goten’s things (so what if we went
behind Chichi’s back to get the majority out) and fly out the window.

Never has life been more glorious.

That night, I slept in OUR bed, enwrapped in warmth.

And that night, Ronny Clayton hung himself in his jail cell.