Chapter 3
Chapter 3
As great a kid you are, I don’t think we could work out that way...
Pan settled back into the seat cushion, thankful that Trunks had left the top of his black capsule convertible down—the raging wind that roared past them made the silence less unbearable.
She was pissed, she wouldn’t pretend she wasn’t, but she still kept the rage inside, letting it fester where Trunks couldn’t see it, making sure to keep her ki at a low and stable level. A level too low to be normal, just to freak him out, and not too high, so that he wouldn’t know he’d gotten to her.
As great a kid you are...
She shook her head to chase his voice out of her mind and flomped heavily back into the leather upholstered seat, crossing her arms over her chest and slamming her foot into the dashboard, nearly sending it into the glove department.
Trunks winced as he heard the hard plastic crack, but stayed quiet.
Pan snorted as he glanced at his watch and gripped the wheel tighter.
“Afraid my Daddy’s gonna kill ya?” she teased sarcastically, her voice nasty and cruel. Trunks grimmaced, but kept his irritation to himself.
“Pan—”
“Aw…poor Trunks is afraid that my daddy is going to rip his head off and eat it!”
“PAN!” he roared over the wind. She blinked, startled. “No, I’m not afraid of what your father is going to do to me—alright, yes I am, but only because I’m afraid that his daughter is going to be a spoiled little shit and go crying to him.”
That got her angry.
Her ki dipped, and the car swerved.
“Bastard.”
“Pan, grow up and stop acting like a little ki—”
“I did grow up Trunks. A few hours ago, you noticed that, but apparently your dogdamned ego had to get in the way.”
He ground his teeth, his knuckles white on the wheel. She heard it crack under the pressure he held it, but he restrained himself before it shattered. “Panny, would you please, just, listen to m—”
“Just shut up and drive.”
Happily, though still put out, his ki erratic with fear and worry, he complied.
Her house rose into view over the treetops, the dome of her grandmother’s house shining brightly like the promise of a dream in the moonlight. How often had Pan lain out there under the stars, holding make-believe conversations with Trunks in her head? How many nights had she sought refuge there when she feared her grades wouldn’t pass her father’s inspection—though always the next morning, he’d have carried her back into the house and put her in bed, with a glass of apple juice waiting on her bedside, a note taped to it that read “so long as you tried, Panny, that’s all that matters”? How many times had she fled a terrible break up to sit on that roof, only to have Trunks come and coax her back into joining the social circle known as life?
Too damn many.
But she knew she’d be out there again tonight.